Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [16]
Burlane had sheathed the Bright Spear's glowing blade while the others searched. He and Shandril bound Ferostil's shoulder with strips of cloth. Rymel and Thail arrI’ved back in haste with the horses, which had not strayed far.
Burlane pointed ahead and to the right. "We go this way," he said. "Quick and-at all costs-quiet.
They'll expect us to flee. Men so strong in numbers and so quick to slay will not expect us to pursue them." He strode forward.
"What?" Ferostil hissed angrily. "Slink away with nothing to show for it? There was coin on that mule, maybe on all of them! Wha-"
"Later," said Burlane again, almost mildly, but Ferostil flinched as if a sword had struck him. "I've no wish to let slip treasure, nor let pass those who draw our blood without so much as a greeting. Our skulker can trail them. We'll follow and strike when death is not such a close and certain answer" He smiled down at Shandril as they pressed on over the grass. "Ho, little skulker. A task for you… most dangerous. Will you?"
Faces turned to her, curious, waiting, as they walked.
Shandril flushed, then heeded the smile and ignored the danger warning to reply firmly, "Yes. Tell me what and how, and I will do it."
"Well said," Burlane said with a grim smile. "It is a simple thing, and yet it will be difficult in this mist.
Hide-belly down was Lynxal's usual way-and lie near where we fought. Not close to the bodies, mind-they'll check those. Keep close and quiet.
Follow us this way only if they haven’t come back before you get hungry. I think they'll be back soon, and expecting us.
"You follow them, without being seen. Come back to us if they camp or night falls, or they go where you cannot follow. We will try to keep near, but I can promise nothing in this mist. No fighting, mind-just eyes and ears. Understood?"
Shandril's nod brought another pain-twisted smile to his face. "Good, then, enough talk. Pass me your reins, and wait here. May Tymora and He Who Watches over the Shoulder of Thieves smile upon you." Burlane did not name the god Mask. To any who did not worship the patron of thieves, the utterance of the god's name brought ill luck.
Shandril shI’vered a little at the thought of what the evil god's aid might be, as she watched the company hasten on until the mist swallowed them all. Better to trust in Tymora, Lady Luck, capricious though her luck might be. Suddenly remembering Burlane's instructions, she sank to her knees in the wet grass, ignoring the pain remaining in her shoulder. The dew made the grass about her glisten silver-gray. Shandril slipped the tail of her cloak in front of her and lay down upon it to wait. The unseen sun was brightening the mist, revealing the ground a few paces around her. Wet grass tickled her nose.
Shandril peered intently all around. She had not quite yet escaped death today… and there would be no Elminster to magically rescue her this time, if the twenty warriors saw her, with their treasure and all.
She lay very still.
With heart-stopping suddenness, a warrior loomed out of the mist perhaps forty paces away. Another followed, and another, and they looked familiar to Shandril. The men whose names she did not even know were returning, free now of the mage's magic.
They came carefully in the wet grass, weapons ready, close together, not speaking.
Shandril tried to keep count. She did not want to creep out behind them only to find others behind her.
If she were caught, she thought with a sudden chill, a quick death might be a kind end. Adventure? Aye, adventure.
She tossed her head in silence and counted warriors.
Like creeping shadows, they passed in front of her-sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one. Now the mules passed, all loaded with chests and canvas sacks.
Shandril counted fifteen before the procession ended.
She waited for the space of two long breaths, fearing a rearguard.
Her caution was rewarded when six silent bladesmen stalked into view, looking all about, swords drawn. One seemed to stare at her all the while they passed. Shandril kept still,