Forever.
There must there must! be a way out of the trap that Zyperis saw closing so inexorably around him. But he could not see it. If he destroyed the Great Sacrifice now, sabotaging Savilla's spell, he doomed himself, for her wrath would be inventive and lingering.
If her spell succeeded…
He was doomed as well.
He could feel some sort of Magery building in the distance, at Armethalieh, but his Queen had told him that Armethalieh was no longer a matter for their concern, now that the Sacrifice was theirs. Once He Who Is walked the world again, the Endarkened would have more than enough power to smash them all: Elves, Wildmages, High Mages: all. All he need do was remain here in case the Elven Army attempted a futile rescue attempt of the Sacrifice. Then he could amuse himself by destroying them.
Amuse himself. As if he were still a child, to be distracted with toys. She still underestimated him.
As he had underestimated her.
The time that he could safely have slain her had passed.
The Magery he felt was a creation of great power, disturbingly so. Yet it was not directed at them the Enemy but at Armethalieh. Foolish Lightborn! Was it possible that even now they did not know who their true enemy was?
Then the spell reached its peak.
Zyperis felt the wave of magic crest over him. It was painful, as all spells of the High Magick were to his kind, but it could not truly harm him. Only a blending of High Magick and the Wild Magic could do that, as they had learned to their cost. But the pain brought with it knowledge, as the dying ebb of the spell told Zyperis everything about its construction and its purpose.
The Wards were down. The City was open.
Cloaking himself in invisibility, he flew to the edge of the forest to see what had transpired. But he did not see what he expected to see.
There was a dragon a dragon! crouched upon the City walls. Instead of the radiant wellspring of Power that he had expected to see, that he had yearned to capture for himself, its magic was dim and flickering, nearly extinguished.
Beneath its watchful gaze, the gates stood open. A troop of Elves rode forward, into the City.
But the attack that Zyperis expected did not come.
No gray-robed High Mages strode forward to cast them out with savage spells.
If the Wildmages and the High Mages make an alliance…
Even now oh, surely, they could not win! But it might cost more of the precious lives of the children of He Who Is.
If he could prevent that, his Mama might be pleased.
He might save his own life.
She had told him not to attack the City for any reason. But she did not know about this. Surely she would wish him to prevent this if she did know.
It would be far simpler for him to ask her for forgiveness later.
He could certainly fly down into the City by himself. He was the Prince of the Endarkened, and the City lay helpless and unWarded before him.
But… he had just seen a Wildmage enter. And he knew there were High Mages there. He had no intention of being killed when there were easier, safer ways of accomplishing his goal.
Zyperis flew back to his army and gave the order to attack.
Chapter Seventeen
Sealed to the Light
YOU HAVE DONE well, my sweet slave."
Lycaelon Tavadon heard the words only dimly. His mind was filled with horror. So much, so many impossibilities, had happened in so short a time, that he could not think.
He felt ill, feverish, as if he had drunk poison. Every time he opened his eyes, all he saw was the monsters that had walked the land in the Black Days of ancient memory, the legend of their existence preserved in texts permitted to the study of only the highest ranks of the Mageborn and then, only when they had proven themselves both sincere in devotion to the City and truly possessed of a need to know. And his son, his beautiful son, was laughing.
"My Dark Lady, my glorious Queen," Anigrel said. "You are more beautiful than I could have dreamed. But… why am I here? I must return to the City, to take down the Wards so you can enter."
"No. The time for that has passed."
"Anigrel…" Lycaelon moaned.
He realized he was lying on the forest floor. Dim memories of a nightmare ride through trees came back to him. They had been riding out of the City to greet their new allies, and then… and then…
He struggled to his knees, forced himself to open his eyes.
Anigrel stood beside one of those… creatures. Her wings were spread, mantling his body. His face wore a look of radiant triumph.
"The Arch-Mage looks confused," she said.
A thrill of sick horror coursed through Lycaelon to hear human speech coming from such a creature. Bile rose in his throat.
"Perhaps you should explain yourself to him. It would please me very much."
"Dear Father," Anigrel said fondly. "Here is my true and only mistress. I have served her all my life, from the time I was a child. Everything I have ever done has been to her glory. There have never been any plots among the Mageborn, nor was House Volpiril guilty of anything, save, perhaps, ambition. I created young Cilarnen's cabal myself. I murdered Lords Vilmos, Arance, and Perizel. The information brought to the Council through the Magewardens is all lies. For moonturns we have tampered with the City Wards, allowing the influence of the Endarkened to spread throughout the City, and now they will claim their ultimate victory. Today."
The Demon standing behind Anigrel gasped, as if in ecstasy.
"Lies… ?" Lycaelon said. "You… lied to me?"
"I did not lie. I told you I acted for the good of the City, and so I have. It is good that Men serve their proper masters. The Endarkened. We have been a blight upon the land for too long. No longer."
"You have learned all your lessons well," the Demon told Anigrel. "Now you will serve me in the best way you can, and have the reward I promised you so long ago."
"Yes, Mistress," Anigrel whispered.
She put her arms around him from behind, running her hands over the heavy silk of his Magerobes. The rank-tabbard he wore, embroidered both with House Tavadon's colors of black and white and with Anigrel's own chosen colors of gold and red, covered with the elaborate heraldry of his rank and honors, slipped from his shoulders and fell to the muck of the forest floor.
Anigrel tilted his head back, exposing his throat, as he sighed in ecstasy and utter submission.