Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [29]
Fortunately the ore resolved this dilemma. He spat and tipped back his head defiantly, baring his throat as he chose death over surrender.
The paladin struck, leaning hard on the spear and finishing the evil creature in a single quick, merciful stroke. That accomplished, he turned to the messenger.
Algorind gently turned him onto his back and immediately realized two things: first, the man could not possibly survive his hurts, and second, he wore the white and blue tabard that proclaimed him a member of the Knights of Samular. A second, closer look revealed the courier’s pouch still strapped to the wounded man’s shoulder.
“Brother, take ease,” the young paladin said gently. “Your duty is done. Here is another to take it from you. The creatures are vanquished, and the hall is but an hour’s ride. I will carry your message for you.”
The man nodded painfully and swallowed hard. “Another,” he croaked out. “There is an heir.”
Algorind’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. With his last strength, the messenger wrenched open the latch on the pouch and drew from it a single sheet of parchment. The words written upon it filled Algorind with awe, and his lips moved in gratefhl prayer to Tyr.
There was another. The great Hronulf, commander of Thornhold, would not be the last, after all. An heir to the bloodline of Samular had been found.
* * * * *
“Almost home,” panted Ebenezer Stoneshaft as he thundered through the deeply buried tunnel.
“Home” was a warren of dwarven tunnels under the Sword Mountains, not far from the sea and too damn close to the trade route just to the east and the human fortress above.
He’d been gone quite a while this time, but it was all so familiar: the damp scent of the tunnels, the faint glow from the luminous moss and lichen that decked the stone walls, and the old paths marked with subtle runes that only a dwarf could read. There had been some changes, though, some new additions. Ledges carved into the walls, and steps and such. At the moment, Ebenezer didn’t really have the leisure to examine these innovations closely.
Running full out, the dwarf rounded the tight curve in the tunnel, his short legs pumping. The clatter of his iron-shed boots against the stone floor was all but lost in the rattle and clamor behind him.
Right behind him.
In his ears rang a cacophony of hisses that sounded like a fire-newt left out in the rain, and screeches that would make an eagle cock its head and listen for pointers. Who’d-a thought, he grimly noted, that a mob of over-sized pack rats could raise such a ruckus?
Granted, it was a big pack, as osquips went. Dozens of clawed feet scrabbled against the stone as a score of giant rodents chased after Ebenezer in hot and angry pursuit. And for what? He’d taken a mithral chisel from their pile of shiny trinkets-only one, and only because it was his to take. Belonged to his cousin Hoshal, it did, a dour and reclusive dwarf smith who would string Ebenezer up by his curiy red beard should he get wind of any kin of his being slacker enough to leave a good tool just lying about.
Ebenezer almost stopped. Come to think on it, how did that chisel end up in an osquip trove? It was a family jest that Hoshal could put his hands on any one of his many tools or weapons sooner than he could grab his own- “Yeow!”
A sharp nip stole the remembered quip from Ebenezer’s mind, and sheared a chuck of thick boot leather-and a good bit of the skin beneath-from the dwarf’s ankle. Fortunately for Ebenezer, the osquip only grazed him. If the critter had gotten a good grip, Ebenezer would have ended up hopping the rest of the way back to his clanhold. An osquip's teeth were large, protruding squares that could gnaw through stone-pretty damn good practice for biting off a dwarf’s foot.
Ebenezer whiried, hammer in hand, and whacked down hard on the head of the offending rodent. The huge, wedge-shaped skull shattered with a satisfying crunch. The sudden attack set the others back on their heels for a moment, which was all Ebenezer needed. He was off and running again,