The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [77]
Craer cast a look out of the wellhouse doorway-and promptly began retrieving swords and planting them in a point-down row in the dirt, never taking his eyes off the villagers for long. "Hawk?"
"I know," the armaragor growled. "Just smile at them until I get the lass awake, will you?"
"I," Sarasper announced weakly, "am going to drain a lot of the Silvertree family magics to heal us all, starting now."
Hawkril barely heard him. "Embra?" he was asking gently, leaning over a face smudged with bat gore. "Embra?"
Her lips moved slowly, and he had to bend close to hear her faint whisper: "Hawkril."
Then Embra's eyes opened, her face tightened in pain, and she added, "Just let me lie here for a bit-and tell me what happened."
"Someone I never saw properly," Hawkril told her, "a man, was here with a third Dwaer-Stone. He did something with it that made invisible blades carve up your father's armsmen-and then blasted your father and the bat-wizard. Utterly. I know not if any bats got away, but you're wearing most of the rest of them."
Embra's face started to twist into an expression of disgust, and then she decided she couldn't be bothered, and merely nodded. "And then?"
"He did something with it that sent me to sleep. Now he's gone, and all the Dwaerindim with him."
Embra nodded again, slowly. "I felt that… I knew it when you woke me. How is everyone?"
"Sarasper's hard at work destroying Silvertree figurines and salt-dishes and glow-at-will doorknobs," Hawkril told her. "He's almost ready to work on you."
"Good," Embra growled, letting her head fall back. "Something's broken-my right shoulder-and I can't remember when I've hurt so much."
"So can you devote some time, Lady, to thinking about what we do next?" Craer called. Embra turned her eyes to meet his and smiled ruefully.
"Am I now our leader?" she asked. "I thought some among us were a mite weary of being led around by a lady mage."
"I didn't say you'd be the only one thinking on such things," the procurer replied, "or that we'd leap to do your bidding… but you are our closest thing to a Dwaer lore-sage."
Embra closed her eyes and sighed. "If you knew how little I know," she told them, "you'd not say that."
"Lady," Hawkril said awkwardly, "Craer and I can manage without anyone to tell us what to do, but we'll manage as foraging warriors, who know magic-and Dwaerindim-as something to be feared and destroyed or fled and hid from… just as most of yon farmers and village folk would. We'd fight for the king, and die well for him, too-but he'd best not look to us for saving the kingdom and hurling Dwaer-magic and all. That's your work."
Embra nodded faintly, without opening her eyes, and then said, "Help me up, sitting upright against something that doesn't touch this shoulder. If I scream, stop moving me."
Hawkril looked at her a little helplessly for a moment, and then reached forth large and tentative hands and gathered her up.
She stiffened once, and hissed in pain, biting her lip, but she did not scream. Not even when the battered armaragor slipped and deposited her against the stone wall around the well a little more precipitously than he'd intended.
"Embra?" he asked anxiously, as she shuddered under his hands. "Are you-all right?"
She smiled wanly. "I'll live, you great ox. Get me a figurine from Sarasper."
The healer came with it, proffering it with a growled, "Craer's hurt worse than I'd thought. Are you sure I shouldn't heal you before you try… whatever idiocy you're going to try?"
Hawkril winced, but Embra smiled at the old man. "Well put, Sarasper-and no: if I trigger some sort of mind-blasting trap whoever now has my Dwaer has left waiting, that'll be that much more of your healing, and the Silvertree family magic, wasted. But tarry here, as I try, and watch my eyes; if they glow red or bright and I speak as if I was someone else, slap me senseless-and don't hesitate in doing it!"
"This sounds very dangerous," Hawkril growled.
Embra shot him