As expected, a sword clattered harmlessly off his defenses. He entered the larger front room, finding three black-garbed men held fast by large stone tentacles, though only two of them had their arms pinned.
"Have the Black Blades fallen so far as to not expect magical defenses in a wizard's chambers? Now, tell me who hired you, or I'll ask the wall to squeeze." From behind him came a sound of rustling fabric.
Malek whirled around into a crouch, lightning scattering off his fingertips. The magical bolts crackled around him, striking and destroying the three darts coming from behind him. He faced his fourth attacker, and Malek smiled grimly. "I should have known it would be you, Varret." "Southern scum of an outlander, you slight me even now?
No wonder I chose to slay you instead of that hussy upstairs. I will have you address me properly before you die." The less-than-honorable Lord Varret Tryshaln, Count of the Xornmoor Riding, glared and grimaced at him, his pale skin flushed red enough to match his unkempt and thinning hair. Dressed down from his usual foppish manner, Varret wore a brown robe and cloak with a hood. He gestured and hooked his thumbs together, sending an arc of flame directly at Malek. The flames illuminated the edges of his magical shields, and the fire agate on Malek's left ring began to glow ominously. While the flames licked dangerously close, Malek gestured with his left hand, and the flames leaped into the ring. "Now, Lord Tryshaln, I've given you all the respect you've earned, but imagined slight is no impetus for treason.
Put down your arms. Her Majesty's mercy is far warmer than mine, I pray, and I have no wish to fight your family over your death." "The only deaths today shall be yours and the Witch-Queen's, Tethyrian!"
Varret's face contorted with fury as he barked out an incantation that Malek had not encountered before. His curiosity slowed his counterspell, and he threw himself to one side to avoid the fiery dragon's jaws that lunged from Varret's cupped hands. The fire construct bit Malek's lower torso and legs, and he screamed as the fire burned him. His clothes caught on fire, though the leathers fared far better than his linen shirt. Despite the pain, Malek managed to thrust his left fist into the fire construct and scream, "Alakedarth!"
The fires pulled into the ring's gem, leaving only a shimmer in the air as the magic dissipated. "I'll add that ring to my wardrobe as Stornanter's new Court Wizard, Aldhanek," Varret promised as he moved closer and loomed over the prone Malek, his hands moving in intricate circles and his mouth muttering a new incantation. Still too pained to stand up, Malek grabbed the edge of the rug and yanked hard, tripping up Varret and ending his spell. "My turn, fool." Malek whispered, and he cast quickly. One of his simplest and newer spells, the magic touched the Weave of magic and the weave of Varret's clothing. The robes, cloak, and hood writhed and constricted on the wizard's body, making it hard for him to move or cast. Malek used the moments the spell bought him to pull the carpet the rest of the way from under Varret. As he rose, he kicked the mage in the stomach, knocking the wind from him and stopping his counterspell against the weaveweird.
Just as Malek suspected, Varret planned defenses only against magic, leaving himself open to more mundane attacks. Malek snapped out the small carpet with one hand, and the square Calishite rug remained level and floating on the air two feet above the floor. His other hand worked another spell over Lord Tryshaln. Malek didn't seem to notice Varret finally gaining against his seemingly possessed clothes. Malek and Varret completed their spells one atop the other. A translucent sea-green dome appeared over Varret just as he unleashed a fireball, which, to his misfortune, remained inside the dome. Malek looked at the charred and damaged noble and his three accomplices still pinned to the walls and shook his head. He turned his back on all of them, hopped atop his small floating carpet, and with a few gestures and the pop of imploding air, he teleported away. Malek reappeared in the audience chamber of Port Llast's Griffon Palace to a scene of utter chaos. He had safely teleported into the upper dome of the chamber unnoticed above the archers' perches. Blades clashed with blades, and spells flared in every corner. Malek immediately identified the main traitors-the Lords Elsmyth, Rushfire, Argentouch, and Bladestroll-and their retinues of guards and mercenaries. More than a dozen royal guards and almost as many traitors lay dead and bleeding on the stone floor. The Griffon Throne of the Witch-Queen was dark with blood, and Laeral, Witch-Queen of the North, lay sprawled alongside it, her short silver curls matted with blood. Barons Bladestroll and Rushfire bent over Laeral, stripping her of protective or life-sustaining magical items. Malek spun some magic around himself, suddenly adding three identical images of himself. The four Maleks swooped down into the fray, keeping a tight formation, though each Malek seemed to do things slightly differently, standing, kneeling, or sitting on the carpet as he flew. One Malek strafed the main knot of attackers with arcane bolts, and another dispelled the wall of flame that blocked the entry.
The remaining pair swooped toward the throne and the downed queen. A pair of massive magical rams' heads materialized in front of them and knocked both traitors away from Laeral and into the walls. As one duplicate wove an occultrap around the stunned mages, Malek leaped off his carpet and threw his body on top of Laeral to protect her from any further attacks. Malek's heart pounded as he rolled her over to find two daggers buried hilt deep in her stomach and heart. Her dark emerald eyes were glazed over, and she was barely breathing. He struggled to save Laeral, but he had no more teleports memorized for the day. He let his awareness slip through his illusionary selves, seeing that the other wizards had taken the bait and concentrated all their spells on his images. Every spell just got absorbed either by the figure or its magical shields, causing them to glow. "You're too late, Aldhanek! We've killed her and taken her throne. Long live King Elsmyth!" Lord Argentouch boasted as he fired a barrage of magical purple missiles at the Malek closest to the door. Malek only partially heard the boasts and the opposing spells. He willed the spell to its completion, so he could buy time for another more important working.
"Hang on, my queen," he said, but Laeral could only blink and her breath bubbled in her throat. She failed to see the tears streaming down Malek's face. "Stay with me, my lady. I swore to protect you, no matter the cost." Three glowing Maleks floated or walked to within arm's reach of the four wizard-nobles turned traitors and raised their arms as if to cast a spell. Both the masters and their servants saw the threats and fired spells and arrows or other weapons at the glowing figures. With deafening roars, the images exploded, unleashing all their absorbed magic onto their targets through eyebeams, open wounds, or blasts from their hands. With no time to check on his foes, the court wizard placed one hand on the throne and invoked its powers.
A crystalline griffon stood where the throne had been, its massive form and wings providing some cover for the two wizards at her feet.
With that action completed, Malek opened himself up to another working-one far more powerful, more intricate, and more personal.
Malek's fingers and eyes danced with silver licks of flame, and he incinerated the two daggers in Laeral's body. She screamed as the daggers dissolved, and she slumped in Malek's arms. "Laeral! Laeral!"
Malek heard someone barking orders and the twang of bowstrings behind him, but all that seemed miles away. His world was only the bloodied face in front of him, blurry through his own tears. Malek cradled Laeral's head in one palm and whispered to her, the silver flames in his eyes growing and flames creeping from his other hand into her wounds. "I loved you from the moment I first saw your face-three centuries before you were even born. I am yours, forever and always, through as many lifetimes as we may share. Ignore the poison, love.