The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [33]
The furry, wolf-headed spider rolled Embra onto her stomach and shifted its weight onto her, pinning her until her breath whistled through her nose. Its scent, like soured apples or wine gone to vinegar, was strong about her. Its limbs never left her mouth, enfolding her throat and jaws so tightly that she could not have spoken no matter how dire the need. The other limbs of the long-fangs forced her arms slowly together; she could see that they sported thornlike barbs at the joints and ended in gripping pads, like the feet of snails she'd seen along the river shore. Pads that were now wrapped around her hands so tightly that she could not move a finger, as her arms came together and the limbs of the longfangs spiraled around them like ropes, in eerie silence.
It's as if it knows I can cast spells, she thought, and is determined to prevent me. Then she stiffened as the first spell threads settled upon her, and a tingling began. It went on, lessening slightly, as the longfangs shifted its grip on her and freed two of its long, spidery limbs. They reared back like daggers waiting to stab down, and by peering as far to her right as possible, Embra could see why: the still-blind armaragor Hawkril had smelled or heard the longfangs and was now hacking wildly but heartily at the air with his sword.
With the last wisps of her gown melting away from her as she lay helplessly pinned to the cold stone floor, Embra for the first time found the warm, furry weight of the longfangs reassuring: there was a lot of monster between her and that wicked blade-unless, of course, he was stupid enough to thrust at it right along the floor.
Nothing more than the ever-present tingling seemed to happen within her, and Embra dared to hope the tendrils had been some sort of spying or even shielding magics. Then she reminded herself wryly that she was in the grip of a beast that habitually tore men limb from limb and feasted on them. With no one to rescue her but a pair of incompetent thieves and her father's tender wizards…
Hawkril's blade cut at the air rather nearer. He seemed to be listening for sounds of a foe now, rather than snarling in wordless rage. Embra tried to buck upward suddenly and shift the longfangs off her; the armaragor heard the futile scraping of her knees and elbows on the stone floor and turned directly toward her, his blade sweeping out.
The longfangs shrank back, dragging Embra with it, as that long sword reached out again and again in great arcs. Hawkril advanced behind his sweeping steel, step by cautious step-until something sprang past the wolf-spider to roll under the swordmaster's feet, sending him crashing to the floor with his blade clanging out of his hand.
Hawkril came to his feet slowly, shaking his head to clear it and cursing weakly. His vision was coming back, it seemed, as he peered this way and that.
The cause of Hawkril's fall was crouching warily not an arm's-reach distant from the helpless Embra, facing the longfangs. Staring into its golden eyes, Craer asked hesitantly, "Sarasper? Is that you?"
The tension in the ornate chamber suddenly eased. Three wizards sighed their relief in unison, traded glances, and sat down.
At the gleaming table in the center of the room, the darkly handsome baron of Silvertree calmly poured himself more wine and raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
Ingryl Ambelter managed a smile. "The protective magics have reached the Lady Embra, Lord, and settled on her."
His employer nodded. "I was unfamiliar with your embellishments, Spellmaster, whereas I recognized all of Beirldoun's casting. Pray unfold for me all the details of your combined enchantments."
Ingryl bowed his head and replied, "Lord Baron, the shieldings now active upon your daughter will keep her safe against almost all spells except personal curses and will staunch any bleeding from wounds, though the magic can neither