Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [8]
Anyone who could toy with him-and with Itharr, who was as good as himself or better-as this lady was doing, and spare thought and breath enough to hum a tune, could be the death of him whenever she desired. Belkram had seen many quick swords in the years since he'd joined the Harpers, but never the equal of Storm Silverhand. He was old enough to realize the gift she was giving them: A chance to strive against one much better with a blade and have time enough in the fray to try all they knew against her. To feel, face, and master their fear rather than being paralyzed with terror and, an instant later, sinking into eternal red-edged darkness.
Belkram matched Storm's smile as he remembered a crossing attack he'd seen in a sea fight long ago. He arched to his left, parrying Storm's blade with a series of short, binding, feathering strokes of his own blade. His own side was exposed now, but Itharr should be attacking from that side, protecting it.
Then, not for the first time in that clash of steel, Storm was gone. Ducking smoothly to one knee, dropping below Belkram's parries, she spun back to face Itharr, tossing her sword to her left hand and raising it to parry his descending blade. In the same motion, her now-empty right hand grabbed Belkram's ankle and jerked.
The ranger hopped, trying to twist his foot loose, and fell helplessly. Storm straightened and put her shoulders into two furious strokes that drove Itharr-a burly man a hand shorter but at least six trade-blocks heavier than she, with arms and wrists twice as thick-back across the clearing. With a twist of her blade she disarmed him, sending his blade singing off into the trees.
Belkram chuckled ruefully as he rolled to his feet and brought his own blade up barely in time to turn aside her sword point, inches away from his cheek. He dodged and twisted, his moves slowed and blunted by growing weariness. In an attempt to win past her blade, he tried a circular cut that extended into a lunge.
In the midst of the ring and skirl of their blades, Storm's face suddenly twisted. She stiffened as a blue-white glow surrounded her hair. Belkram didn't even have time to gape in astonishment as his blade slid into her breast.
It went into the leather-clad swell of her bosom just as easily as a hot knife into butter, as they say-a good three inches or more before he could stop. Beside him, Belkram heard Itharr gasp, but Storm made no sound. Her eyes had closed, and her mouth was parted in pain.
"Gods, you've killed her!" and "Oh, Lady! Forgive-" rang out together as Storm swayed, clutched the steel that stood out from her breast with both hands, and opened her eyes at last.
"My apologies, both of you," she said in a low voice. "Something… linked to me… took hold for a moment. No blame to you, Belkram."
Storm smiled at them, but the two Harpers were staring at her as if she had suddenly become a ghost or a dragon. Her eyes were two dancing flames of blue-white fire, and more flames crackled in her mouth as she spoke. Her hands moved down Belkram's blade, and in their wake blue-white fire danced along the steel. The ranger, who still held his sword, felt a tingling in his hand. The tingling grew to a painful burning. Without thought he let go of his blade.
Slowly Storm drew the steel out of herself, the blade blazing with cold, silent, blue-white fire from end to end. She laid a hand on her breast, and flames licked between her fingers. Then she smiled and glided forward to hand the blade hilt-first to Belkram. She did not move as if she were hurt.
In wonderment Itharr asked, "Are you all right, Lady?" Storm nodded. "I am." The fire in her eyes was dying down, and she looked almost herself again.
Belkram felt the eerie tingling spread up his arm from the blade and said quietly, "Lady,