Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [5]
His accent was short and clipped, difficult for Aelrindel to understand.
"N Tel'Quessir scum!" Faelyn proclaimed behind him.
The First Hilt held up his hand, to leash his friend's anger as much as to show these rude humans that they meant no harm.
"We are here in peace," he said slowly in the human tongue. His own mouth formed the unfamiliar syllables slowly. "We do not seek to hurt you."
That last brought a round of harsh laughter from the brigands.
"Been no peace in this land for quite some time," a weasely faced man barked out.
"An' that's just the way we like it, isn't it, lads?" the burly human asked, to the roaring affirmation of his companions. He moved closer to Aelrindel, close enough that the elf could make out the blackened stain of rot on his teeth; his breath stank like carrion. " 'Tis you who should worry about getting hurt," the burly human said with a cruel smile. "Now hand over your swords and the pretty little things that you and your 'lass' here no doubt decorate yerselves with."
Aelrindel simply stood there, watching the man's smile slowly fade as the elf made no move to comply with his commands.
The grizzled human took a step back.
"Kill them," was all that he said-was all that he would ever say again.
Twin elven blades sang from worn leather scabbards, catching the sunlight along their gleaming lengths. A single spray of blood erupted from the burly human's throat as Aelrindel's sword, unleashed at last, cleaved through muscle and bone in a single cut. The man fell, headless, to the ground.
Behind him, Aelrindel heard the sound of Faelyn's Song, and joined it with his own in fearsome harmony. Four more scavengers fell within moments. A fifth, the weasel-eyed man, began to cast a spell. The First Hilt parried a clumsy axe swing and caught the rhythm of the wizard's spell. It was one with which he was well familiar. Using his free hand, the bladesinger mirrored his opponent's casting then sent his considerable power out to surround the overmatched wizard, binding it to himself. Argent energy flew from the human's outstretched hand only to fizzle into nothingness as the bladesinger quenched the spell.
The brigands were obviously fearful now. Their earlier swagger gave way to wariness, and Aelrindel could see two of them already surveying their escape routes. Using skills honed from centuries of combat, the two elves wove a deadly net of steel from which none of their opponents could escape. Two more scavengers fell. One threw his dirk hard at Faelyn. Aelrindel batted the makeshift missile away with the flat of his own blade, while his companion slid forward to drive the point of his weapon into the man's chest. The second, perhaps the most skilled fighter of the lot, parried the snaking steel of Aelrindel's blade twice before a quick feint left his guard open. The bladesinger took the advantage, and the man fell backward with a deep tear in his stomach.
The remaining two humans dropped their weapons and began to plead for their lives. Still holding his blade easily in one hand, the First Hilt pointed a slender finger away from the battleground.
"Go," he commanded, "and leave the dead to the gods."
The two babbled their thanks and hastily retreated, tripping repeatedly over one another as they ran up the slope and back toward the human settlement. Only when they moved out of the range of his elf sight did Aelrindel start cleaning his blade. Once it gleamed again, free of the blood of his enemies, the bladesinger held it flat between both of his hands, bowed low in the way of the laeriaen, and placed it back within its scabbard.
"They deserved to be punished for what they did-attempted to do," Faelyn said when he, too, had finished the ritual.
"I know, my friend," he replied, expecting another session of wrangling with his embittered companion, "but we shall let the humans deal with them."
"Eyes and ears indeed…" came the reply, with a surprising