"No, Nightseer! You do not know-"
There is nothing I do not know.
The purple amethyst in the ring flared and the silver band blackened. An agonizing stab of pain ran the length of Elyril's arm and started to spread into her chest. She gasped in pained horror as her fingers shriveled into thin twigs covered in wrinkled skin. The Nightseer's ring shrank to maintain its hold on her finger even as the magic spread to her hand, turning it to a husk. The magic crawled up her forearm, killing a little more of her with each breath.
She screamed. How could you do this to me?! How?!
Your bitterness is sweet to the Lady, Rivalen said, his voice soft, almost sympathetic. I offer it to her as you die. Dark journey, Elyril Hraven.
The connection ended. The pain did not.
Elyril screamed with agony and railed with rage as the magic of the Nightseer's ring consumed her body. Kefil climbed to his feet and circled her excitedly, tail wagging.
Did the Nightseer bend his knee to you? Kefil projected.
She kicked at the dog, lost her balance, and fell to the floor. He licked her face.
"Get away!" she screamed.
He sat back on his haunches, panting.
The door to her room flew open and there stood the balding steward in his nightclothes.
"Help me!" she said, and climbed to her feet.
He stood still, shocked, wide-eyed.
"Help me!" she screamed, and ran toward him, arms outstretched.
He mouthed an oath, turned, and fled the room.
Elyril raged after him from the doorway. Her entire arm was little more than a withered stick. She felt the magic root in her chest, neck, and face. Half of her was melting like a candle, collapsing on itself. She whirled around and Kefil put his paws on her chest and tried to lick her face. His weight drove her against the wall.
"Away!" she screamed, and pushed him with her good arm.
Have you summoned the Shadowstorm? he asked, tail still wagging, eyeing her adoringly.
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" She put her hands-the one a mere nub-to her ears. She screamed, terrified, dying. Panicked, desperate, she scrambled around the room searching for a blade with which to cut off her hand, her whole arm, if necessary. If she could only get free of the ring…
She turned over the night table with her good hand, threw drawers to the floor, toppled a small armoire, tossed her bedding about the room. The book to be made whole fell to the floor. So, too, did an oil lamp, which broke and sent its contents spraying across the floor. It ignited and spread immediately to the toppled side table and bedding. She did not find a blade. She found only the book to be made whole and hugged it to her breast.
"Divine One!" she wailed. "Volumvax! Aid me!"
Her speech was slurred. Half her face hung slack, ruined.
Kefil lingered around her, standing in her shadow, whining. You are mad, he said.
Her leg shriveled under her and she fell to the floor. The fire spread to the wall tapestries and they burst into flame. Heat and smoke filled the room. She coughed, gagged, cried.
Kefil licked her, whined more. She pushed him away with her good foot. He fled the room at last, tail between his legs. As he exited the doorway, he said, You are mad and none of this is real. You have always been mad. None of this is happening…
Elyril sat in the middle of the inferno and stared at the shadows on the wall. She eyed the wreckage of her body, and an uncontrollable giggle shook her. She saw it all, then, understood fully, and knew what she was to do.
She called to mind a transformative spell that might save her, a spell she had never before used on herself, though she had on others. She giggled again, inhaled smoke, and fell into a coughing fit.
When she recovered, she touched her holy symbol and struggled with her ruined mouth to speak the magical phrases that would transform her body.
The bed caught fire. The sheets curled as they burned. The heat in the room blistered her already shriveled flesh. The smoke set her eyes to watering. She ignored it all and carefully pronounced each word of the spell. When she completed it, she held her desiccated arm before her body and watched the magic transform her flesh again. Her skin darkened, became insubstantial shadowstuff.
The Nightseer's ring blackened further, the amethyst flared anew, and a charge went through her metamorphing body. Her nerves blazed with pain. She screamed, but her spell, corrupted by the Nightseer's ring, continued to transform her. When the magic turned her fully insubstantial at last, the ring fell through her hand and rolled into the flames.
Free of the Nightseer's spell, she cavorted in the fire. She saw the book to be made whole and flew to it. When she touched it, it turned as insubstantial as she and she held it to her breast.
She laughed aloud and collected the Nightseer's ring. Her touch turned it insubstantial and she secreted it on her person. She was living shadow. She could read Shar's portents in her own transformed flesh.
Screaming not in pain but in ecstasy, she fled the residence for Selgaunt, for the Nightseer. She would yet be the author of the Divine One's Shadowstorm.
And she would make the Nightseer pay.
"I have a ring to return to you, Prince Rivalen," she said.
Mirabeta placed the sealed missive into Rynon's pudgy hand. Vendem, in human guise, stood beside her, smiling his overlarge teeth at Rynon. The house mage's uncomfortable expression showed his discomfiture.
"You are fat," the dragon said to him.
Rynon looked like he had been smacked. He colored; stuttered, finally said, "And you, sir, are a rude cretin."
"Tasty though, I'd wager," the dragon said, eyeing the mage up and down.
Rynon looked with shock at the dragon, at Mirabeta, said, "Overmistress, this is most irregular. This person is…"
Mirabeta cut him off. "You will transport yourself, my letter, and Vendem to the Lady Merelith. After she has read and acknowledged the contents of my missive, you are to return to me."
"Provided I do not eat you first," said Vendem.
Rynon refused to look at the dragon. "Will I be returning alone, Overmistress?"
She smiled and nodded. "Vendem will remain in service to Lady Merelith."
Rynon bowed to Mirabeta, glared at the dragon. "I pity her."
Vendem grinned.
"Leave now," Mirabeta ordered.
Her letter to Merelith explained the true identity of Vendem and that he was in service to Mirabeta. The letter further ordered Merelith to proceed with an immediate attack on Selgaunt. With Vendem leading the attack, the siege of Selgaunt would be no siege at all. It would be a slaughter.
Mirabeta would have all of Sembia consolidated under her rule before Deepwinter.
CHAPTER EIGHT
24 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms
Abelar and Regg, leading the company atop Swiftdawn and Firstlight, crested the rise and saw it first. Abelar raised his hand for a halt and the whole of his force came to a stop along the rise. Only the soft chink of metal and the occasional whicker of a mount broke the silence. All eyes looked below them on the plain.
Perhaps three long bowshots in the distance, a force of cavalry rode. They numbered perhaps twice that of Abelar's company. Abelar could not make out their standard but he noted the color of their tabards-Ordulin's green.
A murmur moved through the men. Horses pawed the ground, snorted. Armor chinked as men shifted in their saddles.
"The sun sets and rises, Abelar." Regg said, a sharp edge in his tone.
"That it does."
Regg said, "They are many to our few. Twice us, I'd say, but not the thousand we'd heard. What are they doing out here, I wonder?"
Abelar knew the answer. "Forrin split his force to cut off retreat from Saerb. They're angling around from the south. The rest of the army is hitting Saerb directly from the east."