Page 47 of The Sundered Blade

With a sudden gasp, she reached for her throat, then abruptly vanished, only to reappear in the form of a silver-furred storm cat. The creature was the size of a small horse, with enormous paws, tufted ears, and glimmering fangs that snapped together only a hairsbreadth from Vaniell’s arm. Apparently, shifting shape could break the choking part of the enchantment…

Vaniell leaped backwards and reached for a second marble, just as the storm cat lurched forward and crashed to the floor mid-leap, pawing at its face and snarling.

Vaniell took another step back, and the cat’s head whipped towards him. The marble had worked—Rethwyn still could not see, but she could smell him, and the moment she regained her feet she began to stalk forward on velvet paws.

He didn’t want to hurt her, but neither did he want to be eaten.

Time to make a liar out of himself.

Vaniell turned and raced down the corridor, with the blind storm cat careening along in pursuit. He needed some form of obstacle…

The audience chamber was close by, so muttering a quick prayer that something would work, Vaniell laid a hand on a lintel as he passed under it, leaving just a tiny thread of enchantment behind.

Then he ran on, and as the storm cat charged down the corridor in his wake, she ran face first into an invisible barrier and let out a yowl of pain and frustration.

Hah. Success!

The barrier would have been broken by the force of the collision, but it delayed Rethwyn by just enough that Vaniell was able to reach the audience chamber and slip in through a side door. He scanned the walls, cataloging the curtains and the chairs, then yanked down a length of the silken rope that held the curtains in place…

Only then did he notice the people—Danric, Evaraine, Lythienne, and Dechlan, who stood beside his diminutive blonde wife, both of them dressed for travel. All of them watching Vaniell with wide-eyed expressions of confusion and suspicion.

“I…” Vaniell grinned disarmingly and searched for an explanation, but he hesitated just an instant too long, and the storm cat hit him from behind, sending him sprawling across the stone floor with the rope in his hand.

Rope was not the easiest thing to enchant, but with the very real possibility of death lurking over his shoulder, his magic became a razor-sharp blade of focus and intent. A quick whisper of power and the pathways spread in a glowing flood, spiraling around the silken threads until they exploded into grasping, crawling tendrils. The moment the cat was close enough, Vaniell flung the rope in her direction, rolled away, and was instantly rewarded by a snarl of rage.

The rope’s individual strands were rapidly expanding into a cocoon, attempting to wrap around the cat’s body, but she was shredding them with her claws nearly as fast as they multiplied.

He was going to need something else.

“Rethwyn vir Lythienne!”

The voice cracked with command. The cat crouched in place, still growling, but at least no longer advancing with murderous intent.

Lythienne, former Queen Regent of Dunmaren and now an outraged mother, loomed over Vaniell where he lay on the floor. Her eyes glowed with fury, and Vaniell winced, wondering whether he’d done irreparable damage to future relations between Garimore and Dunmaren.

But the night elf’s glowing gaze was not directed at him. “Return from your hunting form and face me,” Lythienne snarled at her daughter.

As quickly as it had appeared, the storm cat vanished, once more becoming a tall, lithe, night elf warrior, nearly speechless with frustration and chagrin. Also, apparently, with her sight restored by the shift.

“Do not ask me to step aside, Mother! I only intended to frighten him, but he attacked first.”

“I am not asking,” Lythienne snapped, “I am commanding. You will cease this at once, before you bring unspeakable shame to our family. Are you a child? To be toying with the human’s fear as if it is a game?”

“This human deserved it,” Rethwyn muttered. “It ishewho treated Kyrion as a thing rather than a person. Why should I not take the opportunity to teach him a lesson?”

“And in the process,” her mother retorted, “you underestimated him. Have you learned no wisdom? An enchanter is no one to be trifled with. Had you pressed him, he would have been forced to resort to far more deadly means, and I would not have been able to defend your actions.”

Slowly and carefully, Vaniell pushed to his feet, straightened his clothing, and ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair.

Perhaps she’d genuinely only meant to scare him, but for a moment, he had been convinced she was in deadly earnest.

“I willnotapologize,” Wyn grated out through clenched teeth. “Not this time. Not to him. Even if Kyrion has forgiven him, I certainly never will.”

Vaniell wished he could say that he understood, but she would not welcome his understanding. Nor was it his place to intervene.

“If you will not apologize,” Lythienne said sternly, “you will swear a debt of service.”

“No!” Wyn’s eyes blazed up again. “I would rather…”

---