call it, the Black Beast, a gigantic padding thing of claws and fangs that stalks the wild places, and hunts humans left alone. Hunts those its worshippers bid it to, they believe, staking sacrifices out to die and going on hunts of their own to bare and wound and leave helpless victims of their choosing, for the 'Holy Jaws and Claws' to find… This is evil, sisters, and rising, and many
Juskra stalked across the riven room, folding and unfolding her wings in her rising agitation. 'I tremble for the day-and it will come soon-when one of the Dooms sees that the way to exalt himself over his rivals, and us all, is by using his spells to shape such a beast and use it to command all who worship Gluth. And where men hate and fear wizards, those same men will cower before a god.'
'Shit,' Lorlarra whispered, white to the lips. 'Juskra, you certainly know how to make this particular Aumrarr wish she'd died at Highcrag. If you're right-and I'm sure you are-this is a shadow over all Falconfar, and we will live out the rest of our lives in its gloom. Not that it sounds like our lives will be all that long.'
'They won't be, the moment some priest of the Black Beast or the Forestmother decides Aumrarr are an evil to be hunted down to earn divine approval,' Ambrelle said softly, running her hands absently through her purple- black tresses. 'Oh, sister, can this be true?'
'Can and is,' Juskra said darkly. 'Deny it or refuse to see it, and you endanger us all. I begin to think the best service we can do Falconfar is to fly swift and hidden to every last Falconaar ruler and elder we can find, and warn them against the worship of these two deities, speaking as if the Dooms are already controlling them, but doing so in places where they are too busy to rule or conquer directly. We need the rulers to be scared enough to act, but not too scared to act.'
Dauntra nodded. 'That will work. I like it not, and it will be both difficult and dangerous the moment the Dooms learn what we're doing, but it is our best road ahead. Sister, I thank you for this warning.' She rose, strode slowly across the room to what was left of a wall, thrust her hand gently against it in slow anger, and then turned, eyes flashing.
'So we must together do the tongue-march across Falconfar, here and now, and decide where to go and what to do. Ambrelle, conjure the map.'
Ambrelle looked to Juskra. 'Promise you'll not storm out if we chew over holds and rulers?'
Juskra drew back her lips to show her teeth in a mirthless smile. 'You have my word. Make the map.'
Ambrelle drew forth a pendant from its hiding place in her bodice, clasped her hands together around it, closed her eyes, and whispered, 'Show me.'
The shattered and tumbled stones before her began to glow an eerie emerald hue, a glow that rose in threads from them, drifting like smoke. In a few silent moments it had formed a horizontal disc in the air, a circle as thin as parchment and as far across as a wagon… a circle of blue and dun brown and dark green, that spun and flowed and then quite suddenly became sharp-featured. There were seas in three places, one of them vast enough to fill a third of the disc. A great spine of mountains arose that almost split the disc into two halves, trailing off into that large sea in a string of isles like the barbs of a dragon's tail. The rest was brown land or great ragged stretches of green forest.
The other Aumrarr all leaned forward as Ambrelle opened her eyes, sighed, and put the pendant back in its warm haven.
'Begin where we go most seldom,' Dauntra suggested, 'east of the Spires.'
Juskra nodded, extending a long, sleek pointing arm to indicate a huge stretch of land that filled the southeastern arc of the disc. 'Sarmandar of the Manykings. Large, rich, deep-historied, and not worth a moment of our time. We could spend our lives-long lives, mind-just going from one self-proclaimed king to the next. So long as they make war on each other-and that is all they do, sisters! — words of ours are wasted on their unhearing ears. Let fabled Sarmandar go its own way and find its own doom; let us keep to the north of the Wyrmsea.'
Her pointing finger moved north, across a narrow sea that bounded Sarmandar to the coast of the huge landmass that covered most of the disc.
'On that north coast are the Spellshunned Lands,' Lorlarra murmured, bending forward in her tattered black war-harness. 'Perfumes and silks, and old, old magics gone wild and wrong. They'll not welcome the Dooms in black-towered Inrysk and proud Marraudro.'
