The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [126]
"Perhaps," her father agreed. "Or perhaps not, if they've been forced into beast-shape already." He gave her a mirthless smile. "We'll just have to see."
"Hey, now," Craer said with a frown. " You have a Dwaer, Em, and sorcery of your own to overmatch half the Vale. Tash has mighty magic, too; what if she could wield a Stone, too? We'd be…" He broke off as Embra spread her hands in a silent gesture of acceptance.
Tshamarra came to him a little unsteadily. Silently Craer held out the severed hand, and she reached down for it with slow care, not touching the dead, dripping flesh that until recently had been part of a priest of the Serpent.
As her fingers closed gingerly on the Dwaer, there was a flash, a snarl of lightnings lashing forth from the Stone amid a spitting of sparks-and the blur of the Lady Talasorn being flung across the glade.
She crashed headlong into the armored form of Hawkril, who bent hastily to cradle her and so keep her neck from breaking, but found himself plucked from his feet and hurled into a tree.
"Hawk!" Embra shouted, wobbling her way to her own feet and rushing to him. Craer was right behind her; as he ran, he tore a cloak from the shoulders of a body and whipped it around the severed hand holding the Serpent-Dwaer, forming an improvised sack.
"Hawk?" the Lady Silvertree gasped, going to her knees beside the two tumbled bodies. The armaragor opened his eyes, winced, and then groaned. "No doubt I'll live," he said slowly, moving a shoulder slowly and wincing again, "but…"
"Lie down again," Embra commanded, and turned to Craer. "Take Tash off him. Gently, to let her lie right here."
"You'll be healing?" the procurer asked unnecessarily, as Embra's Dwaer rolled up into the air, glowing, and it started to sing.
"I trust," Embra replied, not looking up as the glow grew and the keening song of the Stone rose, "you'll put the other Stone safely in a saddlebag or suchlike, and keep it well away from me for this next little while."
Craer nodded, and trotted across the glade to do just that. A flitting movement caught his eye as he went, and he stopped above the saddlebag and looked back at the boughs where it had been with apparent casualness. When he was finished stowing and buckling, he brought the saddlebag most of the way back to Embra, set it down, and went to her.
"Lady Silvertree," he murmured in her ear, as he reached down to take Tshamarra's hand, "at least six bats are watching us, from two trees back behind me. Just above the crooked bough with the two dead side branches."
Embra nodded. "I know what that means, yes." She whirled suddenly, the Dwaer flashing-and lightning tore through the leaves of the crooked bough. Two sizzling, squeaking black forms fell to earth, rocked, and lay still, and the others raced away through the woods, swooping and darting. Embra sent one more bolt after them, but although leaves in plenty flared up and crackled to ash, no more bats fell. Four at least had gotten away.
"Is our Master of Bats out and free, do you drink?" Craer asked gravely.
Embra lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "It scarcely matters whether he's still chained to that cell wall or not. He's free to spy and work magic afar, and that brings us the same danger."
Craer nodded. "And Tash?" He risked another glance down at the still, pale form in front of him. The fingers in his felt like ice.
Embra smiled. "She'll be fine, and Hawk too. They'll awaken in a moment."
"I," the armaragor announced heavily, "am awake now. And viewing the prospect of fighting our way through every last house and back alley of
Serpent-ruled Glarond with increasing lack of endiusiasm. Craer and I must have slain over a score of men each, fighting our way back to you here."
"Given this sudden surfeit of bats," Blackgult agreed, joining them with a dark, smoking bat corpse in his palm, "I agree. 'Tis time to talk to the Master of Bats again. Even if he's fled Flowfoam, we must confer with Raulin about the