Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [118]
In the Robing Room, Fzoul turned and held up his hands for silence. His head still throbbed painfully; the wild spellblast that had brought his bookcase crashing down on him had been one of the last hurled by the beholders in Spell Court. By the time he'd come to on the floor beside his desk, it was all overthe maid Shandril had vanished, beholders lay dead everywhere, and the citadel was in tumult.
Fzoul watched coldly as some of the priests in the rear of the rushing throng ran into the backs of their fellows before they realized the room was packed, When order and silence held sway, Fzoul said, "A terrible threat to our Brotherhood is attacking the Citadel of the Raven. I need all of you to help; the eye tyrants were in grave trouble when I left"
If anything, the hush grew even greater. Fzoul could even hear the nearest Brother breathing.
The high priest looked around with cold eyes and added, "The Lord Manshoon recently established a gate magically linking the citadel with the High Tower. All of you, come with me now. We're going to a place normally reserved for our brothers of Art-the Wizards' Watch Tower, Beware-touch nothing and work no magic without my prior approval, There may be many magical defenses. We go to gain what magic we can seize, not to be caught in magical traps or mistaken castings. I shall go through the gate first. Orders are to be followed without question from this moment on-death shall be dealt on the spot for disobedience."
He turned toward the nearest door and, without another word, led the way to the gate. Time enough for them to learn about spellfire when they were dying under it There was murmuring all around. Shandril seemed to be rising up through warm water toward a lighted place, Not far away, someone was talking. Soothing female tones, mingled with a deeper man's growlshe knew that voice! Mirt!
Shandril opened her eyes and found herself looking at a truly amazing painted ceiling. Her eyes hadn't wandered very far along its curves and colors before she felt her cheeks burnng. Where was she?
She turned her head. Lacy undergarments hung on a rail on the back of a half-open door-with a whip dangling beside them, The voices were coming in through the doorway from somewhere below, She lay still in the lush boudoir and listened,
"I wish I'd seen that." came one wistful female voice, "Ye could hardly have missed it," Mirt protested,
"Beholders crashing from the sky, lightning flashing from tower to tower right over ye, here! Ye-"
The female voice that cut in then sounded rather wisp, "We were busy, Old Wolf, Busy at something that, if done well, rather holds sway over our attention and senses. Or have you never known the attentions of a lady?"
"No, Belarla," Mirt rumbled. "I could never afford ladies, myself. I always had to settle for women!"
He was answered by one dry chuckle, and one sniff. Then Belarla's voice said, "Pass the ointment, Oclae-I feel rubbed raw, Aren't those towels dry yet, Old Wolf?" "They're hurrying, they're hurrying,"
Mirt said, "I'm not used to thy stone irons… and besides, these towels got so excited, sliding over ye-"
"Enough! It may surprise you, Mirt, but when you've done this for a year or three, you've heard all the jokes and smart remarks so many times over that any feeble humor they might once have had is gonequite gone."
"Don't ye love me any more?" Mirt asked in mock sobs, "That's another remark of the same sort," was the dry reply, "Hurry up with those towels… we've got to be ready to leave the moment your maid is awake-or if she wakes not, whene'er we dare move her."
"Where to?" Mirt rumbled,
"We've got to get her out of the city," the other pleasurequeen said, "There's no place to hide a woman in a house of pleasure,"
"Don't ye have cellars?"
"The busiest places of all," Belarla told him crisply, "Too many men like to pretend they're in a dungeon-gods know why! No, Oelaerone's right, Old Wolf. We've got to move her from here. Half the soldiers