Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [18]
As they ran through the darkness, swearing and ringing their weapons off the unseen stone in their haste, Sargeth added, "Brerest! Eladar! Try to get clear of the fight here and go after those who're running back to the wizards-you're the fastest afoot of all here old enough to swing a real blade. I need those armsmen all dead-or we will be."
"Aye," Elminster and Brerest panted, and went through the mouth of Wind Cavern in a roll. The quarrel that sought their lives hissed past and struck the rock within easy reach of Sargeth's head. The second one missed entirely-but Elminster came to a stop behind a snow-cloaked boulder in time to see the third take Sargeth in the eye, and drive him back like a crumpled bag of bones, to slide down the rock wall, twitching.
Elminster laid his drawn dagger beside him in the snow, snatched up the old, mended crossbow that had fallen from Sargeth's hands, and cranked at it for all he was worth. The windlass clattered loudly, but outlaws were rushing past and firing their own bows now, and shouts told him that some of their bolts were finding their marks.
Loaded at last. "Tempus aid my aim," Elminster murmured, scratching his finger on his dagger tip until blood came to seal the prayer to the war god. Then he laid the ready bow down, whipped off the helm he wore, and waved it on one side of the boulder.
A quarrel hissed past. Elminster scooped up the bow and was around the boulder in an instant. As he'd expected, the armsman was standing to watch his target die-so Elminster had a clear shot at his face, past a knot of howling, hacking outlaws and coolly slaying armsmen.
El aimed carefully-and missed. Cursing, he leapt back-but Brerest came past him with a loaded crossbow of his own, set himself, and fired carefully.
The armsman had started to turn away, seeking cover. His face sprouted a quarrel, his head spun around, and he staggered back and fell.
Elminster threw down his bow, snatched up his dagger, and sprinted through the snow, dodging desperately fighting men. He was still a few hard-running paces short of the first rock large enough to shelter behind when an armsman rose from behind the second rock, ready crossbow in hand, to aim into the fray in front of the cavern. Seeing Elminster, he swung his weapon around hurriedly. There was no way he could miss.
Elminster skidded to a desperate stop, then changed direction and dived into the nearest snowbank. He landed hard in a flurry of snow, slid across unseen smooth rock, and flipped over, expecting to feel the thump of death striking home at any moment.
It didn't come. El wiped snow from his face and looked up.
Brerest or one of the other outlaws had been lucky. The armsman was curled over the top of his rock, barehanded and groaning, a shaft through his shoulder.
"Thankee, Tempus," Elminster said with feeling, took two running steps, and flung himself right over the top of the first boulder, heels first, to crash down on whomever might be there.
The armsman was on his knees, struggling with a jammed windlass; Elminster's landing smashed him to the ground like a rag doll, and El dragged his dagger across the man's throat a breath later. "For Elthryn, prince of Athalantar!" he whispered, and found himself blinking back sudden tears as his father's face came to mind.
Not now, he told himself desperately, and ran on toward the next boulder. The wounded man saw him and struggled to get aside, groaning. Elminster drove his dagger home and snarled, "For Amrythale, his princess!" Then he ducked down, scooped up the man's loaded bow from where it had fallen-and looked up in time to fire it into another armsman, who had just risen from cover with a spear in his hand. Ahead, another armsman took an outlaw quarrel in the hand, screamed, and fell back behind his rock, sobbing.
The clash of arms back by the cavern had ceased. El risked a look back and saw only dead men. They lay in bloody heaps in front of the cavern… and just a few paces away