The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [157]
It wasn't going to be fast enough. All Aglirta was on its way to the Silent House, and armies were on the march. Glarsimber Belklarravus had seen the glittering spears of baronial hireswords sweep past Sart as if the fields had grown a sudden crop of war-metal, more than ten times the men he could afford to buy the services of-and there were other armies, he'd heard, all of them hastening to the Silent House.
The ruined home of the Silvertrees. Somehow, when darknesses fell upon Aglirta, the Silvertrees were always lurking in the thick of things…
More than one horse was breathing raggedly, and it wouldn't be long, Sart knew, before the first faltered and fell-and a man going down from a horse at this speed, with the hooves of the others behind to crash down on him, rarely lived to rise up in their wake. Just a little farther, now…
They swept around a bend in the road, saw the hillside that stretched up to the ruin before them-and groaned aloud at what they saw.
Two bands of heavily armored warriors were there before them, scrambling out of their saddles and drawing blades in ringing haste. Men who wore the best armor, scores of them, lumbering forward to butcher each other on the overgrown hillside, amid the leaning tombs.
Steel clashed, men shouted and thrust and reeled-and then the armored figures were staggering back.
The Wolf of Sart hauled hard on his reins, trying to slow his racing mount smoothly and hoping no idiot behind him would crash into his mount's hindquarters. Horses reared and complained all around him as he peered up the hill, trying to see just what was happening. He'd hoped to seize whatever magic the Band of Four had gathered, or failing that, fight beside whatever baron carried the day-or, if there was a strong royal force, under the king's banner, in hopes that Sart would become a barony, and…
All that was done now, swept away by barons who'd mustered more ready swords and ridden harder. And by something else…
There was a flash and a flicker amid the armored figures. Spells were hurling the armaragors back! Spells, with not a mage to be seen, and…
Out of the tombs came hooded figures, some of them moving in a slow and slithering manner. The spells were coming from their hands-scaled hands.
"The Serpents!" Belklarravus spat, as he wrestled his lathered mount to a halt. "Gods curse them!"
Spells were hurling warriors back now, clearing a way to the gates of the Silent House, and cowled figures were beckoning to the men who wore the most gleaming armor, and rode the most splendid horses.
Barons of Aglirta swung down from their saddles and strode forward, clanking rank and power with every stride. Their visors were down and their drawn swords hung in the crooks of their elbows, and the Wolf of Sart saw the arms of Glarond and Maerlin on the broad bright backs of two of those gleaming figures. Hooded figures hurried along beside them, ushering them in through the gates. Scaled hands stabbed at the sky, blue fire rose to shape a portal in a hitherto blank stone wall, and the mighty of Aglirta passed into the Silent House.
Tersept Glarsimber Belklarravus was too cold with anger and despair to want to look at the Tersept of Gilth, but he heard the soft voice that could only belong to one man say, from near at hand, "Well… perhaps next time."
The Smiling Wolf of Sart shook his head silently. He knew that neither of them, even if no spell or blade ever touched them, would live long enough to ever see a "next time." The bright chance to snatch a crown had passed through their fingers.
Snatched away by slow horses… and the Serpent.
In the gloom of a shattered room in the Silent House, Embra uncurled one fist with a flick of her