by Ed Greenwood
"How so?" Rod whispered. "And where will we be going?"
"To Rauthtower."
"Rauthtower? But that's a ruin, in Galath, in the forest far from anywhere! It'll take us days—"
"It'll take us a few steps. And it's not far from Galathgard. Going through Rauthtower was Malraun's favorite way into the kingdom."
"Galathgard? Another ruin!"
"No longer. At least, not all of it. King Brorsavar will be holding his first—very likely his only—Great Court there. They've been fixing it up for months."
"'They'?"
"The nobles who support him—and some who want him dead and have been busily preparing traps in the place, before all the rest of the nobles arrive to see them at that treason. Now hush; enough chatter. Take my hand."
"Where—?"
"There's a gate in yon corner. One that Glorn and the others who served Malraun know very well, though it's far older than Malraun. It links Malragard and Rauthtower."
"A gate linking here with... no, this isn't anything from my writing," Rod muttered.
"There are other Shapers and wizards of Falconfar, Lord. I know not whose hand crafted this gate, but it was long, long ago. Which means others, perhaps many others—noble families of Galath among them, even—may have heard of it. Perhaps they know precisely where its ends lie, perhaps not, but that it exists, yes. So if I knew a way to swiftly do so that I could work, I'd destroy this gate the moment we were through it. 'Tis a back door into the heart of Galath any foe of the realm can use, if they know how. Yet we may need it to depart again, in haste—after someone kills Brorsavar and all the fun starts."
"Fun," Rod muttered, shaking his head, and took Taeauna's hand. "I like Brorsavar."
"So do I," she said grimly. Then she turned back to the open doorway, and stared hard out into the night.
After what seemed to Rod a long time, she nodded as if satisfied, turned back to him, and murmured, "Mharraubrath elue maristru!"
And the darkness around them... changed.
They were standing now, not in the dark corner of a bare stone room, but in a roofless, moonlit hall that had once been very grand. In the soft blue-white light Rod could see that it was long and narrow and high-arched, with balconies above them on both sides and ranks of soaring pillars stretching away down a cracked, stained, and branch-littered floor.
"Behold Rauthtower," Rod murmured, half-mockingly and half in admiration. "So, given its name, where's the tower?"
"Destroyed, long ago. A dragon was involved."
Taeauna's hand was smooth and warm and comforting around his, and Rod made no move to pull away. "Whither now?"
"This way," she replied, keeping her voice as low as his. "'Ware, Rodrel; forest beasts sometimes roam these halls."
She led him briskly between two pillars and through an arch beyond, out of the long hall and up a narrow flight of stone steps. Rod felt a tingling in the air as they stepped through another doorless archway at the head of the stair. Magic, of course.
Archways in various walls led out of the room in different directions, but Taeauna ignored them all. An alcove across the room started to glow the moment she approached, and Rod saw that it was crowded with neatly arrayed clothing.
Well, well. A wardrobe, in a hold that had been a ruin for centuries.
Taeauna took her hand away from Rod's and started calmly stripping off her clothes. "Get rid of those rags you have on," she commanded. "There are suitable leathers here."
Rod obeyed without hesitation, turning his back out of polite regard for her modesty—and, he supposed, his. That prompted a sigh of exasperation and a firm hand on his elbow, turning him back to face her.
"Lord Idiot," Taeauna told him, "you can't find the right clothes if you don't use your eyes!"
She plucked the nearest garment from a hook and held it out for his inspection. "Or you'll find yourself trying to put on something like this."
It was a one-piece feminine garment, of glossy blue-black leather intended to cover a wearer from shoulders to mid-thigh—with the notable exception of the crotch and the tips of the breasts, where large holes gaped that were crossed by arcs of fine chain. Barbed fine chain. Thongs were sewn into the small of the back, dangling now but obviously intended to be laced up tight around the midriff. Rod felt himself blushing.
"Malraun had it made to fit me," Taeauna told him expressionlessly, "and other things like it." She thrust it back where it had come from.