'Wherefore they have no defenses against the Dooms or any wizard of might,' Juskra warned. 'Moreover, with magic denied yet at work, all awry, those who hunger for order will find the promise of order-and so, a new taste for their own hunger-in the Beast and the Forestmother.'
Ambrelle frowned. 'So who rules there?'
Juskra sighed. 'Beyond what all know, that the Lion-Knights rule in Marraudro, I know not. Inrysk has local lords and some sort of council of lords over all, as I recall, but of today's names and faces, I know none.'
Ambrelle nodded. 'Shall we leave them to last, sisters mine? Whispering to rulers takes longest when one must learn who and where each ruler is, and with our wings, we stand out, and may easily be used as unwitting pawns by the malicious, to work mischief by our very approaches to the ears of kings.'
'Well said,' Dauntra agreed. 'So, trending back toward us, west of Inrysk along the shores of the Wyrmsea, we come to Harfleet, Sholdoon, and Zancrast; all but names on the map to me.'
'I've been to two of the three,' Lorlarra said quietly. 'All are bustling ports on Ommaun the Wyrmsea, their wealth ruling small territories around them. Uneasy neighbors, but too greedy for daily gold to leave off trading long enough to take up arms against each other. I'm sure the Dooms would love to rule them, and they would welcome wizards and the cultists as they welcome everything: as tools to earn them even more coin.'
'The Dooms and priesthoods are hardly tools to be governed for long by mere greedy traders,' Juskra disagreed.
'True, sister, but the folk of those ports won't know that until too late. Taraun Zaer is High Lord of Zancrast, a vain, purring, oh-so-jaded man whose wits are keen, but far feebler than he thinks they are.' Lorlarra rolled her eyes. 'Tall, slender, trim-black-bearded, and thinks himself irresistible to all women and any man he puts his mind to conquering.'
'Charming,' Juskra said venemously. 'Well, Belrikoun is a lesser evil, then. He's the Ruling Scepter of Sholdoon. A fat man who looks like the former pirate and everyday greasy glutton that he is, but just and kind when he wants to be, and nobody's fool. He will listen, I think.'
It was Dauntra's turn to frown. 'Wasn't Sholdoon the place with the oh-so-sneering merchant nobles, who feud with everyone who comes within reach, and allow their own pride to rule them?'
Juskra nodded. 'It was, but Belrikoun tamed them, by wooing the younger ones and slaughtering their elders but making the deaths seem richly self-earned. They love him not, but they do obey him, and now see and judge the world as it is, and not as they prefer it to be.'
'Which proves that one man can change attitudes within his lifetime.' Dauntra held up a hand to stop her fellow Aumrarr interrupting as she pondered. 'Hmm. For my part, I have been to Harfleet. Arl Hraskur is the Waveking of Harfleet, and has received Aumrarr before in friendship. The more beautiful we, the more friendly he, if you take my meaning.'
Lorlarra sighed. 'Sister, we do. A night in his bed will mean he listens, then, but will he heed?'
Dauntra nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. 'Like Belrikoun, he's too wise not to pounce on any hint of a threat to his rule. He is wary, and has his spies, and plans ahead. He will know what to do. And do it.'
'Which brings us to Scarlorn, just the other side of the Falconspires from us,' Juskra said briskly. 'Huge, pastoral Scarlorn.'
'Land of farms, swamps, and more decadent satraps than I can count,' Ambrelle sighed. 'Must we visit them all?'
'But of cour-'
'No, Juskra. Here I disagree with you,' Dauntra said firmly. 'I have done sister-work in Scarlorn a time or two. Visit the right handful of satraps, and the spies of the rest will carry word to their masters better, and with it more apt to be believed, than if we came to whisper it ourselves.'
'Fair enough,' Juskra granted, scratching at her bandages and wincing. 'So who are these 'right handful?' Vorl Dhaerar? Mrauker Zael? Haremmon?'
'Mrauker, Haremmon, and Imb Trar. Vorl's palace is haunted by his aunts.' Dauntra rolled her eyes again. 'Their ghosts strangle spies, and most of Scarlorn knows that by now.'
'Right, that's Scarlorn. Important enough, after we've dealt with the mess in our laps. Galath. If we fail
