His eyes narrowed. A splendid wench, to be sure, tallish and yet supple, but-so much blood in her? And not a single hair, of all that long mane of hers, left behind?
A ruse, or so he must assume. Knowing his old master, it could very well be.
In a sudden pale, shaking fury, Ingryl slammed a spell into his Dwaer that would sever his scrying and slap down anyone trying to ride the spell-link to him.
Sweating, he sagged back into his chair and whispered, "Horns and kisses of the Great Lady, sap-spitde of the Forefather… bebolten dung-slung talons of the Dark One!" Staring unseeing at the Melted who stood in what was left of the armor he'd stripped from them, looking unseeingly back at him, the Spellmaster went on swearing.
It lasted a long time, but the Baron Phelinndar waited until Ambelter's curses died away into half-heard hisses before he said grimly, "I told you, wizard, that this was a fool's plan from the start. Your towering arrogance always gets us-"
"Be still or be dead!" Ingryl Ambelter snarled, plucking up the Dwaer as if to hurl it into Phelinndar's face.
Then he halted, and the two men sat in the cavern staring across a table at each other in hard-breathing silence, rage and fear warring in both their gazes.
The Dwaer-glow faded and left them looking at the beautiful lawns and gardens of Flowfoam-and two low, grassy mounds right in front of them.
Hawkril and Blackgult looked down at the graves of Sarasper and Brightpennant, but Embra's head snapped around to give Craer a questioning look. The procurer peeked into the saddlebag clutched in his hands, and announced, "Still there. The Dwaer looks whole-and dark."
Embra nodded, and said merely, "The cells."
They hurried into the palace, the grim glow of the Stone Embra held all the warrant they needed to make guards hasten aside at their approach, and descended into darkness.
Both swords and the Dwaer were held ready as a certain door scraped open-but in the damp, dark chamber beyond, a certain sorcerer still hung chained to the wall.
"How much have you seen?" Embra asked softly, without greeting. "Enough to keep your sanity, I trust?"
The Master of Bats laughed bitterly. "Many say I lost that years ago-just as you did, little darling of jewels, under your father's hands and his mages' teachings. His kisses were sweet, I trust?"
Embra's lips tightened. "You heard my first question?"
The sorcerer gave her a glare. "Of course I've been watching," he said mockingly. "What else is there for me to do? All folk of Aglirta should see their overdukes at work, and marvel thereby. I thank you for the entertainment."
Craer bowed with full court flourishes, but Blackgult said grimly, "Make us tire overmuch of bandying words with you, Huldaerus, and we'll simply slay you. Aglirta already has more unscrupulous mages than it can hold; we don't need you."
"Ah, but you do," the chained wizard replied. "Who else has the leisure"-he rattled his chains-"to watch what's happening, and see all? Have you looked upstairs yet?"
"Why?" Embra's voice was sharp. "What's afoot in the palace?"
"Faceless and Serpents everywhere-even with your pet imported bard to harp him on his way, your boy king can scarce avoid treading on his foes as they glide and slither down every passage. You really should be more attentive to your duties, and spend less time gallivanting about the Vale. Is it not written that 'The Serpent has many heads, and shall arise again and again'?"
"Old books say much," Embra replied, "and most of it is witless fancy-as even a casual reader can tell when so many works contradict themselves from page to page, let alone standing against the tellings in other books. Is it not also written, Huldaerus, that there's no Serpent at all, but merely men who seize the mantle for their own purposes?"
The Master of Bats grinned. "Ah, well now. You've come to waste my time in an interesting manner at last."
"Think not," Tshamarra Talasorn said suddenly, "to prolong our stay or inflate your own importance, mage, by wasting our time overmuch. I know spells that can make your imprisonment an eternity of itching, or gut-sickness, or stabbing pains, or make you burn so keenly that you plead with your jailer to douse you in icy water, or slay you and so end your torment."
The chained wizard regarded her thoughtfully, and she answered his unspoken question. "No, I'm not Vale-born, nor given to cruelty. Yet for mages who've offered me any menace-as you did to these my friends, in past strivings in ruined Indraevyn-I cleave to the sensible advice of my family: Destroy, as soon and as harshly as possible. Those who work magic must be rightful and useful in their deeds, or others will cleanse all lands of their presence. By working tyranny with your sorcery, you endanger us all."
"So all must be burned away save you, maid of steel?" the Master of Bats asked quietly. "Which of us will then be the tyrant?"
"Bandy not words with me," the Lady Talasorn replied calmly, "but speak plainly and to the point. Darsar needs all the skilled mages it can rear-I'd rather gain you as a friend, sir, when this is all over, than reap your bones now."
The chained man looked at her. "Well, then, I'll lay aside my anger-on one condition: That you tell a few tavernmasters in Sirlptar, or wandering traders from other lands, if any still be in the Vale with this plague rampant, that I'm chained down here… so that if you're all slain in the game of Serpent and Dragon, someone will know where I am, and come looking."
"That, Lord," Craer said, "has already been done. As Lord Blackgult told you when we put you here, we've almost as little liking for this as you do. The King sent word of your disposition with his envoys to the Delcampers, and his messengers to the court trade agents in Sirlptar, at our suggestion. These folk were in turn instructed to inform certain local sages."
"Truth," Embra confirmed, the Dwaer flaring in her hand.
The chained wizard gazed at it longingly for a moment, then sighed and said, "So speak plainly, and I'll do so too. You've come to me because you caught sight of my bats, and wanted to be sure I was still imprisoned. Be assured that I am: This is no spellspun shell or seeming chained here before you, but myself. I've only recently managed to send forth my little spies-your man Thannaso is most attentive-but I know where to look and whose shoulder to peer over, and have seen much. Let me say just this: Many of those old prophecies seem to be coming true. In the words of the great Haundrakh, 'Fate at last catches up.' "
"The Lady Embra and I have both read all of those writings," Blackgult said calmly, holding up a hand to silence his fellow overdukes, "but dismissed their various fates as impossible. In the history unfolding before us, Aglirta has broken from them with the death of the Serpent-and he is dead, for we were there, and felt, and saw."
The Master of Bats bowed his head. "I don't claim otherwise, but the Lady was right in pointing out old Aumthur's contention that many men in turn wear the mantle. Like most mages, I thirst most for finding new spells when I seize old tomes-but once protected by the proper magics, I take care to read all, and I've come to believe Maumandiar's view: The Serpent and the Dragon aren't one person each, but rather creatures of the Arrada."
"A moment," Hawkril rumbled. "We came here to seek plain answers, and now snarling's abated and we speak politely-yet I hear nothing plain. I'm no mage, and scarce care who Aumthur and Maumanthar were, if they're safely dead, but what is the Arrada?"