Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [104]
Shandril found herself in the arms of Torm, Knight of Myth Drannor and Engaging Rogue, Behind him loomed the large, bearlike form of Rathan Thentraver, priest of Tymora. She blinked at them, dumbfounded.
"Hey! Save some o' her kisses for me, ye sly dog," Rathan rumbled, lurching into the room to tap Torm's shoulder.
Torm broke free of Shandril to draw breath, then grinned back at his fellow knight. "Why?" he asked innocently. "You've a good reason?"
Without waiting for an answer, lie turned back to Shandril, who still stood dazed, If Torm hadn't kissed her, she'd have thought him some phantom conjured by this place, Perhaps he was some sort of magically disguised monster. The young thief swept her back into an embrace. "What brings you here?" he asked cheerfully, – and where's Narm?"
Shandril's answer was lost in the sound of the door behind her opening, They all turned in time to see the Zhentarim raise his hands, The wizard wore a wolfish grin.
"By the luck of the Laughing Lady," Rathan said in delight, "he's got golden eyes!" An amulet at the priest's throat winked with sudden light.
In response to the priest's words, the wizard's smile fell away in an instant. Shandril watched in horror as the face beneath twisted and bulged, shifting into something fanged and horrid, The man – if it was a man – charged them, waving hands that, as he came, stretched impossibly into long, raking claws.
"Nice nails, too," Rathan observed, drawing a mace from his belt and hefting it as he met the rushing monster.
Torm whirled away from Shandril and waved grandly at the open door he'd come in by. "Your way lies clear before you, Lady," he said. "I look forward to a chance to taste your sweet lips again when next we meet – hopefully at an occasion of rather more leisure-"
Are ye going to fight, Torm?" Rathan demanded, smashing his mace into something that reeled back and promptly grew tentacles, "Or are ye just going to talk us all to death?"
Torm turned back to the fray, plucking something that looked like a gilded rose from his belt, Shandril watched him bound toward the monster, calling briskly, "Next dance, please!"
Rathan struggled amid clinging, tightening tentacles, and bellowed to her, "Run, lass! Through that door – look for banners, and yell be safe!"
Shandril shook her head, still astonished by the speedy appearance of the knights. Then Torm swung the fragile looking rose at the monster-and the room exploded in golden light.
Pulses of radiance spun ever faster and brighter around the three struggling forms, Shandril shaded her eyes against the brilliance, and thought she saw Torm's blade thrust right through the still-changing monster before the knights and the thing faded amid a cloud of rushing golden light… and she was alone again.
The room was suddenly empty-and very quiet, All that remained to mark the passage of the knights were a few golden rose petals. Shandril stared down at them and swallowed, Then, holding her sword ready, she went to the open door Rathan had bid her use, It led into another many-sided room of doors. There were six this time, Shandril sighed again and opened one at random, The scene beyond was one of cold, blowing snow, somewhere wintry with mountains in the distance-and the sprawled, gnawed bones of a recently slain orc lying right in front of her, It still clutched a cruel black scimitar, Shandril heard something growling in the distance, and she hastily closed the door.
Banners, Rathan had said, Shandril gently opened the next door to the right. The room it opened into was choked with banners, They hung everywhere, almost touching, and the air was thick with their dust and old smells, Shandril recognized none of them, but she did think one-a black wyvern on purple silk faded almost to pink-was very striking. Another displayed three golden crowns on a royal blue field. It caught her eye because some old enchantment made the crowns move, each one winking in and