Arch Wizard

The door behind Amteira opened, bringing instant silence. The Lord Leaf glared murderously over her shoulder at the intruder, but that warrior was unabashed.

Panting a little, he looked at Lord Hammerhand and blurted, 'News, lord! The wizard Narmarkoun has vanished! His tower of Helnkrist stands empty, and no one knows what has become of the greatfangs he breeds there!'

'Well, they're a little large to have slipped away unnoticed, what with all Helnadar cowering down whenever they flap overhead,' Lord Burrim said flatly. 'No other news? My thanks, Bramlar.'

He inclined his head in a clear dismissal, and the warrior bowed and withdrew, pulling the door firmly shut again. He clinked his scabbard against the wall as he walked away, again and again, to let the three in the map chamber know he wasn't tarrying to eavesdrop.

'One less wizard for us all to worry about,' Jaklar said triumphantly as those clinkings died away, turning to give Lord Hammerhand a grin.

It died away along with his voice, as he caught sight of the bleak look on Burrim Hammerhand's face.

'Think, priest,' the lord said bluntly. 'Is this Doom dead? Fled? Captured by one of the other Dooms? Or staging some ruse we can only guess at? Was the 'Dark Lord' we just met with Narmarkoun in magical guise, trying to learn all he could of Ironthorn's strength? Or hiding from a greater pursuing foe?'

Silence fell, as the two Hammerhands and the Lord Leaf stared at each other, truly aghast this time.

Their agility and the fact that they were only four, and so few enough to pass between jabbing spears, twist around the shafts of those weapons, and fling one lorn into another-or onto the sharp edges and points of countless gleaming lorn weapons-was all that was keeping the Aumrarr alive.

Juskra loved to fight, and was hewing and stabbing in glee, lost in the red and bloody moment. Lorlarra fought with nostrils flaring and lips tight in distaste, as usual, grimly doing what she must.

The minds of Ambrelle and Dauntra lay between those extremes. They were fighting for their lives, but had time enough-in the panting instants when lorn stiffened and spewed in death against them, and they were tearing free their swords, or fighting to win free of the dying-to mark one grim realization: only a Doom of Falconfar would have power enough to craft two rifts in succession. There were legends of Archwizard Lorontar doing so twice or thrice, of old, sending armies into the castles of their foes, to smite those who'd thought themselves safe behind walls…

Not that this being the work of a Doom was all that much of a surprise. Or that it really mattered much who had caused these rifts, if they died here in this sky full of endless lorn.

Lorn who seemed confused and hesitant, thanks to the only useful spell Ambrelle could call to mind. A magic that made the four Aumrarr look like lorn, except to each other.

It was not a magic that made mere looks slow sharp steel. Lorlarra moaned in pain as a spear-blade laid open her side, racing along ribs that had lost all protection to earlier slashes and thrusts. She twisted around to thrust her free hand into her own gore, holding her side as if her fingers could quell pain.

Her wings faltered, she fell below a drift of swarming lorn-and Juskra, dropping beside Lorlarra to protect her, wrested a spear from dying lorn hands and shouted in glee as she found a dozen lorn bellies and backsides within easy reach of it.

Dauntra raced past overhead, drawing the attention of many lorn as she hacked and thrust, darting and swerving in a wild, swift progress that few lorn could turn quickly enough to follow, though it drew all eyes.

Juskra thrust her spear again and again into the nether parts of lorn, jabbing swiftly and moving on rather than risking plunging her borrowed weapon in deeper and getting it stuck and torn from her hands.

Not far away, Ambrelle was diving in behind the lorn who were starting to pursue Dauntra, flying just above them and using her sword to slash wing-tendons. A helplessly-tumbling lorn who can't fly is one less lorn for outnumbered Aumrarr to fight.

Dauntra gasped as a lorn spear caught her ear and sliced it away. Some of the lorn beneath her raised a liquid, laughing roar of triumph and anticipation-but were drowned out, almost instantly, by the dismayed sigh of scores of others.

The first rift had closed, as abruptly as the passing, air-slicing blade of a hard-swung sword. Only one vast darkness now hung in the air.

The four Aumrarr were fighting for their lives, so they fought on uncaring. All that mattered was that the rift, when it had vanished, hadn't helpfully sucked all of its lorn back through it.

Leaving them behind for four increasingly weary winged women to hack and hew as best they could, with arms growing heavier with each stroke, and fingers more numbed with each crashing meeting of blade and foe.

Then Ambrelle found time and breath enough to notice that a lot of sky around her was blue again, more or less. Empty of flapping, clawing lorn, anyway.

Had they-?

Lorn were wheeling away from her, now, drawing back for the first time, their bloodthirsty eagerness to jostle each other aside to take part in slaughtering these four outnumbered foes gone.

Behind and below the midair battle, dozens of wounded lorn were tumbling toward the distant ground, some of them struggling to fly and others plunging, limp and dead.

Drenched in blood and sweat, half-blinded, the winded Aumrarr fought on viciously, snatching wild-eyed lorn to use as flapping, frantic shields against lorn spears, swords, and claws. Living shields that did not cling to their lives long.

More lorn swooped away, fleeing the fray.

As something happened that did make the four weary sisters smile.

Silently and swiftly, without any sound at all, the second rift closed and was gone, leaving perhaps two dozen lorn still sharing the sky with the Aumrarr.

Lorn that now, in silent accord, turned and flew away.

The Lyrose way was the sneer and the biting comment, not snarled oaths or angry shouting.

Yet the four surviving Lyroses had forgotten and flung aside their customary manner long ago, so heated in the disagreement that had followed their smallmeat tarts and wine that they had ordered servants and guards alike out of earshot, then stormed up to the long-disused topmost turret bedchamber of Lyraunt Castle so they could shout and spit at each other freely without being overheard.

What the family Lyrose was arguing so heatedly about was what to do in the ongoing war with Hammerhand.

Lord Magrandar was furious, and had taken to repeatedly saying so.

He was saying so right now, in roars that echoed thunderously around the small, round stone room.

'I am furious that Eldred and Horondeir were so rash and stupid as to get themselves killed!' He ran out of room to angrily stride across the small bedchamber and whirled around, half- cloak swirling. 'To say nothing of hurling aside the lives of a lot of my best knights! They were like eager children!'

He whirled around again. 'Why, anyone could have foreseen that the Hammerhands would fight to avenge their heir, not flee hand-wringing and shrieking! What were Eldred and Horondeir thinking?''''

Pelmard knew very well how much he'd led his father's opinions astray in his twisted retellings of what had happened on the forest trail, but he dared not change his tale again now. He'd been busily blaming his two dead brothers for every last little misfortune, and if a Lyrose was going to be blamed for something, let it be a dead one, and not a far more favorite family target: the sullen youngest son, Pelmard Lyrose.

He hadn't known his icily-calm, nasty father could grieve, but grief must be the fire behind Lord Lyrose's wild scheme.

Unless Lord Magrandar Lyrose was given to bouts of sudden madness he'd hitherto managed to hide from his family.

Two of his sons might now lie dead as a result of testing them, but-Dooms take us all! — the Lord of Lyraunt Castle actually thought the ward-piercing crossbow quarrels the wizard Malraun had given them had worked so well that he wanted to strike at Hammerhand right now, so as to do the most harm he could.

Not by besieging Hammerhold, mind, but by seeking to capture Irontarl, and so luring Hammerhand's troops