The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [87]
"Who sent you?" he asked one man, as he drove his sword through the outlaw into a tree beyond.
The man coughed forth blood, sagged forward as Craer dragged his blade free, and moaned, "No one! Back from the wars… starving…"
"Well, so are we," the procurer snarled. "Go dine on Silvertree's soldiers, dogs!"
"You seem unusually agitated, friend," Hawkril observed, as he chopped aside branches to engage three outlaws. "Questions, orders-you sound like a sword-master!"
"I feel like a swordmaster," Craer snarled, "surrounded by idiots! Can't these thickskulls go attack someone else?"
"Are we leaving any to mount such attacks?"
Hawkril inquired mildly, sending one opponent crashing back through a dead tree and in the same movement bringing his blade around to take out the throat of another.
It was at that moment they heard Embra's scream.
"Wo," Craer answered savagely, as he spun around and raced back through the trees. "Not a one!"
Sarasper put a hand on Embra's cheek from behind. Sargh, but she felt cold! He slipped one finger into her mouth and went to his knees beside her. Her shielding sighed away into nothingness as he did so, and he hissed a hasty curse and poured some of his own vitality into her. It wasn't bones knit or wounds banished she needed… it was the force of life itself restored to her, energy that each spell she worked was stealing from her. A weakness new to her, on the night they'd met. A wizard's curse, perhaps? Well, it almost had to be.
Embra moaned, under him. Sarasper felt weak and empty himself, now. Shuddering, he sank down atop her shoulders, smelling the sweet spice of her hair. Some guardian he was. Oh, to have strength to stand again! How could the lass do this, day after day? She must have the will of an angry dragon!
He heard the panting first and then the thud of running feet. Sarasper rolled over and saw a wild-eyed outlaw racing from the trees, sword out. "Least I'll…" the man gasped angrily, swerving toward the healer, "… get you!"
A sword stabbed down viciously. Sarasper kicked and twisted, and the blade sliced along his ribs as it slid into the stony ground beside him. The healer winced at the icy fire in his side and grabbed at the man's sword wrist. When the blade was snatched back out of the turf, the old healer was hauled up with it. He kicked out his heels, twisted, and the startled outlaw went over Sarasper's head with a cry. They rolled together across the rocks, and from somewhere near at hand Embra screamed.
"Bebolt and blast you!" the outlaw gasped. "We just wanted… food!"
"And our lives," Sarasper told him grimly, as he found the hilt of his belt knife at last, and drove it almost delicately into the man's left eye. "And our lives!"
The man stiffened under him, and then went limp. As Sarasper rolled away, gasping, he heard the thunder of a new pair of booted feet. These were much lighter and faster. "Craer?" he called.
"At your service," the procurer chuckled, "seeing as how you and Embra have taken care of things so well here."
The old healer rolled over and stared up at the cloudless blue sky. "Delnbone," he gasped, "if you and Grimthews have finished your merry butchery in the trees, I need some of your blood."
"You, too? That's what all of these dead men were after," Craer told him, kneeling down beside him, "and we weren't very gentle with them. Knowing that, answer right carefully, what do you want it for?"
"Keeping our lady sorceress alive," Sarasper grunted, before he passed out.
"By the Three!" Hawkril gasped, his face going pale. "I feel like… someone's torn out my insides and left me nothing!"
"That's what the Lady Silvertree's been feeling like with every spell she's cast," Sarasper said gruffly. "Now lie still sensibly, like she's doing. Just a moment more, and she'll have life enough to spelljump us again, away from here. Craer thinks those outlaws may have friends we haven't met, yet."
"Your thoughts, healer,