Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [162]
The guards looked long and coldly at the four travelers. Narm noticed a cleric of Tempus and a silent man in robes standing off to one side with two veteran warriors, watching them steadily. His throat went dry, but he tried to keep his face unconcerned and impassive. Dragon Cult and Zhentarim agents could be anywhere-and everywhere. Narm was certain Rathan was recognized, but nothing was said and no one barred their way.
Two hills later, as the sun sank lower, Narm looked back, but he could not see any pursuit. An uneasy feeling persisted, however, and he was not surprised when at sunset Rathan led them wordlessly westward, well off the road, until it grew too dim to ride safely on.
"This seems as good a place as any," Rathan said gruffly, waiting for Term's soft-spoken assent.
"Heady watch tonight," the cleric added. "If you must go off to relieve yourself, Shandril," he added,
"go not alone."
The knights seemed to share Narm's feeling of trouble ahead. Narm and Torm had barely drifted off to sleep, long after an exhausted Shandril, when there was a thudding noise, as someone tripped amid the webwork of black silk cords Torm had strung in an arc behind where Rathan sat watch. Rathan lifted the mace from his knees as he whirled and let out a warning bellow.
The attacker was already coming to his feet, cursing softly, sword drawn-and there were others behind.
Narm rolled upright with frightened speed. Torm was up and away into the night like a vengeful shadow before he could even draw breath.
"Defend thy lady, lad!" Rathan bellowed back over one shoulder, as his mace struck aside attacking steel with a shrill clatter. Two faced him, with a third rushing up.
Narm saw a man fall as he looked all around for danger on his way to stand over Shandril, who was rolling over drowsily. More men with blades were coming out of the night. Narm saw another fall, and this time he saw the glint of steel as Torm leaped onward to deal death again. Then a man rushed right at Narm, steel gleaming in the firelight.
Coolly, Narm cast a magic missile spell. Then he drew his dagger and braced himself. The glowing pulses of his art swooped and struck. The man, who wore dark leathers and wielded a hooked sabre, staggered and fell. Narm set his teeth and leaned over to finish the job. Blood wet his fingers, and he felt sick as he looked up and around again for new dangers approaching.
There were none. Torm dispatched another from behind-Narm saw the man stiffen and groan-and Rathan was chatting jovially to those he slew.
"Do you not realize what moral pain-nay, spiritual agony-striking thee down causes me? Hast no consideration for my feelings?" The heavy mace fell again, crushing. "More than this, aye, ye-uhh!– grrh!-wound me. Instead, of challenging me in-ahhhh-the bright light of day, before men of worth to bear witness, with a stated-hahhh!– grievance, ye seek to do the dishonor upon my poor holy bones in the dark of the night! At a time when all good and- ahhh!-lucky men are abed, with better- unghh!– things to be doing than cracking skulls asunder! Don't ye agree- ahh!-now?"
Rathan's last opponent fell, twitching, jaw shattered and bloody.
Torm looked up. "The horses don't like this. We'd best move them, and us, in case there are others lurking. Narm, is your lady awake?"
Shandril answered him herself. "Yes." She shuddered involuntarily at the sight of his bloody dagger. "Must you enjoy it so much?"
Torm looked at her in silence for a time. "I do not enjoy it at all" he said quietly. "But I prefer it to getting a knife.in the ribs myself." He bent down and wiped his blade on something that Shandril mercifully couldn't see in the darkness, but he did not sheathe it. "Shall we ride?"
"Walk, pigeon-brain," Rathan rumbled, "and lead the horses. Who knows what