A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [88]
"Which he did," Flaeros added with a rueful smile, handing back the flagon. He didn't have to have been on Sarth Fields to know what the gods had unfolded for the regent. This tale was something that had happened a time or eighty before.
The regent nodded. "There is no Royal Host any longer. Unfortunately, I was visited by a wizard just then-Jhavarr Bowdragon, seeking to avenge the death of his sister, who was one of the archwizard Tharlorn's best apprentices."
Flaeros nodded. "His lover, I heard."
"And victim, when he tired of her," Blackgult agreed. "Unfortunately, as her death possibly befell somewhere in Aglirta, and Tharlorn also seems to be dead, this Jhavarr blamed me-and King Kelgrael-and anyone else holding palace authority-for it. The overdukes, for instance; he had Embra's Dwaer with him. He tried to slay me."
Flaeros had got his breath back, but still felt like a weak and aching sack of bruises. "The Lady Embra? Dead?" he asked quietly, knowing that he was speaking of Blackgult's daughter-and that one Dwaer was orbiting uncomfortably close by.
The regent spread helpless hands. "I know not her fate-Jhavarr said only that he'd seized it, and his fate, too, is a mystery to me. I suspect he, at least, is dead."
"Ah… suspect?"
"With my two Dwaer, I struck at him," Blackgult said grimly. "There was an explosion. I snatched myself away from it, calling on my Dwaer, and… escaped, after a fashion."
"After a fashion?" Flaeros asked gravely, his eyes on the regent's face. Ezendor Blackgult's expression seemed to change often, as if different emotions were flowing across it and laying bare different flesh, each time. Flaeros had an uncle like that, whose moods showed bright and clear upon his face, but the Golden Griffon had always been so cool, so-utterly in control.
"The blast did not tear at my body," the regent said in a low voice, "but through the Dwaer it touched my wits." He tapped his head, managed a flickering smile, and added, "You might say it 'mind-blasted' me. My memory comes and goes, and for some time-I think a long time, but you can count the passing days better than I, now-I was little better than a numb, shuffling shell. I lack the skill properly to call on a Dwaer for healing, but it seems to me that I am better man I was."
"You seem as formidable as ever to me, Lord," Flaeros said hastily, feeling the cold stone of the tomb against his arm and wondering if he dared move. He didn't want to stir the regent out of this mood of openness, nor goad Blackgult to slaying rage if he was truly so… unstable. Yet would he have hurled a spell to save a young bard, and revealed much to that same Flaeros Delcamper-speaking of Aglirta's need for him, too-if he intended to men harm said songster? Surely not… and yet, every man has but one life to lose, and it was all too true that the Bard of the Del-campers had already hazarded much with his…
Blackgult smiled dimly. "It's good to know that bards, at least, I can still fool."
That sounded not so good. Flaeros decided there was no better way ahead than to continue doing what a good bard does. "What happened to your other Dwaer?" he asked. "And the one this Jhavarr was using, for that matter?"
The regent smiled and nodded approvingly, as if Flaeros had passed some sort of test. "Vanished in the blast, both of them," he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Gone I know not where. I would have felt it-I would probably be mindless now-if they'd been destroyed. They were flung… well, elsewhere. Somehow it seems to me that they each went to a different place, but I've no way of knowing I am right in that."
Flaeros nodded, and their eyes met. "And what, Lord," he dared to ask, "will you do now?"
The regent shrugged and spread his empty hands. "I find it all matters less and less, friend Flaeros," he said sadly, "with my daughter dead. But I'll be blasted and broken by the Three before I'll let the damned Snake-kissers-and mincing wizards who lord it over