The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [158]
“The Old One’s slaves were careless when they cleaned the silver.” Nevyn wrapped it back up again. “This will do splendidly.”
“I have some small knowledge of these things.” The Hawkmaster smiled as if at a compliment. “You best had send your companions away.”
“I’ll just walk with them to the door.”
In a silence that seemed as thick and cold as seawater, Jill and the others followed Nevyn down to the chamber door. Just outside, blocking the corridor, she could see two men, armed and at the ready. Nevyn bent down and kissed her on the cheek.
“Kill those men without any compunctions,” he whispered in Devenían, then raised his voice and changed his language. “Farewell, child. Remember me in your heart.”
Hope stabbed her very soul.
“Always, my lord,” she said. “And may the gods go with you on your last journey.”
“Well spoken, isn’t she?” The Hawkmaster called out, “Very well, all of you. Get out of here, fetch the rest of your men, and get on your way to Indila. No one will harm you. I’ve given my word, and I keep it. Nevyn, as for you, come back here. It’s time to perform your last little trick.”
“Oh, gladly.” Nevyn turned to face him and raised one hand, a gentle gesture as if he were about to point out some small error of discourse. “What about a trick with fire?”
The draped silk caught with a hiss.
“You may keep your word.” Nevyn smiled gently. “But I never swore mine. I’ll find the Old One after you’re dead.”
Flames leapt to the walls, crackled, and spread in the dweomer-wind that rose and charged across the dais. The Hawkmaster dropped Baruma’s chain and jumped up, screaming, his tunic blazing as he ran panicked for a side door in a stream of sparks that fell to fire the scattered cushions. Tiles began to crack and burst from the wall with booms and explosions like in one of Salamander’s shows. Just as the master reached the door, Baruma rushed after. He held his own chain in both hands and swung it hard, lashing the Hawkmaster across the head and knocking him sideways into the flaming wall. The enormous assassin grabbed the burning curtains and fell, pulling them down with him into a writhing, blazing heap. With a shudder the side wall collapsed on top of him.
“The ceiling will go in a minute,” Nevyn yelled. “The Wildfolk are firing the upstairs chambers—anyone hidden up there is beyond help, so let’s get out of here.”
As Jill turned and raced out through the billowing smoke, she was drawing her sword. Screaming out curses the two assassins charged, but she spun to one side, let her man overrun his mark, and slashed him across the neck as he tried to catch his balance. Grunting he went down, folding into death at her feet just as his fellow dropped on top of him. With a bloody sword in one hand Rhodry grabbed her shoulder with the other.
“Baruma!” he screamed over the roar of flames. “Where’s Baruma?”
“No time! Let’s get out of here! Look, Nevyn and Salamander are already gone.”
When he took out running down the long corridor, Jill followed, thinking that he was heading for the gates out of the compound.
When the flames on the floor above began scorching the ceiling of the reception chamber, Nevyn and Salamander raced across the room and out the side door, which led into a big disorganized courtyard in back of the house itself. Nevyn clutched the precious scrying focus with both hands as they dodged through sheds and storage huts, rounded the empty stables and ran across the kitchen garden to the back gates, which were standing wide open from the earlier flight of the Old One’s slaves.