The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [100]
The man tried to rise and run on, arms flailing, but was too weak and dazed to resist Craer's swift ensnarement of his wrists. The procurer hooked a leg around the man's thigh, rolled him over into a helpless trussed state, and kept him there, panting, as Embra rode carefully over and dismounted.
"Thank you, Craer," she said warmly, clapping a hand to the procurer's arm as she knelt beside them both.
" 'Ware! He's changing!" Tshamarra snapped, pointing. The fallen man's limbs were acquiring scales, here and there-and as the overdukes stared, they thickened and shortened.
"But of course," Blackgult murmured sarcastically. "The Three cease not to smile upon us, hmm?"
"You stand guard," Hawkril told him, "and I'll hold the horses. Tash, watch for anyone approaching, hey?"
"My," Craer said, shifting his grip to keep tight hold of the panting body in his grasp as its shape altered, "this is a new feeling. Very strange."
"Don't get any ideas," the Lady Talasorn told him in a voice at once both soft and iron-hard. 'Just don't."
The procurer gave her a swift, fierce grin. "I hadn't. Truly. But thanks for that one. Hmm."
"Belt up, Lightfingers," Embra snapped, busily casting swift, wary glances at the trees above and all around. Satisfied, she held out the Dwaer and put a firm hand on the brow of the moaning farmer.
The Stone in her hand glowed, silence fell, everything was falling and…
She was plunging into warm red darkness, at once pulsing with life and quivering with fear. It was a darkness that should be brighter, that knew this and was alarmed, and yet could not think, could not hold to thoughts, could not…
Could not…
Shuddering, the Lady of Jewels threw herself over onto her face in the forest loam, breaking the contact.
"Em!" Hawkril cried, bending toward her with force enough to drag seven horses in her direction. "Are you-?"
"F-fine," his lady told him, managing a wry grin as she rose with dirt all over her forehead and an array of leaves in her hair and sticking to her chin. 'Just… whew. It feels… different from what afflicted us. 'Tis a magic that twists the mind-and its unraveling is beyond me, without time and quiet and the right books and such, to cast the spells I'll need. It seemed almost as if the plague itself can sense, and think, there in his mind…"
"A Serpent-priest, watching us through him?" Tash asked sharply.
"No, not that sort of awareness. Just the plague itself, stirring and flowing. Craer, let him go. He means us no harm-and no, he's not running from anything he remembers, he's just seeking 'away' as strongly as he can cling to the thoughts he has left."
"Can he… give the plague to someone else, by biting or touching them, or…?"
Embra sighed. "I think so, Tash, but I don't know. That's why I wanted us in Glarondar. If the Three smile on us more widely than they've ever been known to do before, we just might find some answers in certain books in the baronial library there."
"Might?" the Lady Talasorn echoed with a smile.
"And how is it," Craer said gently, freeing the man and letting him stumble away, "that you know the contents of a library in Glarond? Not meaning any offense; I'm just ruled by curiosity, that's all."
The Lady Silvertree gave them both a thin smile. "The 'might' is because those books may not still be there. All my knowing of Glarondan libraries is that these particular books were once held by a previous Baron of Glarond. Ambelter wanted my fa-that is, Baron Faerod Silvertree-to send agents to steal them, long ago."
"There've been several Barons of Glarond since then," Hawkril rumbled gently.
"So we mustn't get too hopeful," Craer agreed. "All