The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [150]
Three tall and capable-looking armaragors pushed into the room to join the three already there, and in their midst strode two tall, grandly robed wizards wearing tall boots and sneers of cold command. One of those mages carried a staff as tall as himself. As he hefted it, spell-glows winked and raced up and down its dark length. The Four measured them: eight men who looked very ready for battle.
"Band of Four!" one of them called, glaring at Hawkril and the heads peering back from behind the wrack of broken woods and bodies. "I call on you to surrender, for the good of the realm, your Dwaer-Stones to us!"
"Leave this to me," Craer muttered quickly, raising a quelling hand to Embra. "I know yon mage, by his deeds and talk about him rather than direct dealings." Raising his voice, he called back, "And how would giving such powerful magic into the hands of a hire-for-coins warband out of Sirlptar be good for Aglirta?"
"We have power enough to drive the barons now on the march back to their own towers, put down the dark work of those who serve the Serpent, and restore peace to the land. With the Dwaer, we could do this in days-and more than that: we could keep wizards and the barons they serve from working against us."
"We serve the Risen King," Craer called. "Whom do you serve?"
"We all serve the rightful king of Aglirta," the mage replied sternly. "Let no one question the loyalty of the Swords of Sirlptar!"
"Horse dung," Hawkril growled. "Sirl mages serve none but themselves."
"Think you so, warrior?" replied the mage who'd been silent until now. He stepped forward, a plume of flame making a slow spiral around one end of his magical staff. Embra's eyes narrowed as she got a good look at it; unlike any such she'd ever seen before, this one looked to be made of some dark metal, and to have a long, thick central shaft adorned with hooks and barbed fingers, which slimmed at either end into thin cylinders resembling the ends of many a wooden staff. If it did as much as what mages liked to call "a true staff," it could be made to unleash two magics at once.
Its wielder gave her a cold smile of scorn, and added to Hawkril, "Your dealings, warrior, must have been with low, dishonest men. Sirlptar is home to rich and starving, the mighty and those of no account, men and less than men, from scores of ports in as many lands. We trade with them all, and live with them all-which makes us far more suited to leading Aglirta than backcountry barons, with their bonfire-wizards and their crude plots."
"Ah," Craer responded almost merrily, "so now we have it. You are the suitable leaders of Aglirta. I daresay all eight of you will find the throne a trifle crowded."
"That was not our meaning," the first mage snapped, "and not what we said, either, Delnbone. We've little interest in posturings and wasted banter, either, so we'll ask once more for the yielding of what we have more than enough power to take: will you surrender your Dwaer to us, or not?"
Embra laid firm hands on the arms of both Craer and Hawkril, bidding their silence, and stepped forward to the splintered edge of a table. "Before any magic leaves my hands-either as a gift or as a spell sent to slay," she said pleasantly, "I would know rather better who I'm dealing with. I see a warband of six veteran armaragors, led by two mages, and am given to understand you hail from Sirl town. Capable swords, so much I can see; obedient to you, so much I've heard. So who, sirs, are you? Or am I going to have to ask these bards to introduce you?"
The silently staring bards suddenly cowered as the mage with the staff snapped his head in their direction to glare warningly; the other wizard smiled a soft and catlike smile and said, "Ah, but where have my manners been? Lady Silvertree, may I present Nlorvold 'Balestaff,' so named for the thing of wondrous magic he bears? He and I met far away from here, some years back, while on the same hunt. We sought a land that yet holds dragons,