The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [115]
It had been two deserted hamlets and the ashes of one burned cart with gnawed-to-the-bone horses still harnessed to it later when they'd stopped to rest. She'd barely reached some handy bushes for privacy when the attack came.
It was sudden and almost blinding, like bright ruby fire inside her head. She gasped, staggered, and then… somehow… mastered her Stone once more, feeling as winded and bruised as if someone had punched and kicked her repeatedly.
Emerging from the bushes in a sort of weary daze, she watched her fellow overdukes standing by their horses-looking at her expectantly.
'Three Above, when did I become Lord Master of this motley band of heroes?
The Three forebore to answer that silent question, and Embra smiled grimly and told her companions, "Glarondar. As fast as we can. If 'tis at the other end of this road, as it always has been, someone there has a Dwaer, and is using it right now. Probably the same someone who just tried to wrest control of this Stone away from me. And before you ask: I'm fine."
"A Serpent!" Craer snarled, leaping into his saddle.
"Ambelter!" Hawkril growled, swinging himself up onto his horse.
"Phelinndar!" Tshamarra insisted, clawing her way up onto her own mount.
"Anyone in Aglirta," Blackgult suggested with a quiet smile, his battered armor clanging as he leaned down a hand from horseback to assist his daughter.
The moment Embra was mounted, Craer spurred his horse into a gallop.
"Ho, there!" Hawkril called. "How fast d'you want to stick your fool head into the next Serpent ambush, hey?"
"Might as well be swift, so Embra can slay them the faster and we can get on," Craer called over his shoulder.
"Hear me: Even if we ride these poor beasts until they fall over, 'twill be next morning at the very least before we see Glarondar."
"So we'll steal fresh horses," Craer replied airily. His horse snorted and shied under him, as if in answer to his words-but really to avoid stepping on a dead horse sprawled in the trail, wearing arrows and surrounded by the blood left behind by the scavengers that had torn open its belly and plucked out its eyes. A skull and a few scattered bones beside it bespoke the fate of its rider.
"Well, this one's free for the taking," Hawkril observed. "Hey, Longfingers?"
Craer snarled and dug his boots into the flanks of his weary mount again.
Dwaer-power gripped the Baron of Glarond with viselike fingers.
"Tremblings and protests aren't reassuring to the good folk of Glarondar," Arthroon said firmly. "They much prefer smiles and a show of reverence to the Great Serpent to come. So you, my good and obedient Baron, will give them that."
A sudden surge of pain and a forcible trip to his knees in front of the gently smiling priest reminded the terrified baron that he was utterly under the control of the Dwaer. Now it was forcing him up again, past the ornate window that was displaying nightfall drawing down over Glarondar, to the mirror.
"Smooth out the wrinkles and square the shoulders, there's a good baron," the priest purred, as the magic suddenly let go of Glarond's arms. He gaped at his reflection, and then almost frantically brushed and tugged and smooDied, turning side-on to better judge his appearance.
Lord of the Serpent Belgur Arthroon nodded approvingly, took up his snake-headed staff, and indicated the door. "Open it, bold Baron Glarond, and show your people how devoutly you worship the Serpent."
The baron hastened to obey, as a drum started to beat in the courtyard below.
"Ah, we're just in time for the drinking of the plague-wine," Arthroon observed, prodding baronial shoulders with his fanged staff. "Down to the courtyard, and kneel to the priest serving wine there."
Helplessly, the baron started down the stairs, fixing a smile onto his face before the Dwaer could do it for him. Smiling like a snake, Arthroon followed him down into the rising chants and quickening drumbeats. It sounded as if all Glarondar had come to join in worship-and service-to the Serpent.