Read Online Daughter of Regals by Stephen R. Donaldson - Free Book Online Page B

contented me. Regardless of the outcome, I was blessed that such
beauty had come to life before me and stretched out its wings. But others in
the ballroom were less pleased. With a distant piece of my attention, I heard
Count Thornden’s harsh cursing—and his sudden silence. Scour’s display was as
much a threat to the lord of Nabal as to me. Now I realized that Thornden had
been demanding a response from Brodwick. And Brodwick had begun— A gust tugged
at the hem of my dress. With a cry of grief or anger, I tore my gaze from the
splendid wheel of the Dragon and saw Thornden’s Mage summoning Wind.
    More guests fled the
ballroom, some shrieking; an image of true Wind was not a form of
entertainment. But already their cries were scarcely audible through the
mounting rush of air, the loud, flat thud of the Dragon’s wing-beats, the
furnace-sound of flame, the Creature’s roar. People called Ryzel’s name,
demanding or imploring intercession. The chandeliers swung crazily against
their chains; whole ranks of candles were blown out. Thornden barked hoarsely
for more strength from Brodwick.
    The Dragon was far from
its full size, and Brodwick’s exertion was likewise less than the blast of
which he was known to be capable, the hurricane-force powerful enough to
flatten villages, to scythe down forests. But within these walls his Wind had
no free outlet. Rebounding from all sides, it made such chaos in the air that
the Dragon’s flight was disrupted: the Creature was unable to challenge its
attacker.
    Scour had been buffetted
from his feet; he lay facedown on the floor, his cassock twisted about his
rigid form. Yet he had not lost concentration. His fists pounded out their
rhythm—and the Dragon continued to grow. Soon Brodwick would need a full gale
to hold back the Creature.
    An instant later, Count
Thornden staggered forward. As strong as a tree, he kept himself erect under
the force of the Wind. His huge hands gripped the hilt of a longsword—he must
have snatched it from one of his attendants. Struggling step after step, he
moved toward Scour.
    If he slew Queen Damia’s
Mage, it would be a terrible crime. Before the coming dawn, he would find himself
in open warfare with Lodan—and perhaps also with Canna, for no ruler could
afford to let such murder pass unavenged. Even a Regal would not be able to
prevent that conflict—except by depriving Thornden of his throne in punishment.
And yet I grasped during the space of one heartbeat that Scour’s death would
save me.
    I did not desire safety
at the price of bloodshed. During that one moment, I tried to call Thornden
back by simple strength of will.
    Then I saw that his
attention was not fixed on Scour. Whirling his blade, he aimed himself at the
Dragon. He meant to throw the sword, meant to pierce the Creature’s breast
while it wrestled against Brodwick’s Wind, unable to defend itself.
    The sight tore a cry
from me: “Ryzel!” But I could not hear myself through the roar of Wind and
Dragon.
    Yet the regent loved all
Creatures as I did, and he did not withhold his hand. Prom him came a shout
such as I had never heard before—the command of a Mage in full power.
    “ENOUGH!”
    Wrenching my gaze toward
him, I saw him upon the stair with his Scepter held high and his strength
shining.
    Without transition, the
work of the other Mages disappeared. Between the close and open of a blink,
both Scour’s work and Brodwick’s were snatched out of existence. dismissed.
    The instant cessation of
the blast pulled Count Thorn-den from his feet in reaction. Among the remaining
onlookers, people stumbled against each other and fell. Of a sudden, there was
no sound in the ballroom except muffled gasping and the high clink of the
swinging chandeliers. Scour snatched up his head; Brodwick spun toward the
stair.
    For the first time,
Ryzel had shown what could be done with a Scepter of true Wood. He had declared
the best-kept of his secrets for all the plotters in the realm to