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"Now that is a very good suggestion, Craer," Embra muttered, and there were sounds of agreement among the mirth of the others. "Before someone expects me to stagger around this interminable castle, however, suppose we discuss where we might find such a place. If it helps, with what little I could tell through the Dwaer, all the guards, servants, and Serpent-priests seem gone from nearby."
Craer frowned. "Fear, or our hacking and spellhurling, or just freedom from dead masters-or did this plague touch them, too?"
"Some of them, yes," Embra replied. "Through the Dwaer, I saw one servant claw another, without warning, and the two of them fell to fighting like beasts."
"And I," Blackgult added, "saw an armsman in the castle start to stagger and hunch over-and by the time he reached his fellows, he was something lizardlike and slithering. They put spears and swords through him, of course, and then tossed the corpse into the moat."
"Might I suggest," Tshamarra said quietly, "that before we take on all the troubles of Aglirta, we see to ourselves? I'm… there's still something wrong with me, inside, and it could well be this plague, or something akin to it… and I know I'm not the only overduke in such a state. We should use the Dwaer to purge ourselves of its taint, if we can."
"Eat, drink, and sleep-sleep above all," Hawkril growled. "Some place you ladies can spell-seal."
"We need safe sleep more than anything else right now," Embra agreed. "But where? Those kitchens are quite a stroll back that way. And how do we know the food's untainted? And the water?"
"Sausages and pickles," Craer suggested. "Mad spellweaving Serpent-priests rarely take the time to stop and taint those."
"No more splitting up," Tshamarra said firmly. "Where we go, we go together."
Hawkril looked at his lady. "If you've strength left to blast down a door or two with the Stone, I propose we descend to the courtyard, walk along to the right tower to be close to the kitchens, and blast its door in. Take what we want, and then… Well, if we're far enough away from any fires or folk who could start new ones, another turret-top room might serve us as a refuge."
The Lady of Jewels smiled wearily. "Fine. Let's do that. Agreed, all?"
"Agreed," Blackgult said firmly, more or less drowning out the affirmative noises made by the others-so they went and did that.
Four guards met them in the passage outside the kitchens, grimly raising swords and striding forward. Hawkril and Blackgult strode to meet them, but were still a good three strides away from the foremost guard when the man suddenly screamed in terror, went to his knees, and started to sprout fur.
The overdukes backed away again-and so did the guards behind the stricken one. Both sides watched in wary silence as armor fell away from the hairy, increasingly wolflike body that quivered on all fours between them.
After a time it roared, shook itself, and prowled forward, snarling. Hawkril and Blackgult took up stances shoulder to shoulder, and waited, but the beast sprang right onto their waiting blades. A few moments of wrestling aside snapping jaws, and watching blood pump, and the beast went limp.
The overdukes traded glances, and then carefully stepped over the corpse. The guards beyond eyed them uncertainly-and then turned in unison and ran.
Craer gri
"What I don't want to know," Tshamarra murmured from just behind his shoulder, "is what sort of monster the cooks have turned into."
The kitchen, however, proved to be deserted-abandoned in haste, by the looks of things: spilled condiments, burnt food on cooling spits above the dying coals of untended fires, and half-sliced onions upon a none-too-clean cutting block.
Embra sighed. "Go find your sausages and pickles."
"Hey, 'tis not that bad," Hawkril rumbled, looking around. "There's one end of a roast here not burnt-and sarrago stew, if my nose doesn't fail me."
"And it rarely does," Craer agreed, rummaging. "Tash, grab yon pot, hey? There's a wheel of cheese here, and roundloaves in plenty. We'll not go hungry, to be sure!"
"Couldn't we just garrison this room?" the Lady Talasorn asked. "Is there something especially scenic about a round room up six or seven flights of stairs?"
Blackgult sighed. "We need a strong-walled room that we can't be burnt or flooded out of, that gets air, preferably with only one or two entrances that can't easily be blocked from outside. Oh, and with a floor some of us can sleep on. There might be suitable pantries hereabouts, but I doubt it."
Hawkril shouldered a door open and peered in. "Hmm. I feel less and less enthusiastic about eating another feast in Stornbridge, no matter who's tersept and how far across Darsar we've scoured the Serpents out. Phaugh, as they say!"
"Agreed," Craer said, wrinkling his nose. "How about this next one?"
"Three preserve," Blackgult said grudgingly, after a moment, "but it seems ideal." He peered around again, and nodded. "Bear in mind, though, that anyone left in the castle will come here foraging, ere long. We have to be able to wedge this door against considerable force-and it has to be able to withstand a ram, and lots of arrows."
"Well, there's only one way to find that out, as they say," Craer commented brightly. "However, there's a harder test yet."
"Hey?"
"Embra has to say aye to it. Naught else matters, hmm?"
"I'm not," the Lady Silvertree said frowningly, "quite so much of a surly dragon as you make me out to be, Craer." She looked around the old stone room, reading what was painted on some of the jars. "Olaunt. Sar-fruit. Gaddorn. Yes, this will do."
There was a general murmur of approval-that lasted for as long as it took Craer to fetch two shallow tureens down from a kitchen shelf and present them to Tshamarra and Embra with the grand words, "Ladies-your chamberpots for the night. No, no, I'll accept no payment for this thoughtful service!"
"Tash," Embra said wearily, "kick him. Somewhere where it hurts."
"More!" Craer said grandly, dropping two bulging sacks beside Blackgult and trotting back through an archway again before his fellow overdukes could say a word.
Tshamarra sighed. "Been a day or two since he last had a chance to practice looting, would you say?"
Embra chuckled. "He's not done badly. I hope we can find a wagon in the stables to carry all he's gathered."
"Lass," Blackgult said reprovingly, "wheels of cheese and kegs of wine are wise booty to anyone. Be not so hard on the lad. We may even need yon chest of coins-if we need to buy a spare castle or two, for instance."
They stepped over more sprawled and gnawed corpses, and Embra shuddered. Stornbridge Castle had become one great charnelhouse, with bodies lying everywhere, fires smoldering unchecked, furniture and belongings broken and strewn, and transformed folk prowling the rooms and passages in their bewildering newfound lives as wild beasts.
By the cries of the suffering, unmilked cows, the town and the farms around were in much the same state. Anyone who'd survived the plague-fury had fled far away or was keeping well hidden.
"Let's hope some horses have been left uneaten," Hawkril muttered, advancing into the gloom of the stables cautiously, his drawn sword ready. Bright scratches on his armor bespoke the power behind the claws of the last beast he'd battled. It had pounced on him from above-and it had been a long time since the armaragor had been taken that much by surprise.
Some stalls had been torn open, and dead and half-devoured horses lay within most of them. Grimly Hawkril stalked on, seeking danger first, and beasts they could ride second. Two monstrous things of many claws and turtlelike body shells lay twisted together in death in one end stall, their jaws still locked in each other's throats, and an evil carrion smell wafted down from the loft above, but no foe remained alive to pounce or menace-only trembling, snorting horses who were more inclined to kick than to welcome being led out of their stalls into all the slaughter.