• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Flaeros and the king were right behind him, swords in their hands, and the Koglaur stiffened and then surged its entire bulk back to lean toward the king.

Nigh crushed beneath it, Hulgor held onto his sword, and snatched a dagger from his belt to stab and hew, snarling-and on the Koglaur's other flank, a numbed but determined Craer Delnbone raced up a neck, fresh daggers in both hands, heading for Dwaer-glow And the Koglaur screamed, a rush of glowing blue blood drenching Hulgor Delcamper. The Stone bobbing not far in front of Craer's nose flashed-and the room was suddenly empty of many-headed shapeshifting monsters.

Craer landed hard on his behind, nose to nose with Hulgor. King Castlecloaks shot glances around his ruined throne room and snapped, "Down arms, all!"

Embra looked up from the sprawled, senseless body of her father, a healing glow already brightening around them, as the other overdukes trudged to join her.

"How is he?" Hawkril muttered.

Embra shrugged, and then shook her head. "Hands, he'll have back swiftly. His wits, now…"

As Hulgor, Flaeros, and the king joined them, the Four exchanged weary looks. Waving a hand at Raulin in greeting, Craer peered at his fellow overdukes. "Suppose we try to list just who's carrying a Dwaer, now, hey? I confess I've rather lost track of Aglirta-threatening perils in all this hurly-fray."

Embra sighed. Hawkril put an arm around her shoulders and said with a trace of dark humor, "Well, a certain shapeshifting monster has one."

Tshamarra nodded. "Another was last seen in the grasp of the not-as-dead-as-we'd-hoped Spellmaster."

"Embra has the third," Craer put in, "and the fourth-Blackgult's-was snatched by a young sorceress of some beauty… assuming, mind you, that she wasn't this same shapeshifter whose blood is all over us."

Embra sighed again. "So we know who has two of them, the Faceless and us… and possibly who holds the other two."

Tshamarra smiled bitterly. "And those three foes all want us dead and Aglirta destroyed."

Craer grinned. "As usual."

"Do you want the Four dead and Aglirta destroyed?" the Master of Bats asked sharply, a glowing scepter raised menacingly in his hand.

Dolmur Blackdragon shook his head. Carefully holding empty hands where Huldaerus could see them, the tall, scorched wizard limped forward, wincing in pain, and turned to regard his brother.

Idiim was in worse shape, and moved more slowly. They traded grim glances and then looked at the Master of Bats again and shook their heads in unison.

"Good," Arkle Huldaerus told them, lowering his scepter. "Then you may stay."

His own walk held more than a hint of a limp as he turned and waved with the scepter for them to follow him through the archway ahead. "More damage has been done to Darsar by fools trying to lay waste to Aglirta than by all the other wars and mage duels I can recall, put together. If you promise not to strike at me or steal magic, I'll show you where I scry the Vale from-and we can sit and watch the fates of those at Flowfoam. Some wine, perhaps?"

Dolmur Blackdragon smiled. "Have you any Sarnen blackjewel?"

The trap-filled, dank, and yet dusty gloom of the Silent House terrified most folk of the Vale, yet it seemed as comforting a lair as any, just now.

For years the rogue Koglaur had used it, slaying fellow Faceless and ambitious Aglirtans beyond counting-but it had never walked these dark, familiar halls in such pain before.

Or staggered through them as it was doing now, a trail of dark blue blood spotting the stones behind it. It shifted shape every few steps in a vain, hissing attempt to leave pain behind.

The Dwaer glowed in its cradling hands, healing… but slowly, too slowly. The swift way would knit slashed flesh in ways that would leave forever stiff knots and joints, resistant to shifting shape… So, patience and pain.

Aye, patience and pain were its lot, this next while. There was a hidden door just ahead, and then it could either lie still in the tunnel or shift to