neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

As they climbed to their feet they could hear the yells and screams rising from below, a chorus of confusion and fear.

“It sounds as if our friend Snaugenhutt is doing his job.” Gragelouth brushed at his pants. “I was not sure he had it in him.”

“Oh, he always had it in him.” Viz was skimming back and forth across the roof, searching for a way down for his companions. “It’s just that it was always saturated. But that little flight dried him out, rejuvenated him. Downdrafts be damned if it didn’t rejuvenate me.” He paused to hover in front of Buncan. “I enjoyed that little transformation. Think you two could do it again?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t what we were trying to do in the first place.” Buncan made certain the duar was strapped securely against his back. “Have you found a way down?”

“Afraid not.” Viz gestured with a wingtip. “There don’t seem to be any stairs leading to this roof. The only openings I was able to find are vents, chimneys, and skylights.”

“Fair enough.” Squill stood by the edge of one skylight, leaning over to peer through the translucency.

“It’ll have to do.” Buncan moved to join his friend. “We’ll break the glass and climb down the ladder.”

Squill frowned at him. “Ladder? Wot ladder?” He put one hand over his eyes and pulled his sword with the other. “We otters are the direct type, mate. You ought to know that by now.”

So saying, and before Buncan could make a move to restrain him, he jumped forward as far as his short legs would propel him and plunged through the skylight, sending glass flying in all directions.

“Squill!” Buncan rushed to the opening and peered through. “You idiot!”

Below, the otter was climbing to his feet, brushing glass from his clothing and fur as he examined his surroundings.

“ Tis a short drop, Buncan. Even old droopy-eyes ought to be able to ‘andle it. Looks like servants’ quarters. Wot the bloody ‘ell are you waitin’ for?” He moved out of view.

“Squill! Wait up.” Buncan positioned himself as best he could and dropped through. He was followed by Viz, and lastly by Gragelouth, though it took some coaxing to persuade the merchant to make the jump.

No one challenged them as they hurried down the narrow hallway, nor was there anyone coming up the spiral stone staircase to intercept them. The level of noise rising from below suggested total confusion within the Baron’s household, if not complete chaos.

Tracking the cacophony led them out onto a narrow mezzanine overlooking a central atrium or hall where a bellowing, defiant Snaugenhutt was holding court, dividing his attention between two groups of Krasvin’s retainers. When one would try to flee from behind protective pillars and furniture, he would drive them back. This prompted the members of the orner group to try to escape, whereupon the rhino would turn and charge them. Occasionally one fell victim to that thrusting horn, or tripped and went down. If Snaugenhutt happened to step on the prone unfortunate, he did not get up again.

From time to time an arrow shaft or spear would speed the rhino’s way, only to bounce harmlessly off his thick, jouncing armor.

Buncan scanned the battleground. “No sign of Neena.”

“No doubt she has by now been sequestered in some subterranean dungeon.” Gragelouth fingered the knife he carried as his sole form of protection. “We need to find a route that continues to lead downward.”

“How do we get past this?” Buncan indicated the chaotic courtyard.

“This way, mates.” Squill shouted from the far end of the mezzanine, already two steps down the staircase he’d found.

They were about to descend lower when a shrill, familiar bark halted the otter in his tracks. “She’s ‘ere!” He looked around furiously. “That way!” Spinning, he charged back up the stairs, bursting past Buncan and Gragelouth. Only Viz was able to keep up with him.

Sword waving, Squill led the charge into the library . . . and slowed. It was empty, though there was plenty to indicate that it had recently been fully occupied. Food and drink had been abandoned on tables, and lamps still burned dimly.

“They’re all busy with Snaugenhutt,” Viz opined.

“There’s no one here now.” Buncan turned a slow circle as he advanced farther into the room.

“Bloody ‘eck there ain’t, Bunkooch,” declared a weak voice from above.

Their attention was drawn to a mezzanine-level walkway, where Neena was trying to rise from amidst an uncomfortable bed of opened books. A single flickering oil lamp disclosed her location.

“Neena!” Buncan searched for a ladder. “Are you all right?”

“Wot the bloody, rotten ‘ell took you so long?” She was so tired she had to use the railing just to stand.

“Don’t worry, mate. She’s right enough.” Squill gave Buncan a hand with the ladder he’d found.

“What’s this, more guests?”

Standing in the doorway, a lithe figure clad in elegant silks and soft leather gestured with the saber he carried. His attitude as much as his attire marked him as the master of the estate.

Squill leveled his own sword as he advanced on the Baron. “The game’s done, guv. Me sister an’ I will be takin’ our leave now. We ain’t your guests.”

“As you wish. I grant you swift departure.” The mink’s eyes glittered. “Your sibling, however, stays. She and I have unfinished business to conclude.”

On the shaky edge of collapse from lack of sleep, Neena still had enough presence of mind to make her way down the ladder Buncan held steady for her.

“Oi, Squill. Lend me your sword an’ I’ll finish ‘is business for ‘im, I will.”

“Regrett!” It struck Buncan that the Baron was not apologizing, but calling to someone.

Entering behind him and blocking the entire doorway was the ugliest member of the pig tribe Buncan had ever seen. The massive female warthog’s huge scythelike tusks had been filed to razor points. Clad entirely in black leather festooned with metal studs and brads, she carried a hooked battle-ax in one hand and a spiked shield in the other.

“I will be damned if I will give her up now,” swore Krasvin.

“I certainly hope you will.” Buncan slowly drew his own weapon while keeping a wary eye on the hell hog.

“Tell me,” Krasvin was saying, “where did you find the horned freak? He’s wrecking my home and killing my people.”

Viz moved slightly to the fore. “Snaugenhutt’s his name and gallantry’s our game, twitch-whiskers. We came to rescue the lady in distress.”

“I am not hearing this,” Krasvin murmured softly. “What sort of irrationality is this? You risk your lives for a female’s virtue?”

“If you’d acted like a gentleperson in this matter, Snaugenhutt wouldn’t be tearing up your front hall right now,” Buncan assured him.

“Ah, well.” Krasvin flicked at the air with his saber. “Perhaps it’s just as well that you are here. Maybe after she’s seen you disposed of she will be more accommodating. Though if you had waited a few hours more it would no longer have mattered.”

“Wot’s that?” Squill turned to stare at his sister. “You mean you ‘aven’t been . . . ‘e ‘asn’t . . . ?”

“No, I ‘aven’t an’ ‘e “asn’t,” she assured him brusquely. “An’ now, if you’ll do me the favor o’ guttin’ this bastard like a trout for the grill, ‘e never will anyone else, either.”

Krasvin sighed. “As the rest of my loyal staff seems unable to deal with a single intruder, it will be up to you and me, Regrett, to deal with these three.”

“Four!” Viz darted toward the Baron and just did dodge the lightning-fast swipe of his blade. “Before this night’s out, I’ll peck the parasites from your body.”