The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [197]
Some of the guards glanced swiftly at Hawkril, expecting an explosion at these near-treasonous words, but the huge armaragor merely grinned and grunted, "May there be many more, loyal sword. Many more for us all."
"Not much chance of that, I'm thinking," the youngest guard whispered, leaning on his sword and watching drops of other people's blood drip from his drenched hair down into the puddle at his feet-but his words were very faint, and only he heard them, in all the gasping for air of that weary fellowship of mad slayers.
"Who comes?" snapped the voice from inside, as a blade thrust warningly forth through the gap between the double doors.
"The Lady Silvertree, Lady Overduke of Aglirta," Embra snapped. "Now open up, or I'll blast these doors down!"
"How do I know-" the guard within started to say, but a deeper, older voice beside him snarled, "Idiot! Help me with the bar!"
"But-" the guard offered, as the bar raided. Embra shook her head in weary exasperation as the courtier beside her cried, "Open up! It's dangerous out here!"
The door swung wide, and the older of the two guards within grinned at the courtier and said, "Lad, 'tis dangerous in here, too. Thank the Three you've come, Lady!"
He led them through forechamber and feasting room, into the bedchamber proper where a white-faced Craer met them at the door, daggers in both hands. "The Lady Embra only," he snapped. "The rest of you, close the door on us and eat and drink whatever you like here, until we call for you."
Embra sighed. "You're missing the battle, Craer."
"Oh no I'm not," the procurer retorted, thrusting aside tapestries to reveal the bed itself.
It lay bared, down to scorched straw, with the smoldering remnants of its furs and linens kicked to the floor around it-and the reason why hovering above it.
Tshamarra Talasorn lay on her back in midair, arching and writhing, stark naked and as glistening with sweat as if she'd been oiled by servants. She was staring at nothing, in obvious pain, and at her every gasping breath, wisps of fire gouted from her lips.
"Do something," Craer hissed fearfully. "I think she's dying! Could it be Serpent-magic, do you think?"
Embra frowned. "Fire isn't the way of the Serpents," she murmured. "But… Ambelter, perhaps? Or another wizard working mischief while we're beset with the plague-ridden?" She stepped forward and held up her Dwaer. "It can't be a spell-trap… not with active magic at work."
She glanced at Craer, smiling without mirth. "Breathing fire isn't something Tash usually does when you're alone together, is it?"
Craer gave her a dark look.
"Right," Embra replied brightly. "I'll try a general purging of any magic that's at work on her. There're enough of the mattress ropes left to keep her from harm if she falls, I think…"
The Dwaer flashed in her hand. The lone lamp in the bedchamber went dark, the flames spewing from Tshamarra's mouth dimmed… and then something raced out of the floating sorceress.
Something that smashed into Craer and Embra so fast that they barely had time to gasp as they were plucked off their feet and flung violently backwards. They burst through the tapestries together, their shoulders slamming into the door in thunderous, numbing unison, and did not even have time to look at each other ere something else surged after the unleashed magic that had hurled them away.
That surge broke over them, Embra's Dwaer ringing like a bell and ramming itself between her breasts, pinning her to the wall in a manner that would have been painful if she hadn't been lost in rapture.
She moaned as if in love-pleasure, writhing and clawing the air, and even Craer, whose mastery of magic was nonexistent, could feel the thrilling power that was making her tremble so, as they hung together in its thrall well clear of the floor.
The center of that welling force was Tshamarra, who was moaning even louder than Embra-almost singing. Her bared body was glowing, becoming