Arch Wizard

utterly unfamiliar.

Malraun. It must be Malraun tampering with his dreams.

Oh, not deliberately, riding his mind and meddling-why bother, when a Doom of Falconfar could so much more easily blast any mind he could enter, or conquer will and thought and memory, to enslave the owner of the mind?

No, this was more, uh, automatic. As if it was happening to him just because he was inside Malraun's fortress, and so within reach of spells the wizard had cast to affect everyone like this.

Rod swiped the back of his arm across his drenched face.

So, were greatfangs flying through the skies above a keep somewhere in Falconfar, or smashing open the front of that fortress to turn and menace a man in a red cloak, who was standing alone on a high stone terrace one moment and gone into empty air the next?

Just because he, a Shaper, the Lord Archwizard of Falconfar, dreamed matters stood thus?

Or was he just a sleepy, deluded writer of thrillers and fantasy trilogies who had no real power at all? A bumbler who could do nothing in Falconfar unless some lurking wizard or other worked magic to make things happen, hiding behind Rod Everlar as a cover for their deeds…

Taeauna fought to scream out her rage, but managed only the faintest of gasps. Lorontar's will was a great fist of power against her feeble infant's fumblings, flooding through her and leaving her dazed and helpless.

Flooding through her not to slay or savage, but to soothe.

Caress and cozen not the mind of Taeauna of the Aumrarr, but that of the man sprawled atop her, the wizard who styled himself Malraun the Matchless.

To keep him deeply asleep, no matter what guards came shouting or seeking to shake him out of slumber, as morning came to Darswords.

Bound and helpless under him, Taeauna lay silent. Seething, but held in a grip that wouldn't allow her to so much as curse softly.

She'd never thought she'd miss cursing so much.

Iskarra shook her head again, trying not to spew what little was in her stomach. She'd just plunged out of spiraling red mists, a long and sickening fall that had ended-none too gently-in a landing on hard stone battlements in the gray and misty chill before dawn.

The battlements belonged to an unfamiliar keep that stood in a narrow green river valley, that was part of a labyrinth of side-vales, somewhere in the vast Raurklor.

She'd seen that much while hurtling down to… here.

Iskarra shook her head, wincing. Everything she looked at swam a little around its edges, and looked a trifle greener than it should. 'What did you do to us?'

'Took you through a gate,' Dauntra said tartly. 'Wizards and high priests aren't the only ones who have a little magic.'

'Yours came from something you carry, not a spell,' Isk said calmly, trying not to show her horrible queasiness. 'I was watching.'

Dauntra shrugged, her smile fading not a whit.

'So where are we?' Garfist's grunt, from above and behind Iskarra, was as sour as it was resigned.

'Ironthorn,' snapped Juskra, as she flapped her wings hard to slow her plunge-and dropped him the last foot or so onto the battlements. 'The other end of it. Tesmer lands.'

'This is Imtowers,' Dauntra added softly.

Gar's grunt told all listening Falconfar that he was far from impressed.

He lurched to the rampart, looked down, then turned away. No escape there. Not and keep hold of life. He started the long trudge to where the battlements turned a corner, heading for where the hillside loomed and the drop would be less.

A dark shadow glided over him before he was halfway there, landed in his path, and folded her wings rather grimly.

The scarred Aumrarr wasn't in the best of humors. Garfist Gulkoun wasn't the lightest of men, and had the irritating habit, when dangling in the air as a burden, of twisting and kicking just as a side-gust struck. Wherefore her shoulders ached abominably.

'In there,' Juskra told him, pointing.

Gar spared the stair-hutch she'd indicated not so much as a glance. He kept right on lumbering along the battlements toward her.

'Garfist Gulkoun,' she added, voice sharpening, 'that's the way down. Or rather, the only one that doesn't involve your neck-and probably most of the rest of you, too-getting thoroughly broken.'

Face set, eyes flickering everywhere but at her as he strode, he gave no sign of having heard her words.

'Those stairs descend past three bedchambers that're very likely unoccupied this night, unless various of the younger Ismers have very swiftly returned from mischief they looked quite happy to be part of, in various elsewheres. The third step below the landing giving onto the main floor lifts up. The catch under it opens a door in the stairwell you'll never find otherwise, into the room where Lord Irrance Tesmer keeps the greater part of his spending-gems. In handy carry-coffers.'

The striding man lifted a hand and firmly favored her with a gesture that was both dismissive and decidedly rude, and kept right on coming.

'Garfist,' she added warningly.

He did not slow.

The Aumrarr sighed, bounded into the air in a violent clapping of wings that sent him staggering, and landed right behind him. He whirled with an oath, fists coming up, but it took her only a passing moment to slap the side of his neck as he turned.

His eyes went out like two snuffed candles, and he kept right on turning, plunging silently to the floor.

Iskarra darted forward, eyes wild. 'What did you-?'

'Hush,' Juskra replied soothingly, raising a hand on which a ring was glowing softly. That faint radiance certainly hadn't been there before. 'He'll be able to move again very soon. And breathe.'

Isk gave her a cold look. 'If you've harmed him…'

'Very soon,' Dauntra murmured, from just behind her.

The gaunt woman was unmollified. 'We faced and fought Lyroses for you; why are you doing this to us?'

The scarred Aumrarr shrugged. 'Your work in this isn't done. That which you were intended to affect hasn't yet arisen.'

'Can I have that in plain tongue?' Gar growled weakly, glaring up from the flagstones by her feet. 'Ye sound like a sly merchant trying to sell a new cure-all-ills ointment! Plain talk, wingbitches! Plain talk!'

'You need not fight, for this one,' Dauntra told him, waving at the stair-hutch. 'If the Falcon smiles, no Tesmer will even see you.'

'Nor any of their guards,' Juskra added.

Iskarra put her hands on her hips, disbelief large on her face. 'You want their riches,' she said almost primly, 'and daren't risk your own precious necks going down in there to steal it. So the traps are? And the guards?'

'There are none,' Juskra said flatly. 'Nor do we need their riches; we wingbitches have always had more than enough coin to buy the best spies. Which is why we know there are spells waiting all down that stair that will cry out when Aumrarr-or lorn, for that matter-come too close. Hence your present usefulness.'

'Tesmers shorn of their ready wealth,' Dauntra added calmly, 'are Tesmers looking over their shoulders for thieves, or assassins following where the thieves came in knowing so much. They are also Tesmers now lacking coin enough to work certain mischiefs better not promoted. Whereas Garfist and Iskarra enriched are… Garfist and Iskarra enriched.'

Garfist shook his head. 'Were either of ye priests, in younger days?' he asked sourly, finding his feet unsteadily and not shaking off the swift assistance of his lady. 'Such verbiage!'