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Preview: The Chains of Intiga (Thrumlords Book 2)
Adessa smelled the smoke before she saw the flames. The horn that had drawn them here from the pool had already fallen silent. Their seven panthers had been running hard for perhaps five minutes, carrying the eleven riders forward with graceful urgency, when the animals burst from the forest into the clearing where the Amartine longhouse stood. A nearby rider uttered a sharp cry of disbelief as the lodge came into view. At first glance, the entire roof was a sheet of fire, flames on either wing of the massive structure leaping twice as high as those just beginning to take hold atop the great hall. That central section, though wreathed in smoke, seemed the only part not yet completely consumed.
Only one answer leapt into Adessa’s mind as she pondered how a building constructed of the legendary haleburl could now be aflame—magic! Careless embers from a fireplace didn’t start this conflagration, something else did.
Someone else did.
A vilemaster!
The fire rumbled like a demon from the abyss. Even as she and the other riders drew closer to the structure, a part of the left wing of the lodge collapsed inward as the inferno roared, belching embers and sparks into the air.
Black and grey smoke curled into the bright, blue sky. Several dozen bodies lay scattered on the lawn near the central entrance of the longhouse, its large double doors wide open, revealing an interior glowing orange but, so far, flame free. Hundreds of other Firthan spectators stood a safe distance from the building, some of them were assisting injured villagers, in some cases dragging them away from the heat and the flames. Other villages stood in shock, watching the structure burning, probably wondering what to do, and likely blaming their Kharkesian visitors for all the destruction they were witnessing. No one was trying to put out the fire, for good reason—it was too late to save the lodge.
Shaleen issued fervent commands, her whip snapped in the air, and the team of panthers slowed and then circled to a halt thirty yards from the central entryway. Everyone jumped from their black steeds and ran forward a few yards so the cats were behind them. Adessa and Cawper instinctively came together as the heat radiated outward, past them.
Cawper pointed at the open doors, the entrance to the great hall. “Look!”
Adessa saw them quickly. Two figures silhouetted inside the vast interior space—a man, and something larger, a demon namril.
Lazlo and Haem! But how? Then she remembered—the dome shield had been relocated to the top of Drumrock Peak to allow their quest access to Amaranthine Springs.
Twoheart and Civato came up to either side of the thrumlords, blades drawn, eyes fixed warily on the pair of dangerous figures silhouetted in orange and black.
“What should we do?” asked Cawper, his speech fast and excited. He already had his thrumstone in his left hand … but no aura manifested around his fist.
“Put it away,” Adessa said quietly, referring to his talisman. “They’re useless now.”
“The blue and gold then,” he replied, pocketing his numina stone.
She flicked her eyes toward the lowlander. “Are you ready for this?”
Cawper grunted.
“When the time comes,” she said, “mess him up.”
He grunted again, those amber eyes of his glinting with their own kind of fire. “Let’s make it two out of two?”
“Two out of two,” she agreed.
Their hands drifted closer to one another, fingers barely touching at first, before they firmly clasped together.
Adessa turned her attention back toward Lazlo and Haem, both of them just standing there in the burning building. They’re waiting for us to come inside.
Twoheart, understanding what they were about to do, raised an arm to stop them.
“Winkite,” said Cawper. “On our first day in Severcal, we watched you and Ketonquin on Fane Tower do battle against the demon.” He smiled confidently at her. “Now it’s our turn.”
The female vanguard leered doubtfully at them.
“It’s now or never,” added Adessa. “If we can’t defeat them, after our trip through Amaranthine Springs, after all we’ve been through, then we’ve been nothing but a waste of everyone’s time.”
“Trust us,” said Cawper.
Adessa was moved by Cawper’s confidence, but truthfully, she was scared to death.
Twoheart dropped her arm. “Thrumlords,” she stated deferentially. Both she and Civato then stepped back to let them proceed.
Adessa moved forward. Cawper was on her right, matching her every step.
She wondered what the bigger threat was … Lazlo or the demon.
One problem at a time.
Together, she and the lowlander ascended a series of stone steps leading up to the main entryway of the lodge and then made their way inside the furnace.
She and Cawper stopped walking when the opposing groups were about ten paces apart. There were at least a dozen Firthan bodies lying on the haleburl floor, over to their right. She didn’t see any obvious injuries … clearly Lazlo had killed them with his magic. She had to fight back anger.
Silence. Tranquility. Awareness.
Lazlo was on the right, as she faced their two adversaries. Haem on the left.
The vilemaster wore the same dark, hooded robe she’d seen when first laying eyes on him at Castle Severcal. The garment billowed in the stifling air, which shimmered and folded in the dangerous heat. Pale-skinned and clean-shaven, the Troixian’s long black hair spilled behind his neck, and he stood taller than she remembered.
“There you are,” said Lazlo, speaking perfect Kharkesian. His left hand had a red aura around it. “I have to congratulate you on your escape from Serayne. I must admit, I didn’t expect that, although I knew you both had gifts … I underestimated you.”
Adessa gestured toward the bodies as ash fell like warm snow across her shoulders. “You people are murderers. At least for you, that ends today.” She was trying to sound confident, but inside she was a churning mess of fear and anxiety.
Lazlo laughed. “You think you two are enough for me?” He glanced at Haem. “For us? You’re lucky I haven’t already killed you. I’m just amused by your false sense of bravado.”
“How did you find us?”
Lazlo waved his thrumstone. “The thrum allowed me to follow your demon. Child’s play.”
“We know your plans,” said Adessa, trying to unsettle the man—to get him angry. That’s what Graesmoke had once told them to do with their opponents. Angry people make mistakes.
“We know all about the Troixian Winds and your plan to unravel Kharkief,” she said.
“We know Zaviel has another Bloodstone.
“We know he struggles with it, and that it hurt him when he first inherited it from his predecessor. It hurt him again when he destroyed part of Cadia Gate six years ago. Hell, he’s still afraid of it now.
“We know it sickened and ultimately killed his predecessor and somehow instilled that same sickness upon your people in Valere when it was brought there—perhaps to be paraded around your capital as a prize or as a symbol of your vaunted superiority. That illness killed Serayne’s daughter, Carleea, and many others.
“And yet you dare believe you will inevitably defeat us? Do you not see that destiny is not on your side? The Blue and Gold will destroy the Troixian Multitude. The Gods of Lavalor—the people of Kharkief—are stronger than you know.
“Sometimes the mighty pick the wrong fight.
“This is one of those times.”
Lazlo’s smile disappeared.
Adessa laughed at him. “You know, it took me a while to figure it all out. But I did. I pieced together all the different clues. In fact, only minutes ago, was I able to finally unravel the entire mystery of the green magic.”
“What mystery?” Lazlo asked, all sense of his humor wisping away like smoke. “What green magic?”
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