A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [96]
"Well said," Hawkril agreed, but they'd barely begun to move, staying carefully together in a ring as fighting armaragors whirled closer, when the last of the closed throne chamber doors burst open-and a wedge of Blood-blade's knights charged into the throne room with a roar. There were baronial banners in their midst-and one man strode along under them in plate armor that gleamed as bright as a new-burnished blade.
"Bloodblade! Victory! Bloodblade! Victory!" the armaragors chanted, as they hacked down all who stood in their way, and strode across the ruined chamber towards the ruined throne.
"Death to all barons!" Bloodblade cried. "Let Aglirta have a new king and a new way!" He waved the sword he held-and with a wordless howl, his warriors put down their heads and charged.
Chapter Sixteen
Baron's Battle, and Bloodblade
The fading but ornately lettered sign above the foul-smelling, slippery steps read:
Dolstan Drearihead
Scribe For Hire
–but that inscription had been improved upon by the starkly scrawled amendment:
Found Dead.
Burned All
Still Many Rats.
An inspiring text, to be sure-and coupled with the complete darkness the steps curved down into, and the litter of bones to be found on those steps, few wanderers in this poor neighborhood of Sirlptar felt welcomed enough to proceed down into the deep, water-dripping cellar, slosh through the ankle-deep, filthy water to the door at its far, unlit end, and give the correct knock. Those who failed to do so, but tarried in the cellar, often heard slight grating sounds, coming at once from either side of them.
One was made by a sliding shutter that revealed a window in the wall, into a room where a bright lantern hung, flooding that side of the cellar with light-but the other shutter, across from it, opened in the locked door just enough that a crossbow could poke out-and give swift death to whoever was outlined against the light.
The bodies of such overly inquisitive visitors, huddled in the water at the corners of the room, added to the welcoming reek of the cellar. One addition was too recent to have been cleared aside yet: a drunken carter who'd mistaken the cellar for the entrance to his own damp hold, and attacked the door with ever-increasing rage. Now stiffened in death, he lay with one reaching hand rising like a claw into the cellar darkness.
Its unfeeling fingers tugged at the cloak of someone else, arriving in some haste. With a growl of revulsion the owner of the cloak tugged free, strode straight to the door with long, sloshing steps, and knocked in a careful rhythm.
There came the muffled sound of two heavy bolts being thrown back, and then the door opened inward, without a sound.
The man strode through it in matching silence, not slowing for pleasantries or to help dose the door, but straight on towards a distant arch, and even more distant lanternlight, glimmering beyond it. Not for the first time, the man in the cloak wondered sourly why, in all of intrigue-ridden Sirl town, it was necessary for this particular cabal to meet in such a filmy place. Deep cellars were fine for hiding contraband and bodies best forgotten, but a warm fire and some good wine would not come amiss, just once…
He came out into the light, ignoring the sullen stares of the grim guards lounging against the wall with weapons at the ready, and made for the only empty seat at the table.
" DIV of no a my that said with Baron late!?"I was followed," the Tersept of Haeltree said shortly, doffing his cloak with a contemptuous disregard for the sudden, threatening movements his action provoked in several of the guards, and seating himself with a sigh. "Wizards again, seeking to pry. Every titled Aglirtan is a marked man in Sirl town right now, I tell you."
"I'm not surprised," Maevur of Cardassa said with