The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [46]
"Hawk!" Craer snapped again. "It's-"
"Some procurers find themselves utterly unable to trust the abilities of others," Hawk growled, "or, for that matter, anything at all. That may make them good procurers, but-"
"Some armaragors," Craer called back, "find themselves utterly trusting their own battle prowess, far beyond all sense. This may make them good corpses, but-"
"All right, all right," Hawkril growled, reaching the top step. The longfangs rose up behind him with menacing speed, reaching with its limbjaws for a man-shattering blow.
He rolled abruptly aside as a limbjaws crashed down, and then back again to avoid the second blow, launching himself to his feet and into a sudden sprint through the arch.
Eyes two chill points of light, the longfangs surged up the steps in uncanny silence, reaching out a forest of furry limbs after the racing warrior.
Embra took a deep breath, and said loudly and precisely, "Cathkaratha lamarratha thauriir!"
And the air caught fire-cold, crawling blue fire that stabbed across the dimness in a webwork of sudden and dazzling complexity. The radiance faded swiftly, its brightness yet blinding the Four as rushing stone descended with a roar, a deafening boom shook the room-and there was suddenly a huge stone slab filling the arch. A door whose lower edge was dark and wet, in a spreading pool that held the feebly twitching front half of the wolf-spider.
As the Four watched the limbs sag and slither to the floor, the cold lights in the eye sockets of the severed head slowly faded-and Embra let out a long, shuddering breath.
"Worry not," Craer joked. "The lower half of the thing is probably raging around on the other side of the door, fairly dancing with impatience to get at us and kick us to death! Why, I wouldn't be sur-"
His jaw dropped as his wandering gaze chanced to travel to the top of the arch. The fall of the door had revealed a dark cavity above the arch: a hitherto-hidden room. The procurer started forward, asking quietly, "Embra, just where did the Silvertrees like to hide their treasure?"
"No, Craer, I really don't think-" the Lady of Jewels began, and then fell silent as she watched the procurer swarm up the smooth stone doorslab as swiftly and easily as if he'd been walking up a staircase, and disappear into the dark opening.
"If there's treasure, he'll find it," Hawkril growled, shaking his head with a smile. "An old boot here, a cracked chamber pot there-"
"Treasure's what you make of it," Sarasper agreed, "and-"
Craer reappeared in the hole-or rather, vaulted out of it in a swift plunge to the floor, his eyes wide and staring. "Three defend!" he cried, as he landed with a roll.
Skeletal arms appeared in the opening-human arms whose rapidly moving bones ended at the shoulders, swarming down the door like snakes racing across level sand.
Hawkril hefted his warsword and squinted sourly at the approaching bones. "Kin of yours, Lady?" he growled.
Embra shrugged. "More likely apprentices to family mages from before my time."
Hawkril nodded, eyes on the dozen bone-arms that had now reached the bottom of the door, and handed her his sword. Its weight made her curse and catch hold of its hilt with both hands as it crashed floorward.
With two swift strides the armaragor crossed the room, plucked up a huge, dark table, and turned, hurling it, in one smooth motion.
It hurtled across the room like a great, tumbling warrior's shield, and struck the floor so hard that its slide into the door shook the room. The great crash sent shattered bones flying up into the air in shards, even as a wall of choking dust fell like a heavy curtain.
"Do you mind?" Sarasper and Embra snapped in unison. "This is…" They trailed off, looked at each other, and then finished uneasily, "My home." As the Four gathered to share glances, they started to chuckle… mirth that built into a roar of shared laughter.
In a chamber of pillars not so far off, the echoes of mirth awakened