The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [79]
"Well, that seems simple, safe, and sane," Sarasper said sarcastically. "Gods, why didn't we just do that first off, instead of coming here and fighting bats?"
"I knew Longfingers'd see the best way," Hawkril said triumphantly. "He always does!"
Embra and Sarasper exchanged glances-hers amused and his incredulous-and then the Silvertree heir smiled and said, "Crazed it may be… but I can see no other road to take."
The healer blinked at her. "Well, there's the small matter of finding a place to defend," he said heavily, shaking his head.
"The Silent House," Craer told him innocently. "Where else?"
Embra nodded at the old man. "You're the only living expert on its ways, and what they hold," she pointed out.
Sarasper rolled his eyes, shook his head, and then waved one hand in a gesture of resignation. "Well enough. The Silent House, we hope the Doom won't claim Embra, and if no one comes calling, we at least have a place of our own to shiver the next winter away in. So that's it? We're just going to walk out of Tarlarnastar, after slaying its lord and all his men and shattering the wellhouse? What if these villagers attack us?"
Craer acquired a wolfish smile. "I'd almost welcome that, right now," he said, and there was suddenly a dagger gleaming in his hand.
15
A Bad Day For Wizards
The scorched and wild-haired man had only one hand, but that wasn't stopping him from using it vigorously-nor from cursing in a constant harsh hissing.
He clawed away thick green cloaks of dangling moss from stone after stone like a man spell-driven. The very air was green in his wake as he stumbled along the cliff, snarling oaths at the sky.
From time to time a tatter-winged bat would flap and tumble down out of that much-profaned sky to settle on his shoulders-and after a few moments of chittering and clawing its way to just the right spot, it would melt into the dark weave of the man's cloak.
He paid these arrivals no heed, though each made him a little stronger, a trifle larger and taller than the bent and wrinkled shadow of a man that had first risen here. The stone-cleaner's mind was fixed on one thing alone: finding what he was looking for under the thick clumps of moss. An observer, had anyone been standing nearby, might have been forgiven for thinking that the burnt man was devoting most of his energy to raging as he searched.
"Idiot sword-swingers, that's all they are!" the Master of Bats snarled. "Standing alone, I'd watch behind me, cloak myself in armor-wardings so none could catch me unawares with arrow or blade… but oh, no-barons must have their secrets!"
He shrieked in a sudden outburst of uncontrollable fury, snatching and flinging away moss like a madman-until with a sudden gasp of satisfaction, he found the hollow he was looking for, plucked forth the yellowing human skull he'd left there long ago to keep curious fingers away, stared into its empty sockets-and with a growl of sudden decision, jammed the relic down over the stump where his right hand should have been. He spat into its eternal grin, "No need to let faithful old Huldaerus-only the man who made you whole again, only the man who showed you how to use your precious magic Stone!-know that you had another Dwaer at your command. After all, can't trust mages! Better to leave the great Master of Bats unawares, so you can laugh at him behind his back-and he can be the first to fall when this other trusted servant turns traitor!"
Waving the skull beside his ear as if it was a hand puppet and he a minstrel reaching the climax of a comedic masque, the wizard thrust his hand into the hollow, turned something unseen-and suddenly grinned with a fierceness that almost matched the wide smile of the skull as he heard a deep groan from the rocks to his right.
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