Cloak of Shadows - Ed Greenwood [124]
"How," Milhvar asked smoothly, before any of the rangers could reply, "will that sword be of any particular use against Olorn? Is it some sort of special blade?"
"It cut through every spell Olorn threw at them," Thaune said.
"Bheloris said it held them both up, when they triggered a trap-chute in the Red Chamber," Indyl added, news that made Milhvar's eyebrows leap upward. He turned his head to watch a third Malaugrym come around the bookshelf.
"Ah, Drelorr," Milhvar greeted him, "we have visitors from Toril."
"Aye," the newcomer said, leaning a leonine body forward to regard the sword Sharantyr was holding. Its tip pulsed with sudden radiance as he drew near. "This is the blade that burns flesh and makes wounds that won't heal."
"Won't heal?" The other two young Malaugrym drew back from the table with almost comical haste.
"Not at all?" Milhvar asked calmly.
Drelorr shrugged. "They can be spell-healed, right enough, but won't knit of themselves just by shifting shape." He looked at Sharantyr. "You wouldn't want to sell this sword to me, would you?"
Sharantyr shook her head.
"Could we borrow it, then? Or rent it for half a day?"
"Sorry," Shar said. "No."
"Or will you work with us," Thaune suggested, "as we suggested before Drelorr arrived? We don't want to part you from your weapon, just bring its powers against Olorn."
"We've no interest in becoming any more entangled in the feuds of the House of Malaug than we have already become," Shar said carefully, "and so I must decline."
She stiffened as the blade flashed, then she relaxed. 'Nor will spells dupe or force me into relinquishing it," she added dryly. The next probe was more intense, and she felt the faint vibrations of Sylune working spells of her own.
Sharantyr rose smoothly to her feet, and the Harpers rose with her. "If you're all through trying spells on me as if I were some sort of passing beetle, we'd like to pass on out of the library…"
Behind her, Belkram snarled, "Shar!"
She whirled around to see his sword inches from her, his face twisted with strain as he fought against the magic compelling him.
And then she felt the terrible cold of Itharr's blade sliding into her flank.
"Mystra!" she cried, and slashed out behind her blindly. One of the Malaugrym screamed, and she saw fingers flying as she kept turning, striking Itharr's blade out of his hand as she came.
Fire was spreading from the ice in her side, and Shar wondered if this was to be her dying day. Easy, lass, Sylune said inside her, and she felt the pain suddenly lessen.
Milhvar was watching her calmly as she staggered, put all the contempt and disgust she felt into the look she gave him, lurched around, and went back through the door into the dusty room full of tables.
Belkram and a weeping Itharr came after her. The Malaugrym were right behind them, flinging out tentacles that Sylune smashed aside with a spell Shar never saw.
The next spell sent a ball of fire crashing through the door into Milhvar's precious library, and they heard his startled shout.
He must have raised some sort of hasty spell-barrier, because the fiery blast came back into the dusty little room, flinging three tortured young Malaugrym with it. Their ashen bodies thudded off the walls amid blazing tables as the three rangers staggered out into the room of casks.
The pain in her side had subsided into a dull ache, now, but Shar didn't resist when Belkram seized her hand and thrust a ring onto one of her fingers. "Your turn," he grunted, and shook Itharr like a frilly lounge cushion. "Stop wailing-she's fine!"
Itharr sobbed, blinked, hiccuped, and fell silent.
And deep within her Sharantyr heard Sylune say, Trust me, and felt the sword twitched from her fingers.
There was a momentary flicker of blue light. Then the sword was back,