Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [19]
The strains of the Song soared within his heart, joined now by the voice of his sword-his father's sword, the ancient weapon passed down from generation to generation, from the golden age of Cormanthyr, from the hands of heroes, down through the ages until finally it reached him. Exile. Unworthy.
The Song leached strength from his muscle, and he nearly dropped the weapon from nerveless fingers. A shout from Marissa roused him, however. The troll had finally managed to free his weapon and advanced once again. Taen retreated ever so slightly, wanting to keep the creature away from Borovazk, whose fiery arrows were making short work of the still-entangled trolls but also needing to give himself room to avoid the deadly weight of the warhammer.
Wordlessly, Marissa joined the half-elf in his battle, standing slightly to his side. The druid raised the leather-covered stump of her left arm. Purple light glowed from the spidery runes burned into the leather as a blade made entirely of flames sprang from the end of her arm. She moved forward, swinging the fiery weapon in a wide arc. Taen watched the troll give way before the druid's attack. Once again he darted forward, striking at the troll's unprotected flank. His sword sliced deeply into the creature's side and it stumbled.
Immediately, Marissa sprang into action. Her flaming blade cut once then twice, across its shoulder. The troll screamed and lashed wildly out at its attacker. The curve of its clawed hand raked against the flesh of Marissa's neck. This time, the druid stumbled back, nearly falling as she grabbed at the wound.
Taen immediately dropped his sword and hissed the words to another spell. The troll's flesh, torn by the edge of his blade, had begun to seal as the creature's ability to regenerate kicked in. He needed something fast and deadly. No sooner had he finished the words to the spell than four silver-white beams of mystic energy streaked from his hands to strike the creature full in the chest.
It screamed again at the four smoking wounds and opened its mouth, no doubt to spew forth its freezing spittle, but at himself or the wounded druid, Taen did not know. He was prepared to launch himself in the path of the attack to protect Marissa when an arrow hissed by the half-elf's head and struck the troll full in the mouth. Instead of the freezing viscous liquid he'd expected, Taen watched in wonderment as flames and thick steam erupted from the creature's mouth. With a long, gurgling sigh, the troll fell to the ground.
"Yes, little friends," Borovazk said in his cheer-filled voice, "we have much fun in Rashemen, no?"
Taen ignored the ranger for a moment and drew near Marissa. The druid, however, waved him off.
"I'm fine," she said, removing her fingers from her neck to reveal an already healing wound. Though long, the troll's claws had not cut too deeply into her flesh. The half-elf could see that she had healed most of the damage with her own power.
Confident that Marissa would be all right, Taen looked out over the battlefield. Roberc, his armor and shield bent and battered, had dismounted and now stood over the dead trolls. He poured black oil from a flask on the corpses and set them afire with the burning length of a wood torch.
Taen walked toward the halfling fighter with Marissa at his side while Borovazk set to burning the single corpse up on the hillock. The ground where the halfling stood was covered in bloodstained slush and churned earth. As they drew closer, Taen could see that both Roberc and Cavan were bleeding from multiple wounds. Marissa spoke gently to the dog, and he limped toward her, his fur caked in blood, dirt, and gore. The druid knelt before the hurt animal and reached out a slender hand, placing it along the bleeding edge of