Cloak of Shadows - Ed Greenwood [34]
"Or just such fools that they don't know better." Thaern finished the sentence for him. His head archer looked as grim as Randal Morn felt.
"I don't like mysteries," the Lord of Daggerdale said shortly. "Fighting Zhents and orcs and such is bad enough. But we must know who they are and what they're about."
"Unless they're still riding through the night, Lord, it looks like they've holed up in Irythkeep," Brammur said through his gray-white moustache. "Shall we make haste, or walk wide to surround it?"
"The lure could be for us," Randal Morn mused. "We must go wide, quietly and with care. Bram – "
His next words were lost forever in a sudden flash that split the night. Then there were several flashes together, and the ground rocked under them. The last of Randal Morn's men exchanged glances, lifted eyebrows, and took tighter grips on their weapons.
"On the other hand," Randal Morn said lightly, "no one's likely to hear us if we go in bellowing drinking songs, through that." Another distant crash answered him, and a dead limb broke off a tree somewhere near and made its crashing way to the ground.
Irythkeep was outlined by amber radiance for a moment, and they heard shouting and saw glowing lights moving in the sky above its ruined towers. They watched the explosions, curling tongues of flame, and flashes of light for several awestruck breaths. Then the Lord of Daggerdale licked lips that had gone dry and said, his heart leaping with excitement within him, "That magic could slay us as swiftly and easily as the ones it's intended for. We must still use caution."
"I always do, lord," Thaern said, stone faced. Randal Morn punched him playfully on the shoulder and chuckled. "Right, blades!" he said to the others around him. "Onward! Follow the ever-cautious Thaern."
* * * * *
Daggerdale, Kythorn 16
Belkram came dazedly, painfully back to Faerun, sprawled on his back over several broken branches of a scorched tree. Smoke curled up the cracked and smoldering trees around him, and something winged and taloned and made of glass was slashing clumsily at him from where it hung wedged in a tangle of leaning, half-fallen trees.
Belkram gave it a sour look and rolled away until he fell off his bed of branches and found his feet amid trampled ferns. His leathern gloves were inside his breeches as always, the cuffs protruding above his belt right behind him; they were out and on in three tugs. The ranger took up a scorched sapling and hefted it once. He swung it up for greater force, and then down as hard as he could.
Glass shattered and tinkled off branches. He snarled and struck again, until not only the talons but most of the arm had been struck off. Then he strode away, seeking his friends.
They weren't hard to find. Elminster was scampering around the clearing, hurling slaying spells up into the night and dodging the same sent back his way. Shar lay draped limply over a branch ahead, arms dangling, blood on her face.
He lifted her off the tree limb as gently as he could, flinching as a swarm of fireballs drifted through the now-blackened stones of the keep and exploded together, sending fresh tongues of flame roaring into the trees. He turned her over.
She was breathing. In his arms she coughed weakly, spat blood-she'd bitten through her lip, Belkram saw- and murmured, not opening her eyes, "Tempus… have you come to take me?"
Touched, Belkram knelt amid the tangled and smashed trees and laid her on the ground. Finding her sword, he put it into her hand, kissed her forehead, and said, "It's me, Shar-Belkram the Bold! I'll be back for you, Lady Knight. Lie still here… I'll be back!"
"Belk… ram?" she breathed, head lolling back. The Harper glanced back at her once, sudden moisture in his eyes, as he ran out into the clearing. Something that looked like a griffon or a giant eagle-but had three long tentacles curling out from each shoulder instead of wings-was writhing around on the ground, obviously hurt. Beyond