Elminster Must Die_ The Sage of Shadowdale - Ed Greenwood [97]
Elminster guided the senseless Mreldrake in a long, loose-limbed sag down the wall to the floor, relieved him of a certain formidable scepter, then hastily departed that passage, breathing hard. He was obviously out of practice at stealing out of palaces.
But then, he was out of practice at a lot of things.
“Amarune!” Arclath called, kicking, punching, and hacking at downed and furiously struggling men before they could clamber back to their feet. “To me! Back-to-back—we’ll make a stand!”
Those words were still coming out of his mouth when something long and shapely hurtled past his left shoulder. It was Amarune, feet first—slamming into Windstag’s chest and bearing him back off the stage, staring and agape, arms and legs splayed out comically.
He struck the floor below with a crash that shook the club from end to end and left Windstag stunned and winded, his limbs jouncing as limply as a cloth doll’s. Amarune sprang up from atop him and raced off down the room, leaving Arclath alone and surrounded on the stage.
He leaped after her, landing on the littered floor at a hard run, sprinting for the distant street doors with more than a dozen men after him. Bare and beautiful, the long-legged dancer vaulted the bar ahead and vanished from view behind it.
Why hadn’t she made for the doors? Was there a cellar way out? Or a strong-cellar below that she could barricade herself in? Was—
Amarune bobbed back up again, face set in a snarl of anger, and started hurling bottles hard and accurately at noble and bodyguard faces alike. Arclath ducked low, staggering but not slowing, but needn’t have bothered; none of them came spinning his way.
He saw a man go down behind a wild spray of wine, and another man’s head snap back as a hard-thrown bottle caromed off it … and then they all seemed to forget Arclath and charged at the bar, roaring for her blood.
The dancer kept right on throwing as they came, bright anger on her face. Five men down, six … then the foremost were at the bar and hacking at it wildly with their blades, trying to drive her back so they could clamber over it, and—
A door slammed open not far from the bar, and Tress came storming into the room with the mustered Dragonriders’ staff right behind her, a motley array of improvised weapons in their hands. A swift breath later, the street doors beside the bar burst open to let hard-faced Purple Dragons pour into the room with their swords drawn.
“A rescue! A rescue!” Amarune shouted, pointing straight at Dawntard and Sornstern. “Yon three nobles just felled a palace messenger and tried to kill Lord Delcastle!”
Tress brought the Dragonriders’ staff to a hasty halt. The bodyguards and hangers-on were slower to stop but soon faltered under the cold glares of advancing Purple Dragons.
Back by the stage, three bodyguards were helping a groaning, groggy Windstag to his feet, his arms about their shoulders.
“Which three nobles?” the patrol swordcaptain snapped at Amarune.
She pointed. When her finger reached Kathkote Dawntard, he sneered, “Hah! The word of some lewd dancing wench against the sworn testimony of lords of the realm?”
“I, too, am a lord of the realm,” Arclath Delcastle snapped, “and my words will support every one of hers against you.”
“Ah, but there’s just one of you, and these lying low-life riffraff who will, of course utter any falsehood against a noble, against three of us,” Dawntard jeered, pointing rather unsteadily at Delasko Sornstern and the staggering Broryn Windstag.
The Purple Dragon swordcaptain had heard enough. “Him senseless and you so drunk you can barely stand? I think we’ll be needing our wizards of war to peer into your minds before I believe you!”
Dawntard paled and raised his sword threateningly. The Dragon officer gestured disgustedly to one of his men, who had stolen around to stand behind Dawntard. The soldier obediently and efficiently used the pommel of his belt dagger to club the sneering noble to the ground.
“Saer Swordcaptain, I’m ready to freely answer all questions,” Arclath offered affably, shooting Windstag