Arch Wizard

'I can be blunter,' Juskra said with the faintest of smiles, her voice dry. 'Both of you are thirsting hard to be free of us and everyone else who's been chasing you and forcing you to do this and that. You want food, rest, and riches.'

Garfist and Iskarra both nodded.

Juskra held up her hand to show them her ring again; the glow had quite fled from it. She drew it off and put it carefully into Garfist's hand. 'You awaken it by thinking of a vivid sunrise. It should work twoscore times more. It belonged to an Aumrarr who's now too dead to feel the lack of it. I give it to you freely.'

He glared down at it, then lifted his glare to her. 'So just what're ye playing at, hey?'

'If you do this thieving for us,' she replied, 'and come back up these stairs, we'll fly you safe out of here. To a ruin-an Aumrarr wingbitch ruin no others dare approach, though none of us are left to guard it now-where we can all rest. Then come the next day, aloft again and on to an inn in Galath we know, where you can have all the food and drink you want, and no one will ask who you are or who you may be running from. Safe we'll take you, just as I've promised; no treachery and no lies.'

Dauntra nodded, and the battlescarred Aumrarr spoke again.

'We'll swear this by any bindings you desire; we want to know you as friends, henceforth.'

'Because ye'll be needing us again, in time to come,' Gar growled.

Juskra did smile, this time. Sweetly. 'Of course.'

The mountain shuddered again, a deep, teeth-jarring rumbling that was loud and long. As its din deepened, rocks as large as human heads came crashing down in a hard rain from above, amid the usual dust and grit.

None of Narmarkoun's undead shrieked or cried out. Without the Master to empower them to do otherwise, they remained mute.

Yet their agitation was clear to each other by the ways they stiffened and hastened to vantage points in the great open interior of Closecandle, to peer in all directions to try to see what was happening.

Solid stone rocked beneath them, under heavy blows. In the great central well-shaft where Narmarkoun was wont to ride his greatfangs up into the chill mountain sky or come plunging down out of it to thunderous landings, a jutting balcony cracked off the wall and fell. One of the Master's favorite playpretties clung silently to its sheared-off fragment of railing, staring all around in wild despair, as she plunged to shattering oblivion below.

Another balcony cracked and crumbled away, spewing smaller stones down the shaft. Then, quite suddenly, there was no room for more stone to fall down that great opening, as huge scaled bodies burst into view from below, thrusting upwards wedged together and struggling, each one furious to get to the light first. Huge claws raked the ancient stone walls as if they were made of butter, and wings strained to find space enough to unfurl.

The eldest and strongest of the greatfangs suddenly prevailed, clawing its way up the surging body of the rival it was wedged against. Kicking off from its rival's head, it took wing in a great bound up the shaft.

Wings clapped wind in their wake, a blast of air that made a great roaring bellow of exultation ring deafeningly around the shuddering shaft as the greatfangs tasted freedom, climbing fast into the sky.

The second greatfangs raced up the shaft after it, and then the third, as Narmarkoun's undead watched.

Not knowing what to do, with the Master absent and sending no commands, they stood mute and helpless, doing nothing more than staring, as every last greatfang soared up out of Closecandle and flew away.

All in the same direction, long necks stretched out in raging haste.

Chapter Thirty-One

Amteira drifted for a long time in dreams laced with the ever-present gentle rustle and earthy smells of the Raurklor. They were cold dreams, full of shivering, and frantic dreams, too, often bursting into desperate running. Barefoot, through the woods, sometimes as a doe, betimes human, and from time to time as stranger things… but always female, always bare-skinned, and always fearful.

Abruptly she came awake, huddled on her side on a bed of blackened stone shards. Lifting her head, she found it to be part of the great boulder she'd prayed on. The rest of it, riven into chunks great and small, lay all around her. She was cold.

Yet even as she stood, shivering, she cared nothing for that discomfort. The Raurklor was all around her, vast and wonderful, and she stared at it in awe, seeing it keenly for the first time.

Many, many smells cradled her and nigh overwhelmed her. The normal smells of a forest, it seemed, but she'd never before really noticed them all. Always, before, one scent-the smoke of a fire, or the sharp tang of bruised piney needles, the rotting-leaf mud of the rain-drenched Raurklor or the simmering growing smell of a hot forest day-had dashed aside all others and been all she really recognized. Now, though…

Abruptly Amteira became aware that her bare skin was now adorned with many patches of moss, and they felt a part of her, not something distasteful she should claw off as swiftly as she could.

More than that; she could feel the air around her through them. Feel it moving far more sensitively than before, every eddy and gust, subtle shifts in warmth and moments of chill.

She stood up, and abruptly knew something else. Turning her head, she nodded, certain of it. There was running water over there, though she couldn't see it-and yonder, too, though much farther off.

She felt part of the woods, now, rather than an intruder in the endless green vastnesses.

What had happened to her? This moss, her smelling and feeling… could this be the Forestmother, answering her prayer?

Amteira, will you serve me, or die?

The great, boomingly-soft voice in her head seemed as dark, tall, and terrible of power as a Stormar wave, about to crash over her and carry her away.

'F-forestmother?' she blurted out, more than a little afraid.

I am more than that, and less, but you may call me that.

'Call you-? Uh, I… I will serve you. If you'll have me.'

Good. Welcome. Your first service will be to slay the traitor Cauldreth Jaklar for me. I demand his blood.

Relief flooded through her. 'I'll slay him right gladly. Where is he?'

Gone back to Ironthorn. Having called on me to slay you with the wolves of the forest.

'The wolves?'

Abruptly a smoky-gray shadow loomed up over the scattered shards of the rock to regard her with blood- red, unblinking eyes. Its fangs were long, sharp, and many. There was a second shadow, moving sleekly behind it, and a third.

The wolves you shall lead into Hammerhold to rend Jaklar-and bid Hammerhold farewell. Ironthorn is your world no longer. You belong to me now.

Amteira Hammerhand drew in a deep, shuddering breath, bade her dead father a silent farewell, and replied, 'Y-yes. Yes, I do. Command me.'

Hunt now, and hunt well. Slay for Burrim Hammerhand-and for yourself.

Before Amteira could reply, the snout of a wolf was nuzzling her, its tongue rasping on her hand and thigh.

She looked down into its eyes, and smiled.

They smiled back, turning-just for an instant-leaf-green before they faded again to blood-red. She turned, naked and weaponless, and started running through the forest, heading for where she thought Ironthorn was.

The wolves howled once, eerily, then ran with her, one of them edging ahead to turn her firmly.