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With a soft, eager smile Ingryl looked around at his Melted, curled his hands around the armrests of the throne, and drew on its power to weave a spell he'd been waiting a long time to unleash.

In but a few moments and a whirl of sparks, it was done. The Spell-master crowed in triumph-and far away, in the thick of battle, the Regent of Aglirta reeled in his saddle and clutched at his head in sudden agony as a spell that seared like fire took hold in his brain.

Chapter Seven

Scepters, Bats, and Playing Vultures

It was cool in the shady hollow, and the stream slid past dark and wet and inviting. Raulin looked at the peaceful forest all around and could scarcely believe armies were thundering into battle in Aglirta right now, screaming and shouting and dying. He shook his head, a movement unnoticed by the five grim folk standing around him.

Craer was speaking, as usual. " DIV the of in on we at he his if or have back!?"And how do you propose to 'deal with' Bloodblade?" Embra asked quietly. "Overdukes, a baron, and a bard we may be, but that's just six against his army-or armies by now, for all we know."

The procurer smiled and bowed, indicating her with a flourish. "Why, Lady Silvertree, I propose to deal with Bloodblade by assiduously following whatever brilliant stratagem you unfold to us now!"

"I thought so," Embra said sourly, amid a few chuckles. All four men- Raulin and Glarsimber included-leaned forward eagerly to hear the next words from her lips.

She sighed. Three Above, why me?

And then Embra heard herself speaking, swift and sure, for all Darsar as if she knew what she was talking about. Perhaps the gods had heard her, after all!

"We must get to Flowfoam as swiftly as we can. If I can call on the power of Bla-of my father's Dwaer, perhaps we can find Bloodblade. Then we use the Dwaer to give Hawk the warlord's likeness, spelljump to him, slay him-and Hawkril pretends to be him. With the right commands, Hawk can turn Bloodblade's troops to fighting among themselves, and so blunt this sword-thrust at the Throne."

There was a roar of approval, and even Sarasper grinned and shook his head. "Impossible," he said. "So crazily impossible that it just might work."

"Right, we do it!" Craer snapped eagerly. "Enough of this wandering back roads-there's a realm to save, barons to twit, and fell wizards to knock on their backsides!"

"An engaging philosophy of life," the Baron of Brightpennant agreed. "If you are going to take me with you, aren't you?"

A little silence fell, in which the overdukes traded swift, grim glances. "We have a problem," Embra said carefully. "Right now I can't even take myself to Flowfoam, let alone anyone else. Too little magic."

Glarsimber's eyes narrowed. "What sort of magic is needed?"

The Lady Silvertree sighed. "Anything that bears an enchantment of sufficient power that can be sacrificed-for my spells will drain it to crumbling dust."

The Smiling Wolf grinned at her and tugged aside his gorget. Fishing out a neckchain, he triumphantly produced something small and gleaming, and held it out to her on his palm.

"My little keepsake from the battle in the Silent House, where Ornentar grew into the Serpent-thing, and Bla-the Lord Regent revealed himself to be Stormharp."

The overdukes bumped heads trying to get a good look at what the baron held. Even Raulin peered at it: a small pendant-charm such as highborn ladies wore ere they took husbands or lovers, and adopted lockets with hair and limned likenesses of their beloved. It was delicately sculpted, and looked almost new: a bright-burnished copper hand.

Brightpennant did off his chain and held it out to Embra. "One of the barons was wearing it-the one who turned out to be a Serpent-priest. Touch it to metal, and it sings; the tone tells if the metal's true."

"Serpent magic-and you carried it?" Craer snapped suspiciously, but Sarasper shook his head.

"Older, lad, and better work. This is old."

Embra nodded and sighed, holding the copper