The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [32]
Impulsively, Embra plucked a hand-size stone from the rubble on the passage floor. Hawkril whirled to face her, his blade up and eyes narrowed in suspicion, but she gave him a glance of contempt and hurled the rock down the passage Craer had rejected.
It landed with a clack and clatter that was promptly lost in a roar of falling stone. The trap Embra had triggered dropped two rusty but still massive portculli from the ceiling with a booming crash, then filled the space between them shoulder high with loose stones.
"By the Three!" Delvin said suddenly, crouching down. "What's that?"
A twinkling, spinning mote of light about the size of Helgrym's fist flashed past the two staring bards, through the riven arch of the Silent House gates, and flew through the tombs beyond like a small, racing star.
"Quiet," Helgrym said in a low voice, far too late and knowing it. "That was a seeking spell; it can see and hear you."
They watched it vanish into the skull-like front of the Silent House, whence all the Silvertree soldiers had gone, and shivered in unison. It's never comfortable to be too close to suddenly risen magic.
Embra stiffened in midstride and spun around. Hawkril almost jostled her in his haste to see what she was doing and turn his blade around, too-and was in time to see her tear a bauble from the girdle cords of her nightgown, clench her fist around it, and murmur a word as she stared at something small and winking that was drifting in the air behind them like a tiny star.
Radiance flared between her fingers, then died-and the little floating star exploded in a burst of light that made Hawkril roar in pain and clutch his eyes.
"If you'll see to your own tasks, armaragor," the Lady of Jewels told him coldly, as he struggled vainly to see, "I'll try to deal with the magic. Craer, I'll be needing those clothes now."
The procurer was firmly guiding Hawkril to a sitting position on the floor by holding onto the swordmaster's elbow and murmuring, "Down!" He looked up at the sound of his name and saw that the bright silk nightgown on Embra's shoulders was speedily shriveling and darkening. In moments it looked more like a shawl or a giant fold of spiderweb gray with dust than a garment, and it began to fall away in tatters from long legs and soft curves that were-were sagging against the wall. The sorceress seemed to be reeling, or slumping in pain.
"Lady!" Craer hissed. "Are you hurt?"
"My last magic," Embra muttered, as he helped her down to the floor, "is gone. Which is good, since castings seem to be… killing me."
Fresh flashes made them both look up. Craer was still gaping at the words the Lady of Jewels had spoken. On her knees beside him, she moaned in despair, tore free of his hand, and gasped, "Keep away! I've no magic left to fight these, whatever they are!"
As they approached, the radiances slowed and unfolded into coils of silvery thread, tendrils of magic that both veered to rush down on Embra Silvertree.
She threw back her head with a sigh of despair, eyes bright with tears-and then choked back a sob.
On the ceiling above the sorceress, as silent as any shadow, hung the longfangs, its fur glistening with dew. Its barbed, hairy legs were spread wide, and its wolflike head was staring straight at her. As their eyes met, it snarled and sprang down on her, claws and jaws extended to slay!
4
Four Long Fangs
Silvery tendrils were everywhere, falling on her inexorably from all directions in a tangled net she could not escape. Embra Silvertree barely noticed them; she was frantically kicking off from the wall and rolling across hard and uneven flagstones to avoid being crushed. Somewhere nearby, an awed Craer Delnbone was softly and swiftly giving the world an impressive stream of curses.
The longfangs brushed her boots as it landed, and she could smell damp, slightly moldy fur. She rolled over, wondering how she'd reach her dagger in time-and then there was no more time.
Long, hairy limbs that felt like iron bars fell on her, slapping across her mouth and entwining around