Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [167]
Slowly, imperceptibly at first, the light that limned Dag Zoreth’s sword began to dim. The Fire of Cyric faltered before the power of Tyr. The purple light began to flicker and then to vanish. In moments, the priest held nothing but a blade.
With three deft movements Algorind disarmed Dag Zoreth. Another stroke sent the priest plummeting to the ground. Cara screamed as her father fell, blood darkening the already-black vestments of his god.
“He’s killing him! Don’t let him kill my father!”
Bronwyn reacted to the pain in the girl’s voice. The Harper leaped forward and hurled herself at the paladin’s back. She fisted one hand in his curly blond halt In one swift movement she pulled her knife, reached around, and placed it at his throat.
For a moment, Bronwyn was sorely tempted to pull the knife back hard and fast. She could finally end this, and she could do it now, but there was enough of her father in her to reject such a dishonorable act. She had caught the paladin in an unguarded moment, when all his being was thrown into the hymn, all his soul devoted to vanquishing evil. Despite everything Algorind had done, she did not want to kill him. But neither would she let him kill Cara’s father before the child’s very eyes.
“Bran,” she said, calling her brother by his old name. “How badly are you hurt? Can you stand? Can you hear me?”
The priest stirred, grimaced, and pressed his hand to his side. He whispered the words of a healing prayer, and some of the color crept back into his pale face. Using his sword as a cane, he struggled to his feet. His gaze settled on Bronwyn and her captive, and a smile of chilling evil curved his lips.
“Well done, Bron,” he said. “You hold him, and I’ll finish this.”
“No.”
Dag looked puzzled, and more than a little angry. “No?”
“If I let go, he will kill you. If you try to kill him, I will let go. You have to leave. Now.”
Comprehension swept over Dag’s face. “So that is your game. You made one mistake-one that could be fatal,” he said in a coldly controlled voice. “Why would you let me go, why would you bother to save my life at all, when you know you may well have cause to regret it someday?”
“I’ll take my chances." She lifted the knife at Algorind’s throat just a little, just enough to suggest the threat. “Just go.”
“Very well.” His eyes quickly swept the fortress as he took a last look at what he had lost, and then they settled on the little girl. “Come, Cara.”
Bronwyn squeezed her eyes tight for a moment, trying to damp down the sudden, searing pain. This is what Cara wanted, she told herself. She belonged with her family, her father.
“No,” the child said, clearly and firmly.
Dag Zoreth looked astonished. “What do you mean?”
“I want to stay with Bronwyn,” Cara stated.
“But I want you with me!”
The child’s smile was sad and old far beyond her years. “Yes, father. So you have often said.”
The silence stretched between them, and in it Bronwyn could hear broken promises, just as surely as her ears rang with the sounds of battle.
Dag looked stricken, but he managed a small, rueful smile. “This is a strange end, indeed,” he said in a strangled voice. “After all this, I find that I am more like Hronulf than I would have thought possible.”
“Never,” said Algorind, risking the safety of his voice to speak what he saw as truth.
The priest sent him a look of purest hatred. “You know nothing. Your kind is known to me-your mind is empty of everything but Tyr. It should be an easy matter, therefore, for you to remember this: I will find you and kill you, in the most painful manner I can devise.”
Dag Zoreth took a long breath and chanted the words to a spell. He held one hand poised in an unfinished gesture and looked