The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [42]
He looked back, and they stared into each other's eyes expressionlessly for what seemed a very long time, still and silent, before the baron ran his tongue slowly along his lips and said, "Faulkron, your wisdom frightens me. Again. Perhaps the gods have marked you."
The Court Wizard of Glarond made no reply before he strode away, but Baron Audeman Glarond had known him for a long time, and did not fail to notice the tiny gesture of warding that the wizard made before he moved.
9
A Nightguard Unsleeping
Sometimes Sarasper Codelmer thought the gods had marked him, and took particular delight in playing tricks on one old, lonely, fugitive healer. No dream could give him this warm sweetness of the lips on his, the tongue darting tentatively into his mouth between purrs of, "Sarasper, come back to me. Come back!"
No dream indeed. The tingling in him was the risen fire of magic, swirling around and through him from a dwindling hardness on his chest-one of the figurines from his pouch-pressed against him by the warm, soft weight of… of… Embra?
"L-Lady Silvertree?" he said disbelievingly, into the mouth that was questing for his. He tried to sit up, pushing against stones that rocked and turned over, and in his scrabbling for balance he closed one hand on something warm and soft that was definitely not a rock.
Something bare. Shocked, he stared into the eyes of the Lady of Jewels from mere inches away, snatching his hand back as if he'd grasped a burning branch.
"What, Lady-?"
"Sarasper," the sorceress said firmly, "I need you awake. Do I have your attention now?"
The longfangs chose that moment to roar-and they heard rocks clatter and Craer curse. Two heads turned as one, in time to see the procurer tumble helplessly from the balcony to the floor, the wolf-spider swarming angrily after him.
Their heads turned again, noses almost touching once more, and the old healer's mouth crooked. "Well, Lady," he said, "you did, but-"
Embra caught hold of his fingers and guided them once more to her breast. "Now?" she murmured.
Sarasper snatched his hand away again. "Lady-lass-stop this," he growled. "Tell me what it is you'd have me do!"
"Use the magic I'm feeding you through our skins' touch to heal yourself," Embra told him, "and then, if you can, aid Hawkril so he can move and stand." She gave him a brittle smile, and added swiftly, "After that we need you to lead us away from this longfangs, clear of all traps, and get us more magic that we can both call on-"
Sarasper was nodding almost frantically. "Lady," he snarled, trying to thrust her away, "sargh it, list your needs later!"
The longfangs was coming across the stones in a hungry flood, ignoring the dancing form of the procurer as he stabbed and sprang away, rushed in to stab again and ducked away once more. It was heading straight for the sorceress.
"Heal yourself," she hissed, as she calmly rose, readjusted her bodice, shook out her sleeves, and faced the onrushing monster.
Sarasper gaped up at her as the magic rushed into him, soothing and invigorating at the same time. By the Three, but it felt good. A cleansing, enlivening surging, forcing his changed arm back into human shape, driving away the sick, empty feeling of exhaustion… but he needed a few moments more, just a little time, and the longfangs was so close.
Embra Silvertree flicked her fingers and fire spat from between them-a brief, searing bolt that lashed at the wolf-spider's eyes. The longfangs squalled but kept coming.
The sorceress was already moving purposefully away, wearing a tight smile of battle excitement, drawing the longfangs after her.
Sarasper lay still as the last tongues of magic lashed him into full and tingling wakefulness, watching the Lady of Jewels dance gracefully in the distance. She dodged and circled as the longfangs, snarling now with its head lowered and its parted jaws slavering menacingly, pursued her doggedly, its eyes sometimes a lionlike