Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [22]
Swordmaster Bluth bent his critical gaze on the finished pit trap, watching as Alorth spread a basketful of earth and leaves over its edges, kicking them into place with a practiced boot.
Then Bluth shrugged and looked up. "We're only intended to wear this Shandril down so she's tired and hurt and has used most of her spellfire before the magelings attack her. I'd like to surprise a few wizards, though, by capturing her ourselves."
"Ourselves being those of us who're still alive, you mean." Alorth's voice was hard. "Why attack her at all if we're just going to our deaths? Why not leave her for the wizards-tell them she's slipped past us somehow?"
The swordmaster walked all around the pit trap and nodded his acceptance; it was well-concealed. He stepped back to look at the trees around, searching for any signs they might have left of their presence, then replied, "Duty, lad. Duty to orders. It's what we live for-and die for."
"So lords can sit safe in their towers," Alorth replied bitterly.
Bluth turned a cold eye on him. "Dangerous talk, Alorth. Taking the venomed dagger of your tongue to the plans and deeds of your betters is a sport that was oldand deadly-long before you were born."
He looked around one last time, and then drew his sword and said to the other men briskly, "Best we get dressed again and ready. If the other lads do their work as well as we have, they'll be here soon."
"I'm done, Shan." Narm shut his spellbook with a snap. "Mighty magic once more up my sleeves."
"At least you're not as overblown about it as most mages," Delg said, looking up at him. "Though you're not much better than most of 'em at walking, or cooking, or digging latrines… or anything else much useful.."
"Delg!" Shandril and Narm protested together. The dwarf laughed and settled his bulging pack on his sboulders. As usual, he carried far more than his larger companions.
"We'd best be off before some more Zhents find us," he said merrily. "North as before, then?"
Shandril shrugged. "You know better than I. Lead on." Without further words, the dwarf set off into the waiting woods.
"How do you feel today, love?" Narm's voice was low. Shandril gave him a smile. "Better than I have since we left Shadowdale. About time, too-it's a long way to Silverymoon. From what Storm said, if we walk and have to avoid Zhents more than once or twice, winter could well find us before we're halfway there."
"See Faerun," Narm said, gesturing at the trees around them. "Know high adventure. Meet strange and fearsome beasts, the like few folk have ever seen-"
"And slay them." Shandril's voice was wry. She seemed to be looking at something far away. "I never dreamt, back at the Moon, that when I finally got my taste of adventure, it would mean I went around burning powerful wizards and veteran warriors to ash-and that the Cult of the Dragon, the Zhentarim, and just about everyone else I met would attack me."
Narm hastened to head off her darkening mood. "Who else your age, though, has fought dragonsundead dragons, even-and lived?"
He caught his lady by the shoulders, eyes dancing, and went on jovially, "Has been rude to Elminster the Sageand lived? Blasted Manshoon of Zhentil Keep and the dragon he rode out of the sky, and sent them fleeing for home? Blown up entire castles? Made friends with the Harpers, with Elminster, and with the Knights of Myth Drannor? Walked the ruined streets of Myth Drannor, that folk all over Faerun talk of?"
Shandril smiled ruefully. "Yes, and hasn't had a spare moment to draw breath, yet alone enjoy any of it."
"You married me-and seemed to enjoy that," Narm protested in mock hurt.
"She must have been deaf, then," Delg put in, ahead of them. 'Me way you babble day and night through." Narm favored the dwarf with a certain rude sputtering noise made by small