The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [19]
Hawkril lifted an eyebrow and one restraining hand in unison. "It was my remembrance," he said in level tones that held only a faint rumble of warning, "that we agreed to take on a companion-not an officer in full authority over us."
The Lady Silvertree met his eyes and said, "Granted, friend Hawkril-but in this I know how to proceed, and mistakes will get us all slain. Trust me in this, please."
The armaragor held her eyes for a long moment after she let silence fall.
Then, slowly, he nodded, took up a dagger, and vaulted up onto the sideboard. It groaned under his boots, swayed as he shifted his feet-and held. Craer was already atop the wardrobe, dagger in hand.
The sorceress looked at them both, drew in a deep breath, and then said, "I'll ask you to strike in unison. At the metal bosses, where the lamp chains reach the ceiling; be sure to cut across some part of the runes there. Strike hard and-by the Three!-miss not, and then close your eyes and let go your blades without delay. There will be… an impressive reaction. In what follows, each of you must pluck up a sack: fix in your minds now just where they are. It may be dark, and we'll need to move very swiftly. Strike only when I give the word."
The two friends exchanged glances and then nodded to her. Embra knelt to take up the dagger, tore something on a fine chain from around one ankle and set it in the dry bowl, then stood, turned to look at them, and deliberately drew Craer's knife down the outside of her arm.
The blood welled out dark and fast. The Lady Silvertree held out her arm so that it would run from her fingertips into the dry bowl, watched it race for a moment, and then snapped, "Strike now!" At that last word, the first dark drops fell toward the bowl.
Daggers struck sparks from rune-graven metal-and in the wake of where they touched, lightnings burst forth into the night.
White and furious, these, leaping lances hot against the very air.
Craer swore and snatched his hand away. His dagger exploded into droplets of metal, smoking spatters that headed past his cheek into the night. A howling was rising from all around, and something surged through the very air around him, rolling as ponderously as a wave smashing into a small boat of grimly clinging warriors off the rocky Ieiremboran shores.
Another surge of force moaned through the room, awakening many small radiances in its wake, and in their fading flashes Craer saw the sideboard toppling, and Hawkril leaping away.
Its crash shook the room, and was echoed by a dozen smaller disasters in nearby chambers. In one of the bursts of lightning-touched fire-spells dying, these must be-the procurer saw the sorceress silhouetted, still standing in the bowl, tearing off the last of the skirts of her nightgown with a triumphant jerk and reaching to wrap the silk around her arm.
The floor shuddered in an abrupt wave of its own-and the wardrobe began its own slow and mighty journey to a thunderous meeting with the floor.
Craer sprang from tilting wood toward where his sack must be, winced as something falling from the ceiling smashed against his shoulder, and spun helplessly in the air to land hard and rolling, his bootheels crashing against the sack. Books and not gems, thank the Three… as he stood, the entire tower shuddered under and around him, sending him staggering. The bindings had been broken, all right-and the baron, his three mages, and half Coiling Vale could hardly help but notice!
A firm hand took hold of his elbow in the darkness. "Hold to this," Embra Silvertree said, guiding one of his hands to a fold of cloth on one of her slender hips. "And if your fingers begin to wander, I'll give you back the three knives you left on the floor-one at a time, and point first."
Craer answered her with a sound that was more snort than chuckle, and moved with her through trembling, littered gloom, running up against her soft limbs only once, when Hawkril