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His last few words were snapped back over his shoulder as he spurred forward to meet a wild-eyed man ru
The man screamed and ran, shaking his gory ruin of a hand and staring at nothing.
Embra winced, even as Blackgult snapped, "Craer! Guard the ladies!" and spurred past them to join Hawkril. Many folk were coining along the winding road ahead-fast. Eyes wild and unseeing, ru
"What're they ru
Hawkril looked back, guiding his nervously sidestepping horse, and the Lady Silvertree saw that he and her father were carefully positioning themselves to shield Tash and herself. She looked to the other sorceress, and found Tshamarra's eyes already on her. Tshamarra's face held the same helpless sadness she knew must be written across her own.
"Easy, now," Craer said from behind them. "Just don't go blasting things if it bids fair to involve trees toppling on us, hey?"
Embra risked a withering glance back at the procurer, and saw that the slender little man had a dagger ready in one hand to throw, and a fistful of glittering replacement fangs in the other.
And then the panting, stumbling tide of Aglirtans was upon them, Hawkril grunting under the battering of so many men impaling themselves on his lowered swords at full run. Blackgult was using a broken length of ba
The ru
Hawkril grimly kicked a dead but still gurgling man off his warsword and told the Vale around him, "This is the worst foulness the Serpents have worked yet-making war on all Aglirtans, war-trained or not."
"Perhaps they've wearied of failing to conquer the realm," Tshamarra said a little wearily, "and have decided to just destroy it. The wolves'll dine well this year."
"Aye," Craer agreed from behind her, somber for once, "but I wonder if, having done so, they'll remain wolves?"
"Three forfend!" Embra gasped. "If birds and beasts can carry this plague, the land will never be cleansed of it!"
"We could just keep riding," the Lady Talasorn suggested in a small voice, "to other lands, and…"
"Aye," Hawkril snapped, "and do what? Wait for the plague to reach us there? Leaving Aglirta torn and laid waste? We've got to stop this, even if it means begging and promising every last mage in Darsar whatever they want to aid us in breaking this magic!"
"Father," Embra asked quietly, "are they all dead? Or is there someone down but alive and likely to remain so until, say, dusk, that you could bring me?"
"Quite likely," the Golden Griffon replied, swinging out of his saddle and tossing her the reins to hold.
"Lady Embra," Craer snapped, "I thought we Band of Four were leaving the 'Obey me, fools, for I am a great and mysterious mage' act behind us! We trust you, yes, but I do expect you to tell us why? Why d'you need some poor wounded idiot?"
"Well, I could say we have an immediate and pressing need to learn what lies ahead of us, mat drove all these folk to flight, but the truth is, Craer, I can't learn anything more about this plague-magic unless I can probe an afflicted mind with this" Embra hefted the Dwaer, and added bitterly, "Whereupon I'll probably learn more about my own ignorance than anything else."
"You'll be sharing their wound-pain, if you probe someone who's hurt," Tshamarra murmured, struggling to keep her horse quiet. "That much I do know, from my own mind-touch magics."
Embra nodded grimly. " 'Tis all right. I won't get lost in agony-I'll have the remarks of an overclever procurer to anchor and goad me."
Craer looked down, and then away into the trees, and sighed. "I'm sorry, Em. I-My tongue, it just rides away with me…"
He fell silent, and so missed the looks of amazement both sorceresses gave him. They'd never thought to hear any sort of apology from Overduke Delnbone, who delighted in saying the most merrily rude or scornful things to the wrong folk at the very worst of moments, and-
Blackgult was turning over moaning, twitching bodies as Hawkril watched over him, a sword held ready to throw. Suddenly there came a fresh crashing through the trees, and the Golden Griffon hastily backed away to where he could stand free of corpses or almost-corpses, and took up a defensive stance.
Another man burst into view, ru
"Craer!" Hawkril snapped. The procurer plunged from his saddle, raced through the underbrush, and took the ru
The man tried to rise and run on, arms flailing, but was too weak and dazed to resist Craer's swift ensnarement of his wrists. The procurer hooked a leg around the man's thigh, rolled him over into a helpless trussed state, and kept him there, panting, as Embra rode carefully over and dismounted.
"Thank you, Craer," she said warmly, clapping a hand to the procurer's arm as she knelt beside them both.
" 'Ware! He's changing!" Tshamarra snapped, pointing. The fallen man's limbs were acquiring scales, here and there-and as the overdukes stared, they thickened and shortened.
"But of course," Blackgult murmured sarcastically. "The Three cease not to smile upon us, hmm?"
"You stand guard," Hawkril told him, "and I'll hold the horses. Tash, watch for anyone approaching, hey?"
"My," Craer said, shifting his grip to keep tight hold of the panting body in his grasp as its shape altered, "this is a new feeling. Very strange."
"Don't get any ideas," the Lady Talasorn told him in a voice at once both soft and iron-hard. 'Just don't."
The procurer gave her a swift, fierce grin. "I hadn't. Truly. But thanks for that one. Hmm."
"Belt up, Lightfingers," Embra snapped, busily casting swift, wary glances at the trees above and all around. Satisfied, she held out the Dwaer and put a firm hand on the brow of the moaning farmer.
The Stone in her hand glowed, silence fell, everything was falling and…
She was plunging into warm red darkness, at once pulsing with life and quivering with fear. It was a darkness that should be brighter, that knew this and was alarmed, and yet could not think, could not hold to thoughts, could not…
Could not…
Shuddering, the Lady of Jewels threw herself over onto her face in the forest loam, breaking the contact.
"Em!" Hawkril cried, bending toward her with force enough to drag seven horses in her direction. "Are you-?"
"F-fine," his lady told him, managing a wry grin as she rose with dirt all over her forehead and an array of leaves in her hair and sticking to her chin. 'Just… whew. It feels… different from what afflicted us. 'Tis a magic that twists the mind-and its unraveling is beyond me, without time and quiet and the right books and such, to cast the spells I'll need. It seemed almost as if the plague itself can sense, and think, there in his mind…"