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.
"She was," Dolmur agreed gravely, "and she was not. 'Tis best, brother, if you believe we're the last living Bowdragons, and she's lost to us."
"I-Kill me, brother, if you have any love left for me at all," Idiim said brokenly. "I've nothing left to live for. All our family thrown down and swept away. All gone, all dark…"
"No, Idiim," the eldest Bowdragon replied in a voice of cold, heavy iron, "there's much for us both still to do. We have a family to refound, and revenge to prosecute for all our lost and fallen. You have the greatest revenge of all."
"I do?"
"Vow with me," Dolmur Bowdragon commanded, as they floated together in the dark refuge where he'd spellsnatched them. "Vow this: That we shall never the, nor rest, until we hunt down and fittingly slay whoever was riding Maelra, to make her attack us all as she did."
Ithim's voice rose. "I felt our foe-cold and gleeful, more a master of magic even than you! Yes, of course my Maelra could not have grown so in sorcery, in such a short time." His voice changed, becoming a wavering, conspiratorial whisper. "So strong… Dolmur, do you think we can do this?"
"Ithim," the patriarch of the Bowdragons whispered back, "I think we must do this-or the Three Watching Gods will not have lost just one over-proud human family this day, but all Darsar!"
He waved a hand, and a few sparks kindled in the darkness as he added, with more bitterness than Ithim had ever heard in Dohnur's voice before, "And what will they do for amusement then?"
"So of course," Overduke Delnbone was saying airily, "I had no choice but to accept her surrender-minus her cloak. She protested, as women do, saying the night was too cold to be running arou-"
"Craer," Embra Silvertree said into his ear, though she was to be seen nowhere in the room, " 'twould be a very good idea to fall abruptly silent right now. Right now. I very much doubt your lady will want to hear all about the time you chased an unclad Naevrele Lashantra down three streets in Sirlptar… especially as she happens to be Tshamarra's cousin."
"Ooop," the procurer remarked brightly, as Flaeros, the king, and Suldun Greatsarn all broke into grins-and across the room there sounded the rhythm of sharp raps upon the door that announced the arrival of the two Lady Overdukes.
"Well, I'm afraid I'll have to finish this little tale some other time," Craer gushed hastily, catching up his saddlebag. "Hawk and I have a noble audience with some heaping platters in the kitchens."
Greatsarn waved a hand. "Oh? And the saddlebag?"
Overduke Delnbone straightened, assuming a look of dew-washed innocence, and replied, "I didn't say just how many platters, now, did I?"
"Craer," Embra Silvertree said into his ear, in person this time. "Get out. Get out now, while you still can."
The procurer whirled around with a flourish-but the soft breast he'd been intending to run into wasn't there. Instead, he found himself staring into a pitying smile. It belonged to Embra, who'd spun away in unison with him, to fetch up facing him just out of reach. She gave him a sigh and the words, "Procurers are so predictable."