The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [9]
Now. The skeleton in its tatters of robes shuffled forward to confront the intruders. Now, while the bones of the many who'd perished in the library were drifting and slithering together amid the tumbled stones, wreathed in crawling red and black spell-flames.
Their eyes were fixed on him, yes, and not on the two darkly flickering skeletal hands rising up from the dust and wreckage behind them, almost as tall as the thief in the forefront-gigantic hands made up of the floating bones of the fallen… now drifting forward to strike, fingers spreading wide…
The shuffling skeleton spread its arms in a dramatic flourish, and they saw spell-glows raging up and down its bones.
"Horns!" Craer cursed, hurling his blade and then diving to one side.
It's never good to stand still when a mage-bag of bones or not-is hurling spells your way.
"Bebolt!" Hawkril echoed, dodging in the other direction. They both saw the procurer's blade spin harmlessly through the skeleton's ribcage and clink down into the darkness.
Then they both heard a faint, strangled "urrk!" and scuffling sounds from behind them. Armaragor and procurer whirled around in startled unison.
Sarasper was gagging in the bony grip of a floating hand, its fingers made of many floating, tumbling bones, that was tightening around his head, chest, and throat.
Embra was held by many smaller clusters of bones, tugging at her like a dozen or more hands. Their grip had plucked her from her feet, up into the air, where she was thrashing and shuddering in a frantic fight, kicking her legs helplessly.
"Sargh!" Craer and Hawkril gasped together, and sprang to help their friends.
Behind them, Phalagh's bony smile widened, and he raised his skeletal hands to weave another spell…
3
So Melting a Secrecy
Baron Audeman Glarond leaned forward with an easy smile on his face. If he felt any fear of being struck by a spell, it did not show.
"The secret," he told Baron Maerlin calmly, "that at least four of our fellow barons know-so destroying me won't keep it. I speak of flames, and melting men."
His two visitors stiffened. The wizard Corloun hissed like an enraged viper, but his master asked coldly, "And just what do you know of fire and men who melt?"
The Lord of Glarond shrugged. "A fire, built in part by Corloun's spells, whose flames burn a bright blue and green. Men forced into them aren't scorched or cooked, but their flesh melts like wax… and they seem to fall under the wizard's control, as if commanded by a spell." He spread the one hand that was in front of him in a wave that echoed a shrug, and added, "So much is all my knowledge. I'd like to know more "
There was a little silence as his visitors glared at him, faces white with rage and fear. Then, almost reluctantly, they turned to look at each other.
"If he knows…" the wizard hissed, when the silent language of their glances failed.
That made Maerlin's head snap back to regard his host, eyes narrowing. "Which four other barons know of the-melting men?"
Glarond's response was a regretful shake of his head. "No," he said softly, "that little secret is my only armor against the two of you, just now. If we're to trust each other, let me keep it." The ghost of a smile passed across his face before he added, "So that's five barons who can betray you both to the Risen King. I hope our little conspiracy can strike swiftly, whatever we plan to do to Snowsar."
Maerlin's eyes glittered. "As you say," he said furiously, "you're armored against us. What protection have we against you?"
"Nothing that can stop four other barons at the same time," the Lord of Glarond replied. "Your best way forward, as I see it, is to unfold everything to me now-making me just as much a traitor if a king's wizard peers into our minds with his spells."
The looks traded by the two visitors were longer this time, but just as silent. They ended with a sharp nod from Maerlin; in response, the wizard Corloun stepped