Maestro Read Online Free Page A

forcefully. Yvonnel crossed her arms in front of her and waved them out wide. Again the hammer appeared, this time aiming for Yvonnel’s face. But as the spectral image descended, it hit a shimmering field the girl had enacted. As it plunged through, it came out instead in front of Quenthel, and she yelped as her own hard strike smacked her in the face and sent her stumbling backward to the ground.
    Not even bothering to stand back up, Minolin Fey scrambled away, making curious mewling noises all the way to the door. She slammed that door behind her as she exited.
    “You dare!” Quenthel cried, unsteadily trying to stand, blood streaming from one nostril and from the side of her face.
    “I ‘dare’? You think that a simple trick?”
    “Some dimensional warp of space,” Quenthel spat, blood coming with every word.
    “Against the likes of a spectral hammer?” said the girl incredulously. “Do you not understand who I am?”
    Quenthel found solid footing then and hoisted her snake-headed scourge, replacing the hammer on her belt. She advanced, growling with every step.
    Yvonnel put her hands on her hips, as petulantly as she could manage, and shook her head and sighed.
    “Really, must it come to this?”
    “You are an abomination!” Quenthel retorted.
    “You have so quickly forgotten the Festival of the Founding in the House of Byrtyn Fey?”
    That stopped the advance of the matron mother, and she stood there, suddenly unsure, her eyes darting about.
    “Expecting a yochlol?” Yvonnel teased.
    They both knew the truth now.
    “Did you not tell your brother to marry Minolin Fey so that I would be born in and of House Baenre?” Yvonnel asked. “You even named me, did you not? Oh yes, except that you were instructed as such. Yvonnel the Eternal, born once more to be your successor, yes?”
    Now Quenthel was herself looking for an escape.
    “And here I am.”
    “You are a child!”
    “I am, in body.”
    “No!” Quenthel demanded. “Not now, not yet! You are not old enough—even with your magical physical advancement, you are but half the age to begin your training in Arach-Tinilith.”
    “My training ?” Yvonnel asked with an incredulous laugh. “Dear Quenthel, who in this city will train me?”
    “Hubris!” Quenthel said, but there was not much conviction in the roar.
    “Yngoth is the wisest of the snakes on your scourge,” said Yvonnel. “Go ahead, High Priestess, ask her.”
    “High Priestess?” Quenthel yelled in protest. She came forward, closing the ground, lifting the scourge for a strike.
    “High Priestess Quenthel,” came the response, but not from Yvonnel. It came from one of the heads on her scourge, from Yngoth.
    Quenthel looked at the snake in shock.
    “She believes herself matron mother,” Yvonnel said to the snake. “Tell her the truth.”
    Yngoth bit Quenthel in the face.
    She staggered back, trying to sort it out, but not quickly enough understanding the terrible danger to her. Yngoth bit her again, and by that time, the other four scourge heads had also sunk their fangs into Quenthel’s tender flesh. Fires of poison burned through her. She should have thrown the scourge aside, of course, but she couldn’t think quickly enough in that terrible moment.
    The snakes struck again, and again after that, each bite filling her with enough venom to kill a score of drow.
    She stumbled, but still she held the scourge, and still the snakes bit at her.
    She fell backward, the weapon falling beside her, and as she writhed in fiery agony, the snakes bit her again.
    And again.
    She had never known such pain. She cried out for death to take her.
    And there was the child, Yvonnel, she saw through bleary, bloody eyes, standing over her, looking down at her, smiling down at her.
    Darkness closed in from the corners of her vision. She did see Yvonnel reaching down; she did feel Yvonnel grasping the gathering of her gown. She felt light as darkness engulfed her. She was light, she believed,