The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [86]
Embra's eyes narrowed. "In which direction does it lie-exactly?"
Hawkril pointed through the trees, and a trace of a smile touched his lips. "There. Exactly."
Embra nodded and said briskly, "Our disguises are gone; we'd best hasten. Gather around and touch me, all of you. Fingers to my bare skin, and firmly-my shoulders, not my face or hands."
"What casting?" Craer asked sharply. "We're a team, remember? Magic need not-must not-be your solitary mystery, kept from us."
"A spelljump," the Lady of Jewels replied with a nod of apology, "to the top of yonder ridge, where I can see bare ground enough."
The three men looked at each other. "Agreed," Sarasper said after a moment, and extended his hand to her neck. Impatiently she tugged the lacings of the tunic loose and pulled it down to lay bare one shoulder. "Here," she said. "I know some of you would rather get your fingers around my throat, but…"
With grins the men of the Four gathered around her. When they were all touching her, she held up a glowing mirror from the Silent House, spoke some words over it, and watched it fade away between her fingers like bubbling smoke.
There was an instant in which the world seemed to be falling away under their boots, and a confused rushing was all around them, like beer hurling itself from spigot into tankard. Then, abruptly, the trees around them changed. They were on the ridge, a little way closer to Sirlptar, on the bare shoulder of rock they'd seen from beside the river, with trees standing thick and dark before them.
The Lady Silvertree trembled, broke free of the hands on her, and staggered away to fall on her knees, white-faced. As they watched, she was loudly and noisily sick, her shoulders shaking with sudden weariness, and then started to crawl laboriously to her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Behind her back, the three men of the Four exchanged somber looks.
They did so to the accompaniment of the loud snarl of an arrow that came hissing out of the trees to strike, quivering, in a tree trunk beside Craer's nose.
10
In the Glittering City
The arrow busily burying itself in the tree had been no warning shot.
Others followed, hissing forth from the trees in a deadly cloud as the Four cursed and sprinted away along the ridge-all except for Embra, who was still on her knees, retching.
Not an arrow found its mark, and there was cursing in the trees. "Out and at them!" someone roared. "They must have food!"
"Not the woman-leave her!" someone else insisted. "She'll be our body slave!"
"How by all the holy Three could all of you miss?" a third someone snarled.
"Same way you did," came a laconic reply, as men in motley armor, with swords and clubs raised and ready in their hands, trotted out onto the ridge and leered down at Embra.
"A pretty lass!"
"Hoa-they're coming back! Snatch her!"
Eager hands reached out, only to break fingers on something unseen that barred their way like a shield-the hasty conjuring that had driven the arrows wide and was now weakening Embra with each passing moment.
As the outlaws snarled astonished curses, she swayed on her hands and knees, face white to the lips… and started the slow sag into unconsciousness.
Craer had seen the failed grabs and led Hawkril in a wide arc around the fallen sorceress, while Sarasper felt his way carefully toward her from behind.
"For Blackgult!" Hawkril thundered, swinging his blade, and one of the outlaws looked startled.
"Wha-why, that's…"
A blade laid open the man's neck. He staggered and fell, managing to gasp, "… us!" before he died.
Craer bounded over him, into the trees. "Attack us, would you?" he cried, stabbing and then racing around a tree to stab at someone else. "Ruin our stealthy approach to the Glittering City, hey? Well, pay the price, fools!" He stabbed a third time, and someone gurgled in reply.
"And dead men," Hawkril added gravely, hacking through a raised hand to slice open the throat behind it. On all sides there were crashings and cursing as the agile procurer