The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [55]
He strode to a sideboard, caught up a decanter, flicked its stopper forth with the thumb of his gauntlet, and took a long swig, swallowing with a loud sigh of satisfaction. "Ah, but that's good!" he said with a smile. "Like sweet fire! All ours, now."
"Until you start to fight over it," the man in the chair said quietly, his head drooping forward.
"Hah!" the first man snarled. "I think not! And even if we do, at least we've lived long enough to taste some of your fine vintages!" He strode to the sideboard himself, snatching another decanter, and that started a general rush to take up slender silver and crystal.
"That you have," Brungelth Silvertree said softly. "That you have." His head settled lower, and the patter of blood on the floor around the throne slowed to a gentle rhythm of drippings.
"Your best amberfire, I believe. Father Baron?" another of his slayers asked tauntingly, waving a decanter in front of the dying man.
"And I have a fine stagblood, by the taste of it," another jeered, holding it up to catch the flickering firelight. "Most splendid."
The man on the throne asked wearily, "Have you all drunk, then?"
There was a general, rough roar to the affirmative, and the baron said faintly, his words slurred now, "Consider it a toast, then. If you've sipped, you're fit to hear the secrets of my hold before I die. Swift, now… I can feel the fading… bend close…"
One or two laggards hastily swigged and joined the wary, tightening ring around the bloody throne.
"Not too close," one of them warned. "He may have some last blasting magic."
"No," another said. "I wear a magequell ring-magic or no, there's nothing he can use in this room."
"I need no magic," Brungelth Silvertree said calmly, "to take you dogs down with me into darkness. All of the wines in this chamber are poisoned."
Decanters fell as faces paled, and amid the shatterings and oaths there was a general rush to the throne. "The antidotes, old man!" one son snarled, swordpoint raised to strike. "I know you'll have some! Speak, or lose an eye!"
"Take it," the Baron replied. "I'll not be needing it, soon. The antidotes are all in my bedchamber-not that you'll live to reach it. I had to take them for years to reach the dosages in those decanters you so heartily sampled. Farewell, idiots. Unworthy, all of you, of the name of Silvertree. Have my curses."
And with those words his eyes closed, and his head fell to one side. There was scarce time for the shouting and cursing to rise up again before men started to fall, all around the throne, crashing to the floor in a limp, helpless fellowship of death.
Embra Silvertree shuddered and drew her arms around herself, her face bone white. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and she threw back her head and drew in deep, shuddering breaths as she glared at the ceiling. Her whisper was so soft that they had to strain to hear it. "It never changes, does it, House Silvertree? And you're proud of it, all of you!"
The three men exchanged glances. Craer, who'd reached forth his arm to touch Embra in reassurance, let it fall back to his side, and kept silent. The sorceress glared quickly around at their faces, her expression almost a challenge, and seemed to crumple into weary sorrow when she saw that they'd heard and seen nothing at all of poisoned decanters and butchery and men falling in heaps around a bloody throne. Her sigh, as she turned away, was almost a sob.
"We'll move on very soon. Lady," Sarasper called to her. The healer seemed almost a human whirlwind of tapping on stones, pushing here, opening there, and darting about.
As they watched, the wall yielded up hiding place after hiding place, and out of each the old man plucked certain things, while leaving others behind. The table swiftly grew a small mound of bracelets, candlesticks, a candle snuffer, small metal serving bowls that stood on taloned mock-dragon feet, belt buckles, and about a dozen odd-sized wine and spirit bottles.
"For the thirsty traveler?" the Lady of Jewels asked, picking