The Jewel of Turmish - Mel Odom [45]
Druz said, "You're setting yourself up to fail."
"I won't fail," Haarn told her. "Not as long as I've got a breath left within me."
The clouds burst without warning, unleashing the torrent of rain that had been threatening. He pushed away all thoughts of the cold and concentrated on staying alive.
Your long tooth won't be enough to save you, Stonefur said, flicking his tail.
Easing down, eyes on the wolf, Haarn reached into his discarded gear and retrieved a small fighting club. The weapon was short-hafted and was run through by a leather wrist thong. It was shaped by a knife blade, hardened by druidic spellcraft, and capped in bone.
It's fair enough, said Haarn.
"You're not going to use your scimitar?" Druz asked. "No," Haarn answered.
"You can't take that monster on with only a knife and a club. That's suicide."
"It's as balanced as I can make it." Haarn popped his arm and caused the weighted club to snap into his hand. "The scimitar would give me too much of an advantage."
"You didn't seem to mind taking the advantage where you could against the slavers."
"No," Haarn said, "I didn't." He nodded toward Stonefur. "Let it begin."
The wolf turned to his pack. His fierce growls drove them back into the shelter of the brush and trees. Stonefur came toward his opponent at an oblique angle.
Gathering his courage and his sense of purpose, Haarn circled as well. His attention was torn between the wolf and Druz Talimsir. He didn't know if the mercenary would be able to restrain herself. And if she didn't, Haarn knew it would cost them all.
Stonefur rushed in, catching Haarn in mid-stride as he circled. Quick, white fangs flashed for the druid's crotch, drawing his hands down to protect himself. Haarn's hands only met empty air, though. Stonefur shifted directions without effort, gliding by, then sinking his fangs into the druid's right ankle. The wolf remained on the run, using his weight and his grip to yank Haarn off-balance.
CHAPTER NINE
Eldath's mercy, Brother Tohl, awake!"
Tohl stared at the grinning visage of Borran Kiosk standing before him. The battlefield on which they stood-near Morningstar Hollows, a small village northwest of Alaghфn-was one Tohl had seen many times, but never during the time of the epic battle between forces of the living and hordes of undead. During his career as a priest of Eldath in Alaghфn, he'd made the pilgrimage to the battlefield several times. Acquainting the acolytes with Alaghфn's history in regards to Borran Kiosk had been part of his responsibilities for decades.
Mist swirled up from the battlefield spattered bright with the blood of men, elves, and even a few dwarves. Men and elves had lived in Turmish then, as well as other cities along the Vilhon Reach. The dwarves had traveled down out of Irongfang, their city in the Alaoreum Mountains, when they'd heard about the menace Borran Kiosk and his undead minions had presented.
Brother Tohl knew it was a dream as he surveyed the carnage-he'd had similar nightmares over the years. Borran Kiosk had never shown up in any of those earlier dreams.
The mohrg stood amid the death and devastation. A torn and tattered purple cloak hung from his shoulders and fluttered in the breeze laden with flies and the stink of death. Though Tohl had never before seen the commander of the undead armies that had threatened to overrun Turmish, he had no doubt about the creature's identity.
Kiosk strode among the dead. Besides the humans, dwarves, elves, and a few scattered gnomes and halflings, there were also corpses of men and women of all races that had been dead long before the battle had taken place. As the mohrg moved among them, he touched a few with the crooked bone staff he carried. After he passed, the touched corpses jerked and pushed themselves to their