Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [66]
Cold eyes met angry ones. The crowd came to a slow, milling halt just beyond the sharp, steady-held lance points. The sun beat down on them all.
The leader of the Wolves with the lances was Kalam Bloodsword, a veteran of Zhentil Keep's armies. He looked coldly at the angry dalefolk and kept all fear from his flat, commanding voice.
"Mulmar, go back to your work at the mill or perish, in the name of Longspear, lord in this place. Go back now, and take these old men with you, or we shall slay you all before highsun."
Silence was his answer. No one moved. Kalam glared at them all, looking slowly from left to right, at old men with fire in their eyes, a young maid- Mulmar's brat?-and the man in chains, who looked back at the Wolf with death in his eyes.
Kalam cleared his throat. "You'll all miss your meals, and your loved ones will wait for you in vain-forever. Think on this and go back to your homes."
Still, no one moved. Kalam blazed a silent curse at this Mulmar for somehow getting free of the wizards' spells, and added another at the mages. For all their arrogance, wizards were flighty, careless fools one could never rely on save to send one speedily to the grave.
"Go now, all of you," he said, keeping his voice level. "Or we shall put Irreph Mulmar to the death, here and now. The stain of his blood will be on all of your hearts." "Stand with me," Irreph said almost gently. "Stand fast, folk of the dale."
They stood. Long moments dragged past. Kalam made another silent curse, added a prayer to Tempus, and motioned his line of men forward.
They pushed forward to take Mulmar. Practiced old hands struck aside lance points and ducked under the long shafts. Mulmar raised his chains to his shoulder, ready to flail. The Wolves, trained not to let foes who might have knives get in under wielded polearms, halted and stepped back.
"Stand back!" Kalam roared. "Any who bar our way will hang as outlaws! Back!"
He drew his sword and strode forward. Old men with eyes and faces like cold stone stepped into his path, weapons raised. Kalam whipped his blade back and forth like a man threshing grain. It clanged against old axes and short swords and pitchforks until sparks flew and the numbed hands of their wielders wavered. Some fell back.
Kalam, too, stepped back and glared across the small open space he'd created. "Get back, and go to your homes!" he ordered sternly. "I want no blood shed this day. What gain will you see, if you lie dead here in the marketplace before highsun?" He looked around at cold and silent faces. "Go back!"
No one moved. Deliberately Kalam sheathed his sword, stepped back into the line, and took up a lance.
"Lances down!" he ordered, and the line of sharp points was leveled again. Glittering death took a step forward. And then another.
A stone fell by Kalam's feet as if from the empty sky. The leader of the Wolves glared at the mob angrily. "Who threw that?"
Another stone sprang past his eyes and rattled down a shield behind him. Kalam Bloodsword aimed his lance in the direction from which the stone had come and charged forward with a yell. The line of Wolves followed.
The lance tore through a shoulder, forced a second man to leap aside, and stuck solidly into a wooden shield that was as gray with age as the bearded man who held it. The old man staggered under the impact but gathered his feet under him defiantly and set himself against Kalam's shoving.
Kalam snarled and gained a step. Then another. A man with red hair joined the graybeard, then, and the lance went no farther.
"Make way!" Kalam spat. The red-haired man met his eyes steadily and shoved… and it was the leader of