from Haught’s fingertips, flying against the globe and spattering outward
against the walls, lining the crack of the door, whirling up the stairs and into
the drawing room and everywhere. From somewhere in the cellars and the rear of
the house there was a general outcry of panic; it had gotten to the servants.
The sound became pain. It throbbed in time to the pulse. It screamed with a high
thin shriek like wind and became her own scream. “No,” she cried, “make it
stop-“
Strat moved. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, torn muscles and swollen
flesh tensing round the shaft in his chest; something else tore, and the swirl
of light spotted with black and went all to gray, but he knew where his enemy
stood and he had coordination enough to brace his good hand against the floor,
draw up the opposite leg while the pain turned every move weak and fluttery,
muscles shaking and weak: one good push, his foot behind the damned Nisi’s leg-
He shoved, with all that was in him. Haught screamed; he thought that was the
scream he heard, or it was his own.
Tasfalen’s hands clutched the globe. Tasfalen’s face grinned a wolf’s grin
“There, wizardling.”
Moria made herself as small as she could against the side of the stairs: she
shut both eyes, expecting a burst of fire, and opened one, between her fingers.
Haught and the witch stood facing each other, Stilcho was down on his knees by
the writhing Stepson, but no fire flew.
“You’ve a bit to leam,” Tasfalen said. “Most of all, a sense of perspective. But
I’m willing to take an apprentice.”