All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [49]
Not far behind Shar, Margrueth muttered an incantation. A flying Zhent spear headed past her, and she dived sideways to smash it down with her shield, for fear it would reach the sorceress.
It skidded into the dirt, and an instant later came Margrueth's short bark of satisfaction. A wall of twinkling swords blinked into solidity in the air around the surviving Harpers, chopping down pursuing Zhents. Men jerked and fell in that deadly whirlwind.
A black-robed Zhentarim wizard strode toward the wall of swords, careful to keep in the lee of a trio of large shields held high by armsmen. He raised his hands and gestured grandly-but was answered by fearful shouts as his magic went wild. Instead of fading away, the blades flew in all directions, butchering Harpers and Zhents alike.
A strident horn call began another Zhent cavalry charge, striking at the Riders again along the southern edge of the dale. The ground shook as sixty or more horsemen gathered speed, heading west. The Zhentilar foot soldiers advanced, too, striding purposefully to overwhelm the few defenders.
Shar caught a seeking sword on her dagger, warded it away, and drove her own blade into the man's throat. As he spun away, clutching the spraying gore, she sprang to meet the next man, leaping high to put all her weight behind the downstroke. Her steel glanced off the guards of a slow parrying blade and sheared through its wielder's jaw. He fell back, choking, and was trampled by his fellow soldiers in their hunger to get at her.
"Hold the line!" she heard Rath an Thentraver roar, somewhere to the left.
A Harper fell against her leg and went down, a sword in his face. Only Belkram's swift blade saved Shar, and they retreated together, Itharr striking aside Zhent blades from one side.
"Kiss my steel!" Torm shouted defiantly nearby, and was answered by a short scream.
Shar reeled, found her footing again, and glared wildly around. The defenders of Mistledale were reduced to a few knots of struggling swords-themselves and the Knights of Myth Drannor. The gaps in the line were so large now that the farmers, back behind the fray, could loose shafts freely through them-and only that paltry but deadly fire was keeping the Zhents from sweeping forward to surround and rout them.
The horns called anew. The defenders fell back again, seeking another line of standards as lightnings danced briefly among the Zhents. The creek was far off now, across a sea of bobbing black helms, and the iron taste of grim despair rose in Sharantyr's mouth.
They were all going to die here, today, swept away by a thousand Zhent blades, sent to their deaths by Elmin-ster in this dark time on Faerun.,..
With a crash that shook the battlefield, the Zhent cavalry and the Riders of Mistledale rushed together. A breath later, something flashed across the sky. The Zhentarim spellmaster tried another futile spell-and was answered by Jhessail and Illistyl, who sent a dancing serpent of flame through the ranks of the advancing armsmen.
Shar heard Sylune^s voice rise in sudden passion. An instant later, a knot of Zhentilar armsmen levitated into the air, waving weapons in futile horror, lofting high above the battlefield.
Some of their fellows were too slow witted to avoid walking beneath the shouting spell victims and were gawking up at their fellows aloft when the Zhentilar plunged back to earth. They crashed down like so much spilled kindling to smash into bloody ruin on the earth and raised blades below.
The Zhent advance faltered. In the sudden lull, a man in old and shiny black Rider armor pushed past Shar and strode into the Zhent ranks, a shimmering arrowhead of force preceding him, cleaving men who stood in his way.
"Here me, Tempus, Lord of Battles!" the man roared as he went, hands raised and empty. "Let the old warriors rise, if it pleases ye! Raise a ring of skulls, I entreat ye! Oh, Tempus!"
It was the old Rider, Baergil.