She shook her head. "Don't any of you ever try that. The pain…"
The Golden Griffon chuckled. "I knew you'd do it, lass. Did I not set out to sire someone fit to rule the realm, all those years ago? A sorceress to shame all others?"
"You sound like Craer," the Lady Talasorn muttered, as she hastened to Embra.
The Lady Silvertree sighed. "Ah, to have been born a man," she said lightly, "and so always know exactly where my feet and all Darsar beneath them are headed, even before I stop to think."
Tshamarra drew back as Embra dropped the newly tamed Stone into her father's hands, threw up her hands, and gasped, "Lady, how can you speak so of the Lord Blackgult, your own father?" There was a twinkle in her dark eyes, and the corners of her lips twitched.
Twitched, then curved, and then burst into merry laughter. Embra joined in as they embraced in giddy mirth, rocking briefly breast-to-breast as men often did. By unspoken agreement, however, as their laughter died into chuckles and they drew apart again, they refrained from slapping each other heartily on backs and shoulders, and snarling praises back and forth like tossed fruit.
That was about the time they noticed that Ezendor Blackgult was standing as still as a statue, staring down silently at the Stone in his hands-and that it was twinkling gently, casting up tiny moving reflections onto his motionless face.
"Father?" Embra asked hesitantly.
"Lord Blackgult," Tshamarra snapped, "attend us!"
The Golden Griffon's head slowly lifted, and he blinked. "Aye, I hear and heed." He shook himself, and then smiled. "Gods, girl, but I was scared you'd been blown or burned apart right in front of me."
He shook himself again, and was suddenly the brisk, sardonic Blackgult of old. "So, shall we raid the kitchens and pantries properly this time, and get you and your men a good night's sleep or tumble, as you prefer, before you set out down the Vale again? Hey?"
The Lady Talasorn spread her hands. "Seeing as we have privacy here, why don't you two use the Stones together now, to seek the other two Dwaer?"
Embra and Blackgult exchanged glances, lifted eyebrows… then nodded. They went to opposite ends of the chamber, and Embra waved Tshamarra behind her so the Talasorn sorceress wasn't standing between the two Dwaerindim.
The air between the Stones started to sing almost immediately, and that singing somehow carried Embra's murmur clearly to the ears of the others. "Feel it, Father? Power's taken thus, and received thus. Try… yes, 'tis easy, see? Now let me do the scrying, and feed me power when I call for it… yes, yes, that's it… now! Give me power now!"
The singing rose into a whistling snarl and then climbed into a shriek that made Tshamarra wince and cover her ears-as Embra suddenly cried: "More!"
A breath later, Blackgult called, "There! Over there! I saw…"
The singing Died, and Embra nodded. "Yes, definitely another Dwaer. Close by the river, but underground-just underground, perhaps in a cellar. There was other magic around it, something stirring…"
Blackgult said nothing, and it was a moment before Tshamarra glanced in his direction and saw him standing hunched over, trembling. She'd seen a man stand like that years ago, after a sword had thrust through his guts and then been snatched out again. He'd stood swaying thus for some time, feeling his death filling him, ere toppling…
"Embra," she said quietly, laying a hand on her friend's arm. The Lady of Jewels followed her gaze, and watched her father slowly straighten and then look down at the Stone in his hand with a certain surprise. She exchanged glances with Tshamarra, and then strode down the room, the Lady Talasorn right behind her.
"Father," she asked firmly, taking Blackgult's chin in her hand and staring into his eyes, "how fare you?"
He gave her the wry, crooked smile he used so often these days. "As well as can be expected after a defeat that cost me my army, friends, wealth, and barony, and left me hated by thousands of folk who still seek my death; a short but harried career of outlawry; aging right out of the days when women clawed each other to share my bed; the cares of regency; personally battling the Great Serpent a time or two… and being mind-blasted. I get along."
Embra gave him a frown. "Your list is not unfamiliar-but tell me more about this 'mind-blasted.' "
Blackgult glanced at her and then at Tshamarra, and for a flickering moment his eyes seemed to glow green. "Once, in battle, I used a Dwaer to snatch myself away from the midair blast that killed Jhavarr Bowdragon. Calling on the Stone to speed me out of being torn apart, I was trapped in linkage to it when the blast broke over me and, ah, twisted the Dwaer. I can remember, sometimes, what I once was-but there are always mists now, clinging and hiding. My memory-even my thinking-comes and goes, despite the Dwaer-healing since."
His gaze flicked up to Embra, thrust into her like a cool swordthrust, and then dropped away again. " 'Tis gone," he added quietly. "None can restore it, for none can see what was there before. I am… worn down. Feeling old. For the first time I see in myself feebleness, and failure, and forgetting."
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."