The Dragon's Doom

Light flashed in the gloom before him, three bright and expanding spheres of radiance. Out of each stepped a tall, slender, robed man-two strangers, and a younger companion one he'd seen before. Seen, and thought dead forever, in the skies above a batdefield here in Aglirta: Jhavarr Bowdragon… and judging by the faces of the elder pair, he'd brought his kin.

"Ezendor Blackgult," the oldest wizard greeted him coldly, as the other two launched without hesitation into complicated spellweavings-bindings to keep him in this chamber, by the sounds of their incantations. "I am Dolmur Bowdragon. This is my brother Ithim-and I believe you've already met Jhavarr. Bowdragons never forget… and Bowdragons pay all debts."

The Golden Griffon threw back his head and cackled. "So," he added joyfully, completing Dolmur's direat, "prepare to die! Aha-ha-ha-ha!"

And with that laughter still echoing off the ceiling above him, Blackgult blasted it with the Dwaer and brought that end of the room crashing down atop his three newfound foes.

Two of them ran, desperately, breaking off their spellcasting. But the one who'd called himself Dolmur calmly spread his hands, and the great chunks of ceiling thundered down onto… something unseen, that sent them tumbling and rolling aside.

And then bursting apart, into powder, under a Dwaer-blast! One of the three-Jhavarr, it must be, for it had come from his side-had a Dwaer!

Blackgult roared out his rage and excitement. There was a way of forcing a blast from one Dwaer to another, now… yes!

Exultantly he did what he'd read in a dusty old tome in the palace library. It hurt the wielder, aye, but what cared he for that? He was dead anyway! Let a richer harvest be reaped, and old Blackgult go down to greet the Three with three dead Bowdragons to his credit.Yes!

The blast, when it came, swept away Dolmur's spell and took all three Bowdragons by surprise. Ithim screamed as the two older Bowdragons were flung away like rags, bones splintering audibly. Jhavarr, holding his Dwaer, was caught in the blast-glow, frozen in pain and rooted to the spot by the sheer power racing through him, his face twisted in dismay… and as the magic roared on, his slender body slowly changed, melting away from the likeness of Jhavarr Bowdragon into… bony facelessness. A Koglaur!

The two torn and bleeding Bowdragons saw the transformation too.

"Duped!" Dolmur snarled. "We've been tricked to our dooms!"

Ithim screamed again in fear and despair-and he was still screaming when Dolmur did something that abruptly snatched them elsewhere, leaving the Koglaur alone to shudder as Blackgult sent another Dwaer-blast through him.

"Skill and savagery, that's the way!" the Golden Griffon called jovially. "You faceless, sneaking rogue, you!"

The Koglaur turned his smooth, eyeless face toward Blackgult, and the Griffon felt the weight of coldly seething scrutiny. Then, abruptly, the Faceless One vanished, leaving the chamber dark and lonely once more. Inconsiderately, he'd neglected to leave his Dwaer behind him.

"Ah, well," Blackgult told the walls around him, "Victorious, the Golden Griffon can get on with dying in peace, then."

Or perhaps… just perhaps… He held up the Dwaer and cast a careful shielding-spell, three-layered and intricate. Blackgult was shaking with weariness when he was done, and dark anger was rising in his belly again, so he made haste to work a last, healing magic, and let go of the Dwaer.

It drifted away from his upflung arm, and gathered speed as it went,

curving along the inside of his shield-spell. Blackgult tore off his robe and laid it out as a bed as near to the center of the shield-sphere as he could quickly judge. He laid himself down hastily, closed his eyes, and pictured the Dwaer whirling around above him in a steady orbit, clinging to images of its speeding glow as the anger surged.

If he was to live, he had to rest. In trance, if he'd recalled Sarasper's instructions aright, the Dwaer just might be able to purge the Blood Plague from his body. "Well, now," he muttered, sinking down into the dark warmth where the rage rolled and snarled, "to be rid of the plague and healed hearty again… wouldn't that enrage a few Serpent-priests? They might even do something foolish and violent… But then again, how would the rest of us tell?"

Chuckling, he let the darkness take him.

23

Great Serpent Rising

Ingryl Ambelter smiled politely at the dozen or so elder Serpent-priests facing him as the underpriests who'd brought him here scuttled hastily out and closed the doors. Protective magics sang almost audibly in the air; every one of these old men must have shield-spells active. The room was small and bare: stone benches faced the oratory floor he was standing on, amid two large pillars. There was but the one visible door-and, rearing out from the wall to his left, a stone statue of a snake poised to strike.

The Spellmaster gave it a long glance to make sure it was sculpted stone and not a spell-frozen snake of monstrous size, and then regarded the priests again. "You know who I am. And you would be-?"

One of the oldest men spoke, without rising from his bench. "All of us hold the rank of 'Lord of the Serpent,' most exalted in our Brotherhood beneath the Great Serpent himself. We are not all the Lords, but rather the oldest and largest faction among rival groups of Lords who hold differing views on who the Great Serpent is, and how we shall find him."

Ingryl nodded. "Forgive my ignorance, but beneath you in the ranks of the Church are… what titles?"

Another priest spoke. "Beneath us are a handful of Masterpriests, below them a very much larger mustering of senior clergy who are styled 'Priest of the Serpent,' then again a smaller whelming of priests called Scaled Masters, and then the great bulk of the Brethren, who are all 'Brothers of the Serpent.' Below them are Fangbrothers-such as those who conducted you here-and beneath them come lesser ranks of no account, down to the novices. Under every Great Serpent the titles and standings have changed somewhat."

"And you are all, if I understand things correctly, truly wizards, using spells known to mages everywhere as well as Serpent-related magics held secret by the Church?"

"Yes. The Great Serpent has access to a great web of spells known as the Thrael, the legacy of the original archmage who founded the faith and became the first Great Serpent."

Ambelter nodded. "And you need me to-?"

The priest who'd first made answer held up a hand. "Let us first describe our situation, Spellmaster of All Aglirta. I am called Carondiom 'Fangmaster,' and serve as First Voice in our councils. This"-he indicated the second priest who'd spoken-"is Raunthur the Wise. The reports returned to council tell us that the Church has now successfully infested all Aglirta with the Blood Plague that turns men to beasts we can command, or drives them to slaying rage. We know and can provide antidotes to the effects of the venom, and so keep people 'untainted' if we choose. Through the use-and withholding-of this 'Grace of the Serpent,' and through fear, we now effectively rule every town and hamlet of the Vale, behind the backs of many tersepts and barons. Others bow to us directly."

"Have the rival Serpent-lords aided you in this, or do they work against you?"

"They are actively and enthusiastically part of the Church. Our disagreements are over the identity and coming of the Great Serpent, and how and where we should seek him, not over the rightful goals of the faith."

Ingryl Ambelter nodded. "Is the priest called Yedren part of your faction, or a rival?"

"Not one of us," Raunthur said gently. "I believe the term 'rival' is a trifle strong."