The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [159]
An unknown, deadly beauty of a sorceress had freed him, made it clear she could casually slay him whenever she pleased, and departed. Someone who'd found him here, alone and enfeebled, and so could find him again whenever she desired.
Arkle Huldaerus shuddered, suddenly feeling the cold, and leaned against the door. He had to get far away from Aglirta, and stay there this time.
If he was even going to be allowed a "this time."
Tshamarra Talasorn drew in a sudden, shuddering breath. Her hands quivered as if she'd been about to snatch them away from Embra and the icy healing mists of the Dwaer. Yet she bit her lip, tears streaming down her cheeks, and kept on holding her hands out-just as steadfastly as Craer was holding her, his arms wrapped around her shoulders comfortingly, his cheek against hers. Her breath caught again, and Embra glanced up from her work.
"Almost done," the Lady of Jewels murmured. "Can you move them?"
Tshamarra wriggled her fingers cautiously, and nodded, trying to smile.
"How do they feel?"
"Tight-as if the skin doesn't fit. They're… Forgive me, Em, but they're too long and thin and graceful-like yours. I'm shorter, see?"
Embra studied Tshamarra's hands critically, put one of her own next to them, nodded, and did something that made the Lady Talasorn stiffen and sob-and then held their hands together for comparison again.
This time the smaller sorceress nodded in emphatic thanks, and Embra clapped her on the shoulder, rose to let Craer comfort her, and strode back to the embrace of her comforting man.
Hawkril was as large and reassuring as always, his strength enfolding her like a castle wall with a warm hearth in it, and Embra leaned against him and relaxed, just for a moment.
The grotesquely deformed zombies had begun to wander mindlessly around the cavern again, and after one of them lumbered slack-jawed toward them, Embra sighed, murmured, "Excuse me, love," into Hawk's chest, whirled away from him-and blasted the Melted to a smoldering heap of ashes.
Then she shrugged, the Dwaer shining in her hand like an eager full moon, and dealt the same fate to Melted after Melted. "These should have been destroyed with their maker," she muttered, "but I'll be grauled by corpse-worms before I'll let Ingryl Ambelter command them a day longer!"
Craer looked up. "Now there's an image."
Embra sighed, turned with hands on hips, and gave him a glare. "Could you leave me in peace to think just for once, Craer? If this was Ambelter's lair, there could be traps in plenty all around us-and useful magic, maps, all sorts of valuable things, too."
"Oh? What sort of valuable things?"
"No, not more baubles that'll fall to dust in your hands, Lord Delnbone. I was thinking of coins-wizards need to buy things occasionally just like other folk, you know-and gems, which can be used to store dozens of spells."
" Well, now," the procurer said eagerly, "why didn't you-?"
"Because I was busy putting Tash's hands back together, and didn't want to have to wipe spatters of pulverized Craer off my face and garments, that's why."
Hawkril took a few steps into the room, his warsword in his hand out of sheer habit. Ashes swirled and eddied around his boots with every step. "You blasted them all?" His voice held both hope and disappointment.
"I hope so," Embra replied, "but he's always liked to cage things; we may find beasts and half-crazed mages and the Three know what else. Please wait, love, until we can do this together."
"The Band of Four once more, hey?" Craer asked, helping Tshamarra to her feet. The Talasorn sorceress was still flexing her fingers in wonder, as if not quite able to believe they were hers. She looked up at her lord sharply.
"Never ridicule that term, or our fellowship," she said in a voice that was low, calm-and as firm as iron. "Never."
Maps proved to be few, written schemes nonexistent, spellbooks gone. There were a few half-finished