Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [7]
A gray shadow, swift and silent, hit the man, and both went down. Amira stared dumbfounded. A wolf had taken the Nar's sword arm in its jaws. The wolf shook its head, rending and tearing flesh, its growling so low that Amira felt it in her gut more than she heard it.
The Nar screamed and dropped his sword. His free hand fumbled for the long knife belted at his waist.
Walloch charged, heading straight for the wolf with his sword held high.
"Mingan!" called a voice. "Mingan, ikwe! Ikwe!"
The wolf released the Nar, turned, and fled into the safety of the woods.
The tall man stood at the top of the gully, drawn bow in hand, the burning tree a great bonfire at his back. Amira had to squint against the bright light, but she could just make out the pale elf coming from behind the cover of the brush a few paces behind the bowman.
"Kill that bukhla!" Walloch pointed at Amira while facing the two assailants. "I'll finish these two!"
The Nar's sword arm was a mangled wreck, and a steady stream of blood dripped from the tips of his fingers, but his other hand held his knife steady. Three steps forward and he swiped at Amira, aiming high for her throat. Still on her knees and bound as she was, Amira's balance was limited. She fell back, and the tip of the Nar's knife just kissed the tip of her nose. She followed through with her fall, rolling, and brought both feet around. Hard as she could, she brought both heels up into the fork of the Nar's legs. He cried out, his eyes squeezed shut-
An arrow struck him in the side of the neck. It went all the way through, one side all pale wood and black feathers, the other a solid wetness that gleamed black. The man fell on his back, and he began to buck and kick and pound the earth with his fists. Amira could hear him trying to scream, but it came out a bubbling gurgle, then a cough that sprayed a fine mist of blood over his torso.
Amira forced herself to look away. Her head swam, and for a moment all went dark, but she took a deep breath, and the bright glow of the dying tree returned. No more than five paces away, Walloch stood, his sword pointing at the newcomers-the bowman still standing against the light as he reached for another arrow; the elf passing him and descending the slope-while Walloch's other hand clutched at something hanging round his neck. Over the roar of the flames and the thrashings of the dying men. Amira could hear the slaver muttering an incantation.
The bowman drew feather to cheek and loosed-Walloch screamed, "Thranek thritis!"-the arrow fell, straight and true, but the slaver didn't move, didn't even flinch. The point struck Walloch in the forehead, she heard a sharp clack! like the snapping of bone, and the arrow bounced away.
Walloch laughed. "My turn-Silo'at!"
Frost swirled out from the slaver's sword. The pale elf had to dive and roll to avoid being struck. Another arrow bounced harmlessly off Walloch.
Amira gripped the dagger and pushed herself to her feet. Agony exploded in her head; she could feel tendrils of pain running down her spine and into her limbs. Darkness threatened to crush her again, but she breathed deep and pushed it back. She knew the spell the slaver was using. The bowman could loose his entire quiver to no effect, but the magic would do little against her steel if she could get close enough.
"Silo'at!"
Amira looked up to see the elf diving out of harm's way again. Walloch's spells were pushing him away. The tall man had dropped the bow and was holding something long in one hand-with the fire so bright behind him, Amira couldn't tell if it was sword or club.
"Let's try something else, eh?" said Walloch. He wove his free hand in an intricate pattern, then swept his sword at his feet, almost as if he were slicing underbrush. "Sobirith remma!"
Flame roared to life before the slaver and spread to each