A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [129]
Scowling, he swung around-almost gutting a guard in the process. "Faster," he snapped at the two sweating wizards, waving his magic blade. Emboldened by the flash it made then, he thrust it aloft, his belly wobbling in the wake of that grand movement, and laughed aloud. "Aye, we cannot fail!"
"I want to see-just once, and from a safe distance-the shop where he bought yon tunic… or anything else that size!" the Tersept of Shaeltor muttered.
"The shop where he stole it, more like," Haeltree muttered back.
Maevur looked down from being entranced by his blade and grinned around the boat-a grin that slid off his face into sickly, crestfallen quivering when he saw that no one was looking.
Sweeping his sword down to point straight at the Sirl mages, he snarled, "Faster, or whoever was hurling those spells earlier will be fathering heirs and feasting ere we get to the throne he's sitting on!"
One of the wizards reeled, and then fell over sideways in his seat, his eyes going dark. The boats slowed suddenly, wash dying away around their bows, and tersepts sprang to their feet, looked at the stricken mage and the terrified one who hadn't yet collapsed-and started to swear, horribly.
"Lord Regent," Tshamarra Talasorn said faintly, "please take your dagger back. I'm going to break the first oath of my life." She turned her head to peer at the procurer standing ready to slay behind her, and added wryly, "Even if it does leave Overduke Delnbone deeply disappointed."
Craer spread his hands in an exaggerated feint of utter innocence that fooled not a single watching eye.
Blackgult smiled down at the sorceress-who managed a shaky smile back at him-collected his dagger, and raised her to her feet like a courtier.
"And now, I suppose, the hard and slow work begins," he said to her with a sigh. "Rebuilding. These overdukes of mine always seem to have the fun of destroying things in wild battle, and never-"
"Father," Embra said softly. "Please. Sarasper died for us all, and… and…"
Blackgult whirled to take her in his arms, "Three Above, but I'm sorry, lass," he said quickly. "I-forgive a fool."
"Aye," Embra told him shakily, "of course." A crooked smile touched her lips then, and she added meaningfully, "I've been doing a lot of that."
A loud, triumphant hiss from above overrode her last word-and everyone tensed and looked up.
In the roofless gallery above, on the very crumbling edge of the riven throne chamber ceiling, stood a Serpent-priest, and the Crown of Aglirta shone in his scaled hand.
With a flourish he crowned himself, hissing, "Sssso! Aglirta hasss a fitting ruler at lassst!"
Then he flung himself aside with snake-swift speed, and Craer's hurled dagger flashed over his shoulder to tinkle and clang harmlessly down a wall.
With a high, wordlessly gibbering cackle of laughter, the Serpent-priest pranced across the gallery, avoiding another dagger by apparent luck, and clambered up a sagging uldiarnwood great-arch wardrobe to the onetime ceiling of the gallery, heading for the roof.
Hawkril growled, hefted the sword he'd salvaged from Bloodblade-and threw it, hard.
End over end it whipped, large and heavy enough to howl a little as it sliced air.
"Pulls to the left," Craer commented.
"Aye, Cleverfingers," Hawkril agreed, "but 'tis to the left he'll have to go, to climb around that jutting bit of vaulting, and-yes?
To the armaragor's satisfaction, the drooling, gibbering Snake-priest stopped capering long enough to swing himself up towards the sky-and straight into the path of the hurled sword. He stiffened as it took him through one shoulder, overbalanced backwards, and they saw its bloodred tip standing out of his chest as he began a swift and tumbling return to the gallery that ended with a wet, bouncing crash.
The Crown of Aglirta rang once on floor tiles, above, and arced down into the throne chamber.