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.
Seated behind an ornately carved table facing them were Coinmaster Eirevaur and two scribes, wearing black robes with the arms of Stornbridge on their breasts. Impassive Storn cortahars in livery rather than armor stood guard behind their chairs, with spears held in formal rest position.
Eirevaur gave the overdukes a half-smile and nod, folding his hands together on the table. An array of parchments lay before him, but there was no sign of a weapon.
As Embra stepped into the room, her spell curled around her like a cloak, moving with her. She held the Dwaer as a high lady might clutch a tiny purse as she strode to the table, glancing briefly at the ceiling overhead, the empty stair curving up into it, the similarly empty stair leading down, and the closed passage door across the room. "Fair morn to you, Coinmaster," she said politely. "Are you, too, under orders to slay us as traitors to the realm?"
The scribe shook his head. "I've refused to play such games," he announced a trifle sadly, "and am therefore under arrest myself, in the custody of these two gentlesirs."
He inclined his head to either side of him-whereupon the robed scribes came up out of their seats in lunges, spellspun disguises falling away in momentary shimmerings to reveal gloating faces, and flung serpents out of their sleeves at the Lady Silvertree.
"Die, witch!" spat the two Serpent-priests, as fangs bit deep into Embra's breasts, and thrashing tails whipped to and fro exultantly.
The Lady of Jewels sighed, calmly pulled back a vacant chair, and took her own seat at the table. The spell around her flared momentarily into gold-tinged white radiance-and the two snakes burst into flaming gobbets that flared and then were gone into wisps of smoke before they struck the floor.
Embra stared coldly at one priest, and then the other-and they flared up into flames too as her magic struck, screaming for but a breath each ere they became oily, drifting smoke.
Ignoring her bleeding wounds, the Lady Silvertree asked wearily, "Am I supposed to believe you knew nothing of their intent to slay me?"
The Coinmaster's face had gone very pale, but his answer was steady enough. "They did in fact discuss their intentions, which were to kill the Lords Craer and Hawkril, and take the rest of you captive. They spoke of sparing your lives in return for surrender of your noble offices and the Dwaer, but these were apparently the schemes of others, conveyed to them as orders. I believe this throwing of snakes was a personal invention-and it did come as a surprise to me." He sighed. "Slay me if you must. I'm guilty of my own crimes against Flowfoam, though they involve absent coins rather than bloodshed."
"I believe you," Embra replied, the Dwaer flaring into life again between them. "Treat us with continued honesty if you would, Eirevaur, and tell me: What other orders regarding us have you been given? Where's the Lord Stornbridge? Are there other Serpent-priests in this keep-and if so, where?"
"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" the Coinmaster asked in apparent terror, as he pointed silently up at the ceiling and then spread his fingers twice, counting out: Five. Then he touched the carved and painted arms of Stornbridge adorning the back of a chair recently vacated by a priest, and pointed up again. So-as far as Eirevaur knew, if he was dealing in truth-five priests and the Lord of Stornbridge were above, either in this turret or on the adjacent battlements.
"Not yet-if you sit in complete silence, unmoving, until we say otherwise." Embra reached back as she uttered these crisp words, and when her fingers brushed Hawkril's hip, she mind-spoke: Say nothing. Touch the others, so we can all mind-talk.
He swiftly did so. When the overdukes had gathered close together around Embra's chair, she mind-said: We must be very careful. Twice now, something-another Dwaer, I think, used in a way I know nothing of-has tried to drain power from this one. I don't think the Serpents here have it, but whoever does is watching us directly. What I want to do now is make this man an offer of escape, and after we've dealt with him, one way or the other, we three who can work spells will use the Dwaer only to negate and oppose Serpentmagics, whilst Hawk and Craer go up and reap priests and a tersept with sharp steel. Agreed?