Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [35]
Demascus nodded, despite how his mouth had gone dry as a desert.
They went to the opposite door and peeked out. Beyond was the tower’s core, around which stairs spiraled upward. The stairs paused in their ascent at a series of landings, all of which were dark except for the topmost level, which blazed with flickering light. Three doors opened off of the ground floor besides the one in which they stood.
A bronze statue with hair and beard of red flame stood at the base of the stairs, providing light for the lowest level of the tower. The figure was squat like a dwarf, nearly as wide as it was tall, and masterfully detailed in its execution. It almost looked as if the colossal hammer clutched in the figure’s right hand was a separate object—
The “statue” scratched its chin with its free hand, then returned to apparent immobility.
Merciful gods, that thing was alive.
Demascus tapped Chant on the arm and whispered, “So, what do we do?”
The pawnbroker returned his look, his expression apprehensive.
Demascus pulled the man back from the door and said as quietly as he could, “That’s no firesoul. It looks like it could smash us into paste with that hammer.” Something about it was familiar. It was just on the tip of his tongue …
Chant shuddered, “Yeah. Maybe we should—”
“Azer,” said Demascus suddenly, a little too loud. Then, quieter, “Azers are the servants of fire giants, usually. Or titans. They’re at least as tough as they look.”
Chant said, “Are they from Faerûn? They must be from an echo world …”
“Maybe. I don’t remember anything else. Can we get to the upper level another way?”
“I don’t see one. Well, we could climb up the outside.”
Demascus looked at the pawnbroker’s bulging belly. No matter how graceful Chant seemed, it was hard to imagine the human inching his way up the smooth expanse of the tower’s exterior.
He said, “How about we try a distraction? We need to lure its attention to the front door. When the fire dwarf checks it out, we dart up the stairs.”
Chant nodded, a smile breaking through his worried frown. He said, “I know just the thing. Wait here. Be ready.” Then he slipped back the way they’d come and out the service door.
Demascus inched forward. He flicked his eyes between the azer and the main entrance. He wondered what the pawnbroker had in mind. His hands felt clammy, but he wasn’t scared. If anything, he felt almost … disappointed that they were going to sneak past the guard.
A half song later and Chant was back. The man whispered, “Wait for it …”
A muffled bang resounded from outside the tower. The front doors shuddered slightly.
The azer’s head swiveled toward the sound. It hurried toward the main entrance.
“Now,” hissed Chant as he glided forward. He traced the wall like a fat shadow. Demascus revised his earlier opinion about the pawnbroker’s agility should scaling a wall prove necessary, and followed in Chant’s footsteps.
The azer paused at the doors and blared, “Who goes there?”
Demascus blanched. He quelled an urge to charge the vulnerable backside of the dwarflike extraplanar guardian.
Chant took each step like a cat on the prowl and Demascus did his best to imitate the man’s technique.
The azer’s gaze never wavered from the front doors, and then the curve of the next tower level blocked the view. Another few steps and they were on the second level. No guardian waited for them there.
Chant gave him a light clap on the arm, and Demascus grinned, despite his regrets.
They continued upward, ascending five levels in all, without incident or azers. The third level was painted bright red, and the fourth echoed with faint music.
The topmost landing had two doors. Flamelight roared around the frame of one.
A crash of breaking glass came from beyond the illuminated door, followed by a lunatic laugh that literally raised the hair on Demascus’s neck.
They tiptoed to the entrance. Chant looked at Demascus and mouthed, “Ready?