The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [28]
"It's over, Syrolf," Duras said. "Let it be."
Syrolf did not answer, but his left hand gripped the handle of his long sword. Bastun tensed, spells reflexively readying themselves at his fingertips at the first glimmer of steel at Syrolf's side. The runescarred warrior froze, unable to carry out whatever he might have been intending, before the edge of a thin blade appeared at his throat.
Ohriman smirked at the surprised Syrolf, amusement glinting in the tiefling's catlike stare as he pressed his sword against the warrior's neck.
Thaena's eyes widened, and the rest of the fang drew swords, ready to pounce now that one of their own was threatened. Anilya's men seemed not to have moved at all, but Bastun could see hands on their weapons and legs bending slowly into positions more suitable for standing at a moment's notice.
"Ohriman!" Anilya shouted. "What are you thinking?"
"You seem very quick to accuse the wizard, Rashemi," Ohriman sneered, his voice low and threatening. "Leave him be."
"Put that blade down, outlander," Thaena said, leveling her gaze on the tiefling.
"There's no law stopping my blade, Rashemi," he said, ignoring Thaena. "Remember that."
"Put it down!"
"Order your own men, ethran," Anilya said. "Ohriman is just trying to protect the one man who might know what's happening in this city."
"By killing one of our own?" Duras said. "I'll not have any of that!"
Syrolf and Ohriman stared death into one another's eyes as the others argued. Bastun saw the situation deteriorating rapidly, ripples of chaos spreading through the two groups with each threatening word. Syrolf glanced back and forth between Ohriman, Bastun, and the others.
"You see, Syrolf," Basan said, "no one wins here. You kill me, Ohriman kills you, and then everyone tries to kill each other."
"You planned this," Syrolf said. "Turning us against one another!"
"I'm not the one holding the sword," Bastun said, flexing his fingers and feeling the Weave around him ready to respond. The Shield was close enough now that he might elude the conflict and reach it alone. At the moment, he would readily abandon them all.
Syrolf released the grip on his sword, and Ohriman slowly pulled his blade away from the Rashemi's neck. The arguments fell silent as the pair faced one another.
Syrolf took a step backward and turned as Ohriman made to sheath his sword. As soon as the mercenary's hilt touched scabbard, the berserker spun, drawing his sword against the tiefling. In the blink of an eye, Ohriman's blade appeared and blocked the attack, their steel singing as it met and held between them.
Their arms strained and pushed. SyrolPs lip curled as he found the wiry mercenary's strength to be far more than expected.
Ohriman's demeanor remained calm. Bastun swore the man looked as if he could have yawned at any moment. The others stood still, waiting to see if blood would be drawn between the two-there were no wychlaren laws to protect the tiefling. Despite his dislike of Syrolf, Bastun hoped Ohriman would lose. If Syrolf fell, the entire fang might rush to avenge his death.
With a final shove the pair parted. Syrolf merely grunted and turned away. Ohriman walked back to his men and gracefully sat down, drying the condensing mist from his blade with his cloak. Duras stood in SyrolPs path and grabbed his cloak roughly, batting the sword from his hand.
"Get some rest," he said angrily and pushed Syrolf to the ground. "We'll discuss this later."
Syrolf glared and leaned against a block of stone. Another warrior passed him a skin of watered-down jhuild, the infamous Rashemi firewine, with a pat on his shoulder. Syrolf drank slowly, wincing only slightly at Thaena's whisper of admonishment as she passed. Glancing once more in Bastun's direction, he looked away and stared at the ground, seething.
Silence returned to the hall, and both groups settled back in their places. Thaena prepared her spell components, while Duras maintained a close eye on