The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [115]
"As my father took the Spear from your grandfather," Ithclammert Cardassa called back, "so come and take the Spear from me, Adeln-if you can."
He strode swiftly away from where he'd spoken from-and so the lightnings that crashed out of the flames to snarl and snap across the floor of his vault, touching sacks of gold coins into angry glows, struck paces behind him.
"So we shall," boomed the voice of Tarlagar, as the flames rolled back and revealed the conspirators in ready-armored array in the mouth of the vaults, "for we offer you now some surprises of our own."
Ithclammert Cardassa saw his own House Wizard standing beside the Tersept of Tarlagar, with spell-lightnings leaping from their hands and triumphant smiles on both of their faces, and knew with cold certainty that his own doom was going to come down on him far more swiftly and painfully than he'd hoped. He lost no time in striking a certain gong with his mace-an act that caused the mage who'd betrayed him to throw back his head and laugh aloud.
"Calling others to die with you, Old Crow?" Darlassitur of Sirlptar called. "How selfless!"
He'd hired that blond-bearded, green-eyed rogue from the ranks of the lesser and more desperate charm-casters of Sirlptar, given him his own mansion and servants and much gold… and all the while, Darlassitur had been a serpent, waiting patiently by his bosom to strike. Ah, well, he wasn't the first baron to learn that wizards can never be trusted.
With visors lowered, the bodyguards strode forward as the last flames rolled away, advancing into the vault like a warily clanking wall.
Cardassa stood impassively watching them come until they were only a few paces away. Then he moved his boot onto a certain stone, which descended a trifle-and three massive portcullises slammed down from the darkness overhead, their ranks of biting points spaced to impale a man who hurled himself too slowly forwards or back.
Five menacing armored figures it harvested, one lightly enough that he was able to twist free, leaving most of a foot behind, and limp back out of the vault, hissing in pain.
His masters ignored him-and paid the twisting, transfixed figures under the points even less heed. They merely snapped, "Attack!" to the three warriors standing untouched in the vault, who strode forward as their impaled fellows slowly gasped out last agonies and fell limp and silent in their spreading blood.
As the three grim knights drew close, Cardassa clenched the knuckles of his gauntlets and muttered a word he barely remembered.
Knuckle-gems flashed, and shields melted out of the air around him-tall, upright metal ovals attached to no man, that orbited him slowly as he awaited the onslaught.
When the nearest man was three paces away, the Lord of Cardassa called on the other power of the gauntlets, springing into the air to pass over the knight-and striking down sharply at the man's head in midflight. Steel bit before it rang off the helm, and the knight staggered back, shaking his head dazedly as threads of blood laced down bright armor.
As his fellows turned to face Cardassa's landing and then turned again as their lone foe sprang aloft again, incantations were being snarled from beyond the stout bars of the fallen portcullises. The tersept who'd hidden his sorcery from the world until now and the false wizard beside him pointed and glared-and where they bent their will, weapons sprang from the walls of Cardassa's own vault, glowing fitfully and tugging free of hooks and straps, until the air was full of floating death.
The Crow knew his fate, and sank hastily back down to the floor where the three warriors were waiting for him, plunging deliberately into their midst, circling shields and all, to provoke a furious exchange of spark-striking blows and cuts and parries, lumbering men swinging with all their might in the tangle of steel.
The two mages waited with increasing impatience for their warriors to stand clear… and when no lull came in the hacking and gasping and skirling