The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [93]
"Might I suggest," Tshamarra said quietly, "that before we take on all the troubles of Aglirta, we see to ourselves? I'm… there's still something wrong with me, inside, and it could well be this plague, or something akin to it… and I know I'm not the only overduke in such a state. We should use the Dwaer to purge ourselves of its taint, if we can."
"Eat, drink, and sleep-sleep above all," Hawkril growled. "Some place you ladies can spell-seal."
"We need safe sleep more than anything else right now," Embra agreed. "But where? Those kitchens are quite a stroll back that way. And how do we know the food's untainted? And the water?"
"Sausages and pickles," Craer suggested. "Mad spellweaving Serpent-priests rarely take the time to stop and taint those."
"No more splitting up," Tshamarra said firmly. "Where we go, we go together."
Hawkril looked at his lady. "If you've strength left to blast down a door or two with the Stone, I propose we descend to the courtyard, walk along to the right tower to be close to the kitchens, and blast its door in. Take what we want, and then… Well, if we're far enough away from any fires or folk who could start new ones, another turret-top room might serve us as a refuge."
The Lady of Jewels smiled wearily. "Fine. Let's do that. Agreed, all?"
"Agreed," Blackgult said firmly, more or less drowning out the affirmative noises made by the others-so they went and did that.
Four guards met them in the passage outside the kitchens, grimly raising swords and striding forward. Hawkril and Blackgult strode to meet them, but were still a good three strides away from the foremost guard when the man suddenly screamed in terror, went to his knees, and started to sprout fur.
The overdukes backed away again-and so did the guards behind the stricken one. Both sides watched in wary silence as armor fell away from the hairy, increasingly wolflike body that quivered on all fours between them.
After a time it roared, shook itself, and prowled forward, snarling. Hawkril and Blackgult took up stances shoulder to shoulder, and waited, but the beast sprang right onto their waiting blades. A few moments of wrestling aside snapping jaws, and watching blood pump, and the beast went limp.
The overdukes traded glances, and then carefully stepped over the corpse. The guards beyond eyed them uncertainly-and then turned in unison and ran.
Craer grinned. "Ah, we've finally found the wiser ones. I was wondering where Stornbridge kept them hidden!"
"What I don't want to know," Tshamarra murmured from just behind his shoulder, "is what sort of monster the cooks have turned into."
The kitchen, however, proved to be deserted-abandoned in haste, by the looks of things: spilled condiments, burnt food on cooling spits above the dying coals of untended fires, and half-sliced onions upon a none-too-clean cutting block.
Embra sighed. "Go find your sausages and pickles."
"Hey, 'tis not that bad," Hawkril rumbled, looking around. "There's one end of a roast here not burnt-and sarrago stew, if my nose doesn't fail me."
"And it rarely does," Craer agreed, rummaging. "Tash, grab yon pot, hey? There's a wheel of cheese here, and roundloaves in plenty. We'll not go hungry, to be sure!"
"Couldn't we just garrison this room?" the Lady Talasorn asked. "Is there something especially scenic about a round room up six or seven flights of stairs?"
Blackgult sighed. "We need a strong-walled room that we can't be burnt or flooded out of, that gets air, preferably with only one or two entrances that can't easily be blocked from outside. Oh, and with a floor some of us can sleep on. There might be suitable pantries hereabouts, but I doubt it."
Hawkril shouldered a door open and peered in. "Hmm. I feel less and less enthusiastic about eating another feast in Stornbridge, no matter who's tersept and how far across Darsar we've scoured the Serpents out. Phaugh,