Dark Vengeance Read Online Free PDF

city of Aumrael, in the time before her six daughters had turned to Olone, together slain her, and founded the six ruling Houses that so many other cities—including Talonnorn—now echoed.
    Would it be a bold announcement, here and now, or was this only the next stride toward the throne for Jalandral, a pretext for seizing more power or gems or a title? Or would he seek to goad the priestesses or the five other Houses of Talonnorn into swords-out dispute with him?
    If the latter scheme was what he intended, it seemed his rivals were both ready for such trouble, and expecting it. Bands of Niflwere approaching the forecourt now with House banners fluttering at their fore: the Grim Skull of Dounlar, the Talon of Oondaunt, and a little way behind the Glowgem of Oszrim, with Raskshaula and Maulstryke still far off down distant streets. The spellrobe Clazlathor and his friend Munthur, watching magically from afar, did not have to peer hard at the Nifl already gathered in the forecourt, or the groups striding to join them under House banners, to know that everyone was well armed and probably armored beneath cloaks and robes, though not a war-helm nor doorguard’s heavy metal plating could be seen. The wary way the gathering Nifl kept hands near their belts, the sharp glances they shot this way and that, the general air of grim readiness . . . Talonnorn was expecting trouble.
    The head adorning the longlance, earlier, had belonged to Oszrim, which—if Clazlathor wasn’t mistaken—now left Raskshaula as the only House whose lord survived from before Ouvahlor had attacked. He peered hard at those walking under the many-eyed Raskshaula banner, but could see no one that might be Lord Morluar Raskshaula. Not that noble lords didn’t have magic aplenty to disguise themselves, if they wished.
    Horns rang forth again, startlingly loud, from the black turrets of the Eventowers—and the small Evendoom army parted at its center like two curtains being drawn smoothly apart, to let a far larger stream of gleaming Evendoom warblades out into the forecourt, flowing forward in menacing numbers and haste to surround the soaring stone podium. Clazlathor smiled tightly and bent his attention to the podium stairs, grimly curious to see if his hunch was right: that Jalandral Evendoom would use a spell or a hidden inner stairs to appear atop the podium, and never appear on the outer stairs at all.
    The Evendoom timing was perfect: the banners of Raskshaula and Maulstryke were just now advancing into the forecourt, arriving on carefully separated approaches.
    â€œAnd now it comes,” Clazlathor murmured aloud as a sudden hush fell over the forecourt, and a tension as heavy as a statue’s stone fist descended.
    There were suddenly three Nifl atop the podium, on the platform that had been bare and empty stone half a breath before.
    Clazlathor’s eyes narrowed.
    So Jalandral Evendoom had magic to carelessly spend on whims, did he? Or did he just want all watching Talonnorn to think so?
    The tallest, foremost Nifl of the three now looking down on the forecourt was Jalandral Evendoom, of course; the other two looked to be priestesses or crones; all three wore dark cloaks that covered them from throat to ankle. The horns all blared at once, now, a long and deafening cacophony that drowned out all other sounds and made even Munthur wince.
    When it died away, silence fell—for as long as it took Jalandral Evendoom to draw in a dramatic breath, step to the front of the podium, and cry, “Talonnorn crumbles!”
    Magic made his voice carry clearly to every ear without need for shouting. Every word came clear and hard, to every staring Talonar Nifl.
    The figure atop the podium waited for applause or cries of denial, but his words echoed around a silent forecourt. The crowd of Niflghar were standing still, now, looking up at him and waiting to hear whatever he’d prepared to say.
    Thus far, their silence