A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [92]
"When Baron Faerod Silvertree ruled this house, and I was being bound to it by fell enchantments by the wizards who served him," she added, "I learned where certain items of magic were stored. Those that were hidden may still be found by us now, if the Three smile down-and you hasten!"
"Command us!" Craer snapped. "We look where?"
"On the back of yon door, behind the throne," she replied without hesitation, pointing across the ruined chamber. "Filigreework there holds a wand-bring it."
She spun, and pointed again. "Down that passage, the third shield on the wall bears an enchantment. A bracelet hangs from the same hook, hidden behind the shield-'twill seem like but a loop of hempen rope, but that's part of its magic. Bring both."
She turned again.
"Craer, know you the gallery that overlooks the ferns, along that passage? The arch window: its sill can be made to lift out by pressing on the two darkest stones of the running border, beneath. Bring everything you find in the storage hollow mere."
She paused, her mouth open to say more, and then sighed and made a dismissive wave of her hand. "The rest are probably too far off to fetch in time."
Craer limped away on his errand, plucking at Raulin's sleeve and pointing at the door that led to the shield and bracelet. Glarsimber set off for the door behind the throne, seeing at once why Embra hadn't sent Raulin on that shortest of fetchings: the way was blocked by fallen stones almost certainly too heavy for the young bard to lift.
"Hurt, Longfingers?" Hawkril rumbled, seeing the pain on Craer's face.
"I'll live until I die," the procurer flung back, without slowing. Craer had heard that crisp tone of voice from Embra only a few times before- when she was desperate, and danger was close.
When he flung open the door, Craer saw just how close. Perhaps forty paces down the passage, armored men were backing slowly towards him. They were fencing with other men, beyond, and being forced back, blade to blade. As he watched, a man gurgled, clawed vainly at the sword that had slid into his throat and back out again, and fell, to be trampled underfoot. The man's bright blood ran across the stone floor-to join more man one ribbon of gore already lacing their ways across the flagstones.
Craer peered, eyes narrowing. He could see shoulder badges of Loushoond, Tarlagar, and-Ornentar, was it? Aye.
"Trouble come already," the procurer reported to his companions, unnecessarily. They could all hear the clash and skirl of arms before he slammed the door, shrugged at its lack of a bar or surviving lock, and added, "Three barons come calling-or their blades, at least. Someone else is out there, too, fighting with them." Craer waggled his eyebrows, and added in mock consternation, "How unusual for Flowfoam, these days." Then he sighed, and murmured so softly and bitterly that none of his companions heard, "How unusual indeed. Some great overdukes we've turned out to be. Everyone snarls about what they'd do if they could command armies and set realms in order… but when the chance comes, things never work out as one intends…"
"Shield and bracelet!" Raulin called, holding them up triumphantly as he came trotting towards Embra.
"Hawkril," Glarsimber grunted, from the door behind the throne. "I need a hand here-"
"Done," the armaragor growled, staggering across the room in obvious discomfort. Sarasper frowned at Hawkril's obvious pain, sighed-and then shuddered and flowed, becoming a longfangs.
As spidery legs lengthened and the wolflike head arose, the Talasorn sorceress gasped and flung up her hands to cast a spell at him-only to freeze at Embra's warning look and sharply raised hand.
Swallowing, Tshamarra watched the wolf-spider climb the nearest wall and proceed onto the ceiling, swarming swiftly along its cracked and crumbling