All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [99]
Gagging, the man fell. Belkram clubbed the back of his helm and sprang back.
The last guard's blade flashed through the leathers at Belkram's wrist, and the stolen sword spun away from the Harper's numbed fingers. The guard's face widened into an unpleasant grin. He sidled a foot or so, still smiling, as a stool Itharr had snatched up from inside the door struck the side of his head and carried him a pace to the south… into the realm of dreams.
The two Harpers looked wearily at each other, went to pick up Shar from the tangle of sprawled bodies, and trudged into the tower.
They'd almost reached the end of the long central passage when Shaerl and Thurbal, captain-of-arms of the Twisted Tower, strode briskly across it. The Lady of Shadowdale was speaking. "Well, I don't think those new men are trained eno-"
"I couldn't agree more," Belkram snarled, cradling Sharantyr's head against his shoulder.
"Aye," Itharr agreed, casting a guard's sword to the tiles at Thurbal's feet. "Next time you hire seven dolts from Belgard, be sure he remembers to send their brains along with them!"
Thurbal gaped at the three of them, but Shaerl turned to her captain-of-arms and snapped, "Get fresh guards for the doors-and send all the servants you can find here, as fast as they can move!"
She guided the three rangers to a bench and rang the nearest gong furiously. To the first servant who appeared, she snapped, "Send everyone here at once! Then fill my lord's bath-the new big one, and mind the water's hot! Get help, but do it fast!"
To the second she snarled, "Three carry-chairs, and men to bear them, back here as fast as you're able!"
Then she turned her head as the kitchen door opened. Turk? Bring whatever you have roasting-and all the breads and cheeses you can lay hands on, and the best wine you can get-to my lord's chamber at once!"
"Impressive," Belkram murmured to her just before he fell asleep.
"Indeed," Shaerl told him gently. She looked down the hall to the doors, where armsmen were carrying in seven limp armored forms under Thurbal's coldly furious eye.
Itharr woke once on the stairs, swaying in his chair to murmur, "Killed a lot of Zhents for you…"
"Eat first," Shaerl told him, guiding the chair across the parlor. "We'll talk later."
"Bathe first," Sharantyr announced firmly.
"Nay, Lady," one of the armsmen said gently as he set her chair down. "For ye, it's sleep first." The lady ranger's head lolled to one side as she began to gently snore; she heard him only in her dreams.
"Get this armor off them," Shaerl told the armsman, unbuckling and tugging at Sharantyr's body for all she was worth.
"Haste or care, Lady?"
"Care for them… haste otherwise," she replied briskly, hurling a vambrace across the room. It struck the far wall with a crash that made a serving girl wince-and when the armsmen enthusiastically followed Shaerl's example, the maid covered her ears and fled. The air quickly filled with flying pieces of armor.
Amid the clangor, puffing relays of servants speedily filled the gigantic copper tub. Shaerl herself added the soap and wyverntail oil, then turned back to the armsmen. "Get some rope," she ordered the nearest one. "I don't want them drowning."
"Aye, Lady."
Striding to her wardrobe, Shaerl snatched the doors open and took the first three garments off their pegs without looking. Sliding them under the arms of each ranger-gods, the reek!-and across their chests, she flipped the ends of the three gowns up for the armsmen to tie the ropes to, noticed that one garment was a favorite of hers, shrugged, and began to disrobe.
An armsman hovering uncertainly nearby gulped, looked away, and a sash slapped into him. He caught it reflexively, then looked up to see his Lady's gown coming his way, mastered