Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [15]
Tessaril knew what that sound meant and felt no surprise at all when the man's head thumped to furs right beside her straining hand, bounced up into several questing tentacles, then thumped again to the floor and rolled away somewhere unseen, leaving a glistening trail of blood across the Lady Lord's fingers.
With a wordless roar of anger Azoun sprang into the air to reach over flailing tentacles and run his blade right through the head of his false double.
Blood spurted, the shapeshifter squalled, and tentacles whipped about in a frenzy, shattering the lamp, hurling Tessaril across the floor in a helpless tumble, and driving Azoun back along the stairhead rail in a confusion of curses and creaking wood.
The wand! Tessaril struggled to claw herself to a stop and get free of the encumbrances of her gown and her own hair, to see where the wand of lightnings now lay ere the shape-shifter did.
There was a slithering sound, the garderobe door banged open amid more slitherings, and the room was suddenly empty of tentacles.
Empty of… battle. Azoun was panting against the rail with his sword in hand and his fine tunic torn half off his body. Her wand lay alone and forlorn on the tangled furs, a headless Highknight was sprawled across the head of the stairs, his sword not far from his hand, and over in a corner the man's staring head lay amid the shards of her lamp. No flames, thank the gods.
She looked wildly around the room, past the wreckage of the big table. No flames anywhere – and not three paces away, the covered platter still steamed merrily.
With a groan, Tessaril struggled to her feet, shrugged her robe back onto her shoulders – gods, the pain! – and darted barefoot for her wand.
Snatching it up, she raced to the garderobe. It was empty, the window hanging down crazily from its frame.
"Tess," the King growled, "come away from there.
I'll not have you killed chasing after some beast!
Whence came it? Have you seen it before?"
Tessaril ran to Azoun and hugged him fiercely. His arm tightened around her shoulder, and she couldn't help but scream.
There was a frantic thudding of boots and the clang and squeal of armor striking against walls and railings, as Highknights came pounding up the stairs with blades drawn.
"Shapeshifter!" Azoun snapped, ere the questions could begin. "It went out the window – and, mind: It already knows how to take my shape quite well!"
Highknights plunged into the tiny privy-room. Wood splintered as someone burst right out the window frame without slowing, there was a curse and a scraping of boots on stone and roof tiles, and man after man followed after.
Two Highknights lingered, swords out and eyes hard as they looked at Tessaril and around at the ruins of her room. "We're fine," Azoun told them curtly, and jerked his head toward the stairs in an unmistakable order. Reluctantly – and not before giving the Lady Lord parting looks of cold promise – the knights went downstairs.
Azoun sighed and stepped away from Tessaril. "I didn't want to even ask this," he said to the stair rail,
"but you did shelter Shandril Shessair in the Hidden House. Is she there yet? Where have you hidden her?" At his last words, the King brought his head up and looked at her sharply.
Tessaril gave him a crooked smile, and said softly,
"She's half Faerun away from here by now, my Dragon – and that's all I'll say."
Azoun looked into her eyes for a long moment, expression grim – and then bowed. "I'm sorry, Tess. I trust you… but the next time Manshoon of the Zhentarim comes skulking nigh Eveningstar, call on me, won't you? I don't want to lose the best Lord I have!"
"Azoun," Tessaril murmured, "hold me. Please. Just hold me." "Of course," the King of Cormyr said quietly, and put his arms around her with the greatest of care.
*******
"Gods, but I'm hungry," Shandril murmured into