A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [98]
Growing growls of agreement up and down the table gave answer to this rising peroration, and the satisfied baron wheeled around and headed back towards the map.
"So any wizards we welcome into the new Aglirta, our Aglirta, will be men we can control by some leash or other, or"-his bubbling, gloating chuckle was pure, slithering evil-"or women we can mistreat."
There were answering roars of approval, up and down the table. Haeltree moved his shoulders and murmured in time with the rest, knowing that the cold eyes of the guards were marking who betrayed what, all the time.
As it happened, time was the theme of Gardassa's next weighty speech. "And so, my friends, our long-awaited moment has come at last. Ifes, now is our best time!"
He paused, waiting for the roar of approval that was supposed to erupt, but he was moving too fast for the dullards he'd chosen to ride with him, and they gave him only silence. It was left to Haeltree and one of the guards to begin the expected cry of eagerness; the tersept only hoped no one detected the lacing of mockery he'd been unable to keep entirely out of his cry of, "Brilliant!"
Maevur smiled like a great cat as the hubbub of approval erupted at last, and let it run its course. Then he leaned forward over the map with a soft smile, and said, "My reasons for asking us all to meet armed and ready for travel at our every moot should now be clear. We leave forthwith, straight from this place, all together-down tunnels that link this cellar to others that have barge docks leading right out to the river. My men have already roused yours, and taken them by other ways to those same docks. We load our warriors aboard the trade barges I've purchased these past few months, and start upriver slowly, with no show of arms. Let the wizards rage and storm, and wear themselves out. We shall dock at Flow-foam, bring our archers ashore, and go mage-hunting. I think all of us here know which wizards will look better with their eyes growing arrows. Almost every last one of them, yes?"
There was laughter-nervous laughter, in some cases; Haeltree wondered what plans some of these tersepts would be leaving in tangles behind them, outfoxed in any schemes to inform others or tarry by Maevur's boldness-and sounds of agreement, or the show of same.
And then the map was rolled up, Maevur drew on black gauntlets-his men promptly slipping glittering rings onto his armored fingers, leaving him looking like some actor playing the Buffoon King rather than the formidable leader of a rebel conspiracy-and the new Baron of Gardassa started snapping orders.
Chairs scraped back, cloaks swirled, and men hurried to where guards with lit torches were now beckoning. Haeltree hurried with them. Well, that was one thing, out of all this foolishness: naive idiots these other tersepts might be, but they wouldn't all end up as fat and lazy as Cardassa obviously hoped to be. None of them were men who liked waiting, when there was swordwork to be done.
Bared bodies writhed as the two tall, attractive women danced together once more, the piping and chiming music rising to a frenzied crescendo.
The one who wore only much blood, and a red silk cord that made her long, raven-hued hair into a mare's tail, thrust her breasts forward as if offering them to the wench whose hair was bound in blue.
That taller, darker dancer responded by thrusting her last flaming skewer crosswise through both of the Red Dream's breasts. Sizzling flesh and spurting blood doused the flames along the needlelike blade as it slid in and through.
Red Dream gasped and writhed, the music falling silent so every sob of pain could be heard. She was still trembling when Blue Passion bent forward to kiss her, and they embraced hungrily-despite the gentle clashing, as they pressed together, of the skewers that transfixed them both striking against each other. Men all over the room sat like gargoyles, frozen leaning forward over their tankards