The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [165]
Shaking it out of its scabbard as Nuelara fled and the other lass clung to him, whimpering, the old Delcamper noble shook the chambermaid away, stood up on his bed-and jabbed at the thing.
He struck home, with a roar of satisfaction-and then the Stone roared, too.
His blade was ringingly torn apart in twisted, tumbling shards-as a numb-armed, cursing Hulgor Delcamper was flung across the room.
His landing smashed flat a stool he'd never much liked, and sent his carefully laid out clothes for the morrow tumbling to the floor. He struggled up out of the tangled wreckage with a snarl and stalked back across the room, bare-handed.
The Stone still hung above his bed, glowing softly and tinkling gently right where it had been when he'd awakened. Like a prowling cat Hulgor slunk up onto the bed, stepped all around the floating rock in a slow, padding circle… and then, very slowly as he swallowed with a very dry throat, reached out for it…
Silence fell in the shattered house of Morauntauvar of Sirlptar, with its ceiling gone to starshot night sky overhead. Then the Spellmaster of All Aglirta heard the tiny, fitful crackle of flames rising from his slain foe's body.
This had all gone wrong. Sirlptar's self-styled mightiest wizard was dead, but magic Ambelter should have won here was mostly destroyed. Seething, the Spellmaster started to search, pulling his shielding-spell tightly around him.
He'd found an unscorched book of spells and some sort of enchanted orb ere the air flashed behind him, and he whirled around to find-four Serpent-priests, their hands raised in gestures of parley. Standing with them were the seven sleepy, hastily roused mages of Sirlptar that Ingryl had expected to see-for it was Sirl custom to make revenge pacts with other mages. One of them was rather angrily specifying quite a large sum of money to a priest-so these wizards must be hasty, last-moment hires.
"Spellmaster of Silvertree," one of the priests called. "Hear us in peace, we ask thee!"
"Spellmaster of All Aglirta," Ingryl Ambelter corrected coldly. "Swiftly give me good cause why to listen, if you would live."
"We've unfinished business with Morauntauvar of Sirlptar," the priest replied, "but after farscrying his demise at your hands, 'tis our judgment that you are the more powerful and capable mage, and have the perfect temperament we seek. Are you interested in undertaking the task Morauntauvar had agreed to?"
The Spellmaster of All Aglirta regarded the Serpent-priests coldly, his Dwaer glowing ready in his hands. "That would depend very much," he replied politely, "on what that task was."
The priest turned and murmured something to the priest beside him, who in turn uttered a brief incantation-and vanished, along with the Sirl wizards, leaving just a trio of Serpent-priests.
The Spellmaster frowned, and used the Dwaer to visibly strengthen his shielding. If they reappeared on all sides of him… or on the floor below, and blasted in unison upward…
"Certain ambitious Brethren of the Serpent," the priest said quickly, "had just hired Morauntauvar to aid them with his spells in their coming bid for the throne of Aglirta."
Ingryl Ambelter lifted an eyebrow. "Well, now… say more. Please."
22
The Many Uses of Dwaerindim
By the Three," Craer said thankfully, stumbling sleepily into the waiting bath, "but I could get used to being an overduke!"
Tshamarra smiled up at him from the scented waters. "Servants have their uses." She offered him a goblet from a tray beside her, shielding it with a hand against his splashings. "Warm mulled Arl-wine?"
Craer made a face, and then changed his mind and snared the goblet. "I'd better accept. The way our lives have been unfolding this last while, safe food and drink is best snatched whenever offered by opportunity-or pretty sorceresses who aren't wearing any clothes." He paused, just before reaching the dregs. "This wine is safe, isn't it?"
Tshamarra shrugged. "I'm still alive." She sat up and rolled over,