A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [3]
Amid the gasps and shrieks the steward never slowed, racing forward to spring up onto the feast table where the minstrel had bent to wrap his cloak around his harp.
Taercever glanced up, saw his peril, and flung the scepter in his hand-not at the rushing steward, but towards Flaeros at the foot of the stair.
The bard grabbed for it, but tried to keep his gaze on the steward's charge; the heavy scepter dealt his arm a numbing blow and clattered on the steps beside him.
A knife flashed…
Serving maids shrieked.
The minstrel sprang back.
An uncle vainly hurled a goblet and another bellowed for guards as Taercever caught his heel on his stool. It tumbled under the diving steward as his gleaming blade stabbed down, rose again-and Snake-worshipper and minstrel plunged out the window together.
There was a thunderous splash below-and everyone started running.
"Fetch the snake-head!" Uncle Hulgor shouted, his hoarse bellow cleaving the uproar like a trumpet. "I'll deal with him!"
"Three look down," Uncle Sarth snarled to Hulgor, giving his young kinsman a glare as the bard snatched up the scepter and stared at it in wonder, "but young Flaeros seems to wear drawn swords and danger like an always-flapping cloak!"
"Aye," Hulgor said with some satisfaction, as they both drew their slender, ornamented swords and watched guards trotting into the room with halberds in their hands. "The lad's become someone of importance-in Aglirta, at least."
"Aye, Aglirta," Sarth said sourly. "Where all the troubles always are."
Yet even as Hulgor waved his blade at the window and snapped orders about boats, lanterns, nets, and hooks, Sarth stood guard over the wonder-struck bard, who was still hefting the scepter in his hand, turning it round and around as he felt something stirring within it, some magic that made his arm thrum and tingle.
"The regent must have this, and my presence, too," Flaeros murmured. "At once."
The bard sprang up the stair in a sudden charge of his own, heading back up to his chambers to prepare.
Sarth shook his head and ran after him, gasping and growling after a few flights of steps, his sword gleaming in his hand as Varandaur erupted into shouting tumult around him. He was getting too old for this…
"As we all do," he grunted, slashing a particularly ugly display of crownflowers out of its urn as he passed. They fell before his blade without a fight, scattering petals in a golden rain, and Sarth raced on, his legs feeling heavier and heavier. Aye, too old by half.
Something rose dripping out of the night-dark sea, glistening wet in the moonlight as a fin grew fingers, and then a human arm. That arm took firm hold of a wet rock, and a faceless snout rose to join it.
The snout rose, thickened, and became a head that watched a second creature rise from the waters, sinuous tail curling, and grew arms of its own, its faceless head split in a great vertical mouth to spit forth onto the rock a damp cloak, wrapped around a harp.
The other shapechanger's head grew a similar gash. It spat the steward's knife onto the stone beside the cloak, and then twisted into a jagged smile.
"Nice harping."
"I try, Indie. I try."
The Koglaur who usually went by the name of Oblarma heaved herself out onto the rocks, fins and tail melting away in the moonlight to reveal the curves of a shapely human woman. Beside her, the Koglaur often called Indie rode the gently lapping waves a little longer, tarrying to gaze back across Ragalar Bay.
Many lanterns were bobbing back and forth along the shores nigh the dark mountain of Varandaur's turrets, and torches flared and sputtered on boats cleaving the waters like an aroused swarm of fireflies.
A real firefly darted past Indie's head. A tentacle flashed out, curled, and swung over Oblarma's head. When it withdrew to become one of Indie's new fingers again, the firefly winked amid Oblarma's newly formed lustrous tresses.
"Hmm," Indie said, regarding it critically as he held out the bundle of clothing they'd hidden here earlier. "Why didn't I dunk of that before?"