The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [183]
The wardrobe gained the bottom of the metal-shod stairs and sprang down onto the gallery with a crash that drove it deep into buckling floorboards-and buried it there, its ornate doors shattering and springing open.
Out through the greatsword-sized splinters and wood-shards spilled two limp, senseless bodies. The noble lass in the fine gown who was on the top of that ardent embrace was whimpering softly-but the gore-drenched, half-collapsed head of the lad in servants' livery beneath her lolled loosely, broken and forever silenced.
Faendra retched and turned hastily away-to find herself in the path of a tall, lurching nobleman who was feeling his way along the shuddering gallery, sword drawn and patrician face pinched with anger and disapproval.
"Young Helmfast and Hawkwinter, I see," he snarled, as he came closer. "Can't you striding young codpieces put your doxies behind you for even one night? Must you bring them here, to so soil our salute to Lord Piergeiron?"
He pointed with his sword at Faendra, and then at Naoni and Lark beyond her.
Taeros Hawkwinter stepped in front of them, gently striking aside that ornamental rapier with his own blade. "Lord Dezlentyr," he said firmly, "you are as mistaken as you are rude. I must demand a full apology, upon this instant, or your honor is forfeit."
The eyes of the patriarch of House Dezlentyr flashed fire, and he growled in disbelief. "Why, you young pup! D'you know who I am?"
Another thunderous impact made the gallery shake deafeningly around them, as if in reminder that family pride was far from the most urgent matter at hand.
"I know," Taeros said coldly, "that you're a bloated pig-bladder of a man whom someone should have let the air out of years ago!"
The Hawkwinter sword darted out, sending the patriarch's rapier clanging out and down into the hall-and then its flat struck Dezlentyr's broad rump, sending him staggering with a roar of pain.
He fetched up on against the gallery rail not far from Delopae Melshimber, who gave him a sweet smile, knelt before him as he sneered uncertainly at her-and then caught hold of both his legs under his knees and thrust him up and over the rail.
Lord Dezlentyr's landing was marked by a satisfying crash of rending wood, as he demolished no less than three chairs… and in its wake the Gemcloaks and their ladies became aware something had changed in the hall.
Thunderous impacts were still shaking the great chamber-more and more loudly, as boards and ceiling-tiles fell-but the fighting, shouts, and capering had died away, leaving bewildered faces everywhere. It was as if folk were awakening from a dream-or a mind-magic that had seized them all.
"W-what befell?" a graying merchant in rich emerald silks asked roughly, staring at the blood all over his hands. None of it was his own.
A noble lying under the sprawled bodies of two others asked weakly, "I-is it time for the unmasking yet?"
The Gemcloaks and their ladies traded frowning glances.
"Is it time for the unmasking yet?" the noble asked no one in particular again.
Someone burst into sobs as they discovered someone dear to them messily dead. Everywhere bewildered folk in bedraggled finery were emerging from under tables and behind tapestries, to mill around and stare at each other, asking what had happened.
"Is it time for the unmasking yet?" an unregarded voice demanded dazedly.
Beyond them, the golden radiance of the shielding-spell grew brighter. Piergeiron, the Open Lord of Waterdeep, was striding unsteadily into the room, leaning on the mighty strength of Madeiron Sunderstone. The dark-robed wizard Tarthus and the flopping-booted Mirt the Moneylender came in their wake.
"Nobles of Waterdeep!" Piergeiron called, his magnificent voice rolling out across the hall. "The city needs your valor and your blades! Great evil attacks Waterdeep from below!"
"Is it time for the unmasking