unconcerned. The lead Immortal took one quick step, snapping his heavy chain whip towards Morgant’s throat.
Morgant ducked, flicking his black dagger to the side. The blade sheared through the chain lash as if it had been made of soft cheese, and the end fell to the floor, the severed links glowing. The dagger jolted in Morgant’s hand, and the Immortal staggered at the sudden change in his weapon’s weight, the truncated whip bouncing uselessly against his left arm.
In that moment of confusion, Morgant struck.
He sprang forward, lashing the dagger down in a single vicious slash. The Immortal had not yet recovered from his swing, his arm still pressed against his chest. The black dagger tore through the Immortal’s helm, opened his cuirass and his chest, and severed his right arm. Blood spattered across the gleaming wooden walls, and the ripped edges of the Immortal’s black armor glowed white-hot from the sorcerous power of Morgant’s dagger. The Immortal fell dead, and the warrior behind him charged. Morgant retreated, snapping up his scimitar to parry the blows of the Immortal’s sword.
Something white and deadly cold shot past Morgant’s head and slammed into one of the Immortals on the left. The dagger shattered as it struck the Immortal’s shoulder, but the white mist sheathing the blade spread into a layer of thick frost over the Immortal’s armor. The Immortal started to break the ice, but Kylon was already moving, his sword stabbing to plunge into a gap in the Immortal’s armor plates. The warrior fell with a snarl of fury, and Kylon ripped his blade free to face the second Immortal on the right.
Morgant retreated, falling into a rhythm has he parried and blocked the furious attacks. The Immortal was stronger than he was, and with every step Morgant had no choice but to fall back. The Immortal raised his scimitar for a killing blow, and Morgant angled his crimson scimitar to block the strike.
At the last minute he twisted, dropping his scimitar and raising his black dagger. The Immortal might have seen the danger, but by then the black-armored warrior had committed to the stroke. The black dagger sheared through the Immortal’s scimitar an inch above the hilt, and the weapon shattered. The Immortal stumbled, and Morgant drove his dagger through the Immortal’s helm and into the skull beneath.
He ripped the dagger free and turned to aid Kylon, but the stormdancer had already prevailed. The last Immortal lay upon the floor, blood pooling beneath him. Kylon took a deep breath and shook the bloody droplets from his blade.
“Good work,” said Morgant.
“All that noise has probably alerted Cimak to our presence,” said Kylon. “He will not come willingly.”
“Oh, we’ll see about that,” said Morgant, lifting his black dagger. The hilt was getting warm beneath his fingers. The spell upon the dagger worked by nullifying friction, letting the weapon cut through almost anything. Unfortunately, the sorcery stored all that heat in the blood-colored gem within the dagger’s pommel, and sooner or later the heat had to be released.
Morgant knew right where to put it.
He stepped over the dead Immortals and cut open the lock with a slash of his dagger. The door swung open, revealing an opulent bedroom with a thick carpet, silken hangings upon the walls, and an enormous bed large enough to hold six at once. A young, plump Istarish man in a disheveled robe lay on his back across the bed, his mouth hanging open, his snores filling the air. From the windows rose the sounds of the fighting in the square.
“He’s asleep?” said Kylon, incredulous. “He actually slept through all that?”
“Depending on how much he drank last night, he might sleep through the Apotheosis itself,” said Morgant, looking over the room. A small desk stood near one of the windows, and a sheaf of official-looking documents sat atop it. “Take the papers. The Balarigar will want to have a look at them. Let me do the talking.”
Kylon went to collect the documents, while Morgant crossed to the wall, touched his dagger to the silken wall hanging, and released the stored power. At once the curtain caught fire, the flame spreading to the wall. He walked to the bed, reached down, and pinched Kuldan Cimak’s nose shut. A moment later the emir started thrashing, and Morgant removed his hand as Cimak sat up, cursing and sputtering.
“What is the meaning of this?” said Cimak. “Who are you? What…”
His black eyes widened as he saw the flames spreading across the room.
“Men have come