The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [52]
Bloodblade's eyes narrowed. This had been Castle Silvertree, and many a baronial family used their House of the Huntress for trysts and more: if this king had ladyloves, he might well be found in curtained, dimly lit chambers somewhere beyond here. A sprawled guard-the first man in armor they'd seen in the palace-gave weight to the supposition, showing that Mararr had shared it.
They entered the chapel warily, finding the usual Horned Altar and the expected row of dark, curtained-off doors beyond. A priestess of the Lady lay sprawled on her face in a spreading pool of blood in front of one of them, her fingers clutching the curtain. Bloodblade's lips tightened. The gods did not look well on those who waged war in their temples.
The door beyond stood open, and-Mararr had good instincts. A dark, narrow stair ran upwards, every third step faintly glowing with magic that doubtless warned someone, somewhere, of ascending feet. It was to be hoped that no one was still alive, above, to heed such warnings any longer.
Naor laid a warning hand on his master's arm for the instant he needed to slip past and lead the way up the stair. There was another body in the room at its top-a servant in much grander livery, draped over a lounge with empty hands dangling. Bloodblade smiled. They must be nearing the king, or the wizard, or both.
Time for prudence. He stopped and waved men past him with his sword, telling Lultus and Gurkyn, "Stay and guard this stair, you two-bottom and top. Call to each other and to us if anyone crosses blades with you… or hurls a spell."
He went on then, Naor at his side, with the rest of his warriors now ahead of him. Let spells or crossbow bolts find their chests, and not his.
They passed through three more chambers of death, and never noticed the carved face high up on the stout central pillar in the fourth room whose sculpted eyesockets held real eyes-the eyes of Ingryl Ambelter, Spellmaster of Castle Silvertree once more, though as yet unheralded. Those eyes gazed narrowly at the intruders, and then drew back into the depths of the pillar and vanished.
" 'Ware!" Lultus called, eyes narrowing, as he drew back onto the bottom step. "Look!"
Gurkyn peered down the stairs and saw a glimmering below, in the chapel. "Magic," he snarled unnecessarily.
The light had burst out of nothing, into a wash of tiny golden stars, like sparks from a fire that were somehow refusing to wink out-and in their heart a man was standing. A little man in leathers, short and slim and staring around himself in bewilderment, a slender sword leaping into his hands.
Lultus did not wait to see if this apparition was friend or foe. He snatched one of the long knives from his boots and threw, hard.
The slender man's head snapped up at the sound, and he dove aside, his sword stabbing out in his wake. There was a musical clang as the hurled dagger struck it and went tumbling aside. Then the newcomer was charging forward.
Gurkyn started down the stair slowly, his blade held ready. Lultus would not appreciate aid he did not need, and-
"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, too," he heard the little man say merrily, as Lultus surged forward and steel met steel. "However briefly."
Blades sang and darted-and Lultus was toppling, blood fountaining from his throat, and the little man was bounding up the stair. He gave Gurkyn a wide smile, and waved his bloody blade.
"Craer Delnbone, at your service," he said jovially. "Are you going to try to kill me, too?"
Gurkyn Oblarram took one look into those dancing eyes, and then turned and fled up the stairs as fast as he could.
As Bloodblade's band strode across yet another room, Mararr Guldalmyn burst through an archway, fleeing as fast as he could. He panted as he came running towards them, blood on his face from a slashed cheek, and more dripping from the hand that dangled uselessly, several of its fingers almost severed.