She smiled down at the twisting, shuddering Faceless with a Dwaer-Stone in either hand, and said sweetly, "You should have been dead centuries ago. You and all your ilk."
Two Dwaerindim kindled into humming brightness as one-and lashed out.
The Koglaur was old, cunning, and still deadly swift. It snarled an ancient incantation that made the sorceress frown and step back in wary alarm-and even as Dwaer-blasts bit into its shuddering, flowing flesh, spell-glows of a strange hue raced back along those twin bolts and washed over the Stones.
The Dwaer glowed and tingled strangely for a moment, causing Gadaster Mulkyn to murmur in wordless alarm… and then returned to their former state, their blasts steadying and gathering strength.
The slender sorceress showed no hint of carelessness or mercy, and soon the Koglaur ceased to shriek and shudder. Then Gadaster made a Dwaer raise a spiraling wind. That breeze snatched up the ashes that had been the Koglaur, moaned as it flung them at the ceiling-and then died away, leaving nothing at all on the flagstones where the shapeshifter had been.
"Three above," Hawkril gasped, staring at the bedchamber ceiling. "What was that?" He was naked and drenched with sweat, burning inside as if he was on fire. Embra was lying half atop him, down his left side, and she'd been raking him with her nails-causing the pain that had awakened him. And no wonder; her touch burned. Wherever their skin met, it felt like a searing Hawkril remembered from long, long ago… from the first time he'd curiously plucked a blazing brand out of a fire.
"Fire and flames," Embra whispered reluctantly, rolling away from him.
Her curves were as glistening-wet as his own, and she flung her limbs wide, gasping, "I was swimming in it! Flames, bursting up everywhere, consuming everything, yet burning on…"
The Dwaer at her throat glowed steadily, as if nothing was wrong. Its power was awake, of course, spinning the humming web of force that held the moaning, mumbling Blackgult on his bed across the room.
The Griffon stirred, writhing and kicking back his bed furs just as Embra and Hawk had done. Peering at him, they saw sweat glistening to match their own.
As her father started to roar, Embra put fingers to her Dwaer, licking sweat off her lips as it started to drip, and concentrated.
"Craer and Tash?" Hawkril rumbled.
She nodded and acquired the intent look that meant she was mind-speaking with someone. The armaragor could tell from her expression that she was soothing the person she was in contact with… Tshamarra, probably. Then Embra lifted her head to meet his gaze, smiling at the tenderness she saw there.
"They've shared the same dream. Warning from the gods, urgent sending, or break-sleep mischief, I know not-nor do I care overmuch. If any of us see snake- or dragon-heads in our dreams, of course…"
"It'll mean there's a Great Serpent again," Hawkril growled, "and a new Dragon's aborning."
Embra nodded grimly, and then touched her Dwaer again as Blackgult started to shout incoherently and struggle against the web that held him. As the magic brightened around her father, constraining and then quieting him, she sat back against the headboard with a sigh. "Well, this Lady of Jewels isn't going to get much sleep tonight, that's for sure."
Flaeros Delcamper came awake shouting, striking out with his fists into the night. "Fire!" he cried, seeing again those erupting flames, springing up out of the darkness all around him, to singe and then sear…
"Fire! Everything was burning up!"
"Easy, lad," Hulgor growled, laying a hand on his kinsman-and then snatching it back with an oath. "Ye gods, the lad's hot! A fever, belike!"
Anxious faces crowded around, lit by a lantern held in a royal hand. King Castlecloaks stared down at the twisting, sweating bard and then around at guards and servants. The two Delcamper maids were blushing as they surveyed all the bared male flesh around them, for only the guards wore anything-full armor, complete with the swords they'd now drawn.
"Put those away," Hulgor said disgustedly, though the swordpoints moved not an inch until the king nodded to support the old noble's order. "The lad needs a healer, not a sword through his guts!" He peered at Raulin. "Ye do have a healer?"
The king swallowed and then smiled weakly. "Ah, yes. Somewhere. I'm not quite sure just where in the palace anyone has their chambers, right now, actuall-"
"Never mind," Hulgor growled. "Kings, kings-what good are they? Lad!" This last bark was directed not at Raulin but rather at Flaeros Delcamper, now fully awake and staring up at the circle of faces in awe, fear, and-as he recognized some faces as female-mounting embarrassment. The bard snatched at the sweat-soaked linens beneath him.
"Ah, ye're awake-just like all the rest of us, thanks!" Hulgor growled. "Lad, where does Orele sleep? Hey?"
"You were purposely not told that, my lord," a palace servant said severely, "upon her instructions, and-"
"Take us there now," King Raulin snapped. The servant paled, stammered assent, and hurried off, taking up and unhooding a night lantern.
Hulgor scooped up Flaeros and carried the naked bard to the door, slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The younger Delcamper stammered protests, face flaming, and then thought the better of it and went along for the ride, watching his own sweat stream steadily down onto the floor below.
"Gods, lad, but you're hot," Hulgor growled. " 'Tis like carrying a slab of boar that's still cooking!"
The king and the guards strode along with Hulgor, close behind the lantern-bearing servant, but it seemed that some of the other Delcamper maids had taken a swifter route-for when they reached the small, plain door of Orele's chambers, it stood open. Lamplight was spilling out into the passage, and the Lady herself, in an ankle-length black nightrobe, sat in a chair facing them, her cane in her hand.
"Hulgor, set Flaeros on the bed," she said crisply, by way of greeting. "You'll find a nightshirt laid ready for him. Get the king a chair, send everyone else out, and then lock and bar the door. Everyone. I'm not in the habit of regicide, and all of these guards whose hygiene seems so poor would be best deployed well away from my keyhole-but making sure no one else tarries by it."
"Let all be done as the Lady Orele commands," the king said firmly, before anyone could raise protest-and, in a remarkably short time, it was.
"Wrinkles," Hulgor said gruffly, "the lad came awake shouting-"
Orele held up a hand. "I know. You were right to bring him here. Go to yonder board and get everyone a drink. Anything His Majesty fancies we will of course sip first, to show him 'tis safe. Go, Old Ram!"
Hulgor opened his mouth to protest, flushed, grinned, and went.
"You had a dream," Orele told the bard, "that I know all about. Worry not about the heat and the sweat-that will pass. You're neither ill nor crazed."
Flaeros smiled in relief, sitting up. "L-lady Orele, forgive this abrupt asking, but… well, I've long suspected you of being one of the Wise…"
The old woman smiled. "Well, you're not completely stone-headed, I see. Your suspicions are correct."
The bard and the king both leaned forward, grinning at her with identical expressions of eager excitement, two young lads entranced by all the tales of-
Lady Natha Orele raised one bony hand and said severely, "Before you ask, I neither kiss nor mate with toads, rarely flog myself in the moonlight, and have never cast any magics to make anyone sicken or die. On the other hand, I often dance naked out of doors by night, harvest useful herbs whenever I can, and keep secrets well. No, I can't fly, with or without a broomstick. I don't drink blood save when I prick myself, and don't cast love-spells for anyone-even by royal command."