The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [121]
When her call garnered no reaction, she raised her voice and hailed him as Blackgult, and then as the Golden Griffon.
He turned his head. "Yes, my page?"
"Here, Father," she commanded briskly. "Help me carry this lady fair-who's delicate, and in some distress-around behind yon woodpile."
"But of course," he replied swiftly, rising to help. "I hope I had no part in bringing her to her present, ah, state?"
Embra sighed. "No, not really. No more so than the rest of Aglirta."
16
Serving the Serpent Well
T he Dwaer spun faster, singing and soaring almost a foot higher-and as if in answer, Tshamarra Talasorn arched and twisted under Embra's ringers, rising right off the ground.
Embra drew back from the floating, quivering figure, and frowned. "There's something…," she murmured aloud, eyes narrowing as she stared at the younger sorceress.
Suddenly quite another something struck Embra hard on the shoulder, driving her to the ground, chin-first.
It was the boot of a warrior, who'd leaped from atop the woodpile behind her to snatch the Dwaer out of midair. Clutching the Stone, he rolled away and up to his feet, whirling around with a grin of triumph-and as Embra scrambled to her knees, fingers moving to shape a spell that would have to be fast, other armored men came rushing around both sides of the woodpile with drawn swords.
Where were Hawk and Craer?
She let her hands fall again as the warriors formed a blade-bristling wall facing her. In unison they took a slow stride forward, faces bleak.
"Embra Silvertree," the warrior hefting the Dwaer said silkily, "your father once tortured me. I'm going to enjoy this."
Embra crouched protectively over Tshamarra. The eyes of the Talasorn sorceress were still closed, but her arms and legs had started to writhe again, slowly and fitfully, as she settled a little closer to the ground. If she'd still held the Stone, Embra would have been trying to work gentle healing on her.
At that grim thought, the Lady Silvertree turned her head to seek her father. Blackgult sat huddled nearby, rocking slightly in seeming oblivious-ness.
A sudden blaze of Dwaer-light brought her gaze back to-the Stone, glowing brightly in the warrior's hand as he paced menacingly forward, his eyes glittering…
"You gave her enchanted armor?" Phelinndar's roar echoed around the chamber. "Why?"
The Spellmaster of Aglirta quirked an eyebrow. "Enchanted, my dear Baron?"
The nobleman's sword sang out so fast that even Ingryl Ambelter flinched. "Ambelter, I may not be a mage, but I'm not a. fool. Kindly remember that," Phelinndar snarled. "You give the wench armor twice her size and it fits her perfectly, then it glows when you use the Stone to send her-what does that tell any dolt with eyes, twice? 'Tis magical!" The baron rammed his blade back into its scabbard with an angry clank and barked, "So answer my question!"
Ingryl Ambelter drew a deep breath, hefted his Dwaer, and said smugly, "The spells on it prevent anyone from successfully tracing her to us… whereas I can trace it."
He strode across the chamber with his usual air of amused superiority. "Now, my increasingly angry Baron, you're right to be unamused about all of my boldnesses, so let's sit down and discuss what I've done and why, and what we'll do next. I must introduce you to the Sword of Spells."
"A sword? Something I can wield?" Phelinndar asked eagerly, despite himself.
The Spellmaster shook his head. "Not an actual blade, but rather a series of interwoven spells."
The baron did not trouble to hide his disgust, but Ambelter only smiled thinly and said, "You know magic is the key to power these days, Phelinndar-or you should, by now."
"Oh, I know it," the baron snarled, "but nothing's going to make me like it."
"Let her down," the warrior ordered curtly, "or-" Warningly he lifted the Dwaer in one hand and his sword in the other.
Embra looked at him, and then back at Tshamarra. Did he really not know…?
"I-I'll have to undo my spell," she said, trying to sound frightened, and discovering that