"Downdaggers!" Hulgor Delcamper growled in astonishment, stealing a quick glance at his flagon as if drinking the wine might have brought him this vision.
"Yes!" Phelinndar shouted. "It works! It works!"
The old man in green winced. "Magic! I forgot you're a baron now, Downdaggers. I suppose some spell-bauble came with your keep and blazon and all. What's afoot?"
"Plenty, Hulgor, and I need your help. I've got something powerful that the Spellmaster of Silvertree-the worst of the Dark Three, remember?- very much wants. I'm living in his lair right now, wondering how much longer he'll put up with me."
"Run," Hulgor suggested, taking a quick swig of wine.
"Not yet, but soon-and I need somewhere to run to."
Old Delcamper eyes narrowed. "So you want me to imperil the ancestral seat of my family for you, hey, and court Spellmasters as foes? You'd be thinking of coins and gems and the like to make such colossal idiocy worth my while, now, wouldn't you?"
The baron winced. "I'm a poor man, Hulgor…"
"The old gambits are the good ones, hey?" The old noble grinned. "Well, so am I. As my teeth fall from my head and my body hunches and my skin sags, young lasses no longer leap lustfully upon me as they once did, and I've heard of a spell that'll fix all that. I'll need a Sirl thou-sandweight in gold to get it, mind you…"
Phelinndar gave a little crow of laughter. "Hulgor, what're you drinking?"
"Something my sisters brought back from their last shopping voyage, south," the noble growled. "The one we're all still paying for. Better make that two thousandweights…"
"Two Sirl thousands? Hulgor, you must be mad!"
They were both grinning, now, and Hulgor almost rubbed his hands as he sampled his flagon again, sighed in pleasure, and said, "Pity you can't taste this, old friend. But of course in decadent Aglirta every last baron must have cellars of stuff almost as good, just lying there to be sold to passing barge traders for, say, three Sirl thousandweights…"
"Four once more," Craer murmured, looking around the room. "Your turn in the Band of Four, my lady."
"I know." Tshamarra's voice was low. "I'll try not to fail you."
Embra shook her head. "Don't let your sly-tongued lord upset you, Tash; you earned your welcome long ago. My father's better placed guarding the King-and running Aglirta for all of us. We need your spells and your… ah, fire."
Tshamarra smiled. "Thanks. I think."
Craer put an arm around her-and for once, she didn't slap it away. Thus emboldened, he asked, ''Em, why exactly are we here? An empty chamber, quite secluded… is this another of your rend-the-sky-with-spells sessions?"
The Lady of Jewels smiled as she guided Hawkril to stand in a particular spot in the large, bare, and dusty hall. "Ah, so perceptive, Lord Longfingers. 'Tis time to try another Dwaer-tracing. We're back to one Stone, yes, but here, with the doors barred to keep out guards and the like, we can also use any spells Tash and I cast-and the Living Castle enchantments."
"Do yon locks and bars keep out Koglaur and bats?" Craer's voice was skeptical.
"Craer Delnbone, will you stop crying gloom for once? I can't think of any other way to avoid rambling around the Vale just waiting for trouble to find us, so…"
"Well said," Hawkril rumbled. "Raise your magic."
Embra nodded, laid a hand on his forehead, and carefully announced, "Lamarantha!"
Hawkril acquired a frown. "What're you doing, my lady? This feels… strange."
She stared into his eyes. "Did you hear the word I just spoke? Can you recall it? Don't say it aloud! You remember it?"
The mountainous armaragor nodded. "Aye."
"Can you hold it in your mind?"
He nodded again.
"Good. Say that word later, when I wave my hand at you thus, hey?"
"And doing so will-?"
"Unleash the spell I just stored in you. It's what you feel in your head right now."
" 'Tis moving… like a worm come up after rain, questing back and forth," the armaragor complained.
"Good. Mages know that feeling well."
"Hmmph. No wonder your tempers are often short."
Craer chuckled and shot a swift, warning look at Tshamarra. "Don't you be trying that on me, now!"
"No." The Lady Talasorn's smile was sweet. "We've something else in mind for you."
Craer took a swift, suspicious step back, away from them all. "And what would that be, precisely?"
Something curved and bright and familiar suddenly glowed in the air right in front of his nose-and then fell. Without thinking he caught it… and found himself staring down at the Dwaer, bright and slightly warm in his hands.
"Look into it, and feel its flows," Embra called from across the chamber.
The procurer gave her a wild look. "You tricked me!"
"And will again. Yet you'll wed yon Stone soon enough, and want to have it always in your hand; the hard task will be yielding it up to me again." The Lady of Jewels reached into her bodice and held up a small pendant. "See you this?"
Craer glanced and then grinned. "Closely seen already, Lady; 'tis a professional weakness we procurers have. A few tiny belzorels, the central stone some mountain rock or other, polished smooth-of no great worth, probably a family jewel."
"Indeed, and yet worn because it bears a minor enchantment against maggots and crawling worms and mites, to keep my hair free of such things-and to be drained in a moment for a spell, should I have need. Now look you into the Dwaer, and try to feel and see this pendant through it. Other magics here in this chamber will have their own glows, but try to find just this one."
Obediently, Craer stared into the Stone. Silence hung around him for some breaths ere he murmured, " Well, now. A procurer could get very used to having such as this. I see it."
"Good. I'm casting a spell that will make this pendant seem as a Dwaer to you, just for a moment. It won't be like a Dwaer, but 'twill have the right radiance to your scrutiny."
"Aha," Craer commented, a moment later. "Distinctive."
"Yes. Remember it; that's what you need to be seeking. Now I'll need to do something more to you. Sit on the floor, cradle the Stone in your lap with one hand, and sit on your other hand, fingers spread on the floor. Don't move it when you start to feel power flowing up into it."
"Magic?"
"Yes, from Flowfoam itself: my Living Castle enchantments."
"Impressive," Tshamarra remarked, as Craer setded himself. "And my part?"
"When I wave to Hawkril and he unleashes his spell, ensnare it with one of your own. Both magics will lose their original effects and become raw, entwined power. Will that force into me, and I'll feed it to Craer. He won't have long to seek, but will have quite an impressive thrust of magic behind him-which may cause him some discomfort. As long as he holds the link together, all should be well."
Embra gave Craer a wry smile, and added, "Until we find another Dwaer, that is. When that happens, try to picture-in your mind-your eyes flying to it, and then look down as you speed straight toward it; you'll see the countryside where you're headed. Don't try to see who's holding the Dwaer and what's right around them, for that will surely alert them. We'll need you to hold the link to that other Dwaer, unless you see more than one, or anyone strikes at you with their Dwaer. In both cases, turn away, and throw mists between you and them."
Craer raised skeptical eyebrows. " 'Throw mists'? I do that… how?"