The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [146]
There was a strange, tender look in Embra's eyes as she lifted her hand and touched his cheek with a gentle finger. "Thank you," she whispered. "I truly have a father-a sire finer than others in Aglirta can dream of having."
Her arms went around Blackgult, and she kissed him. Blackgult put his own arms around her as delicately as if she was a slender crystal carving-and they rocked together gently. Tshamarra heard a soft, broken sound that made her frown, and glide closer, and then come to a sudden stop.
Ezendor Blackgult was sobbing. When he could speak again, he murmured, "Oh, my precious one. Live, child, and make Aglirta brighter."
His arms tightened around his daughter, and he added quietly, his voice steady now, "Oh, lass, I am so proud of you!"
Embra started to weep, then. Tshamarra Talasorn watched for a moment, her eyes very bright, smiled… and then quietly withdrew to the door, slipped out, and was gone.
The cage of shimmering force spun silently in the cavern air before them like a knife rolling slowly across a tilting table. Spell-lights winked and glowed like tiny stars as it turned-and Ingryl Ambelter smiled. "Behold," the Spellmaster exulted, "the Sword of Spells."
"Truly finished, this time?" the man standing behind him asked, cradling a softly glowing Dwear-Stone against his armored breast.
The wizard turned to face the baron. " 'Twas done before," he said smoothly, "when I said 'twas, but now I've tested it on a man I happened to know, yonder down by the river, and snuffed out his mind like a candle. Wherefore we know it works."
Ambelter took two restless strides across the chamber, ducked around a dust-covered, impassive Melted, and whirled to face Phelinndar again.
"Now," he gloated, "we can begin-slowly and softly at first, like a boy hunting frogs with a spear. Subtly I'll turn Blackgult to my will."
"Our will," Baron Phelinndar reminded him coldly. "Or had you forgotten me already, friend Ambelter?"
Fury flashed across the Spellmaster's face, just for a moment-though that was quite long enough for even a Baron of Aglirta to recognize it, as he was sure he was meant to-ere the wizard masked it with the smooth reply, "Of course not, Phelinndar. I merely meant that I, as the one of us who knew him best and knows magic better than he does, will be able to subtly guide him more than you could, and so should be the one influencing him."
The Sword of Spells spun a little closer as Ambelter added warningly,
"If Blackgult becomes aware of what we're doing, our danger will be much greater than mere loss of control of a key man of Aglirta."
"Of course," the baron agreed quietly, inclining his head politely and oh-so-subtly lifting the Dwaer as he did so. I must destroy Ingryl Ambelter even sooner than I'd thought, he told himself silently as he turned away, or perish at his hands-leaving Aglirta itself his next victim.
Maelra Bowdragon screamed, but no one heard her.
Again she shrieked, raging in helpless fury inside her own skull. Gadaster grinned savagely all around her embattled awareness, showing her that he'd heard her-as he made her body slay her kin.
Fire flashed back in savage reflection from the burnished copper banners soaring on all sides to the ceiling as she-as Gadaster Mulkyn, in coldly firm control of her body-spell-cloaked her in a semblance of her favorite clinging black gown, and then transported her to the heart of Uncle Dolmur's weaving, in the deep chamber in Arlund she'd only seen once before.
Mists swirled and cleared around the edges of her gaze. Barely had Bowdragon eyes lifted to recognize her, and excited smiles appeared, when the cold, ruthless thing that had once been Spellmaster of Silvertree took control of all the roused Bowdragon magic with a few deft weavings that Maelra could not even follow, let alone understand.
Frantically she tried to scream warnings, tried to wave at those of her blood to flee or guard themselves, but Gadaster's cold, silent laughter cloaked her in