The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [96]
Hard on the heels of its disappearance came a sudden uproar from below, as the common room erupted in tumult. Out of the din came shouts, the ring of drawn steel, and the thunder of hurrying, running boots with heavy men in them.
Men who had awakened bewildered and shamefaced on the stairs not long ago were back, fresh weapons in their hands and new allies at their sides-hard-faced ruffians who shouldered aside angry inn patrons and staff alike to begin a breakneck, crashing race up the stairs. Most waved drawn swords, but a few carried large cutters' axes, to deal with any barred doors that might stand ahead.
Where their way had been barred before, the stairs and landing beyond were empty. One door opening off it stood open, the room beyond empty and dark. The other was closed and barred.
Men snarled, other men shouldered to the front, and a rain of heavy ax-blows fell upon the door, biting deeply. Again the axes fell, and again, before the first splinters fell away and impatient hands were thrust through the rents in the door to snatch up the bar inside, and let it topple away harmlessly.
Armed men burst into the room in a snarling, menacing flood and darted to every corner, closet, and chamber beyond. Of the four people they were seeking, not one was to be found-Lharondar's curses rang off the walls-but the air was heavy with the rich smells of hot roast and dripping, and in their raging midst stood a bed still warm and hollowed from the body that was no longer lying in it… a body whose spicy perfume at least one of the furious swordsmen had smelled before: the mystic scent of the sorceress Lady Embra Silvertree, as he was helping her down from a horse after a ride through the forest on Silvertree Isle.
11
Crowded Shores and Ruins
In Castle Silvertree, three mages stiffened in unison. "That was her!" Markoun gasped.
"Your daughter, Lord Baron," Spellmaster Ambelter said gravely, "is in Sirlptar, at a place I don't recognize-an inn… which stands on the seaward flank of Southsnout Ridge."
"Get there," the baron snapped as he sat bolt upright in the chair he'd been lounging in, his eyes lighting like two flames of fury. "Get there now, and slay her companions. Bring her back here at once." He rose like a black whirlwind, snatched a whip down off the wall, and stalked out of the room, cracking it savagely in the air.
The three mages exchanged looks. Then Klamantle and Markoun darted to the tray on the table in front of the baron's vacant chair. Snatching aside its glass dome, they plucked strands of the Lady Embra's hair from the small and untidy pile it guarded and hurried to the balcony.
Ingryl hastened along in their wake but found no room left on the balcony to stand and work magic. He watched the younger mages conjure giant-size nightwyrms, leap astride them, and flap away. In their wake, he strode out onto the balcony and waved his hands in frantic spellcasting gestures-until the racing nightwyrms had dwindled out of sight in the bright sky downriver.
Then the Spellmaster let his hands fall, went to the small glass forest of decanters on the sideboard, and unhurriedly poured himself a drink.
"Fools," he told the room with a smile, and sipped at his glass.
"Hmmph; clumsily poisoned," he said consideringly a moment later, rolling the liquid around in his mouth. "Makes it burn a bit."
Ingryl shrugged, swallowed, and poured himself more.
On the shore of Lake Lassabra, in the early hours after noon, Embra Silvertree was on her knees, gasping and shuddering in pain. The bright sun had driven the mists that normally cloaked its placid waters away, leaving it a sheet of still blue amid the encircling trees. Trees that might hide any number of sorcerous foes.
Sarasper was kneeling beside the Lady of Jewels, awkwardly cradling her shaking shoulders. "Has working magic always hurt-drained-you