The Dragon's Doom

She whirled around, to flee she knew not where, and from behind her came the roar she'd feared and expected: the sound of Ingryl Ambelter's voice raised in anger. Wordless, wet and bubbling anger, as if he was spewing forth soup or wine and trying to snarl at her around it-a sound that lent her even more fear and swiftness.

Panting, she raced three steps before something terribly cold caught her wrist and shocked her into instant immobility, frozen in mid-run with one leg raised high and the other trailing behind.

She'd have toppled but for that icy grip-the one that swung her around to face the Spellmaster's angry face. "Don't you ever darel" he spat-the light of unchecked magic spilling out of his eyes like bright smoke, hiding them from her, and the same roiling radiances spurting from his mouth like liquid flame.

Those bright energies washed over her frozen face, and with a helpless foreboding Maelra felt something more than the tingling of wild Dwaer-power that had already stirred her loins and set every hair on her body standing out like so many whisper-thin spikes. A horrible creeping sensation rose within her, an invading something that stole right through her, alive and aware, looking at her with cold amusement from within as it came…

Unable even to scream, Maelra reeled inwardly, sick and terrified. So this is what it feels like to be doomed.

Ambelter must be using his Dwaer to force himself on her, to lurk in her body and spy on her from within… Well, so much for her fears that either Ambelter or Pheli

She stared into Ingryl Ambelter's gloating face, still unable to see anything but flames of wild magic where his eyes and mouth should be-and as she watched, his horrific glee melted into the likeness of a gri

Those eyes that were no longer eyes looked at her, and Maelra felt the amused and fell regard of an old and wise intellect. Then one eye distinctly winked, and the leering skull melted away and was gone, leaving the angry face of the Spellmaster of Aglirta behind it, his dark eyes snapping as he shouted, "Obey me, stupid wench! On your knees, and be glad I don't just break your pretty but useless little neck!"

And Maelra Bowdragon went to her knees, lifting her hands in pleading supplication as if Ambelter was an altar of the Three Gods. Her reverence turned his shouting to glee in an instant, though his eyes still danced with anger, and he recovered himself as the lightnings faded and the room returned to normal.

Then he waved a hand, and the armored, silent men who'd stood around the walls like statues took a pace forward in unison. Maelra stared at them wildly, wondering what new horror was to be visited upon her. She'd thought they were statues. Their eyes stared back blankly, out effaces whose flesh was twisted and drooping, like melted and then rehardened wax.

15

Lessons Grimly Learned

Embra Silvertree shook her head to clear it, the Dwaer round and hard and familiar in her hands, the only reassuring thing in all this blood and battle.

It had been two deserted hamlets and the ashes of one burned cart with gnawed-to-the-bone horses still harnessed to it later when they'd stopped to rest. She'd barely reached some handy bushes for privacy when the attack came.

It was sudden and almost blinding, like bright ruby fire inside her head. She gasped, staggered, and then… somehow… mastered her Stone once more, feeling as winded and bruised as if someone had punched and kicked her repeatedly.

Emerging from the bushes in a sort of weary daze, she watched her fellow overdukes standing by their horses-looking at her expectantly.

'Three Above, when did I become Lord Master of this motley band of heroes?

The Three forebore to answer that silent question, and Embra smiled grimly and told her companions, "Glarondar. As fast as we can. If 'tis at the other end of this road, as it always has been, someone there has a Dwaer, and is using it right now. Probably the same someone who just tried to wrest control of this Stone away from me. And before you ask: I'm fine."

"A Serpent!" Craer snarled, leaping into his saddle.

"Ambelter!" Hawkril growled, swinging himself up onto his horse.

"Pheli

"Anyone in Aglirta," Blackgult suggested with a quiet smile, his battered

armor clanging as he leaned down a hand from horseback to assist his daughter.

The moment Embra was mounted, Craer spurred his horse into a gallop.

"Ho, there!" Hawkril called. "How fast d'you want to stick your fool head into the next Serpent ambush, hey?"

"Might as well be swift, so Embra can slay them the faster and we can get on," Craer called over his shoulder.

"Hear me: Even if we ride these poor beasts until they fall over, 'twill be next morning at the very least before we see Glarondar."

"So we'll steal fresh horses," Craer replied airily. His horse snorted and shied under him, as if in answer to his words-but really to avoid stepping on a dead horse sprawled in the trail, wearing arrows and surrounded by the blood left behind by the scavengers that had torn open its belly and plucked out its eyes. A skull and a few scattered bones beside it bespoke the fate of its rider.

"Well, this one's free for the taking," Hawkril observed. "Hey, Longfingers?"

Craer snarled and dug his boots into the flanks of his weary mount again.

Dwaer-power gripped the Baron of Glarond with viselike fingers.

"Tremblings and protests aren't reassuring to the good folk of Glarondar," Arthroon said firmly. "They much prefer smiles and a show of reverence to the Great Serpent to come. So you, my good and obedient Baron, will give them that."

A sudden surge of pain and a forcible trip to his knees in front of the gently smiling priest reminded the terrified baron that he was utterly under the control of the Dwaer. Now it was forcing him up again, past the ornate window that was displaying nightfall drawing down over Glarondar, to the mirror.

"Smooth out the wrinkles and square the shoulders, there's a good baron," the priest purred, as the magic suddenly let go of Glarond's arms. He gaped at his reflection, and then almost frantically brushed and tugged and smooDied, turning side-on to better judge his appearance.

Lord of the Serpent Belgur Arthroon nodded approvingly, took up his snake-headed staff, and indicated the door. "Open it, bold Baron Glarond, and show your people how devoutly you worship the Serpent."

The baron hastened to obey, as a drum started to beat in the courtyard below.

"Ah, we're just in time for the drinking of the plague-wine," Arthroon observed, prodding baronial shoulders with his fanged staff. "Down to the courtyard, and kneel to the priest serving wine there."

Helplessly, the baron started down the stairs, fixing a smile onto his face before the Dwaer could do it for him. Smiling like a snake, Arthroon followed him down into the rising chants and quickening drumbeats. It sounded as if all Glarondar had come to join in worship-and service-to the Serpent.

All fools, and all doomed. Yet if one was a priest of the Serpent, life was good… and could only get better.

The spears came down to bar his way. "Your name, and business in Flowfoam?"

"Suldun Greatsarn, loyal warrior of the King, reporting back to His Majesty under royal command to do so," growled the grim, exhausted man in mud-smeared and battered armor.

"Whether you are or are not a king's warrior, I very much doubt if he'll see you if you try to enter the i