Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [146]
The dwarf looked around for something else to do. Not far away, an elf woman with a tumble of pale yellow curls and a nightdress of a matching hue stared with dismay at the broken sword in her hand. Two dead ores lay nearby, but it seemed like she wasn’t quite through.
That, Ebenezer could respect. If he’d had a chance to defend his clan and home, he wouldn’t care to stop until the job was done.
“Hoy, Goldie!” bellowed the dwarf He pulled his axe from his belt and brandished it. “Need a blade?”
Doubt flickered across the elf’s face, then disappeared in resolve. She darted over to the dwarf and took the axe. “Like chopping kindling?” she asked as she hefted the blade.
“Pretty much.” He nodded with satisfaction as she took after an ore who was creeping off with an armload of loot. She held the borrowed axe poised high overhead and brought it forward with a respectable downward chop. “Lacks for nothing but a beard,” he mumbled as his blade cleaved thick orcish skull.
He saw an uneven fight over by the well. A hulking ore had pinned dowr a scrawny elf lad, who had no weapon at all that Ebenezer could see. He barreled over to see what might be done and pulled up to a stop just as the ore slammed down hard with a short sword. The elf dodged, but not by much. Wood chips flew as the blade slammed against the well’s cover.
A second boom followed quickly as Ebenezer brought the hammer down on the ore’s hand. The elf lad, no fool, snatched up the dropped sword and did what he had to do.
The dwarf noted the lad’s stricken eyes and remembered back a century and more to when he stood in the same boots. “Hang onto that sword,” he advised kindly. “It don’t never get much easier, but it generally won’t be any worse.”
And then he was off, looking for someone else in need of a chance to fight.
* * * * *
Algorind was awakened from a deep sleep by the sounds of battle and the flicker of fire against the sky. He shook Corwin awake and they quickly mounted and set off at a gallop to give aid.
They had not far to go. Even though the paladins from Summit Hall did not patrol this area, Algorind knew of the village from a map in the monastery library. The villagers were mostly elves and half-elves, but peaceable folk.
The reason for the disturbance became clear as they drew closer. Mingled with the crackle and hiss of the fire and the screams of the wounded was the guttural, roaring battle cries of an ore band. Algorind’s jaw firmed with resolve.
But Corwin hung back, naked horror on his face. “This is our doing! The ores tracked us. We led them here.”
“This is a village, and they are ore raiders,” Algorind argued. “Come!”
But Corwin caught his arm. “Don’t you see? We killed their children when we truly did not have to. This is vengeance, but these people were in our path and are paying the price.”
“If that is so, justice belongs to Tyr,” said Algorind. “Stay or come, as you will. This is no time for words.”
He reined Icewind toward the village and leaned low over the horse’s neck as they sped toward battle. Behind him he heard the sound of the black horse’s hoof beats and was glad that Corwin had found his way back to duty.
Some of the ores were escaping. The paladins beat them back, cutting them down when they could or pressing them back toward the blades of the grimly determined villagers.
The work was Tyr’s, and Algorind served with all his strength and conviction. Yet even as he fought, his eyes scanned the hellish melee for some glimpse of a small, brown-haired woman and the child she had unrightfully claimed.
* * * * *
Upstairs in the cottage, Bronwyn waited by the door, a wooden chair held high overhead. She counted the steps as heavy feet thundered up the stairs.
“Do you have your gem ready?” she asked Cara.
The girl nodded, but her words were swallowed in the shattering crash. The door buckled and splintered, but held. It gave way entirely with the second assault, and a large, gray-skinned ore came stumbling into the room.
Bronwyn smashed down with the chair,