Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [66]
Narm bent to help her up but was shouldered roughly aside by Beldimarr. Shandril coughed, got herself to where she could crawl on hands and knees, swiped a filthy tangle of hair out of her eyes – and froze.
The point of Beldimarr's knife was glittering under her nose.
"What have you done to him, wench?" he growled menacingly.
Shandril slapped the dagger aside in exasperation and embraced the wounded Harper in an awkward hug. Beldimarr hissed with pain as one of her hands brushed the quarrel in his arm, and fell over on his side, with Shandril atop him.
"You don't make it easy, you great hairy hulks," she said, wincing, as spellfire flared again along her back and behind and legs.
"She's killing him!" a guard roared, his blade flashing out with frightening speed. Narm threw himself into the man and sent him stumbling aside before that steel could find Shandril's flesh. They were still staggering and grappling together when a faint, rasping voice made the guard freeze and brought silence to the ring of watching men once more.
"Gods be praised for sending you, lass," Arauntar said hoarsely, sitting up slowly and feeling his ribs.
He flexed his fingers in wonder and touched himself here and there where warbolts had driven into him and were now gone.
Shaking his head, he looked up at the ring of intent faces and said, "I ache, all over, as if I've been beaten. My fingers feel… burned. The rest of me – fine. Whole, all my wounds gone." He sprang up suddenly, and great shreds of scorched armor fell away from him, crumbling into ash and tiny smokes.
Standing half-naked in the ring of guards, Arauntar threw out his hands – causing most of the rest of his armor to fall away – and laughed. "I'm healed!
Healed!"
"A miracle!" one of the guards gasped, and suddenly everyone was silent again, staring at Beldimarr and the naked lass squirming atop him, her limbs almost hidden from view in bright, rising flames.
Orthil Voldovan gave Narm a look of new respect, and muttered, "And ye sleep with that? Yer skin must be nigh stone!"
Narm was too busy rubbing his bruises and giving the guard he'd tussled with pats of silent, mutual thanks and apologies to do more than grin.
Again spellfire flared blinding-bright, the crossbow quarrels blazed up into nothingness, and a man roared in pain. This one, however, wasn't as sorely wounded as Arauntar had been, and lay beneath the searing healer and so was able to involuntarily thrust Shandril up and away, as a parent holds a child aloft.
She stared down at him, hair stirring around her as if it, too, was made of flame. Sparks leaked from her eyes, and tiny tongues of flame gouted from her mouth as she looked down at him and gasped,
"Beldimarr, don't you want to be healed?"
"Gods, yes, lass, but it hurts!"
"Oh, you've noticed," she replied weakly, causing Arauntar to chuckle. "Let me down, Bel," she pleaded, "and hurry. I can't – I can't – "
The light in her eyes fled, and she went limp. Hastily Beldimarr clasped her tightly to him, embracing her tightly as spellfire flared one last time around them … and died away.
Beldimarr grunted in amazement and cradled the nude woman in his arms as carefully as he might hold a precious thing made of glass as he slowly got himself to a sitting position.
Narm knelt to help, biting his lip. Shan was asleep or senseless, her head lolling limply. He looked up and around at Voldovan and all of his guards and said almost pleadingly,
"You see, I hope, that this isn't something endless, or easy. Don't all get wounded unto death and