“Don’t use false words with me,” he bellowed.

His rage had reached a new level, a level that made even his wife nervous. Their houseguest backed into a corner, never a good place for a guest to be in. His arms raised, the guest screwed up his courage, or rather, his foolishness, and retorted.

“You have no power here. The ancient laws forbid magic in the dwellings of the Mharc.”

This attempted thrust was not only parried, but bested. Raising himself to his full height, Anamahr threw out his hands. His eyes rolled back, hiding the rage-filled green eyes, and revealing the full, red orbs. His voice changed, he roared, “Indomini habada fahl!”

The houseguest screamed as bluish-white lighting exploded from Anamahr’s fingers, shooting towards him. The screams were a poor defense, for, when they struck the guest, he was twisted into a silent, mangled corpse. What little remained of him smoked through his clothes that lay upon the floor.

Anamahr’s wife, Mylnohr, slowly rose. “Anamahr. His words did not hurt me as you may have thought.”

Turning, his green eyes returned, Anamahr looked lovingly at his wife. “Perhaps not, my love. But no one insults my Queen.”


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