The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [137]
The House of the Tall Sword was the grandest inn of the Glittering City. It rose like a castle, its dark stone walls as thick as a wagon and crowned with battlements-and men paid handsomely for the use of its fortified, defensible upper rooms. Many a plot had been hatched therein, many a coup planned-and many a meeting in the "Upper House" had ended with blood on the floor and a body or two discreetly dumped down the midden chute.
The Chamber of the Falcon was smaller than some upper rooms and was given to cold drafts. Despite the dark and heavy tapestries that cloaked its walls, it saw less use than some House chambers-and by tradition, its door stood always open. For years, in fact, the thick oaken door that should have barred passage to the room had been missing.
That door floated somewhere on the winds, bards said, with the body of a dead king pinned to it by many swords-and no one dared replace it for fear of what spell-chaos might ensue when the spell that had sent the door forth was broken.
But then, bards said a lot of things.
Right now, the room was crowded with nervous men in robes and suspicious, grim-faced men in armor, their hands never far from the hilts of their weapons. A bard could have identified them as lesser mages from all over Aglirta and the grim-faced warriors, their baronial escorts. Many eyes strayed often to that missing door-as if their owners expected some foe to suddenly appear in fire and risen spellglow, to menace them all.
"… and they've gone to this ruined city in the forest, too?" one mage snapped.
Another shrugged. "Gone in any event, this month past. Grave times are upon us, I fear."
"You fear, you fear, Andraevus-you're always fearing something," one of the warriors snarled. "Be a little more specific, will ye?"
Andraevus replied coldly, "I shall. Hearken: worrisome times have come to Aglirta. Powerful mages are missing, and there are dark rumors-of wizards being slain, dragons being bred in the wilds to feast on folk who venture there, the ancient Serpent in the Shadows rising… and the Baron Silvertree trying to make himself ruler of all Aglirta with fell magics, seizing the fabled Dwaerindim to smash any armies sent against him."
In the still silence that followed his grim words, Andraevus looked hard at the warrior who'd snarled at him and asked, "Specific enough to fear, Andrar?"
"Dragons bred? I'd like to watch a witch try that! Their tails'd flatten her into mead in half a breath!" a voice rang out, and suddenly the scoffing was in full, loud sway around the table-scoffing that slowly died away into silence as men looked at each other, and the stink of fear again ruled the crowded room.
"Many of us here are accomplished at talking, and talking, and then talking longer," the warrior Andrar said heavily, carefully not looking at any of the mages, "but we are gathered here-and that alone imperils many of us-to try to agree on something… anything… we can do."
He looked around, bushy eyebrows raised, and growled, "No suggestions, mages of the Vale? Well, we do make history here today, then."
As the din of sneers and shouts arose, Andrar stepped back again against the wall, collecting more than a few half-grins from other warriors standing in their places around the room. It looked to be a long and noisy council…
"Well said, Andrar," Ingryl Ambelter said sardonically, leaning back at ease in his chair with the scrying-sphere gleaming in front of him. It had taken more than a little magic, but he was fully recovered. The thorn wand floated ready, black and menacing, above the table to his right, where a guard lay hooded, bound and helpless, his bared chest rising and falling rapidly in fear.
The Spellmaster of Silvertree commanded magic enough to shatter shieldings and force his way into almost any spellguarded chamber in Aglirta, but the gods were smiling on him at last. By incredible happenstance these bonfire wizards had chosen the House of the Tall Sword for their council, out