The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [174]
There was a murmur from the priests as they got their first proper look at it, and as the warriors started to lean for their own look, without quite daring to step forward from the edges of the room, Masterpriest Thraunt looked up at the holy men of the Serpent and said softly, "Let this not out of your sight for even a moment. Two of you must watch it at all times, for if it goes missing"-he flicked his gaze meaningfully in the direction of the warriors-"all of you shall make a very firm, perhaps final, answer for it."
They nodded, slowly, reluctantly, and silently. He kept on staring until he had seen each priest's nod-and only then did Masterpriest Thraunt flip the ends of the cloth over the ruby carving, straighten up with a satisfied sigh, and turn to see… dark wisps of vapor curling out of the niche in the wall!
He almost kicked the coffer flying in his haste to get back and away from that ancient trap-for what else could it be? – and stumbled, falling into the waiting hands of only two of the warriors, for the rest had fled in a wordless rush, and were now somewhere down the long passage they'd arrived by.
The pair of warriors roughly but skillfully thrust Thraunt upright, and he turned in time to see that fool of a novice, Ornaugh, choke, clutch his throat, and make a peculiar, desperate whimpering sound-before he fell over on his face, clawing at his neck.
He'd been unable to swallow, Thraunt realized-in his few moments of thought left before the other priests burst into and over him and out the doorway. The last two warriors sprinted in their wake, leaving the Masterpriest battered and winded on the floor, with a peculiar prickling sensation in his nose and throat…
No! By the Serpent, no! Masterpriest Thraunt was up and on his feet and through that door as fast as he could run, coughing around a tongue grown strangely thick, and trying to keep up with the bobbing lanterns of his craven fellow priests before they left him in utter darkness, here There was a bright burst of light from ahead, around the corner of the passage they'd just taken, and an echoing roar that sounded oddly like…
There was a second blast, and the tattered remnants of what had been Ilmark of Sirlptar, or Elmargh, or whatever his name was, came bouncing and whirling into view, all of the limbs rolling to a stop separately.
Spell-blasts! That was it! Just like those he'd seen in a courtyard in Sirlptar, when first observing a casting of the fireburst spell that the Brotherhood called "Fire of the Serpent." Someone-a traitor? a rival priest?-had blasted everyone under his command as they'd run along the narrow passage.
"Great Serpent!" Thraunt gasped, the words half a prayer and half a curse, and trotted forward warily, readying the best spell he knew: a "Wrath of the Serpent," the stinging cloud of flying, biting snakes that even anointed priests of the Serpent feared…
There was another blast, a short, choked-off scream, and more remains bounced and rolled to a dusty, grisly halt ahead. Thraunt slowed, wondering how long he should wait in silent hiding before venturing around that corner.
This was no trap, for traps do not howl and scream wild laughter, then sob and snarl and hoot and howl again. This sounded like someone gone plague-mad. Perhaps a mage, come here to loot, who'd been caught by the fangs of one of the guardian snakes he'd dropped to guard their way out of the ruins…
Well, if so, all he need do was wait, and this foe would the raving, and leave the way clear. Thraunt knew he was not a patient man, but when the clear alternative is being blown apart…
Around the corner came hissing shouts, and then snapped orders and the clang of blades-far more blades than his warriors bore, even if none of them had fallen. Wild roars followed, mixed with loudly declaimed gibberish this time.
Other priests had planned treasure-snatching expeditions into the Silent House, and although there'd been agreement to allow each foray one day before the