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."
The wizard nodded. "Rathtaen? Ormsivur? Of you, then, or not?"
"Not."
"Harsadrin? Thelvaun?"
Carondiom arched an eyebrow, and waved one hand. "You seem well acquainted with us. Well, then…"
A glowing map of the Vale appeared on the floor all around the Spell-master. Ambelter hastily stepped back out of it to see better as the Fang-master pointed to spot after spot on the map.
"The most important Lords of the Serpent who stand against us, besides those you've named, are Naumun in Sirlptar, and Lethsais, over here in Telbonter. I would also describe Hlektaur in Dranmaer and Boazshyn of Ool as less friendly to our approach than to the one advocated by Yedren-which is to pick a brainless novice from our ranks and make him Serpent over us all, controlled by we of the inner council through a great web of blood-spells."
"And why is that not a good notion?" Ambelter asked, his eyes on the winding Silverflow. The magic of the map made its waters seem to endlessly move.
"We contend that one so feeble of mind in the first place and so addled with spells in the second can have no hope of mastering the Thrael, and thus be useless in whelming and commanding the true power of the Church."
"And who are the Lords who lean to your views, or whom you know to be part of your faction?"
"Our two Lords in Ibryn," Caronthom replied, "Maskalos and Cheldraem. Also Rauldron of Tselgara, Old Nael in Rithrym-so called because his son, Nael, is also of our Brethren, though but a Fangbrother as yet-and Pheltarth in Adelnwater."
"Kelhandros in Sart," Raunthur added, and the Fangmaster nodded at this amendment.
"An impressive list of wizards," Ambelter commented. "So how can my spells make a difference, one way or another? If you have all these masters of magic among you, and rule the Vale already, what do you need me for?"
"To help us find the Great Serpent, assist us in disputes with our ah, rival Lords, and to help us openly conquer the kingdom. We must rule in Flowfoam."
The Spellmaster looked up from the map. "It seems to me that you could just walk in at any time and sit on the throne. Neither Flowfoam nor the wider Vale holds much of anyone who could or would stand against you."
The Fangmaster gave Ambelter a considering look. "Well, not so. Despite our best efforts, Aglirta still has barons and tersepts ruled more by ambition than by fear of us-and some of these have already invited outlander hireswords into the realm to fight for them. More than a few wealthy Sirl merchants are also watching what unfolds in Aglirta, and gathering mercenaries for their own forays into the Vale."
Raunthur the Wise nodded. "We can't get terrified farmers and villagers to rise in arms in any numbers or effectiveness. If we move openly to take Flowfoam, we'll be forced to hire outlanders to forge an army of our own."
"And so? A shortage of coins has never seemed to be among your problems."
"No," Caronthom agreed, "we've hired armies before and could do so again-but we dare not begin whelming until the new Great Serpent has been found, or we face the danger of becoming the victims of our hirelings. Some brute of an outlander warlord will crown himself King of Aglirta-and we'll have achieved nothing but to rouse the whole realm, weaken it, and empty our coffers."
Ingryl Ambelter nodded. "That's more wisdom than I've heard in many a year. So how will I know if I've found your Great Serpent for you? How do you tell when you've found him?"
Raunthur the Wise shook his head with a smile, remembering. "There's a… feeling. Any Priest of the Serpent knows, the moment they're in the same room as the chosen one. We can feel the power of the Dark One, flowing from him."
Ingryl Ambelter nodded again. "Well, that seems clear enough. I accept, with thanks." He smiled-and the Dwaer beneath his robes erupted in a bright blast of force that stabbed out at the shieldings of Caronthom and Raunthur.
In an instant they flared to a blinding brightness, and the Dwaer-bolts sped on to the shieldings of the other priests, leaping from one to another. Some of the Serpent-lords tried to weave magics of their own, in the space of a scant breath, or rose to flee; but when their shields were struck, those magics were rooted to the spot, and then-one after another, like mushrooms frying in a pan-popped and died to shrunken darkness, leaving nothing of themselves or the men they'd held behind but a little sizzling wetness. So passed most of the Lords of the Serpent.
The slaying was done in less than four breaths. The Spellmaster of All Aglirta smiled around at the last drifting smokes, used the Dwaer to suck in every vestige of heat and spilled power, cast another long look at the Serpent-statue, just to be sure, and calmly strode to the door.