Darkwell - Douglas Niles [146]
"Women do not belong in battle!" she quoted, slaying another sahuagin.
"Perhaps I was wrong." He lopped the legs from a bloated undead ogre.
"Northmen women, perhaps!" She gasped and slashed. "But I am a daughter of the Ffolk!"
"A fact I will never again forget," he conceded, and then the clash of battle drowned out their voices.
* * * * *
The thunderous smash of god's fist against man's artifact again wracked the clearing, but this time Tristan stumbled to one knee. His lungs strained for air as the fight steadily sapped his strength. Once again his blow had made a deep cut into the flesh of Bhaal's giant hand, but once again he watched the flesh close over the wound. In seconds, there was no sign the god had even suffered injury.
Tavish's song echoed across the field, and the king silently praised the courageous bard for regaining control after the first horrifying emergence of the god. The music flowed like fresh blood into his heart and through his limbs, but still the oppressive weight of the battle threatened to doom him.
Robyn suddenly appeared at his side, holding her scimitar awkwardly. She hacked at the god's great foot, bravely ignoring the looming crunch of Bhaal's blow. Only Tristan's lightning grab pulled her out from beneath the crushing fist.
"Go back!" he gasped. "This is my fight!"
"No! I have to -" Once again the god struck, this time kicking savagely at the woman. Tristan pushed her aside, absorbing the brunt of the blow against his ribs. He staggered to the side and landed with a low grunt.
"Now, go!" he groaned, springing to his feet as Bhaal lumbered forward. "You don't stand a chance against him! Without my sword, I wouldn't either,"
Robyn saw the Sword of Cymrych Hugh seem to lift the king through an acrobatic leap to strike a deep gash in the god's shin. She sprang backward, biting back her frustration as she realized that Tristan spoke the truth. But what could she do?
Tristan faced another attack, barely managing to dodge aside. His evasion cost him his balance, and once again he sprawled facedown in the mud. How long can I hold out? he wondered, forcing himself back to his feet.
As if in answer, Bhaal suddenly reached down and seized the statue of a druid. He twisted his mighty hands, and the white stone cracked into several pieces. Raising his hand, he hurled the head at Tristan.
Only the king's instant reaction saved him as he flicked the sword upward and deflected the missile. Next the god threw the torso, and this time the weight of the stone smashed him backward to sprawl on the ground.
Bhaal loomed over him, bringing a great foot forward to crush the life from his helpless victim, but suddenly a figure appeared beside Tristan. Her golden hair flashed with a brilliance like her silver blade as Brigit stepped in to slice at the swinging foot.
The god bellowed his rage as Tristan squirmed out of the way. Bhaal swung his huge hand toward the sister knight before Brigit recovered her guard. The crushing force of the blow knocked the warrior a dozen paces and left Brigit lying twisted and motionless in the thick mud on the shore of the Darkwell.
Tristan scrambled to his feet once more as Bhaal picked up another statue, and then a third, breaking them into pieces and hurling the fragments at the desperately twisting king. Tristan darted to the left, rolled to the right, leaped and ducked to avoid each missile. Somehow he succeeded, though the chunks of stone shattered against the ground or cut deep furrows in the sod all around him. He felt the earth itself shake under each impact.
Snarling, Canthus leaped at the giant feet of the god, but his fangs could do nothing to harm, or even distract, the monstrous opponent. Still he savaged the skin and ripped the flesh of the godly foe. Bhaal kicked at the dog and he sprang away. Then, as the giant turned his attention back to Tristan, the moorhound sprang once again and sank his fangs into Bhaal's flesh.
Tristan began to stagger with fatigue, the strain of his desperate evasion tactics threatening to drag