Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [121]
"By my halidom!" Mirt snarled, "Now ye've roused the whole place," He laid a hand on Shandril's shoulder.
She whirled, Spellfire blazed before his eyes, and he danced away with a startled cry, Shandril looked stricken, "Sorry, Mirt-I didn't mean to…"
"But you almost did, anyway," he growled. "Come on, lass-we've got to get out of here before all the Zhentarim in Faerun come down on us."
Shandril shook her head, her face white to the lips, "I'm not running anymore, Go if you wish-I'll stay and fight, as long as there're fools to challenge me,"
Mirt rolled his eyes. "Ye'll find no shortage of battle, then," He looked over his shoulder at the two Harper women and moved his fingers in a certain sign.
The pleasure-queens traded glances, Belarla swallowed, looked at Oelaerone with an unspoken prayer in her eyes, and glided forward with silent speed, From behind she slid one slim, skilled hand over Shandril's nose and mouth, and her other arm around Shandril's throat.
Shandril stiffened. Spellfire flashed, and Belarla hissed in pain as it cooked her arm and fingers. She was sobbing by the time Shandril's eyes dimmed and she went limp. The Harper made sure she was senseless, and then lowered her gently to the street, The Old Wolf bent over Belarla. Tears of pain ran down her cheeks as she knelt on the cobbles, Shandril across her lap, Mirt handed two steel vials to Oelaerone, gesturing for her to pour it down Belarla's throat. "Healing potions," he said gruffly, "See that she drinks them both-every drop,"
Then he scooped up Shandril, grunted as he heaved her onto his shoulders, and said gruffly, "Thanks, Belarla. Myrintara should he able to set things right for you again, if we can reach her,"
Belarla swallowed, shuddered as the potions took effect, and said faintly. "I-I can manage."Then her gaze rose from an empty vial to fix Mirt with a different pained expression, "By my halidom?"
Mirt spread his hands, "Eh… heroes say it in all the best bardic tales," he said sheepishly.
Belarla made a rude sound. Oelaerone pointed silently, Mirt glanced along her arm and saw perhaps twenty-no, more-Zhentilar warriors approaching warily down the street. He eyed them and asked quietly, "Know you any hiding-holes? They'd come in mighty helpful, about now."
"Isn't it a bit late to be thinking about that?" Belarla asked him, but Oelaerone pointed again-this time, at the stones under their feet.
"The sewers," she said simply, then turned, "This way," They hurried after her shapely form, She led through a short alley and then across a broad street, Another alley led them out onto a long, winding lane, Oelaerone turned down it, ducked into a warehouse, and slipped through a dim maze of highstacked crates and curious men, to yet another street.
Mirt shifted Shandril over one shoulder, drew his sword, and trotted after her, Belarla watched behind.
As Oelaerone crept into another alley. Belarla said in satisfaction, "We must have lost them by nownicely done, Oelae."
They were all startled when a tall, burly Zhentarim mage appeared in their path on the next street In addition to robes rolled up at the sleeve, the wizard wore a single metal gauntlet that winked with spell lights. For a moment, Mirt and the pleasure queens blinked abruptly at him. The street had been empty moments before.
The mage took one huge step and viciously swung his studded gauntlet backhanded at Oelaerone. She dived headlong to avoid being struck. He ignored her, striding on toward the Old Wolf and his burden.
Mirt raised the tip of his sword, but the wizard darted to the Old Wolf's burdened side, keeping Shandril between himself and Mirt's blade.
"It's past time for you to lie down and die, old man," the Zhentarim snarled contemptuously, leaning in to smash Mirt across the face with the gauntlet. The enchanted weapon was hard, and its magic numbed and froze the victim for an instant so that the full force of its blow struck home. Mirt staggered.
Belarla's blade sang in at the wizard, The sudden sparks of a protective