The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [141]
The throne chamber was empty of all life. Not a steward, servant, courtier, or gawking commoner could be seen. Their eyes met again, in utter bewilderment. Where was the king? Where was all his court?
A sudden thought struck one courtier, and he strode to the door that flanked the throne to the left. Unlike its counterpart on the right, it stood slightly ajar.
Not to be left behind, the second courtier hastened after him. They jostled elbows as they tried to push open the door and pass through it together-and came to a halt again, blinking. The grand passage beyond was also empty, of all but its usual pillars, tapestries, and potted trees.
As one the courtiers burst into motion again, striding as swiftly as they could now without actually breaking stride into a trot, their polished boots striking the polished tiles in perfect-and frantic-unison. The passage was long, and opened into a stairwell which gave, on the same level, through several archways to as many rooms beyond. The courtiers reluctantly exchanged glances again, slowing as they neared a point at which they'd have to choose just one destination. Perhaps… A magnificently embroidered pantaloon leg swept to one side and its boot pivoted smoothly, veering right-
Through the leftmost archway came a faint, distant crashing, and the echoes of what might be clashing metal. Then there was a fading snatch of what could only be a scream of pain.
Swallowing oaths more or less in unison, the courtiers abandoned all ceremony and dashed through the leftmost archway together, running now along passages and up short flights of steps into chambers they'd not seen before, adorned with cascades of tinted-glass-and unlit-lanterns hanging from lofty ceilings on long chains… and then down more steps again, hurrying to the sounds of battle.
Gods, but it sounded like an invading army! Steel rang on much steel, and there were spellbursts, or blasts of another sort, and even-among many screams and cries-the hollow ringing sounds of falling timbers bouncing. Two elegantly moustachioed faces paled, two hands drew swords that their wielders suddenly wished were a lot less ceremonial and a lot heavier, and two men raced ahead once more.
They pelted around corners and into thickening smoke, heading for the steadily rising din of battle. The blasts were more frequent now, axes thudded into splintering wood, and there was even the high singing sound that often accompanies strong magic. Then they could see rushing figures and swords glittering, a rising blue radiance of magic somewhere beyond. The courtiers charged, hacking aside the few who turned to offer them sword-points-and cursed in fear as they found themselves fighting men whose flesh sagged, twisted, and contorted like wax running from candles.
When they broke free, wincing as some of the melt-faced men burst apart in the blasts they'd been hearing, covering everything with wet spatterings, the courtiers saw the Risen King floating in the blue light, a smile upon his face, with armed men surrounding him in a ring.
Gods, they could see right through the king!
"Stop it!" one of them cried. "What mage tries to steal away the king? Stop it, I say!" He raised his blade to hack, but found no wizard to strike at, only the backs of the unbroken ring of men around the fading blue light that seemed to be taking Kelgrael Snowsar away. So he tried to push his way between them-and was hurled back with sudden force by the men as they whirled around in unison… and both courtiers found themselves staring into the faces of men who had no faces, but only smooth flesh where eyes and noses and ears and mouths should have been.
Beyond the Faceless men, across the dwindling blue radiance and beyond the far side of the Faceless ring, other men still fought, striving to bear forward against other Faceless ones-and these attackers had faces that dripped flesh in grotesque swirls and melting blobs, laying bare bone here and leaving eyes unsupported there.
Both courtiers screamed before they ran.
"One