Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [39]
"Not just after she's been off in the bushes, lad," the dwarf said, looking critically at the blemishes along the edge of his axe-blade. That Zhent idiot had certainly managed to bring it down on a lot of stones last night. "But soon; I don't want her walking carefree."
Shandril ran despairing fingers through her hair as she came toward them. "Oh, for a bath! I stink!"
"We all do, lass," the dwarf told her gravely. "All the easier for dogs to find us, if they've got any more with them."
"Gods," Shandril said, face paling, "don't remind me." "No, no," Narm said, with feeling. "Don't remind me. I can still feel those teeth."
Shandril remembered all too vividly, retched, and turned hastily away. They watched her shoulders shake for a moment, and Narm turned to Delg with a sigh.
"Now look what you've done," he said.
"Nay, lad-yon's your handiwork. Grab her, now, and let's be on our way. We haven't time for foolishness." "Foolishness?" Shandril's voice was weak but indignant, her face the color of old bone as she rose from her knees.
The dwarf glared at her. "Aye, foolishness. You've several days' march of woods to be sick in-you don't have to stop each time you feel ill. On!"
She glared back at him, took a deep breath, wiped her mouth clean, and went on.
"What was that?"
"The sound of your own big feet, Othrogh," the Zhent swordmaster muttered. "Quiet, now-the maid could be the other side of that next tree."
The half-orc sniffed the air, then shook his head with an emphatic grunt. "No. I'd smell her."
Around him, the other members of the patrol rolled their eyes, made various faces, and sighed.
Swordmaster Cleuvus looked at Othrogh sourly and said, "Just keep your lips shut for awhile, hey?
They gave us all the same orders-and you heard 'em as well as I did." He looked up. "The rest of you," he added shortly, "spread out now! She hurls fire, remember? If you all crowd together under the same tree like that, how could she miss?"
There were various grumbles and dark looks; he knew they'd only gathered to hear him berate Othroghand they knew he knew. Cleuvus grinned. Ah, well, swordmasters were never loved. Except when they went to town with coins enough to hire-He was still thinking such vivid, pleasant thoughts when the tree beside him grew a stout arm with a mace at the end of it and rudely crushed the back of his head in.
Cleuvus fell on his face like a thrown stone, thinking of love forever.
"Skulk through the forest, would ye? Wear dark armor that offends mine eyes, would ye? Oh, the crimes! The crimes!" The voice rose in mock anguish amongst the startled gasps of the Zhents, and its owner lumbered into their midst-and bowed.
"Rathan Thentraver, Knight of Myth Drannor, at thy service. Looking for little girls in the forest, are we? Well, if ye find any, be so good as t-"
"Get him!" The eldest Zhent snarled, and swords flashed in a sudden rush of dark armor.
A man dropped heavily, cursed-and then gurgled and fell silent. The object he'd tripped over rose, dusted himself off, and then calmly glided forward to bury his bloodied dagger in the back of another warrior.
Torm of the Knights grinned at his comrade Rathan across the tumult of clashing weapons, then said,
"Now is that nice? You could've waited for me to get some blood. You could have let Torm-much thinner, handsomer, and younger than a certain priest of Tymora-strike first? You could have busied yourself at some ritual or other; the one where you wear ladies' underthings and pretend to be a paladin, perhaps-but oh, no! The clarion call of battle was too strong. The-"
He broke off to duck frantically aside as two Zhent blades crossed in the space where the knight's face had been a moment earlier.
Puffing, Rathan smashed his way through another Zhent's guard, shattering the sword raised against him. As the man fell, spraying blood from his crushed face all over the knight's knees, Rathan said,
"Oh, aye let ye strike first and grab all the glory. Betray the commandments of Lady Luck to dare all