The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [156]
It was a small thing, no broader than the length of his hand and twice that long, but it was very heavy. As thick as two of his hands, of metal, and both old and dirty. It had once borne an intricate chased design of curlicues that seemed to illustrate nothing and bear no writing, but much of the design had been worn or battered away, and one corner of the coffer had been smashed in by a long-ago blow. The lid was latched but not locked.
Sarasper lifted his head to make sure Embra and Craer were watching-and then, without hesitation, opened the coffer.
It held only one thing: a sheet or plate of shining silvery metal, its surface etched here and stamped there with writing. Sarasper peered at it, caring nothing for magical curses or suchlike that bards so liked to babble about.
The script had more swirls and flourishes than many a bridal gown, but he could read it. His face acquired a slow frown as he puzzled out line after line, stopping only when Embra's head, bending over him, blotted out the light.
"What is it?" she asked, more eager than apprehensive.
"Magic, of course," Sarasper told her. "A ritual and instructions for…"
"For?"
The old healer smiled up at her. Gods, but at moments like this she was like a child who knows that she's going to be given a new toy, and can barely contain herself.
"A way of mentally 'entering' a Stone and altering it," he announced, as Craer and a limping Hawkril joined them. "Binding oneself to the Dwaer and it to the caster, that is, so the caster will survive, down the years, as long as the Stone does… and only he will be able to awaken and wield that Dwaer-Stone's powers."
He lifted his head from the writing-and looked into three grim stares.
"If you ever try to accomplish that," Embra whispered, "I will try to kill you. Not with any pleasure… but for Aglirta, and for all Darsar. One Serpent is enough."
"More than enough," Hawkril rumbled.
Sarasper looked up at them and nodded slowly. "I'm not opposed to that view." He clapped the coffer shut and asked wearily, "So what should I do with this? Destroy it?"
"No," a new voice broke in, broad and deep and impressive. "Give it here!"
As the Four turned their heads, three Dwaer-Stones flashed as one, eerie stars in the gloom of the chamber.
Lines of magical radiance streaked from that pulse of light, to surround the coffer with a glowing sphere of force-and Sarasper, kneeling with the coffer in his hand, with another sphere whose glow was less bright.
The Band of Four stared in shared astonishment as the three Dwaer flew, as if they were small hovering hummingbirds and not fist-sized stones, around behind another pillar.
When they came out the other side, they were describing lazy orbits around a slowly striding man none of them had ever thought to see again: the Baron Blackgult.
"You go to all the trouble of awakening a king… and he just fades away," he observed sardonically, a little smile on his lips as he gazed back at their astonished stares. "I almost think it's time Aglirta had a new king."
One Dwaer flashed forth some spell-motes, and Ezendor Blackgult was suddenly wearing a crown and holding a scepter of eerie light.
They flashed into splendor and then faded away, as his smile broadened. "Fair greeting, Band of Four. I believe two of you are still in my service."
Embra Silvertree's eyes blazed like an autumn fire. "You!"
She glared at the traditional enemy of all Silvertrees, trembling with rage as the fire of her own rising magic blazed up around her fists, and snapped, "Did you kill my father?"
"No," Blackgult told her with a weary smile. "That's one thing not in my power, Embra. You see, I am your father."
28
No Barons Without Battles
The Smiling Wolf of Sart wasn't smiling his famous smile just now. The wind was whipping his hair into his face as he galloped along, the groaning Tersept of Gilth bouncing like a rag doll in the