Blackgult lifted one hand, regarded it, and then let the newly tamed Dwaer settle into it. "More and more," he said, hefting the Stone, "this seems a toy for younger folk-and the long sleep more and more welcoming." He sighed, looked away, and then back at Embra and Tshamarra. "Yet I know my duty," he told both sorceresses. "The King shall not stand unguarded."
There was a strange, tender look in Embra's eyes as she lifted her hand and touched his cheek with a gentle finger. "Thank you," she whispered. "I truly have a father-a sire finer than others in Aglirta can dream of having."
Her arms went around Blackgult, and she kissed him. Blackgult put his own arms around her as delicately as if she was a slender crystal carving-and they rocked together gently. Tshamarra heard a soft, broken sound that made her frown, and glide closer, and then come to a sudden stop.
Ezendor Blackgult was sobbing. When he could speak again, he murmured, "Oh, my precious one. Live, child, and make Aglirta brighter."
His arms tightened around his daughter, and he added quietly, his voice steady now, "Oh, lass, I am so proud of you!"
Embra started to weep, then. Tshamarra Talasorn watched for a moment, her eyes very bright, smiled… and then quietly withdrew to the door, slipped out, and was gone.
The cage of shimmering force spun silently in the cavern air before them like a knife rolling slowly across a tilting table. Spell-lights winked and glowed like tiny stars as it turned-and Ingryl Ambelter smiled. "Behold," the Spellmaster exulted, "the Sword of Spells."
"Truly finished, this time?" the man standing behind him asked, cradling a softly glowing Dwear-Stone against his armored breast.
The wizard turned to face the baron. " 'Twas done before," he said smoothly, "when I said 'twas, but now I've tested it on a man I happened to know, yonder down by the river, and snuffed out his mind like a candle. Wherefore we know it works."
Ambelter took two restless strides across the chamber, ducked around a dust-covered, impassive Melted, and whirled to face Phelinndar again.
"Now," he gloated, "we can begin-slowly and softly at first, like a boy hunting frogs with a spear. Subtly I'll turn Blackgult to my will."
"Our will," Baron Phelinndar reminded him coldly. "Or had you forgotten me already, friend Ambelter?"
Fury flashed across the Spellmaster's face, just for a moment-though that was quite long enough for even a Baron of Aglirta to recognize it, as he was sure he was meant to-ere the wizard masked it with the smooth reply, "Of course not, Phelinndar. I merely meant that I, as the one of us who knew him best and knows magic better than he does, will be able to subtly guide him more than you could, and so should be the one influencing him."
The Sword of Spells spun a little closer as Ambelter added warningly,
"If Blackgult becomes aware of what we're doing, our danger will be much greater than mere loss of control of a key man of Aglirta."
"Of course," the baron agreed quietly, inclining his head politely and oh-so-subtly lifting the Dwaer as he did so. I must destroy Ingryl Ambelter even sooner than I'd thought, he told himself silently as he turned away, or perish at his hands-leaving Aglirta itself his next victim.
Maelra Bowdragon screamed, but no one heard her.
Again she shrieked, raging in helpless fury inside her own skull. Gadaster grinned savagely all around her embattled awareness, showing her that he'd heard her-as he made her body slay her kin.
Fire flashed back in savage reflection from the burnished copper banners soaring on all sides to the ceiling as she-as Gadaster Mulkyn, in coldly firm control of her body-spell-cloaked her in a semblance of her favorite clinging black gown, and then transported her to the heart of Uncle Dolmur's weaving, in the deep chamber in Arlund she'd only seen once before.
Mists swirled and cleared around the edges of her gaze. Barely had Bowdragon eyes lifted to recognize her, and excited smiles appeared, when the cold, ruthless thing that had once been Spellmaster of Silvertree took control of all the roused Bowdragon magic with a few deft weavings that Maelra could not even follow, let alone understand.
Frantically she tried to scream warnings, tried to wave at those of her blood to flee or guard themselves, but Gadaster's cold, silent laughter cloaked her in his mockery as he made her smile and spread her hands in thanks and welcome instead. Then he sent the whelmed power of Dolmur's weaving down her arms and out of her fingertips, lashing her own kin with death as they sat with their scepters.
The howling storm of magic that dashed the youngest to whirling bones in their seats forced staff after beautiful enchanted staff to explode, in blasts that shook the room and brought more raw power whirling up into Maelra.
Gadaster roared with soundless, triumphant mirth in her head as she watched Multhas Bowdragon struggle to his feet in the raging storm of her hurled magic, disbelief and rage twisting his face as the runes on his robes burst into flames, one after another, their magic spent vainly trying to protect him.
As their eyes met, hatred kindled in his gaze, though she struggled to plead apologies, tried vainly to weep-and stared back at him in anguish, trying to tell him, to make him see she wasn't… wasn't…
Gadaster guided her limbs and lips through swift, cruel castings that blasted her older cousins where they sat. Uncle Multhas stared at their dyings in shock and rage, and then back at her with his own lips snarling a spell that would surely slay her, would tear her apart limb from bloody limb before his eyes.
So this was Gadaster's cruel trick: She'd slay her family and be slain doing so! Maelra tried to show Multhas with her eyes that she had no willing part in all of this, tried to scream her innocence-and managed only to make a sort of feeble mewing as he leveled his hands to guide the magic that would rend her.
Something flashed and winked off to one side, and Gadaster forced her to turn her head and see what it was. Green, winking sparks danced where Uncle Dolmur and Ithim her father had been-somehow, Dolmur had managed to whisk them away!
She exulted, seizing on the only good thing she could in all of this slaughter, as the death-spell cast by Uncle Multhas failed right in front of her eyes, and Gadaster made her send back a deadly magic that would make the flesh melt slowly off his bones.
Uncle Multhas stared in horror at the bare, glistening bones of his fingers… and then watched them fall away, one by one, as the creeping sorcery that was taking his life climbed up both of his arms…
Multhas looked at Maelra in terror, trying to plead for mercy, and saw the same pleading look in her own eyes, directed back at him. The sorcery gnawed at him with frightening speed.
He died bewildered and despairing. Around his crumbling, toppling form enchanted item after enchanted Bowdragon item burst or melted, surrendering flames of magic that swirled up to join Gadaster's ever hungry, ever-growing spellstorm.
Maelra hung at its glowing heart, trying to whimper and lose her gaze in the flames, and so not see what Gadaster did to her loved ones and their power-but the cold, commanding presence in her head prevented her missing a single moment.
The last Maelra saw, ere she threw herself into his laughter and let the chill, laughing darkness overwhelm her, were many tiny plumes of spell-smoke rising from the eye-gems of the stone faces in the floor, as the last spells of her ancestors were drained away…
And then, mercifully, the darkness took her.
"My Maelra," Ithim Bowdragon whispered, staring unseeing into the darkness.