The Dream Spheres - Elaine Cunningham [78]
Elaith cut his way through to Bronwyn's side. Pressing a dagger into her hand, he fell into place at her back.
She lashed out at a short, black-eyed bandit. The thief ducked and darted out of reach, losing a hat in the process. The elf marked the sudden spill of long, black hair, the lavish curves revealed when the thief stooped to retrieve the fallen hat. A spray of blood dragged his attention fully back into battle. He pushed aside the man whose throat Bronwyn had just cut.
"Thanks," she panted out, lifting the bloodied weapon.
"Don't," the elf said coldly. "There is a price."
For several moments there was no time for speech.
Elaith stopped a high scimitar blow with his knife, then drove his sword up into the bandit's barrel chest. He kicked the man off his blade and lunged at the next attacker. With four quick, short strokes he left a bloody lightning bolt of a gash on the man's torso. The man fell to his hands and knees. Bronwyn took advantage of the moment to leap onto the man's back. Using the surprise-and the extra height-she easily cut down the bandit who came in on the heels of Elaith's victim.
They fought well together. Bronwyn did not exhibit Elaith's training or skill, but neither was she hampered by his rage. Whenever the elf began to be carried along on the icy tide of battle, she stepped in and finished the matter with grim practicality. Elaith soon found himself responding in kind, protecting her by fending off attacks that she alone could not have parried.
To his surprise, the heat of battle burned away his desire to take vengeance on this cunning wench. It was nearly impossible to desire the death of someone after working so long and so hard to keep her body and soul on speaking terms with each other. The Mhaorkiira he must have, but if he could find a way to let Bronwyn live, he would take it.
Finally Elaith and Bronwyn stood alone, in a silence broken only by a few scattered, tired clashes and by the groans of the wounded. She regarded him steadily with eyes that seemed to understand, and thus affirm, his change of plan. Before words could be spoken, Ebenezer sauntered up, one eye swollen shut and his tunic dark with blood.
Bronwyn regarded him with dismay. "Any of that yours?"
"Might be you could say that. I earned it, leastwise." The dwarf touched his puffy eye and grinned proudly.
This was neither the moment nor the company Elaith would have chosen for this discussion, but he could not afford to wait. "The ruby. I want it back."
A faintly smug expression touched the woman's chocolate-colored eyes. "I wasn't aware it was yours when I bought it. At any rate, I don't have it."
Seeing his doubt, she nodded toward a small leather bag, lying empty on the ground. The strings had been cut, and the bag lay flat and slack. She strode over and scooped it up. Her face suddenly went very still, and she jerked open the bag and thrust one hand in.
"Stones!" she spat out.
The dwarf pricked up his ears. "Troubles?"
Bronwyn drew out a small, round crystal and showed it to him.
"Trouble," the dwarf agreed.
"What is this?" Elaith demanded.
Bronwyn shook the offending sack. "This is a bag of sending. Everything I put in it should be in a safe place in Waterdeep. The magic isn't working!"
A possible explanation for this occurred to Elaith, one so fraught with dire possibilities that it blunted the loss of the kiira. He put out his hand. "That crystal."
Ever the merchant, she countered, "In exchange for a truce. We've both lost what we sought. Call it even."
Since this fit in with Elaith's inclinations, he responded with a curt nod. She dropped the globe into his hand. The small, iridescent crystal nestled into his palm like a living thing. His elven senses picked up the captured magic. He quickly dropped it into a bag, understanding at last the enormity of the risk-and the opportunity.
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