Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [105]
Culthar cursed. "Quick, get his face into that bucket!
Hurry! I should have known Crimmon would drink himself sick!" Malark scooped a leather bucket from its peg and did as he was bid, just in time.
When the retching was done, Crimmon roused himself blearily and walked toward the bunkroom almost normally, saying, "No more for me, I think.
I'd best be getting back, Jhaele," back over his shoulder.
"Yes, dearie," Culthar said in disgusted mimicry, and they both waited. An instant passed in silence, and then there was another splintering crash from the bunkroom. Malark chuckled helplessly, and after a moment, Culthar joined in, as Crimmon's curses faded in the bunkroom. Malark put down the bucket and closed the bunkroom door. He turned to face Culthar, who frowned and said, "And how much have you had to drink?"
Malark let his face shift back to his own features for two slow, deliberate seconds and said, "Nothing, Culthar. Sorry to disappoint you." When he grinned, an instant later, it was Rozsarran's own lopsided grin.
Culthar stared at him in astonishment. "Lord, why are you here?" he whispered. "Is Roz…?"
"Sleeping. I have little time for talk. Take this." He pressed a ring into Culthar's palm. "Hide it well, on your person, and do not part with it. It has magics upon it to conceal it from normal scrutiny by one of the art, but wear it only when you intend to use it.
Speak its command word, which is the name of the first dracolich you served when you joined the followers, and it will instantly take you and one other creature whom you are touching flesh to flesh to Thunderstone-specifically, a hill above that town where one of our group lives as a hermit. His name is Brossan. If he is not there, go to…" Several more instructions followed. Then- "One thing more. I may appear to you and give the sign of the hammer, or a redcrest may fly into this guardroom-it may be but an illusion, mind. These both are signals that you are to try and take this Shandril Shessair and escape with her by means of the ring if you see any opportunity, however scant.
Otherwise, you are to take her when you think best-you guessed the task before I said it, did you not? Good. You will do this?"
"Aye. For the greater glory of the followers,"
Culthar whispered. Malark nodded and picked up the reeking bucket.
"Before your fellow watchmen return," Malark said,
"I shall go to be sick outside." Holding the bucket before him, he staggered out and down the hall, once again every inch the drunken Rozsarran. It was a white-faced and thoughtful Culthar who drew off his boot and ran the brass ring onto his little toe where he could feel its presence reassuringly at every step.
It was a loudly and realistically sick Rozsarran who staggered out through the guards at the gate and into the night. It was a coolly efficient nightcat who loped from where the bucket and clothes had fallen, heading for a certain spot in the trees. There the nightcat became a rat, crept close to the the waiting cultists, and listened.
"Do you hear anything?" Suld asked suspiciously, peering into the night.
"Probably the master, coming back," Arkuel said.
"Just sit quiet, now, or we'll both catch it."
"Sit quiet, yourself, cleverjaws. It wasn't me who bought a wagon whose front seat was so full of splinters it was like a carpenter's beard."
"Pierced your wits, did they? You shouldn't carry them so low down," Arkuel said smugly.
"You say a lot of clever things," Suld responded darkly. "I hope the scant wits you have about you work half as well for more useful work."
"Well met" said Malark dryly, stepping from the darkness in a spot neither of them was facing. "I'm glad to hear you both so happy and good-natured."
He pointed at the sleeping Rozsarran. "Take up our sleeper, and come. Cover the lantern and I'll carry it."
When the light was hidden, the mage dispelled his darkness and set off back toward the tower. There he raised darkness again and within it they dressed Rozsarran and left him with the bucket in his hands, for the other guards