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"A Serpent-priest, watching us through him?" Tash asked sharply.
"No, not that sort of awareness. Just the plague itself, stirring and flowing. Craer, let him go. He means us no harm-and no, he's not ru
"Can he… give the plague to someone else, by biting or touching them, or…?"
Embra sighed. "I think so, Tash, but I don't know. That's why I wanted us in Glarondar. If the Three smile on us more widely than they've ever been known to do before, we just might find some answers in certain books in the baronial library there."
"Might?" the Lady Talasorn echoed with a smile.
"And how is it," Craer said gently, freeing the man and letting him stumble away, "that you know the contents of a library in Glarond? Not meaning any offense; I'm just ruled by curiosity, that's all."
The Lady Silvertree gave them both a thin smile. "The 'might' is because those books may not still be there. All my knowing of Glarondan libraries is that these particular books were once held by a previous Baron of Glarond. Ambelter wanted my fa-that is, Baron Faerod Silvertree-to send agents to steal them, long ago."
"There've been several Barons of Glarond since then," Hawkril rumbled gently.
"So we mustn't get too hopeful," Craer agreed. "All right: what was or is in those books that you're after now?"
"Castings of, and notes on, some spells associated with the Blood Plague that afflicted Aglirta long ago," Embra replied. "Now please find us a hollow, here in the woods, or some other place the horses can't easily get free from."
The procurer rolled his eyes. "But of course, lady fair," he fluted, flawlessly aping the elaborate gestures of a mincing courtier as he strolled forward. "Might I ask why?"
"You might," the Lady Silvertree agreed, and then chuckled. "I… saw enough inside that farmer to know I must use the Dwaer on us all, as soon as possible. The plague still lurks in us, awaiting future weakness to rage again-and ready, even now, to spread to others we have dealings with."
"Ah. Upon reconsideration," Craer a
"Get thee to a hollow!" Tshamarra snarled, pointing into the woods.
The procurer rolled his eyes again and fled. His return was almost immediate. "There's one just beyond yon stump. Go around to the right a bit, to lead the horses down; there're moss-slick boulders everywhere else. If Hawk and Lord Blackgult shift one of the dead trees down like a bar behind us, the horses'll be pe
"It is," the Lady of Jewels agreed rather grimly, and they descended into the hollow.
"Link to me, Tash," Embra said gently, "and see just how I do this."
"So I can do it to you?" Tshamarra asked softly.
Blackgult looked up sharply at something in her voice, and put his hand on the hilt of his dagger.
Embra nodded. "Last, after I purge you. On the ground, all of you men."
Cheek to cheek and hip to hip, the two sorceresses touched the Dwaer to each of their companions in turn. Each man shuddered, stared wide-eyed at nothing, and then convulsed and started to flail and writhe, clawing at the ground in pain. Craer whimpered, but the two larger men growled, loud and long, like angry wolves. The horses snorted and stamped nervously at that, tossing their heads.
"Burning it back," Tshamarra murmured, going reluctantly to her knees and then sinking down into a sitting position.
"Yes," Embra agreed. "No, right down. This'll hurt some."
"No lie?" the last living Talasorn replied sarcastically, giving the nearest horse a doubtful look as she took herself to the ground. Then she bit her lip at the Dwaer-touch, shook, and sobbed, thrashing and arching back and forth. Embra shielded her head from a root, and waited for Tash to recover.
The horses tried to bolt several times, and had taken to milling about the hollow in great haste, neighing frantically and recoiling whenever Embra used the Dwaer to shove them away from a human shuddering on the ground, ere Tshamarra Talasorn drew in a deep, tremulous breath, blinked eyes that were awash with tears, and reached out to clasp Embra's hand.
"I'm… I'm almost ready." She drew in another deep breath, shook her head with a rueful smile, and added, "Yes. I'm ready."
Somewhat unsteadily she found her feet, and with a flourish indicated the ground where she'd been thrashing. Embra smiled, handed her the Dwaer, and laid herself down.
Tshamarra stared at the Dwaer in her hand with a sort of wonder, smiling faintly-and never saw Blackgult's burning eyes on her, as he clawed his way upright on nearby rocks, and drew his dagger.
Like a patient mountain, Hawkril also found his feet, and eyed the horses, wondering if he'd have to charge and wrestle them back to protect Embra or the still-groaning Craer.
Tshamarra drew in a deep breath, threw her head back like a lass preparing to dive deep into a pool, made the Dwaer flame, and plunged her hand down onto Embra's breast.
And the Lady of Jewels screamed.
Loud and long and raw, the throat-stripping shriek of agony set the horses into a thundering gallop away from the two women, at Hawkril's barrier tree.
The scream was promptly answered by a roar of challenge from above, a great thunderous cry that echoed and rolled around the hollow-and made the horses skid to a stop and cower in a trembling heap.
Embra wriDied in heedless pain, but the roar brought Craer back to cursing awareness, lying on his back and staring up at the suddenly darker sky. Something huge and dark was blotting out the sunlight, vast wings spread. Branches splintered and cracked under clutching claws far too large for them to support, trees bent aside and then broke, and with dust-stirring beats of its great bat-wings the nightmare came down to earth, stretching forth its heads to snap down at all the moving meals in the hollow.
Yes, heads: three of them. A dragon or nightwyrm twisted into a three-headed abomination such as had never been seen in Aglirta before. Tshamarra rose out of the fires in Embra's mind blinking in disbelief, the Dwaer forgotten in her hand, as searing, smoking spittle fell like rain, and three scaled necks plunged down at her, great jaws agape!
The Baron of Glarond hadn't been master of Glarondar for very long. Riding its streets was still a thrill, even if folk no longer cheered at the sight of him. It was his, every balcony, spire, and merlon of it. Oh, various of his subjects owned this house and that shop-but if he took a liking to a particular building, a few moments of strenuous stabbing by his guards led to the goods of dead traitors devolving into waiting baronial hands.
Not that he wanted most of the dirty, leaning houses in Glarondar. He was used to grander buildings from his days as a courtier in Flowfoam. The glitter of gold, the sheen of expensive cloth, the cold fire of gems-all of these he was used to seeing, but not actually having.
Not until now.
His castle vaults held a coffer of gems and at least three sacks of gold coins as large as he was, as well as several chests of lesser coins. He'd pawed through them more than once, despite the carefully expressionless scrutiny of the ever present guards-Aw guards, now-and looked forward to acquiring more. Much more. But he hadn't expected this much, so soon.
Like a golden mirror the tray gleamed up at him. He looked down at it, seeing his own bright-eyed reflection peering up at-at sixteen gleaming new Carraglan zostarrs, their gold as rich as that of the thick, chased-edge tray; nine rubies larger than his thumb; and a gold wristlet that must hold as much metal as fifty zostarrs.