"But for us, now, by 'suitable' I meant battle-leathers. Look well; there's harness here to fit Gorongor and Tarlund—and Glorn and Eskeln, too, and they're both about your size. Now stop being modest, get down to your skin, and I'll help you get dressed. I'm tired, even if you aren't—and 'tis a long walk from here to the armory, because Malraun felt it prudent to hide it. Yes, we'll be sleeping in our clothes, because that's what I feel is prudent."
Not for the first time, Rod did as he was told.
"BEHOLD GALATHGARD," JUSKRA said wearily.
Garfist peered down at distant moonlit towers. "We walk from here? Wouldn't it be quicker just to fall off?"
"Iskarra, kick him," Dauntra murmured.
"Listen, fat and heavy and incredibly foolish old man," Juskra snarled. "We flew all this way instead of taking the rest we should have—in part because you can't empty two tankards without getting into a fight. We're all going to go to get a good long sleep now, in yonder cave, and fly the rest of the way after dusk on the morrow. I thought it a better plan than trying to cross Galath in easy flights, as army after army of nobles and their bodyguards— many of whom are archers, just itching for something to put a few shafts into—converge on the same place we're heading for. Make any sense to you? Any at all?"
"Uh, aye. Aye, that it does. My apologies," Garfist growled.
"Well, he's learning," Dauntra commented. "Slowly."
Iskarra nodded. "It's taken me years to get him this far—but I've managed to keep him alive in the meantime, mind."
"If ever you change your mind about the wisdom of doing so, Isk," Juskra said, dagger in hand as she headed for the cave, "remember: we can change all that."
"MALRAGARD GOT THEM, right? Or some hungry monster, loosed from its cage when this place got blasted apart? Or are there secret passages all over this place that we don't know about?"
Askurr sounded angry.
"Fancied her, did you?" Roreld asked quietly.
"Of course I fancied her! Didn't all of us? Falcon Above, I'm only human! She's beautiful enough to make your mouth water, she fights as well as any man—"
"Better," Bracebold muttered, glaring into the empty chamber one more time, as if by doing so he could somehow summon the missing man and Aumrarr. They were all staring into it, except the raging Askurr.
"—and has spirit and wits and all of that, and she's the only woman within reach!"
"Harlhoh's right down there, actually," Olondyn said, waving his hand. "Lots of women there. And Taeauna's not a woman, she's an Aumrarr."
"And what man doesn't dream of lying with an Aumrarr, hmm? Well?"
"Dream, yes. Dare to do it? I'm not ready to die just yet," the archer replied. "But aye, of course we all look at her, and wonder." He shook his head. "I wonder what she sees in that gutless idiot of a Lord Archwizard."
"Kindness?" Glorn said quietly. "Someone she doesn't have to constantly battle to get her own way?"
"Phaugh! You sound like a woman!"
"I always do, when I'm talking sense. Now, let's put all this jawing behind us. They're gone, and that's an end to them. Leaving us free to get on with plundering Malragard—remember?"
"WHOSE BLOOD IS it this time?" Talyss contrived to sound amused and bored, but her brother noticed how sharply she'd turned to look, the moment she saw the dark stains.
Good. He hadn't yet been deemed expendable.
Though he might very quickly become so, if his dear sister discovered that he'd been behind the sudden and fatal accidents that had befalle
n the last two jacks she'd sampled. She didn't like pawns who thought—or worse, acted—for themselves. Even less, those who dared to eliminate other pawns. That was her right, and no one else's. According to the holy Tome of Talyss.
Belard shrugged. "Some careless Galathan. They seem to object to being asked to work hard around here, I've noticed."
"Indeed." His sister's voice turned very dry. "I have in turn noticed how well they can work, when deprived of extraneous nobles swaggering around giving them unhelpful orders, picking fights, and hiring away any worker they see whose work seems competent for their own secret little side projects."
She smiled. "Galathgard is coming along splendidly. We'll make a strong kingdom of Galath yet—if a somewhat more sparsely populated one."
BARON ARUNDUR TATHGALLANT'S saddle creaked under him again, and he gave a loud, heartfelt groan. "My legs! Falcon, I'm sore! What I wouldn't give for a good coach, with decent spells to cut down on all the shaking and pitching and bumping!"
