Death of the Dragon - Ed Greenwood [140]
" 'Ware, lad," Lareth Gulur shouted through the din of steel all around them. "Hold your place… 'tis hard to fell goblins when you're wallowing about on the…"
His next words, whatever they may have been, were lost in a little scream as one goblin ran right onto his blade, a second thrust a blade deep into his crotch, and a third bounded up to slash his face.
The Purple Dragon spun around, clawing at the air for support, and crashed down on his face. Ilberd didn't even have time to gape. It was all so sudden. Sudden, and final.
And the realm said the Steel Princess did this every day-had done this every day, for years. Gods, but she must have been frightening to stand near!
"Back, boy, if you don't know how to use that!" Hathian Talar roared, shouldering him aside and slaying a trio of goblins with a deft fore-and-back cut. He tripped over Gulur's arm, saw who it was, and cursed like a fiend, then he snatched up his fallen friend's blade, shook the dead goblin off it, and charged down the hill with both blades flashing in his hands like bolts of lightning. Goblins fell in droves around Talar, as he stood alone in their midst roaring like a walrus. Tears were streaming down his face and he was shouting curses so fast the words were tripping over each other to get out of his mouth.
Ilberd Crownsilver gaped at him in utter astonishment-and was still staring like a statue when hurled goblin maces battered Talar down, and a snarling swarm of goblins surged over him, hacking and stabbing.
The young Crownsilver flung down his sword and fled blindly up the hill, weeping. He had to get away from this, had to get anywhere. He had to be where men weren't shrieking and dying, their lives spent in an-
Fingers of iron caught hold of his shoulder and shook him until his teeth rattled. The hands spun him around, setting him so firmly on the ground that both Crownsilver heels were bruised right through his boots.
"We don't need the rear guarded quite yet, lad," Battlemaster Ilnbright growled. "We're in rather more pressing need of our line on this end of the ridge not collapsing completely. Just stand in this gap here and kill goblins, hey? It's not that hard, you just need a bit of practice!"
A sword was slapped into Ilberd's hands with numbing force, then the mountainous commander was off down the line again, racing in to stand beside a faltering, bleeding lionar to hack down half a dozen goblins before the wave fell back down the hill, shrieking their rage as they went.
Ilberd swallowed, then his stomach heaved, and he tried to be sick again, though he'd nothing left to empty from it. When he could stand upright once more, he looked up at the crest of the hill and his jaw dropped.
King Azoun had lost his helm in the fray and was bleeding from one ear. A second slash across his cheek was already drying into a dark line. He was holding up a staggering giant of a man-the bannerguard, Kolmin Stagblade.
Kolmin took two faltering steps, looked up at the darkening sky, then crashed over onto his side with a landing that shook the dirt under Ilberd's boots. The man lay still. Azoun bent to him, then straightened, looking grim. The flies were already swarming.
A sudden coldness settled over Ilberd Crownsilver's chest. It was at that moment that he abandoned all thought of a triumphant entry into the family halls and decided that he'd never see them again. He wasn't going to leave this field alive.
The clouds were covering the sky now, blotting the sun from view, and in the sudden gloom Ilberd saw Battlemaster Ilnbright striding up to the king. Wisps of white hair blew in the breeze on both their heads, and Ilberd suddenly realized how old these men were. They'd stood on fields like this one forty years ago, and more.
And they were still alive.
He was grinning at that, heart suddenly lighter, when his thoughts fell upon a new idea. Just how many other eager young men had stood with them then who weren't alive to stand there now?
* * * * *
It was three