Despite their brisk pace, both young men yawned more than once on their walk through the passages. Neither they nor their guards glanced into every dark alcove they passed.
Most of those spaces were empty, but in one of them the eldest Overduke of Aglirta stood with his hand solemnly clapped over the mouth of a buxom chambermaid-to still the gasps she'd made as his other hand wandered beneath the unlaced, hip-high sideslit of her gown.
When the guards were past, she bit one of his fingers gently, and purred, "Ah, but 'tis good to have you back to your old self, Griffon. Now play fair; let me do a little… exploring with my fingers, too."
"Gladly," Blackgult muttered. "The battlements, Indalue, or somewhere warmer?"
"Your bedchamber, I think," she whispered, before running her tongue along the edge of his hand. "You thrust me back against far too much cold, hard stone last time. Besides, I've thought of a new use for bedposts."
"O-ho? If 'tis truly new, 'twill be worth seeing," the man once considered the most handsome-and lusty-lord in all the kingdom murmured, as he glanced out of the alcove.
The passage was deserted, and he let Indalue lead him out into it toward his bedchamber. They went quickly, hand-in-hand, chuckling like younglings.
Craer came awake suddenly. Something was wrong. Tshamarra was writhing beside him, moaning in dismay and pain. Before he could raise a hand she rolled over atop him. She was slick with sweat, her smooth skin drenched.
"Tash! I'm here! What's wrong?"
The Lady Talasorn sobbed and clawed at him. "Craer! Help me!" "I'm here, Lady! What is it? What were you dreaming?" The sorceress shook her head wildly. "No dream… I never dream unless spells lie on my mind… and I've none left." She convulsed in his arms, so violently that he was almost thrust from the bed.
"I'm burning up," she gasped. "Flames, flames everywhere!" Craer held her, trying to comfort her by murmuring empty reassurances and stroking her shoulder, but she swore at him, trembling and panting, and turned in his arms to hiss furiously, "I'm not dream-addled, my lord! I'm… I'm…"
"Pleased to see me," Craer suggested, kissing her. She tried to protest, tried to pull her head away, but his hands were busy, and in a few moments she was pulling at him hungrily. Craer chuckled inwardly; the old distractions were the sure ones.
And then, as his lady arched atop him in their shared passion, his inward laughter chilled in an instant. Above him in the darkness, a tiny wisp of flame had darted out of her gasping mouth.
"So what," Blackgult asked, as Indalue bit his shoulder again, "is all this about bedposts? Hey?"
"Not… yet…" the woman beneath him growled-and then he felt a sudden burning across his back. It came again, and he heard the whirring that brought it this time. The Golden Griffon thrust out a hand in the darkness, caught the knotted rope-cord she wore as a belt around his palm, and jerked, pulling her into a tangled ball ere he broke her grip on it.
"So," he murmured triumphantly, "we flog our horse onward, do we?"
He sat up and gently flicked the tasseled end of her cord down across the breasts he could not quite see. Indalue hissed and arched under him.
"Yes," she whispered, " 'tis almost time for the bedposts." The cord fell again, and she twisted and bit at his knee. He brought the cord down harder, and she growled, "Yesss!"
And then she screamed.
"What-?" Blackgult asked sharply, hearing the horror in her cry.
"Move, Lord!" she cried, thrusting upward so furiously she almost bucked him off the bed. "Behind you!"
Blackgult threw himself forward into the darkness, over the side of the bed and into a scrabbling, skidding landing on the floor. His sword…
Indalue screamed again as his hands found the hilt they were seeking. He whirled around on his knees, and saw-a glowing, grinning skull bending over the bed, framed by long hair. It was reaching for the pillows with hands that glowed-slender, girlish hands-and under them was… his Dwaer!
Indalue clawed at those hands, and the skull-headed intruder hissed and dug fingers like talons into the chambermaid's face.
Into, Blackgult saw as he scrambled up faster than anything he'd ever done in his life, and whipped back his sword to throw-for living flesh shrank away like mist before sun where those glowing talons touched, and Indalue's shrieks rose into raw, frantic terror.
Blackgult threw his blade right into that skull-face-what mattered it if he hit Indalue as it whirled? She was doomed already-and sprang for the pillows.
He had to get the Stone-and he did, clawing single-mindedly for it in the darkness, and so never seeing his blade strike something unseen around the head and shoulders of the intruder and go clanging away into the shadows, trailing sparks… or clumps and tresses of hair fall from the bare, lolling skull that had been Indalue's lovely head moments before, as his bedmate sagged back in death.
The skull-faced sorceress let go of the corpse and reached for Blackgult, but he bent his will furiously upon the Dwaer-and sent forth a wall of green flame that thrust the intruder back across the room in an ungainly stagger, carrying footstools and sidetables with it in a crashing fury.
A tapestry on the far wall caught alight and blazed up, green flames racing, and by its light Blackgult saw his newfound foe's hands raised to shape intricate gestures of spellweaving-a magic he did not know-so he used the Dwaer to snatch a great mirror off the wall and smash it, edge-on, into those hands.
Its shattering was deafening, and crowned by a scream of pain and dismay that must have come from the skull-face. Blackgult tried to lash it with Dwaer-force again, but a yellow haze was creeping around the edges of his vision now, and he suddenly found it hard to keep his feet.
He wrestled with the Stone, seeking to stand strong, but a spell came across the room and slammed into him, shattering the bedposts like kindling-and smashing open the doors of the room behind him.
There was a moment of whirling yellow haze and red fury, and Blackgult found himself lying numbly near the wall, with more yellow mists rising before his eyes. The Dwaer was still in his hands-he thought-and he could hear shouts and the poundings of running feet. Somehow he snarled his way to his feet again and padded wildly forward, shaking his head to try to clear it. Where was the skull-sorceress? Where…?
Purple fire blinded him. Cold laughter came from behind it, as pain burst into Blackgult's side and flung him against a wall as if he was a toy, the Stone tumbling away, his fingers smashed like twigs…
And then everything was yellow, and he forgot all pain as rage made him strong. He saw the grinning skull across the room, and went for it…
Hawkril thrust an evening cloak around Embra's shoulders as he stamped his feet into his boots. Drawing his warsword, he threw down the scabbard and ran.
Dwaer cradled in her hands and the cloak slipping down her bare shoulders, Embra sprinted after him. Gods, but Hawk was fast! Those boots were all he wore, and he dodged and ran along the passages like a furious wind.
Somewhere ahead of them the palace shook again, and there was a brief, bright flash of light. A spell-duel was going on in one of the bedchambers! That almost had to mean at least one of the Four was involved.
A deeper, booming blast nearly hurled Embra off her feet as she skidded around a corner, and was followed by a smaller, splintering crash.
They were very close now, and through all the tumult of spell-blasts and things breaking and the shouts of guards she could hear the slobbering snarls of a marauding beast. Then she heard Hawkril's voice raised in a great bellow: "'Away! Away, monster, or die!"