The Temptation of Elminster - Ed Greenwood [26]
Llander's sword burst blindly out of the tapestry to stab at the man, who jabbed his dagger through the fabric in response, then vaulted over the railing to land lightly in the feast hall, give the Iron Fox a cheery wave, and race away toward the front of the tower.
Enraged, the Iron Fox gave roaring chase, then stopped two strides short of leaving the hall and put up his blade. No… he'd be running alone into a part of the keep he'd sent his men away from, an area offering all too many places where a man with a knife could get above an armored foe and leap down. No, it was time to see if Llander was still alive and go find Durlim, and the three of them could find some defensible room to hold against leaping madmen with knives.
He lumbered back across the feast hall, slashing backhanded behind him twice on the way, and mounted the stairs where Tarthane lay crumpled and the tapestry was rippling slowly and wearily.
"Llander?" he called, hoping not to get a sword thrust in the face. "Llander?"
He heard a small sound behind him and lashed out viciously with his blade, hacking so hard that the steel rang off the stone wall with numbing force, shedding a few tinkling shards of metal in its wake.
He was rewarded with a gasp. When he turned to see who it was, the Iron Fox found himself face to face not with a hawk-nosed man or a bleeding corpse but with a young lass he'd seen a time or two before about the Starn. She was three safe steps down the stair, beyond his sword tip, and looked very stern, a hand at her throat. As the Fox gazed at her, still startled to see this wench here in his locked and barred tower, she brought her hand slowly and deliberately down, and the front of her gown open with it.
His eyes followed her movement until the halberd smashing into his ankles from above sent him cannoning helplessly down the stairs. He screamed out a curse as he swung his blade around to hack away this latest attack. The Fox found himself once more nose to nose with the grinning, hawk-nosed man. A slim dagger driven by a slender but firm arm plunged into the Iron Fox's right eye, and Faerun whirled away from him forever.
Breathing heavily, Immeira sprang away from the huge armored carcass and let it clang and slither a little way down the stair, gauntlets clutching vainly at empty air.
Then she looked quickly away and up at the man who was smiling down at her. "Wanlorn," she moaned, and found herself trembling…a moment before she burst into tears. "Wanlorn, we've done it!"
"Nay, lass," said the soothing voice that went with the arms that held her then. "We've but done the easiest part. Now the hard and true work begins. Ye've slain a few rats, is all… the house they infested must still be set in order."
He plucked the fouled and dripping dagger from her hands and tossed it away, she heard it ring against the floor tiles below.
"The Realm of the Iron Fox is broken, but Buckralam's Starn must be made to live again."
"How?" she moaned into his chest. "Guide me. You said you would not stay…"
"I cannot, lass…not more than a season. 'Twould be better for thee if I left this night."
Her arms tightened around him like a vise.
"No!"
"Easy, lass," he said. "I'll stay long enough to see you take old Rarendon…and whichever of the orphans and farmers ye can trust as an escort on the road – to Saern Hill. I'll write ye a note to give to a man there, a horse breeder named Nantlin, ask him if his harp sounds as sweet as ever, and he'll know who the note is really from. He'll bring folk to dwell here and women and men of honor and ready blades to keep laws all Starneir approve of, to make the Starn strong again. There is a doom laid upon me though, lass… I must be gone before he or any of his folk come into the valley."
Immeira stared up at him, her face drenched with tears. She could see plain sorrow in his eyes and tight-set lips, reaching up two timid