The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [122]
"Of course," Sarasper said with a shrug. "The builders had to hide ways out from a succession of Barons Silvertree, didn't they?"
"And just what does that mean?" Embra asked in mock anger, as she was helped down into the earthy darkness. A moment later, as light flared up in front of her from some sort of small stone lamp Craer seemed to have been carrying hidden in his clothing, she looked up and back at Hawkril, and asked, "Do we leave it open behind us, or-?"
"There's a handle by Hawk's head," Craer called back softly, "but I want him to get his lamp lit, too, before-"
"Let me past, youngling," Sarasper muttered, "and keep back. Oh-and take care of this bottle for me without emptying it, hey?"
"What're-oh," Craer replied, accepting item after item of clothing as the old man disrobed and stalked forward, becoming a longfangs by his third or fourth step.
"The burial ground is alive with hopeful adventurers and treasure-seekers," Hawkril growled as the palm-sized oil lamp he'd bought back at the Flagon flared up. "More than one band of them may have found their ways in already…"
"I begin to think this is no more sensible a way to gain Dwaer than blundering around the countryside was," Embra said with a sigh.
"Going from inn to inn?" the procurer teased. "Your display was deeply appreciated at one such establishment, or so I've just been told!"
"Craer," Embra replied with a snort, "I think I killed rather fewer folk than Hawk did, we saw no trace of the Dwaerindim, and I've no love for anyone bold enough to burst into our rooms with swords drawn in the dark hours!"
"Ah, but someone did just that," the procurer replied smugly. "Behold: our lure at work! Why, I heard men talking in the stables-when we arrived, before all the fun-about what they'd do to fix broken Aglirta, if they somehow had a Dwaer fall into their hands!"
A furred forelimb tipped with a cruel, rending claw came out of the darkness ahead of Craer then to deal him a sharp slap on the shoulders, and he turned to Hawkril and Embra and hissed, "Silence! Sass wants quiet!"
They fell silent, moving forward with slow, tentative caution for what seemed like a long time, ere Sarasper came back to them, shuffling his feet on the cold stone, and growled, "Hand me a cloak-'tis cold!"
"Your being naked might have something to do with that," Craer said helpfully. "Perhaps if we got someone younger to go about bare-skinned… Embra, say…"
The Lady of Jewels calmly cuffed one of the procurer's ears, and asked, "What news?"
"Six dead in fall-traps, that I've found so far," the healer growled, "and at least four alive and wandering. There were two more, but they fell afoul of a longfangs."
"Dangerous beasts," Hawkril agreed expressionlessly. "Do you want Craer and me to go play?"
Sarasper shook his head, stamping his boots back onto his feet. "They'll run into each other a few rooms hence-and then we'll just have the survivors to see to. There's-"
He suddenly threw up an urgent hand for silence, and pressed his head against a panel. Then he beckoned Hawkril forward with a whirling of his hand, and mimed the thrusting of a warsword through the wall.
When the armaragor joined him with a frown, Sarasper guided Hawk's lamp to a certain place, pointed at it, collected the armaragor's nod, and then blew the lamp out. Craer hooded his with his cloak, and the healer nodded and pulled at something on the wall.
Stone moved, and Hawk struck, twisting his blade as he drew it back into the passage to shake free the body he'd thrust it into. As the healer slid the panel back into place, Craer turned around and let the light of his lamp spill forth-and they saw that Hawkril's blade was red with bright blood for almost two feet back from its point.
"Dangerous place, the Silent House," Sarasper murmured grimly, as he beckoned them on down the dank passage.
"Dangerous indeed, yes. That's why you're being