Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [97]
The Wolf drove one to the floor with his first blow. His second hacking swing struck sparks from their weapons with its fury. A dalesman screamed as his wrist snapped under the impact and his old sword flew from it to clang along the flagstones. Then Belkram leapt in from one side, tackling the Wolf waist-high.
They went to the floor together, but frantic axe work forced the Harper to break free and roll away without delivering any real blow.
Itharr was getting up off the table, daggers dripping. The Wolf under it would never rise again.
There was a shout from the room beyond, and more Wolves rushed into the room. They were lightly armored, but there were six of them.
Itharr rushed to meet them, trying to keep them entangled in the doorway. "To me, men of the dale!" he called over his shoulder as he sheathed one dagger in his boot and drew his sword again. "To me!"
His blades met those of the foremost Wolves, hurling them back for an instant. Then he ducked low and lunged in a move Storm had used on him-ages ago, it seemed. A Wolf made a strangling sound as the blade burst up between his arms to slip into his throat.
Itharr let go of the blade in an instant, spinning to one side, and avoided the angry counterstrikes of the other Wolves. Then Gedaern of the dale was there, his old broadsword in hand, taking one Wolf's blade on his and darting out an old, hairy hand to clasp the man's other wrist and arrest the streaking dagger it held.
Itharr spun two Wolves around with a series of lashing blows, forcing them to parry, and then lunged at one. That Wolf crashed backward into the one Gedaern was facing. Both staggered, giving Gedaern an instant to slide his blade free of the Wolf's steel and slash the man across the face. The armsman screamed as blood began to flow, and dropped his sword to clutch at his head.
Itharr drove another Zhent back with a flurry of lunges, using weight and fury to drive the Wolf who'd run into Gedaern's foe back into him again. This time Itharr's Wolf fell. A breath later, Gedaern took down the man he'd blinded.
Behind them, Belkram was still circling the armored Wolf with the axe. The man's swings were slower and shrewder now. He was tiring and knew the speed of the man he faced. The Harper wore an eager half-smile as they danced and spun, remembering Storm, sweat glistening on her bare shoulders, as she'd fought her way coolly through Itharr's best blade work, and his own. There was a trick she'd used…
Belkram feinted a lunge. The great axe swept up to block it, then drew back a little for a return blow. Belkram flung himself forward in a jump, turned his blade sideways, and thrust it into the back of the man's arms, driving them and the axe upward.
Then the Harper dropped to the floor, kicking against the flagstones and surging forward into a roll against the Wolf's booted ankles.
The man toppled, hitting the floor with a metallic crash. An old dalesman sprang forward, almost weeping in rage, and chopped at the man's helm until it rang like a bell.
The blade glanced off again and again as Belkram found his feet and was forced to deal with a Wolf charging down almost on top of him.
When he could turn back again, the Harper saw the old dalesman clutching a broken sword-it had snapped against the helm-and cautiously lifting the Wolf's head. It lolled loosely; the helm had held, but the neck must have given way. The old man knelt beside the man he'd killed and started to cry, gnarled old hands trembling.
Belkram wheeled and charged back into the fray. From the room beyond, someone called, "Aid! They're in the castle! They've broken in!"
Another voice called back, "Keep them from the great hall, or the lord'll have our soft bits!" "What lord?" the first voice roared back. "Stormcloak," was the terse reply. The first voice snorted. "If it's him," it said, "let him use his magic to deal