Lesson of the Fire Read Online Free

enough to leave a
rival alive.
    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ari lean
forward in anticipation of the inevitable.
    What interest do you have in this man?
    Sven looked at Einar carefully — the aged
face, the brown eyes, the grey hair. The red cloak was still clean
and free of wrinkles. He checked his magic. The illusion would fade
soon — half a minute, at most. He would have to choose quickly.
Last night, in talking with Nightfire and Katla, he had learned
much more about Einar than his fighting style, and even then, knew
what he would do if his gambit worked today.
    You guarded our frontier once before. I will
give you a chance to do so again.
    Sven placed the tip of the marsord against
Einar’s chest, prepared to summon magic if the man resisted, and
waited. The crowd held its breath, watching him and looking for the
killing blow. Einar came to his senses with a jolt, eyes wide in
shock.
    “How did you ...?”
    “Einar Schwert, you are defeated. Yield.”
    Einar attempted to cast a spell, but the
shell held his magic at bay. He stared hard at Sven.
    What are you thinking, old
man? Sven kept his face passive. Are you thinking, why would Sven Takraf want the
Chair? Or why tell me to yield if you are going to kill me
anyway?
    Finally Einar nodded. “You have indeed bested
me, Weard Takraf. The Chair is yours if you can hold it against
them.”
    Sven did not stir. “Swear your loyalty to
me.”
    The crowd murmured. Robert whispered
something furiously to the other eighth-degree wizards.
    “I understand.” Einar raised his right hand
solemnly. “By the Oathbinder, and Marrish, my patron, I swear my
fealty to you, Sven Takraf, Guardian of Marrishland.”
    The signs are everywhere! How many others
have noted them as he has?
    Sven removed the blade and returned it. “You
serve your patron loyally, Weard Schwert.”
    Einar stepped back and out of Sven’s way.
Sven stuffed the gloves behind his utility vest and drew out
another pair from the pouch at his side.
    As he put them on, he met Nightfire’s eyes,
skimmed past the Duxess of Pidel and the duxes of the southern
duxies and rested on Dux Volund Feiglin. Volund glared back in
undisguised fury and prodded his son, Ketil, forward.
    Sven deliberately turned his back on Ketil
and spoke to the remaining six reds.
    “Who disputes my ascent? Step forward and
speak.”
    Solvi looked past his shoulder at the spurned
dux’s son and stepped forward with a confident smile. Vigfus’ smile
had finally reached his eyes. Sven sized up his opponent,
considering this man’s value to his plan. Alive, Solvi would turn
against him someday. Dead, then. But … Sven steeled himself.
    You will make a valuable lesson for my
enemies.
    “I warn you, Weard Zorn,” Sven said coldly,
stretching his fingers out in front of him. “Yours will not be the
fate of Weard Schwert if you oppose me. Step down and swear fealty
to me, and I will spare you.”
    Solvi sneered. “You may have survived Tortz,
but you will not survive me, now that you have exhausted yourself
with farl tricks.”
    Sven kept his left hand up, stretching the
fingers wider. “Then let the duel begin.”
    Solvi was still readying his first attack as
Sven closed his hand into a fist and a green beam of fire burned
into his challenger’s throat, melting it closed. Solvi clutched at
his neck, all thought of attack forgotten. He mended his windpipe
and prepared to throw up a hasty defense. Sven didn’t wait for
him.
    Slices of fire slapped off Solvi’s hands and
cauterized his wrists. Tiny beams of light burned out his eyes.
Invisible hammers snapped his shinbones and kneecaps. Knives of
force filleted his skin. Bolt after bolt of intensely focused
energy struck the wizard, hacking him limb from limb. The smell of
burnt flesh made Sven gag. Ari whimpered. Someone at the edge of
the square vomited.
    They have seen my mercy. Now I will live up
to my reputation for ruthlessness.
    Numbly, Sven continued. After the eighth