Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [36]
A bolt from right in front of them came leaping out of the night. Itharr twisted desperately aside. The missile drew a line of red fire across his chest and shoulder, and was gone. Itharr snarled out his pain as he raced on. More quarrels sought his life, whirring past like angry wasps. He heard them clattering on rocks off to his left, and shot a glance that way. A mountain rose up beside them, and then he was following Belkram along its base, sprinting into the concealing trees.
A short scream ahead told him Belkram had opened a way through at least one defender. Itharr ran faster. To think he'd once dreamed of glorious adventures as a Harper, dreams that involved (between parties with beauteous women) charging castles single-handed! Dreams where no arrows ever struck hi-
Itharr grunted as a crossbow bolt struck him in the shoulder, picking him off his feet and hurling him a pace or two toward the rocks with the force of its flight.
He landed hard on his good arm, sprang up-spit on the pain; his life depended on getting up!-and ran on, hoping he'd not drop his sword from the hand he could no longer feel.
* * * * *
"After them!" Nordryn snarled. At the Sword's dubious look he almost shrieked his next words, so great was his fury. "Get them! They can't use any magic. I've cloaked them with a spell of my own! Go on!"
Around him, Wolves drew blades, but they looked to the Sword for orders, not him. The Sword looked at him again, long and coldly, then nodded his head at the fleeing men.
With a shout and a breath of creaking leather and flashing steel, the Wolves boiled up out of the trees and were gone.
Nordryn looked at the Sword, eyes hot. "I'll remember this," he spat.
The veteran swordsman looked back at him steadily, his eyes the same hue as the raised tip of his drawn sword. "See that you do," he replied softly.
* * * * *
"Where are we, d'you think?" Itharr panted as they raced along.
Belkram turned at the sound of his friend's voice. "Are you hurt?" He reached out a hand, swinging his fellow Harper around sharply.
The bolt protruding from Itharr's shoulder struck a nearby branch; he made a choked sound and stumbled back. Belkram's searching hands caught him, located the bolt, and felt the shoulder it was buried in.
Itharr tried to cough and whimper at the same time, and failed. He settled for making another little choking noise and fell down.
Belkram sighed, laid down his blade, and tore out the bolt in one swift, hard jerk. Itharr shook once under his hands and lay still.
The taller Harper thought for a moment, then rose from his wounded friend and ran lightly back the way they'd come, melting into the cloaking gloom of a tree as a warrior trotted cautiously forward, glancing around in the dim night.
The woods were full of armed Wolves cautiously advancing in the darkness. The lives of two very outnumbered Harpers now depended on stealth and silence, so Belkram reached out with a long arm, slapped the man across the mouth from behind, and jerked hard. The man's head twisted sharply, and Belkram put all his strength into pulling. There was a brief crunching noise… and the man became limp and very heavy.
Belkram staggered, lowering the warrior as quietly as possible. A sudden crackling disturbance and a triumphant yell erupted nearby. Steel rang, men cursed, and there was a groan of pain.
"You fool," someone said weakly. "Can't you tell-?" The words ended in a gasp, followed by the heavy crash of a man falling heavily and helplessly through dead-wood and living tanglethorns.
Belkram slipped