The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [45]
"Graul and bebolt," Sarasper snarled. "Why can't wizards just stay dead?"
Embra shrugged. "I know not-but if they did, we'd have no king to serve, no Serpent would imperil the realm, and we'd all be cowering under the sword of whatever baron was most brutish."
"I'm glad you said that, Lady Baron," Craer told her, as Sarasper touched their arms in a signal and then ducked through the archway into darkness.
They sprinted after him, turning hard left as bidden. The passage was dank and smelled of earth, seeming both colder and damper than the chamber they'd left. Behind them came a clang and curse as Hawkril struck his warsword off the unseen stone wall and feared for its edge.
The way was as clear as Sarasper's description. The hard-racing Band of Four found it hard not to brush up against any of the forest of identical smooth stone pillars as they brought themselves to a variety of clumsy halts-particularly Hawkril, who could hear the scrapings of the wounded wolf-spider hastening close behind him.
As the armaragor lumbered into the room, Sarasper snapped, "To this wall, by me!"
The healer was standing between two narrow arched openings. As his companions came up to him, he pointed and said, "This one. The other holds sure death."
As the Four plunged down the passage Sarasper had chosen, there was a sharp explosion of sound behind them-a violent din of clacking and clattering, broken by a shrill, ragged shriek of pain.
"It touched a pillar," Sarasper said in satisfied tones, as they emerged into a smaller room with faded scenes painted on the walls. It contained a single central pillar, painted to match the walls, and several small heaps of ruin that had once been furniture. There were three closed doors in one of its walls.
"This gives us time," he added, voice low and swift. "The left-hand door is the safe way on. Leave it open behind us to lure the beast; the other doors lead to rooms that may or may not slay it, but-"
"The Nightguard lies this way?" Embra asked eagerly.
"Yes," Sarasper told her, "but don't expect to find a luxurious sanctum or even an armory and furnished stronghold." He led the way up a rising, rough-floored passage into a large, echoing chamber adorned with crumbling balconies, dozens of dark windows high in the walls opening into unseen chambers, and many doors around the walls. Two were set high enough to be reached by railless flights of steps; Sarasper went up the rightmost of these.
"Right here," he panted, pointing upwards at the arch at the top of the stairs, "is where I need you to utter the word that raises the Nightguard!"
"Just as the longfangs is passing under it, no doubt?" Embra said with a smile-that faded as quickly as it had come. "And if I misjudge, and it gets into the stronghold with us?"
The healer looked at Hawkril. "After we're up the steps," he said, "you have to be the crawling wounded victim…"
A slow smile spread across the armaragor's face. "Is that Old Hungry I hear coming now?"
None of his companions bothered to answer as uneven, halting scrapings grew louder down the passage behind them. They were too busy swarming up the steps.
"It's safe, beyond," Sarasper called. "Hawk?"
"Ohhh," the warrior groaned convincingly, collapsing onto the bottom step and smearing it with three fingers of blood daubed from the wounds on his chest. He clawed at the next step with trembling fingers, and cast a despairing glance back over his shoulder at the longfangs as it scrambled unsteadily into the room, its fur dark with gore and its eyes two lamps of chill death. "Three defend me," he gasped, clambering weakly up a step.
"Hawk!" Craer snapped warningly. "It's coming fast!"
"Don't," Hawkril gasped, "interrupt great minstrelry! I may not be the actor Halivaerus of Sirlptar is, but…"
Roaring in mock pain, the armaragor clawed his way a step higher-and then sagged back in mock agony, listening to the ragged scrapings becoming rapidly louder behind