The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [129]
A door burst open, and then two panels fell together, and men with melted faces were in the room, drawn swords in their hands. There were only five floating magics left-no, four now-and the Risen King spoke more swiftly for the first time, keeping his voice flat and his eyes on the page to avoid errors, hoping the hopeless, trying to get to the end of-
Another door burst open, so close beside Kelgrael that the wind of its moving cooled his ear. Before he could taste despair, someone was racing past him, ducking under floating enchantments with slim blades in both hands, and there was another someone behind the first. Those blades bit into the breast and belly of a Melted, who reeled, dropping or feebly hurling his sword, and fell. Kelgrael read on.
The new arrivals were flooding into the room now, in a steady, silent stream as the foremost crossed swords with the Melted, and scaly shadows raged around them recoiling from where one man unhooded a hand-lamp and dragged a sash through its flame. That man had no face, and no melted flesh, either, but only blankness that glanced alertly at Snowsar without eyes.
As the sash flared up, the shadowy outlines of the Serpent's tongue grew darker and less distinct, shrinking back from it-and then from another corner a ball of fire burst across the room, spattering everything, and a Faceless was staggering back in maimed and broken agony from where the Melted he'd been fighting had exploded, and Kelgrael Snowsar set his jaw grimly and read the word that made the last magic item wink away…
Someone Faceless turned to him, in the confused brawl of shadowy scales and hacking, stabbing men that the chamber had suddenly become, and thrust a glowing handful of items into the air-two heavy candlesticks, and what looked like a bull-goad, and a small box whose lid was one huge rose-hued gem, and some sort of dangle-adorned length of fine chain that had probably been someone's anklet. Snowsar read on without stopping to gasp his relief, and kept reading as another Melted exploded wetly across the room-and then another.
Everything was covered with wet, sticky blood. The Melted and the Koglaur were surging around him now, slipping and stabbing and hacking in a brutal frenzy, and from belts and the breasts of robes and boots of the Faceless, magic was plucked forth, to whirl up into the air-and promptly be reduced to spreading sparks.
The blue thunder he'd felt once before was rising beneath Kelgrael Snowsar's boots even before he read the last word and saw the last enchanted item extinguished in a whirl of tiny sparks, banishing all despair. Kelgrael laughed aloud.
The forked tongue of the Serpent was still a thing of crumbling smoke in a dark and yawning gullet that was but shadow filling the end of the room where men reeled and fenced and thrust and fell, as the blue light rose around the king, growing deeper and darker until it seemed like the night sky studded with stars.
He was floating himself now, sinking into the silence that held no Serpents or melt-faced men or helpful Koglaur, but only the long sleep.
Farewell again, Aglirta, until next-the Three willing-I see thee.
And quietly, without further fuss, King Kelgrael Snowsar went Fading Away.
23
Lies, Death, and Other Certainties
The lady sighed as they strapped her into the armor.
"Worried about the Silvertree Curse, Em?" Craer asked gently, buckling and shifting and holding, her ribs like silken rungs under his thumbs.
Very blue eyes met his coolly. "A little," Embra replied, "but more that we're wasting our time here, putting ourselves in danger facing the blades of outlaw after hiresword after guard eager to win his fortune, while anyone who really has a Dwaer stands safely outside, sending the rats in at us!"
Sarasper shrugged-as much as a longfangs can shrug-and Hawkril growled, "It's the risk we have to take… at least until one of us can come up with a better