Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [182]
Tanalasta cast a sidelong glance at Gwennath, and the priestess gave her a quick smile before she broke their handclasp and rose to begin the supplication. If the goddess granted it, she might come to know this one as a true friend in times to come.
"Lady of Favor," she began, seeking that wholehearted nearness to Tymora that devotion required, "hear now the-"
There was a sound in the passage behind them, the quick and frantic sound of booted feet running-lots of them. Whatever could it be? Were these soldiers coming? Gwennath's heart sank. Had the king died?
Her duty was clear. The supplication must be seen through. She raised her arms to the altar and-Tanalasta screamed.
Gwennath spun around in time to see the crown princess fleeing, wild-eyed, past her, trying to get around behind the altar. Trying to escape from the five masked men with glittering blades who were flooding into the chamber. Their eyes were on Tanalasta, and they held murder in them.
Nobles, to judge by their rich clothing, and coming fast. They'd cut down a young priest at the doorway without even slowing, and Gwennath was unarmed.
"Lammanath Tymora!" Gwennath snarled, flinging up her arms. The foremost noble slashed viciously at her, and she ducked low, swayed away from his flashing blade, and then launched herself into him shoulder first. As the breath whooshed out of him and his feet left the floor, she got in one good punch, discovering with satisfaction that his codpiece was only soft gilded cloth. The man made a strangling sound as he and the priestess crashed to the floor together.
By then her spell had filled the room with whirling disks. Her desperate shout had snatched all of the platter-sized holy symbols of Tymora from their hooks on the walls and animated them to her will. She sent them slashing, edge on, against the rushing men. She was rewarded with shouts and startled curses.
"Princess!" she called, rolling away from the man she'd felled. "My mace lies beneath the altar! Defend yourself!"
One of the nobles barked out a contemptuous laugh and leapt past one of the discs, heading toward the priestess. Gwennath glared at him and brought a disk swooping down sharply from the air overhead, She'd only a few moments more before this magic ended…
It was enough for this foe, at least. The disk sliced into his hair and the head beneath, and the man gasped, spat blood, and went to the floor, still wearing a goggle-eyed look of surprise and pain.
Another noble was rushing past toward the altar, and all of the disks were falling now, the power of the spell expired. Gwennath ran to intercept the man. The princess cowered low behind the holy table.
A dagger flashed end over end across the room and thunked into the back of the attacking noble's head. He staggered, wobbled-and the priestess was upon him, snatching the man's own dagger from his belt as she moved quickly inside his sword arm. Gwennath drove the hilt of the stolen dagger hard into its owner's temple and then shoved him against the wall. Turning to see what new peril she might face, Gwennath found herself staring at the bloody point of a blade as it burst through the front of an elegant silk shirt.
Behind the dying noble, as he sagged, was a face she'd seen before: a woman with eyes like two merry flames and hair the hue of honey, who gave Gwennath a merry smile and said, "Catch!" as she tossed the noble's cosh into the air.
Gwennath gave Emthrara the Harper a smile in return, plucked the falling weapon out of the air,