Gaunt was up and hobbling forward.
Arista hiked up her robe and ran back down the stairs to him. “Put your arm around me!” she shouted, moving to his wounded side.
Gaunt put his weight on her. From behind them more goblins entered the square. Twenty-perhaps as many as thirty-ran forward shrieking and yelping, their claws clicking the stone, and a drone came from them like the sound of a swarm of locusts.
“Time to go!” Hadrian declared. Reaching Alric, he pulled the lantern from the king’s hand and smashed it on the stone before the attacking Ghazel. A burst of flame rose along with more cries and squeals.
“I’ve got him!” Hadrian told her. “Run!”
They all bolted for the doors that Magnus and Myron held open. As soon as they entered, the monk and the dwarf pulled them shut. Royce slid the latch.
“Get that stone bench in front of the door!” Royce shouted.
“What bench?” Mauvin asked. “It’s pitch-black in here!”
Arista barely thought about it and her robe glowed with a cold blue light that revealed the entrance hall. Musty and stale, it was much like the library, covered in cobwebs and dust. The white-and-black-checkered floor was cracked and uneven. A chandelier that had hung from the ceiling rested in the center of the floor. Braziers lay toppled, stone molding was scattered, and plaster chips littered the ground. Great tapestries still clung to either wall. Faded and dirty, they were otherwise unmarred, as were long curtains that draped the walls. Stairs led up from either side of the front doors and past two tall, narrow windows that looked out onto the square. It was then that Arista realized how much like a small castle-fortress the Teshlor Guild was.
Boom! Boom! The goblins hammered against the door, shaking the dust off the walls.
Having laid Gaunt down near the center of the room, Hadrian pulled the goblin bow from his shoulder and ran up the steps. He made use of the arrow slits to fire on the goblins outside. She heard a cry for every twang of the tiny bow and soon the hammering stopped.
“They’ve moved off,” Hadrian said, leaning heavily against the wall. “Out of bow range, at least, but now that they know they have guests, they won’t leave us alone.”
Royce looked around, scanning the stairs, the ceiling, and the walls. “Question is… is there another way in here? And perhaps more importantly, another way out?” He pulled the remaining lanterns from Myron’s pack and began lighting them.
Arista moved to Gaunt’s side. The short, foul-looking arrow had penetrated through his calf with both ends sticking out. “I can see why you were having such trouble running,” she told him as she pulled her dagger and started to cut his trouser leg.
“At least someone gives me credit,” he growled.
“You’re lucky, Mr. Gaunt,” Hadrian said, coming down the stairs and approaching them. He grabbed the first lit lantern and knelt down beside him. “If the tip was still inside your leg, this next process would hurt a lot more.”
“Next process?”
Hadrian bent down, and before Arista or Gaunt knew what was happening, he snapped off the arrow’s tip. Gaunt howled in pain.
“Get some bandages ready,” he told Arista. Myron was already there holding two rolls out to her. “Now this will hurt some.”
“ This will?” Gaunt asked incredulously. “What you did befo-”
Hadrian pulled the shaft from his leg. Gaunt screamed.
Blood flowed from the wounds on either side of the leg and Hadrian quickly began wrapping and pulling the cloth.
“Put your hands on the other side and squeeze tight-real tight,” he told Arista. Blood soaked through the white linen, turning it red.
“Squeeze harder!” he told her as he unrolled a second length of cloth.
As she did, Gaunt cried out again, throwing his head back. His eyes went wide for a moment and then squeezed shut.
“I’m sorry,” she told him.
Gaunt groaned through gritted teeth.
Blood seeped through her fingers. It was warm-and slicker than she had expected, almost oily. This was not the first time she had found her hands covered in blood. In the square of Ratibor, with Emery in her arms, there was much more, but she did not notice it then.
“Okay, let go,” Hadrian told her, and he redressed the wound. Once again he had her squeeze as soon as he was finished. More blood soaked the bandages, but it was spotty this time and did not consume the whole linen.
Hadrian wrapped another length and tied it off. “There,” he said, wiping his hands. “Now you just have to hope there was nothing nasty on that shaft.”
Royce handed him a lantern. “We should look for other entrances.”
“Mauvin, Alric? Keep watch out the windows, shout if they return.”
“I need water,” Gaunt said, his face dripping with sweat. Arista slipped a pack under his head and grabbed his water pouch. It appeared more of it dribbled down his chin than went in his mouth.
“Rest,” she said, and brushed the hair from his brow.
He gave her a suspicious look.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to enchant you,” she said.
When she entered, her robe illuminated the grand hall with a cold azure light. A great stone table stood in the center with dozens of tall chairs surrounding it. A few had fallen to their sides, as had a half dozen metal goblets that rested on the table. The chamber was four stories tall, with great windows lining the high gallery and skylights in the ceiling. She imagined that they had once filled this room with a wonderful radiance of sunlight. Painted on the upper walls and parts of the ceiling were astounding scenes of battle. Knights rode on horseback with streamers flying from long poles, vast valleys were filled with thousands of soldiers, and castle gates, defended by archers, were assailed by machines of war. In one scene, three men battled on a hilltop against three Gilarabrywn. Those same men were seen in other images, and in one, they were pictured in a hall with a throne where one sat with a crown and to either side stood the other two. Below the paintings, a varied array of weapons lined the room: swords, spears, shields, bows, lances, and maces. The one thing they all had in common: even after a thousand years, they still gleamed.
Words were engraved in a band encircling the room and could also be found on recessed plaques, yet Arista’s training in the Old Speech was verbal, not written. Unable to decipher the meanings, she did spot the words Techylor and Cenzlyor.
A majestic stair gave access to the gallery above and she climbed it. At the top were a series of doors. Some rooms lay open and she spied small chambers, living quarters with beds, shelves, and closets. Lantern light spilled from one.
She found Hadrian standing near the bed, staring up at the opposite wall as if entranced. He was looking at a suit of armor, a shield, and a set of weapons. The armor was not at all like the traditional heavy breastplates, pauldrons, vambraces, and tassets of typical knight attire. This was one piece and appeared as a long formal coat, but made from leaves of gold-colored metal. It hung from a display with a great plumed helm like the head of an eagle resting on top.
“Planning on moving in?” she asked. “I got a little worried when you didn’t come back.”
“Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “I didn’t hear any shouts. Is everything all right?”
“Gaunt is sleeping, Myron reading, Magnus is arguing with Alric, Royce still hasn’t returned, and Mauvin wandered off. And what are you doing?”
She sat down on the bed, which promptly collapsed under her weight, issuing a cloud of dust.
“You all right?” he asked, helping her up.
“Yes,” she said, coughing and waving her hand before her face. “I guess the wood rotted over the years.”
“This is it,” he said.