A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [105]
Craer and Hawkril sprang forward to try to reach Blackgult's side, but they were met by a dozen men or more, and held back in a ringing contest of blades. Another dozen armaragors stepped warily forward to slay the regent and the pale-faced, trembling bard.
Ezendor Blackgult drew himself up, his blade ready in his hand, and • gave them a soft smile and a question: "Who wants to die first?"
The usurper's men came to an uneasy halt, and he asked them another. "How much of your blood is the price of a Regent of Aglirta?"
"Hah!" Bloodblade snarled, as his men faltered. "One man, alone?" he shouted. "And with his magic gone?"
"Not alone," the Baron Brightpennant growled, as the armaragor he'd been fighting sank to the floor with a dying groan, and he strode to Blackgult's side. "For Aglirta!"
"Oh, so it's two old men, is it? Now we're trembling! Die, fools!" Blood-blade sneered, and blew his rally horn. With a startled roar, his armaragors and armsmen charged forward.
Hawkril roared right back, and by main strength heaved the warriors he and Craer were battling back on their heels, into their charging fellows in a tangle of shouts and curses and skirling weapons, so the two over-dukes could burst past and reach the regent, too.
Tshamarra plucked at Raulin and dragged him firmly away from the door that might take them to safety, around the whirling column of flame that held Embra, to stand between it and Craer. "Pick up a sword and hold it out in front of you," she growled, "and I'll do the rest!"
Raulin blinked at her.
Not far away-unless you had to hew your way there at this moment, through so many roused and full-armored men-another bard was also striving for battle valor. "Uh," Flaeros stammered, plucking at Blackgult's arm, "perhaps this isn't the best time, but-" He thrust the dragon scepter under the regent's nose.
"What's this?" Blackgult snapped, taking hold of the scepter above the bard's grip on it, and dragging it-and Flaeros-a foot or two closer. He peered at the dragon head in snatched glances, whilst parrying the blade of a howling armaragor.
"W-what you were looking for, Lord Regent."
Blackgult stared down at the scepter, as power suddenly flooded out of it to thrum through him, causing his sword to glow brightly. The armaragor he was battling drew back with a gasp.
"I never… wait. Yes!" The scepter flashed in Blackgult's grasp-and he and Flaeros suddenly vanished.
The scepter clattered to the blood-smeared floor where they'd stood-an instant before the swords of four armaragors ran Baron Brightpennant through.
Chapter Seventeen
Serpent Rising
Glarsimber Belklarravus had never felt such pain in his life before. Four ice-cold and yet afire lengths of steel were deep in him, sliding-nay, twisting as the armaragors wielding them grinned savagely into his face, and turned their blades in their hands.
The Baron Brightpennant slashed at them with his own sword, reaching out despite the sickening agony, and they all drew out their blades hastily to avoid being cut across their throats or faces.
That left him free, as wet, awful fire bubbled up inside him, to defiantly spit out the blood already coursing into his mouth, and gasp, " DIV at For them.Staggering a step sideways, he plucked up the dragon scepter, and then threw it as hard as he could, back and to his left, where the Four were fighting. He did not have time to turn his head to see it go, or say the things he wanted to say, because everything was going dark, and the bloody tide behind his eyes and choking up through his throat could be fought back no longer…
He fell, or thought he did, but the Smiling Wolf could suddenly hear nothing. Everything was going dim, and a mail-shod boot swung past close by his head, the marble suddenly looming up very near…
* * *
Out of fire, back into bloodbath. Embra Silvertree blinked away the last white haze of the roaring exultation that had whirled her up, and now set