Lesson of the Fire Read Online Free Page A

or
ninth bolt of fire, the man was surely dead. But he continued until
there was little more than a steaming pile of burnt flesh bubbling
on the walkway.
    Sven stripped off his gloves to dead silence
and stuffed them behind his vest, retrieving a fresh pair from a
pouch at his side. He turned to the other five reds. He could see
the uncertainty on their faces and knew the reason why. Wizards
never put on such displays when fighting for the Chair, because it
was imperative they save their strength for the large number of
challengers they might face. The use of illusions to subdue an
opponent would have worn out all but the most powerful wizards. To
win the second duel so flamboyantly might be possible for the
strongest magic-wielders, but afterward, a green could defeat
them.
    And they are right. The duel with Einar
should have left me too weak to set dry tinder alight.
    “Are there any others who would challenge my
authority?” he demanded. His voice could have frozen the swamp.
    Prodded by his comrades, Horik stepped
forward hesitantly.
    They test me, Sven thought.
    He allowed Horik two nervous steps, and the
challenger was looking back at his companions when Sven struck. The
melon-sized fireball made barely a noise as it struck, leaving
sparks licking the other wizards’ robes. A headless Horik Neid
slumped at their feet. Ari turned and vomited.
    “A challenge must be issued!” Volund
exclaimed. “That was cold-blooded murder, and the weard should be
tried for it.”
    From his place at the back of the pack of
reds, Robert granted Sven a small smile.
    I learned your lessons, but I was never your
pupil.
    Sven turned away from Robert to face
Volund.
    Nightfire spoke. “Weard Takraf issued the
challenge. Weard Neid took the step forward. The Law says nothing
about waiting for your opponent to be ready. That is a courtesy
developed from centuries of challenges.” He glared at Sven.
    Courtesies are well and
good, but the Law is the part you must follow, Sven thought. He considered if they would change the Law for
this.
    It will do them no good, for I will change
the Law more dramatically.
    “We will be back tomorrow,” Volund said.
    “Then you will lose another of your sons to
me, Dux Feiglin,” Sven replied disinterestedly.
    Ketil shivered, turned to his father and
whispered hurriedly in his ear. Volund slapped his son away. He
made no effort to mask his hatred. “We will be back tomorrow.”
    Volund grabbed Ketil by the arm and stalked
away. Sven waited as the carrion eaters passed him to follow the
dux. Vigfus offered him a shaky grin while sweat poured off his
brow. Arnora nodded respectfully, and Valgird ignored him. Ari’s
head was bent in almost supplication, but Robert met Sven’s eyes
with a knowing smile that sent a chill down his spine.
    Yellow-garbed priests took the bodies of
Solvi and Horik. Sven started toward the citadel, but Katla
approached him in the middle of the walkway. The audience remained
hushed, and even Nightfire seemed on his heels, ready to stop what
appeared to be a challenge.
    “You are trying to boil soup in a wooden
bowl,” she said quietly, stepping in very close as though
congratulating him. “When it burns through, you will have neither
bowl nor soup.”
    Sven leaned back and met her stony green
eyes. He looked away, annoyed. “I refuse to show mercy to
Marrishland’s enemies.”
    “Volund and his reds are not Marrishland’s
enemies — only yours.”
    “Nor are they Marrishland’s allies — only
your master’s.”
    She frowned. “The path you are taking
prevents you from taking any other roads.”
    “Are you now my enemy, too?”
    “A fire does not refuse to bend in the wind.
It bows that it might spread more quickly.”
    “A friend of mine tried that, once. The wind
snuffed him out.”
    “Mother would have said ...”
    Sven’s patience slipped. This was an old
argument. “Mother was enslaved by your precious dux before I was
eight,” he said coldly. “Tyra