"Old books say much," Embra replied, "and most of it is witless fancy-as even a casual reader can tell when so many works contradict themselves from page to page, let alone standing against the tellings in other books. Is it not also written, Huldaerus, that there's no Serpent at all, but merely men who seize the mantle for their own purposes?"

The Master of Bats grinned. "Ah, well now. You've come to waste my time in an interesting manner at last."

"Think not," Tshamarra Talasorn said suddenly, "to prolong our stay or inflate your own importance, mage, by wasting our time overmuch. I know spells that can make your imprisonment an eternity of itching, or gut-sickness, or stabbing pains, or make you burn so keenly that you plead with your jailer to douse you in icy water, or slay you and so end your torment."

The chained wizard regarded her thoughtfully, and she answered his unspoken question. "No, I'm not Vale-born, nor given to cruelty. Yet for mages who've offered me any menace-as you did to these my friends, in past strivings in ruined Indraevyn-I cleave to the sensible advice of my family: Destroy, as soon and as harshly as possible. Those who work magic must be rightful and useful in their deeds, or others will cleanse all lands of their presence. By working tyranny with your sorcery, you endanger us all."

"So all must be burned away save you, maid of steel?" the Master of Bats asked quietly. "Which of us will then be the tyrant?"

"Bandy not words with me," the Lady Talasorn replied calmly, "but speak plainly and to the point. Darsar needs all the skilled mages it can rear-I'd rather gain you as a friend, sir, when this is all over, than reap your bones now."

The chained man looked at her. "Well, then, I'll lay aside my anger-on one condition: That you tell a few tavernmasters in Sirlptar, or wandering traders from other lands, if any still be in the Vale with this plague rampant, that I'm chained down here… so that if you're all slain in the game of Serpent and Dragon, someone will know where I am, and come looking."

"That, Lord," Craer said, "has already been done. As Lord Blackgult told you when we put you here, we've almost as little liking for this as you do. The King sent word of your disposition with his envoys to the Delcampers, and his messengers to the court trade agents in Sirlptar, at our suggestion. These folk were in turn instructed to inform certain local sages."

"Truth," Embra confirmed, the Dwaer flaring in her hand.

The chained wizard gazed at it longingly for a moment, then sighed and said, "So speak plainly, and I'll do so too. You've come to me because you caught sight of my bats, and wanted to be sure I was still imprisoned. Be assured that I am: This is no spellspun shell or seeming chained here before you, but myself. I've only recently managed to send forth my little spies-your man Thannaso is most attentive-but I know where to look and whose shoulder to peer over, and have seen much. Let me say just this: Many of those old prophecies seem to be coming true. In the words of the great Haundrakh, 'Fate at last catches up.' "

"The Lady Embra and I have both read all of those writings," Blackgult said calmly, holding up a hand to silence his fellow overdukes, "but dismissed their various fates as impossible. In the history unfolding before us, Aglirta has broken from them with the death of the Serpent-and he is dead, for we were there, and felt, and saw."

The Master of Bats bowed his head. "I don't claim otherwise, but the Lady was right in pointing out old Aumthur's contention that many men in turn wear the mantle. Like most mages, I thirst most for finding new spells when I seize old tomes-but once protected by the proper magics, I take care to read all, and I've come to believe Maumandiar's view: The Serpent and the Dragon aren't one person each, but rather creatures of the Arrada."

"A moment," Hawkril rumbled. "We came here to seek plain answers, and now snarling's abated and we speak politely-yet I hear nothing plain. I'm no mage, and scarce care who Aumthur and Maumanthar were, if they're safely dead, but what is the Arrada?"

Tshamarra opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again and waved at Embra.

The Lady Silvertree raised her brows and turned to the chained man on the wall, lifting her hand in a "will you?" gesture.

Huldaerus smiled crookedly. "The Arrada's the underlying magic of Darsar. Magic is no god-gift, despite what priests say, but the natural forces of all living things in Asmarand-whereas sorcery is ways we've learned to harness and control these powers."

He fell silent, but both Embra and her father waved at him to continue. Arkle Huldaerus grew a real smile, just for a moment, and continued, "These forces swirl and contend constantly, but also rise and fall in cycles, battling each other chiefly in two contending musterings: one of dark savagery-the Serpent-and one of bright cleansing-the Dragon. Sometimes one is victorious and sometimes the other."

The procurer and the armaragor were listening intently. The chained wizard looked from one of them to the other, and added, "All thinking beings-beasts and swordswingers and cobblers, not just wizards and priests-can work to sway these musterings, strengthening one side or the other. Neither side is necessarily 'good' or 'bad,' mind, but to most folk the Dragon appeals more. We all prefer places and things dear to us to be just as we want them, and things we hold precious to be clean, and unwithered, and at orderly peace."

"Oh?" Craer asked skeptically. "And how do I manage this swaying of the battle, against no foe I can see to put a dagger into?"

The Master of Bats grinned. "That's a deriding I've heard many times before-a dismissal I'm sure Maumanthar heard often enough to grow right tired of. We do this by praying to the Three, and to lesser gods, the spirits that dwell in certain dells and pools and caverns. Of the Three, the Dark One is allied to the Serpent, the Lady to the Dragon, and Forefather Oak to the overall Arrada, the great balance or All."

"So," Hawkril rumbled, " 'tis inevitable: There'll be a new Serpent."

"I believe there's one already," the imprisoned wizard murmured.

"Who?" Blackgult asked sharply, but Arkle Huldaerus just shrugged in his chains.

The Golden Griffon's eyes narrowed, and he took a threatening stride forward, but the Master of Bats smiled and shook his head. "Truly, I know not. My bats see things only where I dare to send them."

It was the turn of Embra to narrow and sharpen her gaze. "Will there also be a new Dragon?"

The chained mage shrugged. "Of course. A useful ally- if you can find whoever it is, and meet their price or treat them properly."

"Life is just full of ifs, isn't it?" Tshamarra asked softly.

Chains rattled as the manacled man shrugged again. "If you freed me," he said slowly, "I could perhaps help."

"Or not," the Talasorn sorceress said sharply.

The Master of Bats grinned rather unpleasantly. "Or not," he agreed. "Reap as you've sown, Overdukes."

Even as the words left his lips, a din arose outside the cell. Echoes, as always down in the Flowfoam cellars: the much-grown sounds of stumbling, frantically running feet, fast approaching through the dark passages.

The overdukes whirled around, lifting weapons, as the chained wizard watched with interest.

They were in time to see a crownless, ragged-cloaked Raulin Castlecloaks sprint past the open doorway, lit by bobbing torches clutched by two hard-eyed warriors who pursued him, swords drawn. At their heels ran another man, who sported no human face at all, but rather the emerald-green, shiny-scaled head of a serpent!

"Claws of the Lady!" Craer snapped, hurling himself through the door with the rest of the overdukes in frantic, shoulder-bruising pursuit. A bat swooped past their heads, but none of them bothered to strike at it as they pelted down the passage after the flickering, dwindling torchlight.