Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [96]
The robed man smashed into the iron lanterns and tripod poles with a solid crash, winding himself and recoiling into a gasping stagger. Narm kicked the man's legs out from under him, and Norlaund slammed facedown onto the floorboards, bouncing dazedly nose-to-nose with Shandril, who was crouching under several cloaks close enough for him to touch.
Narm didn't give the man a chance to lay a finger on Shandril. He put his boot as hard as he could into the man's face, snapping the carver's head back and spattering blood in all directions from a shattered nose, and grabbed hold of the man's belt and tried to heave him away.
Aumlar was too heavy, and Narm overbalanced and crashed down on top of him, rolling over in time to see what was making Shandril gasp, "Oh, gods, I don't like the look of that!"
An advancing whirlwind of teeth and talons was spinning around and around in a towering, emeraldgreen cloud, shredding the bodies of dead men as it came. It was heading right toward their wagon!
The wizard thrust himself upward, spitting curses and tumbling Narm into some coffers. "Little bastard mageling!" he hissed, eyes blazing. "You're going to die!" His hands stabbed down at his belt.
Where Narm could see at least two wands. He snatched up a shattered lantern and hurled it into the wizard's face.
The mage stumbled back, slipping on the clutter underfoot, and Narm launched himself forward.
Shandril came boiling up out from under her cloaks, forcing Aumlar to turn to face her, his hand rising with a wand in it. Narm smashed into him, driving him back into the tripod poles with a clattering crash.
The impact sent fire through Aumlar's elbow, and he almost dropped the wand. Snarling, he snatched it with his other hand and whirled to fire it right into Narm's face – Just as Narm's boot, driven with all the force the young mage could put behind it, slammed into Aumlar's crotch. The two men fell heavily onto shifting coffers and the last of the tripod poles, the Zhentarim emitting a scream that was really more of a strangled chirp of pain. Narm snatched a wand from the wizard's belt, tossed it to Shandril, and grabbed with both hands at the one the finecarver was holding.
Aumlar held on grimly, so Narm punched him in the throat. As the wizard convulsed, he ended up with the second wand. The keening of the whirlwind was very close now, and Narm took it to Shandril rather than daring to throw it.
His lady thanked him with a look, her hair whipping around her and her face as white as bone. The first wand he'd given her was already glowing in her grasp, tiny flames racing around it and up her arm to her shoulder, and she faced the spell of spiraling fangs and started to drain the second wand, snapping, "Narm! Get back! Behind me!"
"No!" he shouted back in sudden anger, as the gale rose around them. "You can't always be doing this alone! I'm your man – I stand with you!"
Why by all the gods were people always attacking them? Why couldn't folk just leave them alone?
"Narm, no!" Shandril cried. "I need you out of the way!"
Narm obeyed with a growl, wading and clambering through heaped coffers until he stood just behind her. The whirlwind was already shredding the front boards of the wagon with a shriek and moving hungrily nearer.
The finecarver lay still in the wreckage in front of Shandril, as she stood facing the whirlwind. From somewhere a crossbow bolt came racing at her – only to be caught in the spell-winds and whirled up into the sky.
Narm wondered desperately what magic he could use to help her, knowing the answer was "none at all." For lack of anything better to do, he drew his dagger, watching Shandril anxiously.
First one wand, and then the other crumbled into dust that fell away between her fingers into the air.
Shandril opened a mouth that had spellfire raging in it