"Longer ride than you're used to, Tathgallant?" Arduke Mordrimmar Larkhelm mocked, from where he sat his tall dappled gray, just ahead. His liveried armsmen were riding before and behind them, bright pennants fluttering the Lion of Larkhelm from their lances. "I suppose you'll be wanting a halt soon, and winsome wenches awaiting us there with wine and dainty morsels and soothing ointments?"
"They have that, on this road?" Tathgallant joked, trying not to sound wistful. "I should get out and about more often."
"You should. Galath is changing around us, my friend, and those who don't see it are going to have a hard time keeping their heads on their necks, I'm thinking."
The baron frowned. "And by that, you mean... ?"
"I mean," Larkhelm replied pleasantly, reclining easily in his saddle, "that I'm heading for Galathgard with a new edge on my favorite sword and my wits honed even sharper, to find the right time for a little regicide. Just a little treason... but successful treason, I'm determined."
The baron felt his mouth fall open and his face grow hot. "Sh- should you be telling me such things, good Larkhelm?"
"Why not? I trust our friendship, and therefore your personal loyalty to me. Nor am I the only one riding these roads with such intent. It's not a matter of which dastardly traitor wants to cut down old Brorsavar, my dear baron, it's who'll get to him first. A lot of us are hungry for change."
Tathgallant looked around uneasily, wondering where the arduke's household wizard was. The mage was riding with them somewhere, he knew; without his conjured ward, they'd be unable to see safely in the dark, or have any protection at all against or arrows out of the night, and would never dare to ride in the moonlight. Not that it was much safer by day, with so many nobles who cordially hated each other on the roads. "Aren't..." He spoke slowly, making sure he chose the right words, "Aren't you worried I'll denounce you?"
"No. I've already prepared a suitable fate for you, if for any suicidal reason you should choose to be so stupid." Larkhelm grinned and rode on.
White-faced, Tathgallant put his spurs gently to his own mount, to keep up to the arduke. Larkhelm's rearguard was riding close behind, and he didn't feel like turning around right now.
He knew he'd see the same ruthless grin on their faces.
THE LEATHERS WERE worn and supple and—damn it, yes—dashing. Rod found himself strutting, despite Taeauna's amused look.
The boots and all the baldrics and scabbards were the crowning touch. The pouch at his belt might be empty, and the daggers at his belt and boots and the sword riding his hip might be far more dangerous to Rod than to anyone else, but he felt ready to take on the world, with a merry jest on his lips and a swash or six to his buckle.
Taeauna's amused regard only made him blush a trifle. "Bring Falconfar on," he told her, grinning back. "At least I'll die pretty."
He now knew why so many bad actors—and good ones, too, for that matter—liked to play pirate so much, no matter how awful the movie. By damn, he cut a fine figure!
"If you polish my breastplate all night, Lord Rodrel, you just might be able to use it as a mirror, come morning," Taeauna said drily.
She plucked down a cloak that was much too large and threw it at him. No sooner had Rod awkwardly caught it, nearly staggering to the floor, than she threw him a second.
"What're these—? Oh. To sleep on?"
"If we live long enough, yes," Taeauna replied, calmly choosing two more weathercloaks for herself, that looked even larger. She headed out of the room, adding over her shoulder, "Yet they must see another use first."
He hurried to catch up, stepping on the end of one of the cloaks and almost falling.
"Quick but quiet" Taeauna chided. "And alert me—quietly!— if you see a beast, or any movements in the shadows."
"Yes," Rod whispered, wondering if there was ever going to be a time in Falconfar when he'd know what was going on.
He concluded that the most likely answer to that was: Probably not. Ever.
But was it any different, for any adventurer?
"HOLD! WHO ARE you? Stand where you are—come no nearer!"
The approaching man stopped, half-cloak swirling. "Stay your sword," he said with a sigh. "I'm seeking the jakes, not murder. I presume you're guarding the doors at your back?"
"I am," the burly knight before the doors snapped, "and no one not known to me may come closer. My lord of Silvershields sleeps within, and his safety is my charge."
