Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [57]
"Easy, Shan, easy," Narm said, holding her. "It was only a dream."
Shandril nodded-but her gaze had settled on a hardfaced man approaching their table. He looked like a warrior, and lie strode slowly at the head of four others of similar cut Mirt turned in his seat to face these strangers, but did not rise.
Delg leaned across the table and hissed, "No spellfire unless you have to, Shan. Let us handle this, aye?"
Shandril had no time to reply. The newcomer's voice was already raised in anger. "You're the ones who stole my little girl! Thieves! Slavers! You won't get away this time! Innkeeper! Bring your crossbows!"
He waved a hand and stepped aside. The warriors behind him, all armed, started menacingly forward.
Mirt rose ponderously from his chair to meet the foremost man, who held a naked scimitar ready.
"You're first, fat one," die man sneered, drawing up his blade for a slash.
Mirt ducked suddenly beneath its bright edge and slammed into the man's midriff. The man flew backward, crashing into another brigand in a confusion of clattering blades, hard knees, and helplessly flailing hands. Mirt continued his lunge, grabbed the belt of yet another man, and flung him sideways into the man who'd first accused them. 'The landing!" he bellowed as he fell amid a growing hubbub.
Narm and Delg were already looking up. Two more warriors were hurrying down the stairs to the landing, cocked crossbows in their hands. Delg's axe flasher! across the room, whirling as it flew. Men shouted in fear, and the tables all around emptied in haste. The axe sailed true, and the next moment one of the archers was slumped on the stairs, whimpering and clutching at the red ruin of his shoulder, where the bright dwarven axe was buried deeply amid the spreading blood.
Narm stood up coolly, shielding Shandril with his body, and raised his hands to cast a spell. Before he could, Delg slapped his leg. Narm looked down-and the dwarf thrust a small, loaded hand-crossbow into his hands. Narm stared at it for a moment, and then took it, aimed it carefully, holding it in both hands, and fired. An arrow thrummed into the floor as the bow from which it had come crashed over the railing. Its owner clutched at Narm's quarrel in his throat, made strangling noises, and followed his weaponry to the floor below.
Without pause, Delg snatched a handful of quarrels from his belt, thrust them into Narm's hands, and scrambled up onto the table, drawing a long knife from his boot.
Men shouted out in the lobby, and the thunder of running feet answered the call. Blades had been drawn all over the taproom. Some sort of alarm gong rang behind the bar, and there was a momentary lull in its wake-so everyone heard the grisly cracking sound as Mirt calmly broke a man's neck. The attacker's body slumped to the floor like a heavy sack of coal as the old merchant's hairy hands released hint Wheezing, Mirt snatched up a chair and met the charge of the last swordsman, sweeping aside the slashing blade.
All the while, Narm's trembling hands fumbled at reloading the unfamiliar weapon, He wished he knew some better battle spells and cursed himself for not having enough magical strength to protect his lady.
The bolt slipped once again from its groove. Narm cursed and looked up in frustration. Over his shoulder, he glimpsed the man who'd accused them all, drawing back his hand and snarling. A dagger glittered in it, a dagger meant for Shandril. Narm roared a warning.
Shandril twisted desperately sideways in her seat to get below the table. The knife came down, leaping through the air at her with frightening speed, twinkling as it came. A straining body leapt to intercept it in midair over the table, shielding her for a crucial instant before crashing heavily down amid the scattered remains of their dinner. Narm landed with a ragged gasp and lay still.
Shandril stared at him in horror. Fear and anger coiled in her throat with the rising spellfire. Trembling with rage, she stood to lash out at the man-but the warrior no longer stood there.
Delg had leapt from the table