The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [63]
"He's seen-"
The stone in the stranger's hand flashed-and the oval scrying-portal erupted in flames, flames that consumed it and roared at its creator.
The baron hurled himself over backward, chair and all, and ducked beneath the table as his youngest wizard screamed, reeled back with his hair transformed into a torch, and spun around. Flesh sizzled, hair crackled away to ash, and one eye hissed and then burst, spattering Markoun's hand and cheek as he fell, howling in agony.
Under the table, the baron heard his bottle rolling along above him. He calmly swung himself around to catch it when it reached the edge and toppled.
"How long have we been walking, anyway?" Craer sighed, as something skeletal shrank back into the depths of the cavern they were crossing. What looked like human bones lay underfoot, and the Band of Four took care not to disturb any of the inky pools in the dimpled stone floor as they passed.
"Most of a day," Sarasper and Hawkril said together. The broad-shouldered armaragor ducked as the hundredth or so flight of bats whirred past his face, cast a glance at Embra, and frowned.
He felt sick and well, empty, from the vitality he'd given up to her, through Sarasper-and yet she was moving along as if in a dream, pale faced, listless, and silent. Was some dark magic eating the sorceress from within because they'd torn her away from the castle she was magically bound to? Or, as a Silvertree, was she falling victim to the curse of the mansion they'd passed through? Or-what?
Hawkril frowned again and peered into the darkness off to their right as he heard the small sounds made by yet another of the creeping, slithering things that took care to keep out of sight. He liked foes who faced him with jaws and claws or weapons, that he could meet face on in the fury of a fray-not all this skulking and not knowing and lurking magic. May the Three blast all wizards to ash, and leave Aglirta a happier place!
He glanced at the Lady Silvertree again. Well, perhaps all wizards but one…
Yet no-for if she was the only one, what sort of tyrant might she grow into? The armaragor frowned again, and strode on, and was not happy.
"What's that smell?" Embra asked after a time, her voice rough from disuse.
"Sewers," Craer said simply. "We must be under Adeln."
"Food!" Hawkril said emphatically, and several stomachs promptly growled in unison. The four companions chuckled.
Sarasper said gently, "We'll need disguises, Lady-not yet, but before we go up where we can be seen."
"And once we're up," Craer added, "everyone cluster around the sack Hawk's carrying. No one must see those books… and we're going to need every last gold coin, I'm thinking."
"May the Three save us!" Embra said suddenly, smiting her brow in mock horror. "He's thinking!"
There was a moment of startled silence before the three men erupted into laughter-laughter that redoubled when Hawkril tapped Embra's shoulder with a finger and said reprovingly, "Lady, if you're going to walk with us, I'm going to ask you not to steal my lines."
Embra gave him a weak smile, and then burst out, "Oh, by the Horns of the Lady-take me somewhere with a sky I can see, and wine, and something to eat!"
"Your tower in Castle Silvertree?" Craer suggested slyly-and discovered that the sorceress still had strength enough to launch a swift poke at his ribs.
Their way became damp, and the air reeked. No one with a nose would have needed help in identifying the sewers now.
Craer brought them to a halt and said, "It looks to run narrow from here on-we'll probably have to find a grating, or an alley dump that's washed down here by the bucket. Lady, if you need space to work magic, this had better be it."
"What do you want to look like?" Embra said teasingly, clutching her bowl.
Sarasper leaned forward, and said, "You'd best look less pretty, lass, and I younger. Make both of these rogues fatter, so their heights won't be so clear to a spy who's