"Fair enough. I wish him pleasant snores, and you a safe and uneventful shift of guardianship. Yet I fear the latter stands imperiled."
The knight scowled. "What are you, some sort of wizard? Why all the fancy talk?"
"My manner of speech comes naturally to me, O Sentinel of Silvershields. Particularly when I'm irked."
"Irked, are you?" The guardian's sword came up. "So you dispute my duty?"
"No. I merely observe that this passage leads past the doors you guard, not to them. I also fail to remember ever being told by Klarl Annusk Dunshar, current Seneschal of Galathgard, that the right of Arduke Helgorr Silvershields to safe slumber extended to barring the use of this passage—the way to the jakes—to others. And when it comes to matters of authority, he's only an arduke, and you're only a knight."
"Oh?" The knight's sneer was not pretty, and his sword flashed as he hefted it threateningly. "And I suppose you're the High King of Galath?"
"No. Not yet. Just now I'm merely Lordrake Haemgraethe Sarlvyre. If you'd been more polite, you might even have lived long enough to see my coronation. As it is, however—"
The slim sword darted at the knight, gleaming low. The knight slashed down at it, but it was gone, darting up and over his blade to thrust deep into his left eye.
It found the right eye, too, before the guardian could sag all the way to the floor.
Then it was wiped clean across the dying man's slack, gaping mouth, and resheathed, because even a lordrake needs both hands to unclasp his codpiece. It was still a long way to the jakes.
With a satisfied sigh, Sarlvyre finished emptying his bladder and glanced at the closed doors beside him, toying with the idea of passing through them to kill Silvershields. He'd never liked the man much... but no, it was early days yet.
Let Brorsavar's head roll first, and then the real fun could begin.
HERE," TAEAUNA ANNOUNCED suddenly, thrusting her cloaks atop the ones Rod was already holding, and paying no attention as their weight took him to his knees. "Your task, Lord Rod. I'll be needing all of them flapped out horizontally—like a rug or a coverlet you're trying to let fall more or less unfolded, to cover all the floor you can. Move around as much as you can without getting in my way or taking a blade through you, and cover as much floor as you can. Right in front of the door, where we find them."
"Taking a blade through me? And finding what?"
The Aumrarr pointed. "Those." She was indicating a number of slender things on the floor, strewn in front of a lone dark door in front of them. That closed portal stoo
d in gloom on the far side of a band of bright, cool moonlight, but it looked massive. The things on the floor were slightly curved, and gleamed.
Swords. He was looking at six or seven—or more—swords, lying on the floor.
"They guard the armory," Taeauna explained calmly. "I doubt the command words I know will still work, so when I approach too closely, they'll rise and dart at me. Unless you want to die, take great care to stay a little farther away from the door than I am, as you throw the cloaks. Be sure not to trip me up or get in my way as you do so, because I'm going to have to move quickly. The moment the cloaks are down, no matter what sort of a tangled mess you make of them, run right over there—"
She pointed again.
"—to the pillar standing at yon corner. You'll find a snarling lion face carved in the stone, at about chest level for you. Pull its tongue down, firmly. And please don't waste any time doing any of this, or we'll both die." She eyed him. "Got all that?"
By the Falcon, she was as calm as if she were giving directions to find a jar of raisins in her pantry.
"When the swords rise," he replied, finding his mouth suddenly dry. "throw cloaks down in front of door, covering as much of it as I can but keeping out of your way and farther from the door than you. Then run to the pillar as fast as I can and pull the lion's tongue down."
His heart was starting to race.
"I have a very bad feeling about this," he blurted out, the cloaks feeling even heavier now.
"Not nearly as bad as I'll feel, if something goes wrong," Taeauna told him, flashing a sudden smile.
God, it lights up her face like the sun. I'll do anything to make her smile like that.
Even fight off swords that fly around trying to stab me.
"And just who thought these up?" Rod asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the swords lying so still and innocent on the floor. "Holdoncorp?"
"Malraun," the Aumrarr replied. "Ready with the first cloak yet?"