A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [80]
"Barons, barons everywhere," the Spellmaster purred, "and not a one of them worth a tankard of his favorite ale."
Idiot sword-swingers, the lot of them. Betimes more biddable and less dangerous than wizards, and useful for fetching and carrying-but to think that such as these warmed thrones all over Darsar, while many mages were hunted and hated!
Why, if ever wizards got together and founded a realm of their own, then th-
There came a sudden crashing in grass and snapping of branches from the far end of the graveyard, and Ingryl whirled around, gliding two swift steps into the shadows of a particularly tasteless, two-wizards-tall Silvertree grave marker.
Someone or something large had entered the shunned Silvertree graveyard and was hurrying onward heedless of the sounds they made, the track they left-or their own comfort, as they burst through thorn-bushes and pounded through whipping tree branches.
Whatever or whoever it was turned towards the Silent House and started crashing uphill, breathing hard-nay, panting.
In a few moments they'd round that row of crypts and be but a few running paces away from a particular tall grave marker. Ingryl Ambelter's mouth tightened in irritation, and he muttered something brief, made a stabbing gesture with one hand-and was gone.
Meanwhile
Flaeros Delcamper could run no more.
Every breath was shuddering fire in his chest, the world swam crazily around him, and he was stumbling and tripping almost constantly, now, his feet heavy and yet numb. He knew no other place to hide from whatever was after him, the thing that could change shape at will. The Silent House was a deadly labyrinth of traps, yes, but perhaps he could find a crypt outside that he could scramble to the top of, and there lie hidden…
It was hide or fall on his face and be taken if he tried to go on. The gruff words of one disapproving uncle came into his head suddenly: "Phaugh! We're not breeding Delcampers like we used to!"
Well, that was certainly true. And if the gods weren't with him now, this particular Delcamper wouldn't live long enough to breed at all. Smiling grimly, Flaeros clutched the dragon scepter in a hand that was slippery with sweat and wobbled up to an archway that he could cling to, and look back, and if the Three were smiling, choose his crypt-or, if they were not, perhaps see just how close on his heels the thing pursuing him was, and what horrible shape of many fangs and claws it now wore. Something unfriendly was watching him right now-he could feel its cold, malevolent regard heavy on his shoulders as he struggled on, trying not to think that he might just be choosing the particular span of Aglirtan turf that would soon be his grave.
Useful enchantments, jump spells. Ingryl Ambelter now stood on a high balcony of the Silent House, from which he'd once watched Silvertree serving wenches chasing his more disobedient apprentices with barbed whips. Ah, those had been the days. Long, sinister talks with Faerod Silvertree as they plotted Aglirta's future and Blackgult's doom together, no mage yet risen to challenge him in Faerod's service… yes, it had been fun, seeing the clumsy dolts who'd never master sorcery cringing as their blood flowed, just down there…
Ah, here was the blunderer in the graveyard! Panting and staggering, his finery sweat-soaked and torn-of course! Everyone's favorite naive buffoon, soon to be hailed the Bard of Bards, Flaeros Delcamper!
He'd wasted a jump spell on that. Well, then, 'twas only fitting that he waste another, more appropriate magic…
Gleefully Ingryl Ambelter threw back his sleeves with a flourish, made a lazy gesture to begin the casting, and opened his mouth to begin the short, familiar incantation. Halaezer's Scourge-a whip to flog the backside of a foolish bard with, to be sure, and-
The Spellmaster made a strange whuffing sound, and without uttering another word pitched forward over the ancient battlement, plunging headlong into an even older Silvertree tomb that-fortuitously both for his personal future and for the heart of the already fearful Flaeros