The Vacant Throne by Ed Greenwood

Author:Ed Greenwood
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Epic, Fantasy, General, Fantasy Fiction, Fiction
ISBN: 9780812580167
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2002-02-28T05:00:00+00:00

17

Nice Boots, and Battle

Embra stared at the swordblade, flashing at the level of her midriff as it caught the moonlight coming in the unshuttered window… and found herself far more furious than scared.

She did not even think of screaming. Instead she gave a gasp, and a moan-but had no time to further mislead the bladesman on the other side of the door; the sword was withdrawn before she could toss the bed-blanket over it or do anything else to make its wielder think he'd wounded her.

From the other side of the door came the furious snarl, "You fool! We need her unhurt!"

A year ago, the Lady of Jewels would have raised her hands and blasted the door, passage beyond, and all to ashes, not caring if the Flagon then caught fire and burned to outshine the stars. Now, however, she was much more than a year older than she'd been then. She whirled around, marched across the floor, and flung open the other door, not caring if her three companions-and every other man at this end of the Vale-saw her skin. "What by all the Three Blazing Gods is going on ou-?"

She ended her question in midshout when she saw Hawkril shorn of his armor, a hairy muscled colossus in sweat-soaked leather breeches, hacking for all he was worth with the blades he held in both hands at three thrusting swords, or more, that were stabbing into the room from the dark passage outside. The armaragor was standing just inside the doorway, with the splayed shards of the room's outer door tangled around his feet. He, too, hadn't gotten around to taking off his boots.

How had they-? The door must have been riddled with rot, to collapse at a single blow that hadn't shaken both rooms. But-

And then something twisted on the floor nearer Embra, drawing her eye down.

Sarasper was sprawled senseless on the floorboards. A huge splinter of wood from the shattered door had burst through his shoulder like the blade of a halberd, and a white-faced, trembling Raulin was scrabbling to stanch a dark and swift-spreading flow of blood over the old man's chest, whilst snatching from time to time at the flickering bedside lamp on the floor beside him, to move its light where he needed it to be.

As she watched, he whimpered in rising fear. He shuddered as he stared down at the man dying under his hands, looked up at Embra in startlement-and then stared at the bare-skinned sorceress in gaping earnest as she strode deliberately forward and murmured the lone and feeble healing spell she knew, pressing her fingers into Sarasper's gore.

Magic flowed over the old man in a wash of spidery radiance, light that faded almost before it began.

Embra smiled almost fiercely into Raulin's astonished face, and said to him, "Whatever you're going to say, don't. Say something else instead."

The young man's mouth opened, and then shut, as his bone-white face suddenly went as red as Sarasper's blood. "Uh," he said finally, "nice boots.

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