The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [58]
By then, Craer was already probing among the coins with his short sword, looking for traps or small biting and scuttling things. Finding none, he looked up over his shoulder at Embra, who nodded her approval.
Hawkril's sack shortly received a pile of seventy-odd gold coins-some so old that they bore the ax of the trading baronies that had preceded Aglirta-and Craer asked almost eagerly, "Will that be enough, or do we need more?"
A smile plucked at the corner of Embra's mouth, and she said, "I hesitate to counsel you to further danger, but I've heard that Sirlptar can be an expensive place."
"So whom do we… borrow from?" the procurer asked, waving at the row of inscriptions. "Vaedrym?"
"He was a mage who did much work with the dead," Embra replied. "Probably 'twould be better not to look therein." She took a few steps along the wall, and then said, "Try here."
"Chalance Silvertree," Craer said aloud, reading the inscription. "He died young. Hmm; 'Prince Royal'?"
The Lady of Jewels shrugged. "Silvertrees have thought themselves rulers of Aglirta before now."
The procurer sat down and tugged at the heels of his boots. Both came away in his hands, revealing themselves to be stubby daggers, with the boot heels as their hilts. Hawkril sniffed in amusement at the awkward weapons, but his mirth ended in amazement as Craer snapped a metal prying-wedge out of each heel and applied them to the edge of the casket lid, humming nonchalantly.
The armaragor held his sword tensely ready as his three companions huffed the lid askew, but nothing emerged from within.
Craer peered into the dust and bones, and smiled.
In a surprisingly short time their store of gold had more than doubled. By then the armaragor had seen several gliding apparitions-dark-eyed warriors and one gowned woman whose head was hidden within raging flames-and was anxious to move on. Sarasper obliged, leading them down hidden stairs and past a place where they could hear the murmur of moving water through the dripping walls.
"The underways," Sarasper said. "I came this way once, in another shape. I fear I remember little about what awaits us, other than that there is a way through."
There was a weird glow in the passage ahead, which proved to come from eerily pulsing glowworms crawling along muddy side ledges. Spiders as large as human hands danced and scurried aside as they went on, up a worn stone stair into another burial hall, where a row of stone plinths rose from the floor.
Hawkril eyed them dubiously. Helms and shields that had been hung on them long ago had rusted away to brown powder and crumbling shards.
Craer drifted closer, until Embra said quietly from behind him, "Things left undisturbed have a habit of not disturbing you. Words every procurer should live by."
The spiderlike man gave her a sour look. "And what words do Silvertree sorceresses live by, Lady?"
Embra closed her eyes, looking pained. "Craer," she said slowly, "I'm sorry if I've offended. None of this comes easily to me. I'm used to living alone, in caged luxury. I don't even know what I'll do when I have to relieve myself, in front of all of you."
The armaragor looked at her and said abruptly, "It's hard for us, too. We're afraid of you-and if your father can reach us, through you."
The Lady of Jewels turned slowly to meet all of their gazes. Her face was bleak. "So am I, Hawkril. So am I."
They stood looking at each other in awkward silence for a time, and then, wordlessly, Sarasper led them on.
Their way rose again, passing through chambers where many coffins lay under thick draperies of cobwebs, and into a place where the light from Sarasper's stone grew dim.
"Strong magic," he and Embra murmured in unison, and the sorceress laid hold of the bracelets on her arm. There were suddenly faint glows ahead of them, points of light flickering in a silent circle that stretched to the walls of the room, barring their way. There was a dark bulk-a casket, or stone block-at the center of that ring of