A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [41]
Raulin gaped in astonishment at what Craer did next. As Embra muttered an incantation and raised her free hand to cut certain exacting gestures out of the empty air, the procurer calmly plucked the tail of her tunic up out of her breeches to lay bare her midriff, planted a firm hand as high on her back as he could reach, to hold it the garment aloft-and all of the men leaned in to put their hands on her skin.
Glarsimber grinned, shook his head, and added his hairy hand to the crowded group, whereupon Raulin gingerly and "hesitantly did so, too. Her skin was velvet-soft, gently warm, and smooth.
Blue rathance curled at the edges of their vision; Raulin turned his head to get a better look at it, but could see only the trees. He could feel something stirring, under the Lady Silvertree's skin, tingling in his own fingers…
The enchantment ended with a clearly enunciated couplet wherein Embra repeated her earlier comment: "By this magic spilled to work our deed, burnt-out in an instant, to answer our need."
"As Aglirta burns so many things, lass," Sarasper grunted. "Precious magics, dreams, illusions, trusts… and people."
Raulin found himself suddenly on the verge of tears. He blinked at the homely old healer.
"Stop cheering me up," Glarsimber growled, close by his shoulder. "It's time to go kill someone."
"Isn't it always?" Embra murmured, as she closed her eyes and brought both of her hands together high over her head, feeling the magic roiling up around them. "Isn't it always?"
Meanwhile
The scepter felt reassuringly smooth and heavy in his hand. Flaeros Delcamper hadn't the faintest idea how to awaken or wield the magic that must slumber inside it-else why would the regent need it, dragon scepter or not?-but holding it made him feel better, even with the Melted far, far behind.
He was clutching it now, as he knelt amid the damp, rotting leaves and fallen branches and fungus of the deep forest, peering out through ferns at mounted warriors galloping along the road.
"A king shall arise," he murmured, seeing the banners of barons flashing past in gauntleted hands. Loushoond, Ornentar, and Tarlagar, bright-fluttering from lancetips, as rider after rider spurred past, the ground shaking with the thunder of their hooves.
War was come to Aglirta, without a doubt, for these armaragors of three baronies were galloping in haste along the road that led to the Silvertree docks-and ready passage to Flowfoam Isle.
Abruptly there was a flash of light, shouting, and the tumult of rearing horses and hooves thudding to halts, swift gaits broken. Flaeros blinked, and dared to lean forward and hold aside a fern, straining to see with eyes still mazed with brightness.
A man had appeared, standing on empty air several feet off the ground. A wizard, it must be-tall and slender and angry-looking, with blue-green flames swirling around his arms.
"Jhavarr Bowdragon am I!" he shouted. "Let none be so foolish as to bend bow against me! I seek but one man!"
A veteran armaragor, who was still wrestling with the reins of his wild-eyed mount, snapped, "Who, then?"
"Is Blackgult the Regent among you? I found him not on Flowfoam."
"He is not," another knight replied. "We hear he's taken the field against the warlord Bloodblade, in southbank Silvertree."
The wizard snarled in anger, threw up his hands, and vanished in a swirl of his flames.
"And kings shall fall," Flaeros murmured, letting the fern dance back into place, his eyes better.
Peering under it, he beheld warriors pointing this way and that, and shouting-save for an old armaragor, closest to the edge of the road, who merely growled, "Wizards!" in a tone of deep disgust.
A man in bright-gleaming armor with the arms of Tarlagar resplendent on a never-worn-before overtunic rode into view,