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Four more coming to his aidNot wizards now, a different kind of magic of the Palm, one he hadn’t even known about, didn’t understandBut it didn’t matterThey were here and on his side, if screened from his mind, and with them, with all of them bending their power to his defense, he had even been able to reach out, and forward, to assert his own strength against the enemy
Who were falling back! There was glory after all under the sun, and hope, more than hope, a glittering vista of triumph spreading in the valley before him, a pathway made smooth with the blood of his foes, leading straight from here back across the sea and home to the Tiara
He would bless these wizards, honor them! Make them lords of unimagined power, here in this colony or in BarbadiorWherever they wanted, whatever they choseAnd thinking so, Alberico had felt his own magic flow like intoxicating wine in his veins and had sent it pouring forth against the Ygrathens and the men of the Western Palm, and his armies had laughed aloud in triumph and felt their swords to be suddenly as light as summer grass
He heard them sac dolce gabana beginning to sing, the old battle-song of the Empire’s legions, conquering in far lands centuries agoAnd they were! It was happening againThey weren’t just mercenaries; they were the Empire’s legions, for he was, or would be, the EmpireIt was here, it was shining before him in the blazing day
Then Brandin of Ygrath rose and stepped to the rim of his hillA distant figure alone under the sun in that high placeAnd a moment later, Alberico, who was a sorcerer himself, felt, for he could not have actually heard, the dark, absolute words of invocation that Brandin spoke, and his blood froze in his veins like ice in the dead of a winter night
“He cannot,” he gasped aloud”Not after so long! He cannot do this!”
But the Ygrathen wasHe was reaching for all, summoning everything, every last scintilla of his magic, holding nothing backNothing, not even the power that had sustained the vengeance that had kept him here all these yearsHe was emptying himself to shape a sorcery such as had never been wielded before
Desperately, still half disbelieving, Alberico reached out for the wizardsTo tell them tiffany replica to brace, to be readyCrying that there were eight of them, nine, that they could hold against thisThat all they had to do was survive this moment and Brandin would be nothing, a shellWaste, for weeks, months, years! A hollow man with no magic in him anymore
Their minds were closed, barred against himThey were still there though, and defending, bracedOh, if the horned god and the Night Queen were with him! If they were with him yet, he might still They were not with him
For in that instant Alberico felt the wizards of the Palm cut loose, melting away without warning, with terrifying suddenness, to leave him naked and aloneOn the hill Brandin had now leveled his hands and from them came blue-grey death, an occluding, obliterating presence in the air, foaming and boiling down across the valley toward him
And the wizards were gone! He was alone
Or almost gone, almost aloneOne man was still linked, one of them had held with him! And then that one mind opened up to Alberico like the locked door of a dungeon springing back, letting light flood inAnd in that moment Alberico of Barbadior dior saddle bags screamed aloud in terror and helpless rage, for illumination came at last and he understood, too late, how he had been undone, and by whom destroyed
In the name of my sons I curse you forever, said Sandre, Duke of Astibar, his remorseless image rising in Alberico’s mind like an apparition of horror from the afterworldImpossibly alive, and here in Senzio on that ridge, with eyes implacable and utterly mercilessHe bared his teeth in a smile that summoned the nightIn the name of my children and of Astibar, die now, forever cursed
Then he cut free, he too was gone, as that blue-grey death came boiling down the valley from Brandin’s hill, from his outstretched hands, with blurred, annihilating speed, and Alberico, still reeling with shock, clawing frantically upward from his chair, was struck and enveloped and consumed by that death, as a tidal wave of the raging, engorged sea will take a sapling in low-lying fields
It swept him away with it and sundered his body, still screaming, from his soul, and he diedDied in that far Peninsula of the Palm two days before his Emperor passed to the gods chanel black wallet in Barbadior, failing at last one morning to wake from a dreamless sleep
Alberico’s army heard his last scream, and their own cries of exultation turned to panic-stricken horror; in the face of that magic from the hill the Barbadians felt a fear such as men should never have had to endure sweep over themThey could scarcely grip their swords, or flee, or even stand upright before their foes who advanced untouched, unharmed, exalted, under that dread, sun-blighting sorcery, and began to carve and hew them with hard and deadly wrath
Everything, thought Brandin of Ygrath, of the Western Palm, weeping helplessly on his hill as he looked down over the valleyHe had been driven to this and had answered, had summoned all he had ever had to this final purpose, and it was enoughIt was sufficient and nothing less would have beenThere had been too much magic opposed to him, and death had been waiting for his people here
He knew what he had been made to do, knew the price of holding nothing backHe had paid that price and was paying it now, would go on doing so with every breath he drew until he tas hermes die