King Castlecloaks spread his hands. "I never wanted this crown, you know. Any of you would be so much better as Aglirta's king-even if you sat there hating it. But you're also the realm's best defenders; no matter what's unfolding, I can never see a better way forward than what you propose. So you'll get no argument from me. I'm right glad to have you here, Old Lion, while the rest of you hunt the Serpents. What now?"
"What must come first, Raulin," Embra said from across the room, "is the breaking of the spells laid on the second Dwaer, so my father can wield it. Then we go hunting… and I believe our first quarry should be the missing Baron Phelinndar, or whoever's taken his Dwaer from him. We must assume the Serpents have the fourth, and I'd prefer that we be able to muster three against their one when they make their usual bid to openly and grandly snatch Aglirta."
Raulin nodded. "You'll break these spells, of course?"
"If we're not actually fighting Serpent-priests and I can spare the time and attention to work freely, it shouldn't take long. Here on Flowfoam, I can call on the Living Castle enchantments to source more power, protecting me as I strip away the trap-spells. Tash and my father can help me."
"Right after we've all eaten," Blackgult said. "We'll find one of the cellars, and leave Craer and Hawkril to entertain-ahem-guard you."
Flaeros Delcamper rolled bis eyes. "You play manyshields, I hope?"
"Not unless you're wagering," Craer said brightly, "and I don't see enough wealth lying about this room to wager with. You wouldn't happen to have any outlying castles filled with beautiful maidens, would you?"
"Lord Delnbone," Tshamarra said softly, and the procurer winced.
"Then again," he continued swiftly, "we could tell you airy tales of our exploits to pass the time and inspire any bards present to compose ballads to our gallantry, and-"
"Annoy all of you thoroughly," the Lady Talasorn added, causing King Castlecloaks to struggle on the edge of exploding mirth again.
Flaeros sighed and began to arrange pieces on the manyshields board. "While you begin the feast," he said, "Raulin and I will try to get in a game or two before you start ruining our play with your no doubt helpful suggestions."
"Lord Delcamper," Craer said slyly, "might I remind you that you describe the King of Aglirta, in a room full of his subjects? More formal tides would be advisable."
Several of the guards snickered.
Tshamarra sighed. "You see? 'Tis starting already."
19
True Faces Revealed
T he younger Bowdragons stared around in awe at the copper-sheathed walls reaching so high overhead, and at the polished marble floor studded with countless curving runes and intricately graven inset floorstones. Even those who tried to pretend they weren't impressed kept looking down at the carved stone faces of their long-dead ancestors set here and there into the floor, each effigy marking a vertical burial beneath. The glittering eye-gems of those faces seemed to stare accusingly up at the living Bowdragons. The youngest, though they'd all taken the chairs he'd indicated for each one, leaned toward each other in their seats, as if seeking to huddle together. The air was rich with magic, drifting and coiling… and waiting.
It was a room in Arlund most of them had never seen before. Years had passed since a Bowdragon had perished and left behind a body that could be buried here.
Dolmur had not bothered to share his reasons for bringing them down to this deep and hidden place. Buried magics and enchantments yet lingering around Bowdragon bones could augment the sorcery of the living-and if things were to go bad this day, he wanted his family to face what befell together, not weep at more vanished and lost kin.
He looked up from his chair now, less at his two brothers than at their offspring; so many young and frightened faces. Armed with magic and ready for war.
Yet not ready. These who were left were not the bold and warlike.
They'd never be ruthless sorcerer-lords or wandering archmages of power. The Bowdragons were doomed already.
" 'Tis time," he said calmly. Well, if 'twas in his power, 'twould be a more dignified doom than most. "Remember, obey my commands absolutely. We'll use our magic to farscry Aglirta and learn who slew Maelra, not repeat the mistakes of our departed ones, and blunder into that land lashing out at every ruler and mage we see."
They stared at him in silence, waiting… nervously rather than eagerly, looking more like warriors being sent into battle than mages about to taste the power of a true meld for the first time.
"All rings and coronets on? If not, don them now."
He waited through the resulting brief flurry of movement, noted that everyone seemed to be seated comfortably, and lifted his hand.
In answer to a spell he'd cast and left waiting more than twenty summers earlier, certain floorstones flipped back, and staves of power slowly rose into view beside each chair.
More than one Bowdragon gasped at their beauty and obvious power. Within a humming halo of blue flame, each metal shaft stood upright with no hand to hold it, entwined about with intricately sculpted arms and flourishes of metal that bore enchanted gems and glowing runes. Each was topped with an open claw, a long-nailed hand that looked human, and partly was.
"Each of you now take up your scepter," he said quietly, "and hold it out until the hand atop your staff can grasp it. Let the hand do so."
Some of the scepters were extended with reluctance, a few even with trembling fear-but extended they all were, after a few moments that seemed an eternity. The seated Bowdragons then stared at him and each other in mounting wonder as the thrumming power reached into and through them, and they started to share thoughts and sight…
Someone gasped, and Dolmur said swiftly and firmly, "The meld begins. Sit still, all of you, from now on. It can be death to arise suddenly, at the wrong time, whatever happens. Remember: Obey me absolutely, or you may doom not only yourself but all the rest of us."
Ithim and Multhas had done this before, but the shuddering power was making the younglings visibly excited, eager at last, as Dolmur swiftly wove the spell that called on the power of the staves to spy from afar. "First," he announced, his voice now echoing in their minds as well as in their ears, "we'll gaze upon Flowfoam, observing any wizards there who serve the King of Aglirta…"
The room shook, hurling Blackgult and Tshamarra into the air like rag dolls, and a web of crackling lightnings burst out of the untamed Dwaer as it shot from its cage and skidded along the floor, rending flagstones in its wake.
Eyes swimming, Embra used her Dwaer to drink in those lightnings- and slowly, like fisherfolk dragging laden nets out of the Silverflow, she managed to drag the second, enspelled-against-her Stone closer.
When it hung in front of her, spitting angry sparks and smokes, she drew in a deep breath, cloaked herself in all the power she could summon, and-clasped her hand around it, whilst still firmly gripping her own Stone.
And thereby learned what true pain was.
Tshamarra, lying dazed and winded on shattered and jumbled rock that had been a smooth, unbroken floor not long ago, thought she'd never heard such a loud and powerful howl of agony, not even from clawbears of the peaks burned alive by Talasorn spells.
Raking tangled hair out of her eyes, she stared at Embra-who stood rigid in Dwaer-glow, arms outstretched and with a warring Stone in either one.
The eyes of the Lady of Jewels were like raging flames, and lightnings seemed to be tumbling from her mouth. Tumbling… and slowly dying away.
Embra swayed, uttered a weak but very unladylike curse, and then stumbled forward, looking wearily down the room to Blackgult. "Please come and get this, Father," she gasped, "for I fear I'll fall on my face if I have to walk all the way to where you stand. I… gods, I still hurt. Dwaer-healed, yes, but my body doesn't quite believe it yet."