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He slumped onto Hawkril's arm, and as the two armored men galloped on, the armaragor looked up at Embra to reassure himself that she was the cause of Blackgult's collapse. "What now, Em?"

"I believe 'tis called 'retreat in haste,' " the Lady of Jewels replied, pointing at the dwindling horses of Craer and Tshamarra. "Catch them up as fast as you can, and get them stopped. I must heal Tash very swiftly, or we'll lose her."

The armaragor nodded and spurred past, growling, "Why exactly were we in such a hurry to get here?"

Embra sighed and urged her mount after him, spinning a Dwaer-shield against arrows for herself. "Why, indeed?"

"Turn right, along that lane!" the Lady Silvertree shouted, seeing a farm track branch off into the trees of a large woodlot. "Turn-"

Of course they couldn't hear her. She used the Dwaer to snap the same command into all their ears-and saw the heads of both Tshamarra and her father lift groggily in response. They turned, and she Dwaer-twisted her shield into a great cloud of mist to hide where they'd gone from anyone following, after risking a brief glance over her shoulder. A few horses were just emerging from the gate, bared steel glittering on their riders…

"A leisurely overduchal grand promenade down the Vale, to be sure," she murmured bitterly, heading down the lane.

It sprouted smaller side trails as it wound through the trees, a small creek meandering to the right and farms to the left. Down the second trail-Embra used the Dwaer to give directions again-was a larger wood. If a lane entered it, there must be at least a woodcutter's clearing they could use. She told Craer to stop when he found one that didn't have dogs and hostile folk in it, and get Tshamarra down to the ground and lying quiet there, as quick as he could.

A few moments of hard riding later she saw a dim glade, an open place where trees met overhead. Craer and Hawkril were wrestling saddlebags off horses therein like madmen, and then shouting and slapping each beast in turn to make it gallop on and away.

They caught at the head of her own horse as she hauled hard on the reins to bring it to a halt, almost making it sit right back and fall over in its weariness.

"Down, my lady!" Hawkril cried, snatching her down into his arms.

Embra clutched the Dwaer. "Careful!"

"Oho!" he rumbled. "Hear that, Craer? She wants us to start being careful now! At last!"

"Too bebolten late," the procurer hissed, his face white with anger and worry. "She's dying, Em! Do something!"

The Lady of Jewels ran forward into the green gloom. Blackgult sat muttering on the ground beside a small, still form lying on a heap of wood shavings that stretched to several woodpiles beyond. Tshamarra's breathing was a wet, liquid sound, and her eyes were clouded over and milk-white.

Embra swallowed. "I'll try," was all she could think of to say, as she lifted the Dwaer.

Belgur Arthroon looked up suddenly from his leisurely morning feast, his head arrowing forward like that of a snake. The Baron of Glarond managed-just-not to shiver at the sight.

"A Dwaer!" the Lord of the Serpent snapped, eyes afire. "Very near!"

He rose in such haste that most of the table's contents spilled onto the floor, but he spared them not a glance as he pointed at the most capable hireswords the Church of the Serpent had been able to find, hereabouts, and the most dangerous of his underpriests, too-even Fangbrother Khavan, a dog too terrified to be disloyal. "Come!" he ordered them all. "There's something we must seize."

"Uh, Scaled Master?" Khavan stammered. "T-the baron?"

"Stay with him," Arthroon snapped, "and obey him, for his orders will be my own!" He lifted his Dwaer meaningfully and then hurried out, the men he'd beckoned clumping and clattering after him.

As they reached the hall below, he made his first silent urging with the Dwaer, causing the baron to turn to Khavan and say, "I've named Lord Arthroon my successor here in Glarond, should anything happen to me. He's ordered me to tell you