Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [76]
Remember that-and make time before you must die. Ifyou do that, you wil1 have forged a better life than most.
Laeral of Waterdeep
quoted in Words to an Apprentice Ithryn Halast
Year of the Weeping Moon
"Delg! Delg!" Shandril's eyes spilled over as she ran, heedless, across the trampled grass.
The battle raged around her, Mirt grunting with effort amid the crashes of steel on steel. Unheeding, Shandril wept tears of fire and fell on her knees beside the dwarf.
Delg was reaching a trembling, clenched hand to her, eyes glittering in agony. "Sh-Shan…" he gasped faintly, blood on his lips. "For…" His eyes were still beseeching her a breath later, when they went dark.
In his ears, Delg heard the soft crackling of flames. The Lady Sharindlar had come for him, and his time in Faerun was done. Tears blurred his last sight of the human lass he'd given his life for, and he couldn't even tell her of the love he'd come to feel for her… Raging against the Zhentarim who had brought him death, Delg Ironstar went down into the everlasting darkness, waving his axe.
"No!" Shandril threw her arms around the hairy, sweatsoaked body, but the dwarf's eyes stared past her, dull and unmoving. She knew they'd never see her-or anything else-again, and she clutched Delg tightly, her face pressed against his hard, strong-smelling chain mail. And she cried.
In the rocks high above, Mairara curled her lip in the darkness and gestured with both hands. The crippled gargoyle turned on broken wings to swoop down on the unguarded, weeping maiden.
Shandril cried uncontrollably, body shaking.
Mirt roared out as he ran for her. The Old Wolf finally reached her, shook her, and bellowed, "Shan!
Shan! We need yer spellfire, now!"
Shandril stared up through a rain of tears that would not stop falling, and saw the gargoyle veer off for another pass.
Mirt shook her roughly. "No time, lass! We've-"
A spell raked them from the rocks above, bolts of crackling lightning that made Mirt grunt and bite his lip as they jolted him. Shuddering, his hand reached out and tightly grasped the haft of Delg's axe.
Shandril was oblivious, her face buried in the old dwarf's sweat-soaked leathers. She wept silently.
"Gods aid me now!" Mirt cursed. He hurled the sobbing girl away and spun around.
Just in time. A Zhentilar blade was already cutting the air toward his neck. Mirt raised his left hand.
Delg's notched axe in it, and blocked the attacking sword. The impact shook both men, and the old merchant's own curving long saber was in the mans throat and out again while they were both still shaking.
Another Zhent was hurrying at Mirt. The warrior held his blade low and deadly as he charged in, but was still steps away when flame rained down from above, cooking him and sending the old merchant staggering back, eyebrows smoldering.
Thank Tymora and Mystra both for that carelessly hurled spell, the Old Wolf thought, wondering just how many Zhent wizards were waiting in the darkness up there. He'd led his friends right into a waiting trap this time… all because he'd been foolish enough to think the wizards wouldn't know about the gate here. He quickly retreated to Shandril, glancing back to make sure no new dangers threatened. Only then did he discover where that last gargoyle had gotten to.
There! High above in the night, the dark form of the gargoyle flapped in a tight turn, head leering down, preparing to dive…
"Shandril!" Mirt growled, backhanding the weeping maid. "Aid me!"
The sobs broke off just as the gargoyle plummeted out ad the night. With a curse, Mirt cast Delg's axe at it and grabbed the magical dagger at his belt. Another Zhentilar warrior was trotting out of the darkness, shield and sword saved. the Old Wolf knew he couldn't escape their blades forever.
Then the air beside him exploded with a roar. Mirt cried turning his head away from the bright flash.
He didn't the gargoyle burst