Seeking, and succeeding. With a thrill that left her gasping, Maelra Bowdragon watched that great arc of power split apart, riven asunder to thrust streamers and sprays of energy in all directions. A backlash slammed into the flow around her, thrusting her up above the chaos of wrestling energies. Such power\ Such… By the Three, to be able to ride this, across all Darsar like a roving dragon, slaying wherever it glanced…
That other Dwaer-flow was shattered entirely now, curling in all directions with a mighty grandeur, turning, turning…
A scrying-whorl burst apart, shedding spinning arms with a fury that rocked the cavern where a lone figure with a surprised and melting face crouched over it. Even as the whorl-blast plucked him from his feet and hurled him back, the Dwaer in his hand spat forth a flood of sparks that became stabbing spears of lightning-bright bolts that raced all over the grotto, glancing back amid showers of shattered stone, to stab through him.
With a scream that was more rage than pain, the ever-shifting figure sprang into the air, using the Dwaer that was searing his hands as a flying steed to take him up above the lancing death. Smokes trailed from his blackened body as he flew, snarling as he fought down his agonies to heal himself and master the roiling energies of his disrupted Stone once more. Whirling across the cavern he came, fighting, fighting… and prevailing.
Whoever had struck at him-and 'twas not the Silvertree lass, but some other-would taste the fire of a Dwaer wielded by someone who knew how to use it! The Koglaur threw back a head that sported only a mouth to gasp away pain and draw in deep gulps of the lightning-reeking air, and came to a halt, floating in the air high above the cavern. Smoke curled in the light of the last few lightning bolts, as he sucked them back into the Dwaer in his hands until it quivered, as red as blood and as angry as he was.
He turned his eyeless head as if he could see-or smell, in the sharp smoke-stink-his foe. Turned, stiffened, and acquired a grim smile. Slowly he lifted the Dwaer in both hands.
There were two, both with hands on the same Stone. Well, 'twas time to let them burn! Right about-now!
The world flashed and splashed, and Maelra Bowdragon was suddenly back in the Spellmaster's lair, its flagstone floor rocking under her boots as wild lightnings and showers of sparks burst from the Dwaer in Ambelter's hands.
Yes, the Spellmaster's alone-the armored form of Baron Phelinndar hurtled away from that outburst of wild magic with a raw cry of terror and pain.
The very air crackled and flowed, forcing its shuddering through Maelra's body-and suddenly she wanted nothing so much in life as to be far, far away from it, somewhere safe from this dark cave where magic that could blast castles apart could at any moment veer a trifle and make scattered ashes of Maelra Bowdragon…
She whirled around, to flee she knew not where, and from behind her came the roar she'd feared and expected: the sound of Ingryl Ambelter's voice raised in anger. Wordless, wet and bubbling anger, as if he was spewing forth soup or wine and trying to snarl at her around it-a sound that lent her even more fear and swiftness.
Panting, she raced three steps before something terribly cold caught her wrist and shocked her into instant immobility, frozen in mid-run with one leg raised high and the other trailing behind.
She'd have toppled but for that icy grip-the one that swung her around to face the Spellmaster's angry face. "Don't you ever darel" he spat-the light of unchecked magic spilling out of his eyes like bright smoke, hiding them from her, and the same roiling radiances spurting from his mouth like liquid flame.
Those bright energies washed over her frozen face, and with a helpless foreboding Maelra felt something more than the tingling of wild Dwaer-power that had already stirred her loins and set every hair on her body standing out like so many whisper-thin spikes. A horrible creeping sensation rose within her, an invading something that stole right through her, alive and aware, looking at her with cold amusement from within as it came…
Unable even to scream, Maelra reeled inwardly, sick and terrified. So this is what it feels like to be doomed.
Ambelter must be using his Dwaer to force himself on her, to lurk in her body and spy on her from within… Well, so much for her fears that either Ambelter or Phelinndar might rape her; would any physical violation be much more than a dull irritation after this?
She stared into Ingryl Ambelter's gloating face, still unable to see anything but flames of wild magic where his eyes and mouth should be-and as she watched, his horrific glee melted into the likeness of a grinning skull, two tiny stars of cold flame twinkling in its eyesockets as it grinned at her.
Those eyes that were no longer eyes looked at her, and Maelra felt the amused and fell regard of an old and wise intellect. Then one eye distinctly winked, and the leering skull melted away and was gone, leaving the angry face of the Spellmaster of Aglirta behind it, his dark eyes snapping as he shouted, "Obey me, stupid wench! On your knees, and be glad I don't just break your pretty but useless little neck!"
And Maelra Bowdragon went to her knees, lifting her hands in pleading supplication as if Ambelter was an altar of the Three Gods. Her reverence turned his shouting to glee in an instant, though his eyes still danced with anger, and he recovered himself as the lightnings faded and the room returned to normal.
Then he waved a hand, and the armored, silent men who'd stood around the walls like statues took a pace forward in unison. Maelra stared at them wildly, wondering what new horror was to be visited upon her. She'd thought they were statues. Their eyes stared back blankly, out effaces whose flesh was twisted and drooping, like melted and then rehardened wax.
15
Lessons Grimly Learned
Embra Silvertree shook her head to clear it, the Dwaer round and hard and familiar in her hands, the only reassuring thing in all this blood and battle.
It had been two deserted hamlets and the ashes of one burned cart with gnawed-to-the-bone horses still harnessed to it later when they'd stopped to rest. She'd barely reached some handy bushes for privacy when the attack came.
It was sudden and almost blinding, like bright ruby fire inside her head. She gasped, staggered, and then… somehow… mastered her Stone once more, feeling as winded and bruised as if someone had punched and kicked her repeatedly.
Emerging from the bushes in a sort of weary daze, she watched her fellow overdukes standing by their horses-looking at her expectantly.
'Three Above, when did I become Lord Master of this motley band of heroes?
The Three forebore to answer that silent question, and Embra smiled grimly and told her companions, "Glarondar. As fast as we can. If 'tis at the other end of this road, as it always has been, someone there has a Dwaer, and is using it right now. Probably the same someone who just tried to wrest control of this Stone away from me. And before you ask: I'm fine."
"A Serpent!" Craer snarled, leaping into his saddle.
"Ambelter!" Hawkril growled, swinging himself up onto his horse.
"Phelinndar!" Tshamarra insisted, clawing her way up onto her own mount.
"Anyone in Aglirta," Blackgult suggested with a quiet smile, his battered
armor clanging as he leaned down a hand from horseback to assist his daughter.
The moment Embra was mounted, Craer spurred his horse into a gallop.
"Ho, there!" Hawkril called. "How fast d'you want to stick your fool head into the next Serpent ambush, hey?"
"Might as well be swift, so Embra can slay them the faster and we can get on," Craer called over his shoulder.