Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [99]
In grim silence she leapt down among them, and started to slay. One fell, and then another. A third slipped, and she was past him to run her blade through a foolish one without armor. He clutched himself and collapsed with a horrible groan, and she was on to the next one. Was she killing with her eyes? Men fell wherever she looked, and the passage was warm with the smell of their blood and fear.
A fresh group of Wolves came running up the passage. She turned to them with a savage smile. The shortest warrior started the screaming as he tried to turn around and found his fellows in the way.
Then they were all screaming. Sharantyr had never thought she'd enjoy such a sound.
The men were fleeing from her. Behind them, bloody and bedraggled men were coming out into the passage, well-used weapons in their hands. Dalesmen!
She snatched a glance back over her shoulder. Wolves were fleeing in that direction too, falling back to join a guard of armored men in front of a set of closed double doors. In their midst was a dark-haired man in full armor who stood a head taller than the rest. "Hold fast," he said with cold authority. "They cannot pass us."
Sharantyr gave him a sneer and turned to join the dalesmen in their slaughter. She snuck a glance back, but the man had refused to be drawn out of the guard. He stood coldly waiting as they butchered the few milling Wolves in the passage.
The lady ranger embraced the two men in leathers she'd seen fight so well in the marketplace and said, "Sharantyr. Knight of Myth Drannor."
They bowed. "Itharr and Belkram of the Harpers, with true men of the dale."
They exchanged grins, and one of the old men lumbered forward. "Give us a hug, lass. Then, live or die, I'll do it happily."
Sharantyr shed a few tears as she put blood-spattered arms around him.
Then they all turned, in sudden silence, to face the Wolves at the door.
"Lay down your arms," the tall man said flatly, "or we'll kill you, as painfully as we know how." He looked at them with cold confidence and added, "Consider this: We are warriors of Zhentil Keep. We know much of killing."
"You certainly know much about dying, after this day," Itharr told him, "if this is all of you there are left."
"Save your brave words for pleading," the tall man told him contemptuously, "and we may let you live."
"My thanks to you," Sharantyr told him with biting sarcasm. 'Tour generous pacifism overwhelms me. 'Tis so sudden and heartfelt."
The tall man lifted his head, pointing his chin at her. "Bring me that one alive," he told the Wolves around him. "I have… plans for her."
"Aye, Right Axe," several voices murmured in reply. Beside Belkram, Gedaern nodded suddenly. "Ah. This one's Heladar's Right Axe-his trusty, like, and probably their commander, now. A merchant told me, a few months back, that he's known for cruelty and butchering women and younglings when he gets a chance. Sunthrun Blackshoulder's his name."
The tall man laughed shortly. "Your merchant friend was right."
Belkram saluted him with raised sword. "Then it will be a pleasure killing you, Sunthrun Blackshoulder."
The tall man sneered. "A pleasure you'll never live to see." He drew a blade as long as the shortest dalesman there was tall. Its blade was dull black and menacingly evil.
Belkram smiled tightly and looked around at Itharr, the dalesmen, and Sharantyr. He collected nods from them all and jerked his head forward. Calmly, unhurrying, they strode down the passage to where the Wolves waited.
Itharr struck first. His blade met that of one Wolf and thrust it sideways toward another. That man moved to avoid catching two battling blades in the face, and the Wolf on the other side of Itharr moved to take advantage of a chance to strike at the Harper's unprotected side. This opened a gap in the line, and Sharantyr leapt through it to lunge at the Right Axe himself.
The tall man smiled coldly, parrying with such force that her numbed fingers tingled. Somehow she held on to her sword, but now the men on either side