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"Later, lass," Blackgult told her gently. "Now is the time to do and be. If we're very good, this next little while, we may win ourselves time to judge and hone philosophies."
Craer looked up. "Warn me when you get to then, and I'll go fetch wine, hey?" Then he turned his head. "Forgive me, Embra, but why can't we use the Dwaer to trace the priests ru
Embra sighed. "In the countryside and most towns and villages, of course we could, but in any Vale castle there're so many enchantments, old and new, laid atop each other, that tracing all but a particular spell you've seen cast and hooked talons onto right then, is well-nigh impossible. Add to that the echoes of all the magic unleashed here this night, and…"
The procurer nodded. "So we're back to sidling along with our blades out, trying not to be seen. Right; sidle where?"
"We must keep moving, even if we just blunder around and around the castle," Blackgult put in. "If we take a stand in one spot, or allow ourselves to get cornered, the Storn folk can close in around us as they please. Standing still dooms us."
"Now that last sentence," Craer said thoughdiilly, "would make a court saying many a king might be proud of."
Tshamarra rolled her eyes. "Craer! We're in a hostile castle, surrounded by foes trying to slay us, and-"
"Enough," Hawkril rumbled, in a voice that made them all fall silent and look at him-whereupon he gave them a little smile, and started down the tower stairs. "We go down a level, along to the next stairs, and back up to the battlements, aye?"
"I care not, so long as we get out of Stornbridge," Tshamarra snapped, "so I can find more of this fun in the next village, and the next!" She glared at Blackgult. "Why exactly did you make me an overduke, again?"
"I needed someone to hold Craer's reins," the Golden Griffon replied unsmilingly, "and you seemed willing. Now hush and trot like a good lass." The Lady Talasorn gave Blackgult a look that promised she'd remember this-and not fondly-but did as he'd suggested.
When they opened the door on the first landing below, they saw only darkness. Embra frowned and did something with the Dwaer. "Magical murk, this, and newly cast… with many foes beyond, waiting for us." Craer gri
Light promptly blossomed at the far end of the passage as lanterns were unhooded; in their glimmer the overdukes could see armor gleaming on dozens of plate-armored cortahars, garnered around a familiar figure.
"Well, well, what have we here?" Seneschal Urbrindur's voice was loud and cold. "Traitors to the crown and murderers of honest Storn men, who break guest-rights with the bloodiest of crimes, and make war on us in our own castle. The penalty for such behavior is no less than death, and in the King's name I sentence you five false nobles to-"
Craer yawned, turned away politely to mask it with one hand, and then whirled around and hurled a dagger with all the force he could muster.
It was a long throw, and the cortahars had time to see the flash of spi
"Delnbone! Bring him to me alive, but maimed. For that attempt on my person, little man, your death shall be slow and painful!"
Craer yawned again. "You," he said severely, strolling forward, "have been reading too many bad Sirl chapbooks. Next you'll be telling us that we must die, foul villains that we are, that Aglirta may live! Or couldn't you afford to purchase that particular tale?"
"Kill him," the seneschal ordered the cortahars curtly. "I've no desire to listen to his insolent mouthings."
The Storn knights advanced in careful unison, adjusting shields and blades to form a solid, moving wall. It was clear by their mutters and narrowed eyes that they didn't like the look of their foes.
Not that the overdukes were all that impressive-it was that they were walking unconcernedly forward with no semblance of battle readiness at all. The two women whispered together like town gossips behind old Baron Blackgult, and all three male overdukes seemed relaxed and smiling, slouching along for all the world as if they were crossing a manor lawn for their third or fourth feast of the day.
The two forces were perhaps six paces apart, with Craer busily buffing an invisible blemish on his shortsword on one sleeve, when an invisible force of frightening intensity plucked at the cortahars, tugging them irresistibly into each other. They wavered, leaning and struggling-and then crashed together in a huge, ungainly, and silent knot.
An utter lack of sound now reigned over the passage. Men shouted and dropped their blades unheard, and Blackgult raised a hand as he smilingly sidestepped the frantic, entangled knot of cortahars-and cast a silent spell Seneschal Urbrindur did not recognize.
He discovered what it was as Craer and Blackgult closed in on him and he turned with a pale attempt at a sneer and tried to open the door into Storn Tower, right behind him. It was sealed as solidly as if it had never been there. The wall was as unbroken stone.
The seneschal gabbled soundlessly, and then frantically clawed out various daggers from about his person.
As iron-strong hands encircled his wrists and forced him to drop the two knives he'd managed to fumble forth, Malvus Urbrindur discovered the spell of silence wasn't absolute: if you were touching someone directly, the two of you could hear each other. He could hear Blackgult right now.
"You were correct in one matter," the Golden Griffon told him almost jovially. "The penalty for treason is death, as is murder done or ordered against nobility, by commoners not acting upon royal justice. Overduke Delnbone will now enact sentence upon you."
Craer reached up, put the tip of a wickedly sharp dagger against Urbrindur's throat, and then said, "Ah, let him go. It feels ill to gut a man like a hog, when he's held-and besides, 'tis more fun to chase him."
Blackgult nodded, released the seneschal, and stepped back. Urbrindur stared at the procurer for a moment, trembling-and then whirled away, viciously snatching out and hurling something as he did so.
Craer struck the hurled dagger aside with his own drawn fang, watched it bite deep into a window frame, and noted the greenish sheen on its thrumming blade. "Poisoned," he said contemptuously. "You snake."
The seneschal had run out of places to run to, and turned in a daze of desperation as Craer threw his own dagger. It sprouted under Urbrindur's chin.
The seneschal stared at him, gave an ugly, wet gasp, and then choked and gurgled his dying way to the floor, as the five overdukes assembled around him.
"Well, we're pruning the Vale of corrupt local officers, at least," Tshamarra observed, "though I suspect you'll be more satisfied when Stornbridge is dying, or the Serpents guiding him."
Embra nodded. "Behind it all, in the Vale, if you set aside the lurking Faceless, 'tis always the Serpent-priests." She indicated the door. "Shall I? Given that spells or drawn bows may be waiting for us the other side of it?"
"Ah, open it!" Craer growled. "I weary of creeping caution."
"You," Tshamarra said severely, "wearied of sanity long ago, and now seem to be wearying of something else: continued life!"
Blackgult's spell melted away before the glow of the Dwaer, and Embra spun another spell into curling, drifting existence before she opened the door.
Their first look at Storn Tower was of a sumptuously furnished room-cloth-of-gold and red silk adorning glossy-polished furniture. Bookshelves crammed with interesting-looking tomes ascended into dimness, and the floor was covered with a lush rug bearing scenes of brave knights swording a variety of fantastical beasts.