Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,339

over backward, forcing him right to his knees.

Deanna and Ashannon collected themselves and eyed the spectacle of Brind’Amour’s bared power from a safe distance. Ashannon motioned questioningly toward the trio, but Deanna shook her head and would not approach.

The old wizard tilted his head back and closed his eyes, concentrating fully on the release of power. Theredon’s hands were tight about one arm, but the muscular man’s grip seemed not so strong anymore. Mystigal offered no resistance whatsoever, just flailed his arms helplessly as the red sparks bit at his skull.

Brind’Amour attuned himself to his opponents’ magic, that inner area of wizardly power. He felt the line of power there, the connection to the frenzied fiends. He felt the line bending, bending, and then, in Mystigal first, it snapped apart.

With a resounding whining buzz, the insect demon was hurled back to Hell and the ground under Deanna’s bubble was quieter. As though he gained some resolve from that, Theredon growled and forced himself back to his feet.

Brind’Amour let go of Mystigal, who fell over backward to the stone, and put his full concentration on the stronger Theredon. The two held the pose for a long while, but then Theredon’s core of power, like Mystigal’s, snapped apart. Brind’Amour released him and he stood, precariously balanced, staring at the old wizard incredulously. Then, with all his strength, physical and magical, torn from his body, Theredon fell to the ground, facedown.

The stone beneath the old wizard’s feet was quiet suddenly, as the two-headed demon joined its buglike companion in banishment, their ties to the world cleanly severed.

Brind’Amour spun about, facing the duke and duchess, not sure what any of this was about. He tried to look threatening, but in truth feared that either Ashannon or Deanna, or both, would come at him now, for he had little strength remaining with which to combat them.

The two looked to each other, then began a cautious approach, Deanna’s hands held high and open, unthreatening.

On the ground, Mystigal groaned. Theredon lay very still.

“He will not awaken,” Brind’Amour said firmly. “I have torn his magic from him, destroyed the minor wizard that he was!” Brind’Amour tried to sound threatening, but Deanna only nodded, as though she had expected that all along.

“We are not your enemy,” she said, reading the old wizard’s tone and body language. “Our common enemy is Greensparrow, and he, it would seem, has lost two more of his wizard-dukes.”

With a sizzle and a puff, the blue-swirling globe vanished.

“Good spell,” Brind’Amour congratulated.

“Years in perfecting,” replied Deanna, “in preparation for the day that I knew would come.”

Brind’Amour looked at her curiously. “Yet you performed the powerful magic without aid of your demon,” he remarked suspiciously.

“I have no demon,” she answered evenly.

“Nor do I,” added Ashannon.

Brind’Amour eyed the duke of Eornfast skeptically, sensing that the man was not so certain of, or comfortable with, his position as was Deanna.

“I prefer the older ways,” said Deanna. “The ways of the brotherhood.”

Brind’Amour found that he believed her, though he could not have done much if he didn’t. He was too tired to either attack the pair or flee the plateau. Deanna, too, seemed exhausted. She walked over slowly, bending low to inspect the pair of fallen dukes.

“Theredon is dead,” she announced without emotion as she looked back to Ashannon, “but Mystigal lives.”

Ashannon nodded, walked to the edge of the plateau, and leaped off into the night sky. Brind’Amour caught the flutter as the man transformed into some great nightbird, and then was gone.

Brind’Amour looked to Deanna. “Talkative fellow,” he said.

“Duke McLenny knows that he has sacrificed much for this day,” she replied. “Too much, perhaps, and so you must be content in the knowledge that he did not join with Theredon and Mystigal against you.”

“But neither did he join with me,” Brind’Amour pointed out.

Deanna didn’t answer, just walked back to the center of the plateau and dropped some liquid on the dying fire. Immediately the flames roared back to life, bathing Deanna in their warm, orange glow.

“Bring Mystigal near to the warmth,” she instructed Brind’Amour. “He does not deserve a cold death in such a remote, nameless place.”

Those were the last words she spoke that night. She sat watching the fire for a long while, not even seeming to notice Brind’Amour, who, after laying Mystigal beside the flames, sat directly across from her.

The old wizard didn’t press the point. He understood Deanna’s dilemma here, understood that the young woman had just cast off the beliefs that had sustained her for