Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [66]
Please?" Delg growled, looked away, and then spat into the dust slowly and carefully. "Of course I’ll come. It's wrong. I can feel it. It'll bring death, but someone's got to be along to see that it isn't yours, Lady. I'll come."
Silence hung heavily around them for what seemed a long time, and then Shandril whispered, "'Thank you, Delg. Thank you." Her voice trembled on the last word, and Narm looked to her in alarm; she was close to tears.
His slim lady stood looking at the dwarf, who squinted warily back up at her a moment more, and then smiled, clapped his hands together, and said briskly, "Let's be walking, then! The sun rolls on, and I grow older with it."
Amid a general murmur of agreement, they set off after Mirt The old merchant's rolling gait was surprisingly fast. He strode purposefully across the field, heading for a distant stile over the rubble fence that separated this field from the next.
Delg, as was his wont, fell back to guard the rear, his ready axe glittering in his hands. He muttered as he walked, words meant for no ears but his own. "Never hurry to your doom, lass. It will come for you soon enough. Too many of my folk have gone looking for their doom and sure enough, it found them:"
His knuckles were white where he gripped his axe, and the corded veins in his hairy wrists and forearms stood out darkly as his hands shook.
It is never easy to see your own death close ahead, know there is no escape, and go calmly to meet it.
"They were here, in this village?" The Zhentarim s voice was cold. "And no one knows which way they went?"
"No, Lord Mage," the swordmaster said a little uncertainly. "We've asked everyone."
"Not forcefully enough, I'd say. Start chopping off villagers' fingers until someone remembers something." "Aye, Lord." The warriors voice was not happy. Needless butchery was never wise. These folk were terrified of the Brotherhood already. Turning that fear to desperate, fighting hatred would be all too easy. The Zhents had to sleep somewhere tonight, whether or not this maniac of a wizard burned the inn to the ground.
"I've just remembered something," a voice rumbled from a roof close overhead.
The swordmaster looked up. "Eh?"
"It's Zhent-killing fime!" Rathan Thentraver announced gleefully as he launched himself off the edge of the roof. His not inconsiderable bulk crashed down atop the swordmaster, who crumpled to the ground under the knight and did not move again. "Truly, the loads some of us bear in life are heavier than others." Rathan smiled up at the startled Zhentarim wizard as he paraphrased the old maxim.
The wizard, looking at the stout priest in surprise and anger. never saw the slim thief lean down over the edge of the roof, Rathan's borrowed mace in his hand.
"Magusta, dear?" Torm asked interestedly as he clubbed the wizard on the side of the head. Blood flew, and the man fell without a sound. "No," Torm said, watching the mage bounce and sprawl on the ground, arms twitching. "I guess not" He sighed theatrically and slid down from the roof. "When shall I ever catch up with that maiden? My lips ache for her kisses!"
"Not half so much as yon wizard's head aches for another hit o' my mace, I'm thinking," Rathan rumbled, taking it from his fellow knight and bending forward to finish the task.
There was a startled shout from a nearby window, and two Zhents ran around the corner of the Wyvern's front wall, swords drawn.
While Rathan finished the mage, Torm snatched up the sword of the sprawled swordmaster, hefted it critically, and then threw it hard. It flashed end over end through the air and cut a crimson line across one Zhent's face. Torm leapt after it, drawing his own sword with a smile. "This is more like it!" he called back as steel rang and he turned aside the first warriors blade. "Chop and hack merrily, work up an appetite, get a lot of good fresh air…"
"Did ye have to mention food? My belly feels like it's been lying starving in a dungeon for a month-and here I am going into