Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [73]
Drego smiled. “Certainly.”
“If I may …” Thorn produced two small, round stones from a pocket in her cloak. “These might help.”
Daine nodded and took one of the stones. “Good. Move out. Throw in fifteen.”
The group split up. Drego and Thorn turned around, moving back the way they’d come. Drego flexed his fingers, and silver fire flickered in the darkness. They could see the mouth of the tunnel, but there was still no sign of the enemies lying in wait.
Fourteen.
Fifteen.
Thorn hurled the stone at the mouth of the tunnel.
When the stone struck the ground, a mighty boom rolled down the passageway, echoed by the thunderclap caused by Daine’s stone at the other end of the tunnel. Even at a distance, the sound caused Drego to clutch at his head. Their unknown enemies were at the center of the blast, and the sound should leave them dazed and deafened, crippling their ability to coordinate with one another. Now came the question: would the strangers flee or press the attack?
The answer came soon enough. The strangers might not be able to hear, but they still howled in rage as they rushed into the tunnel. After the suspense of the ambush, the reality was a disappointment. Thorn was half-expecting angelic minions, beings wielding swords of flame or terrifying magic. Instead, the people charging them were men and women, humans and dwarves and a few halflings, with matted hair and filthy skin, dressed in bloodstained rags and armed with chunks of rock and simple clubs. Far from being fearsome warriors, the attackers were sickly and emaciated. Thorn could see ribs beneath the skin of the man in the lead.
This ragged pack didn’t seem like much of a threat, but Drego wasn’t taking any chances. Twin rays of argent fire lit the tunnel. One struck the leader in the chest, and the smell of scorched flesh filled the air. The second bolt struck the woman at his side, catching her full in the face. It was a horrific sight, as skin and hair were burnt away by the blast. Even a strong man would have surely collapsed in shock, yet the strangers didn’t even pause in their charge.
Thorn leaped forward, interposing herself between the strangers and Drego. The scorched man lashed out at her with the chunk of stone. Thorn easily deflected the wild swing, slamming her armored forearm against his wrist, but she was surprised by his strength and speed. There was motion to her right, and she turned to parry the blow, only to find herself eye to eye with the maimed woman, whose hair formed a burning wreath around her ruined face.
For a moment, pure revulsion overcame all rational thought, and in that instant the woman struck. Her club was bare wood, a spar from a fallen roof, but she was just as strong as her companion. The club snapped against Thorn’s left arm, and the bone snapped with it. Thorn screamed. Once again, the crystal shards came to her aid. Ever since the stones had lodged in her back, they’d been a constant source of agony, and she’d had to learn to work around the pain. Now she pushed the torment away, driving it into her cry, letting her scream become the pain, flowing away from her.
Steel was in her right hand, and Thorn focused her thoughts on the dagger. The feel of the hilt in her hand. The reflexive motion of the thrust, as much a part of her as a yawn or a laugh. She was still screaming as Steel’s point pierced the woman’s throat. Thorn jerked the blade to the side, slashing through flesh.
But the stranger would not fall.
Blood poured down her chest, and her face was a scorched ruin, but she remained on her feet. Before Thorn could back away, the woman grabbed her broken arm. The pain was excruciating, and Thorn almost dropped Steel. Marshalling her strength, Thorn slashed at the woman’s arm. She felt Steel slice through muscle, and her opponent released her.
Unfortunately, the burned woman wasn’t alone. Thorn sensed the motion behind