Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [117]
His toes were beginning to feel a little the worse for wear, but as he drew back his foot for another assault, the door swung open as far as its safe-chains would allow, A painted, pouting lady looked disapprovingly out She surveyed Mirt up and down-blood. Shandril, and all-and her expression did not improve.
"We've had all the trade we can handle for the night, thank you-you'll just have to come back morroweven, and-"
Mirt handed her his sword, "Here-hold this."
The lady hesitated, then took it, staggering for a moment under the weight of the old, massive saber, Mirt shifted Shandril more fully into his freed hand, and shoved his other hand under the pleasurequeen's nose, The small silver harp winked at her, catching the light, Her eyes rose slowly from it to his blood-spattered face, and then she undid the chains hurriedly, whispering, "Come in!"
"Oh, Great Dark One, lord of the heights and depths, hear us!"
Elthaulin was in his element, intoning the ritual in the deepest, grandest voice he could manage, his words rolling into the farthest echoing corners of the Grand Chancel of the Black Altar.
"Lord Bane, hear us," the thunderous murmur of half a hundred underpriests and postulants answered.
Elthaulin raised his hands slowly, trembling for maidmum effect. "Bane, hear us!"
"Lord Bane, hear us," came the massed response. Elthaulin let the dark purple faerie fire radiance ripple into view at the tips of his fingers and crawl slowly down his upraised arms, There were a few gasps from the assembled worshippers: the upperpriest hid his smile, That trick got some of the innocents, every time.
He drew breath for the Great Invocation. Only Fzoul could speak it, by tradition, but Fzoul had neglected to forbid Elthaulin from doing it in his absence, and Lord Bane would not be pleased by its omission. Then he stopped in confusion, peering at the back of the chancel. Underpriests had left their places by the doors and were running in the gloom of the sanctuary, stopping to bend over priests in the congregation. Priests were rising and leaving their places.
What is going on?
In shock, he realized he'd asked that question aloud and grins were forming on more than one of the uplifted faces below. Fury washed over him, and Elthaulin strode to the edge of the raised dais and sent his voice booming out over the confusion, "Who dares disturb the worship of Bane, Lord Over All?"
Abruptly he recognized the face of one of the priests hurrying up the central aisle, and his expression grew pale.
Fzoul snapped at him in a voice that carried to the far corners of the chancel, "Oh, stop that nonsense, Elthaulin. Bane has heard you and is deeply appreciative. This service of worship is now at an end. I need all priests of the rank of Trusted Servant or greater to assemble in the Robing Room, Watchful Brothers, guard the doors of the temple; all who have not taken the robes of Bane are to be escorted out. The Deadly Adepts are in charge, Haste or perish!"
There were raised voices, and even screams, from the lay worshippers, but others left as slowly as they were allowed, enjoying the sight of priests of Bane actually running and looking startled and upset, Elthaulin let his faerie fire slowly fade, and he stood watching.
Fzoul turned on his heel without another word to his Priest of the Chancel, and headed for the Robing Room, priests thickly clustered around him.
Elthaulin kept his face carefully calm, but no one who looked at his eyes could have missed his murderous glare, directed at the retreating Fzoul. His dark eyes flamed almost as fiercely as the Black Hand of Bane behind him over the lesser altar. The altar was giving off black