The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [114]
There were two, both with hands on the same Stone. Well, 'twas time to let them burn! Right about-now!
The world flashed and splashed, and Maelra Bowdragon was suddenly back in the Spellmaster's lair, its flagstone floor rocking under her boots as wild lightnings and showers of sparks burst from the Dwaer in Ambelter's hands.
Yes, the Spellmaster's alone-the armored form of Baron Phelinndar hurtled away from that outburst of wild magic with a raw cry of terror and pain.
The very air crackled and flowed, forcing its shuddering through Maelra's body-and suddenly she wanted nothing so much in life as to be far, far away from it, somewhere safe from this dark cave where magic that could blast castles apart could at any moment veer a trifle and make scattered ashes of Maelra Bowdragon…
She whirled around, to flee she knew not where, and from behind her came the roar she'd feared and expected: the sound of Ingryl Ambelter's voice raised in anger. Wordless, wet and bubbling anger, as if he was spewing forth soup or wine and trying to snarl at her around it-a sound that lent her even more fear and swiftness.
Panting, she raced three steps before something terribly cold caught her wrist and shocked her into instant immobility, frozen in mid-run with one leg raised high and the other trailing behind.
She'd have toppled but for that icy grip-the one that swung her around to face the Spellmaster's angry face. "Don't you ever darel" he spat-the light of unchecked magic spilling out of his eyes like bright smoke, hiding them from her, and the same roiling radiances spurting from his mouth like liquid flame.
Those bright energies washed over her frozen face, and with a helpless foreboding Maelra felt something more than the tingling of wild Dwaer-power that had already stirred her loins and set every hair on her body standing out like so many whisper-thin spikes. A horrible creeping sensation rose within her, an invading something that stole right through her, alive and aware, looking at her with cold amusement from within as it came…
Unable even to scream, Maelra reeled inwardly, sick and terrified. So this is what it feels like to be doomed.
Ambelter must be using his Dwaer to force himself on her, to lurk in her body and spy on her from within… Well, so much for her fears that either Ambelter or Phelinndar might rape her; would any physical violation be much more than a dull irritation after this?
She stared into Ingryl Ambelter's gloating face, still unable to see anything but flames of wild magic where his eyes and mouth should be-and as she watched, his horrific glee melted into the likeness of a grinning skull, two tiny stars of cold flame twinkling in its eyesockets as it grinned at her.
Those eyes that were no longer eyes looked at her, and Maelra felt the amused and fell regard of an old and wise intellect. Then one eye distinctly winked, and the leering skull melted away and was gone, leaving the angry face of the Spellmaster of Aglirta behind it, his dark eyes snapping as he shouted, "Obey me, stupid wench! On your knees, and be glad I don't just break your pretty but useless little neck!"
And Maelra Bowdragon went to her knees, lifting her hands in pleading supplication as if Ambelter was an altar of the Three Gods. Her reverence turned his shouting to glee in an instant, though his eyes still danced with anger, and he recovered himself as the lightnings faded and the room returned to normal.
Then he waved a hand, and the armored, silent men who'd stood around the walls like statues took a pace forward in unison. Maelra stared at them wildly, wondering what new horror was to be visited upon her. She'd thought they were statues. Their eyes stared back blankly, out effaces whose flesh was twisted and drooping, like melted and then rehardened wax.
15
Lessons Grimly Learned
Embra Silvertree shook her head to clear it, the Dwaer round and hard and familiar