Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [28]
She sighed ruefully and looked at the dark, deep woods around her. A branch snapped somewhere off to her left, not far away. Shandril's eyes narrowed, and she backed up to a tree, calling "Narm? Delg?" as loudly as she dared.
Her answer came swiftly-something large and hairy emerged from behind a nearby tree, lumbering along like a grotesque parody of a man. A cruel beak larger than Shandril's head protruded from the dusty, matted feathers on its face. Hungry, red-rimmed eyes glittered at her, and it began a crashing charge through the leaves.
Shandril screamed and hurled spellfire at it in a frantic spray. Sputtering spellflames raced out of her and wreathed the huge monster-and it screamed. Shandril sent a bolt of fire right into its face and backed hastily away around the tree, as it roared and flailed blindly with its bearlike claws.
Her flames hit it again, and its cries grew weaker. There were other crashing sounds behind her, now, coming closer. Shandril looked up. Delg and Narm were bounding through the undergrowth. She sighed thankfullyand the wounded beast charged toward the sound. Anxiously Shandril hurled spellfire into that reaching beak-and the thing recoiled, roaring again.
There was a sudden flash of light in front of Shandril. It lit Narm's stern face as he guided his conjured blade of force straight into one of the beasts eyes.
Light flashed again inside that monstrous head, and with a rough, despairing cry, the thing crashed to the damp leaves at her feet. Smoke rose from its mouth and then drifted away. The beast thrashed about briefly and lay still, its eyes growing dull.
"An owlbear!" Delg's voice was rough with worry. "You seem to run into the most interesting folk, wherever we go.
Shandril looked down at the smoking thing at her feet, her eyes empty. She suddenly shuddered and turned away with a sob, starting to bolt. A moment later, she ran straight and bruisingly into something large and hard – Delg's shield. The dwarf stepped out from behind it, letting it fall, and caught Shandril by the arm. "You can't run from it, lass-sooner or later, you've got to face it. As long as other folk in Faerun want what you've got, you must kill to live-so, these days, killing's what you do."
Shandril stared at him. "And what if it's not what I want to do?" she asked very quietly.
The dwarf squinted up at her and then shrugged. "Then you'd best lie down and die the next time someone attacks. You'll save a lot of trouble-for yourself, not for the rest of the Realms."
Shandril looked back at the smoking corpse, and then fixed tired eyes on his. "I don't like killing. I'll never like killing."
Delg nodded. "If that proves true, 'tis good, very good, for us all."
Shandril frowned. "What do you mean, `proves true'?" The dwarf leaned on his axe. "Slaying's never easy, lass. When you're young, it's a shock-the smell, the blood and all…"
Narm added quietly, "And when you're old, you see your own death in each killing… a part of you dies each time. "
The dwarf looked at Narm in surprise. "Wise words for one so young; right you are, indeed." He stared off into memory for a moment, and added softly, "Much too right, lad."
"And between youth and old age?" Shandril asked quietly. "What then?"
DeIg squinted at her. "Ah," he rumbled, "that's the time when one who must kill is most dangerous.
They get good at the task-very good, some of them-and they also get so they just don't care about the lives they take."
Shandril looked at him. "And if that happens to me?" Delg looked into her eyes and then turned away.
"I'll try to kill you. So will Elminster, and the Knights-and, of course, the Zhents and everyone else in Faerun who's been hunting you all this time."
"Tell me," Narm said to the dwarf, his voice like a quietly drawn sword, "what you'd say if I stood by Shandril then, even if-gods forfend-she did come to love killing… what then?"
Delg looked at him. "Before you died," he said gruffly, hefting his axe meaningfully, "I'd be very