Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [72]
He whirled at her, one hand clutching at the sudden, stinging breeze. “You’ve fought dwarves before,” he observed coldly. That confirmed his suspicions. Not many humans took on a dwarf, not unless they had a powerful personal grudge or a bunch of Mends close at hand. Judging by the devastation of the clanhold, she had a big bunch of Mends.
The woman danced back a few paces. Her big-eyed gaze darted around the cavern as if searching for a means of escape. “I’ve known some dwarves, that’s all.” She lifted one eyebrow and gave him a small, knowing smile. “One of them, I knew very well.”
Her meaning was unmistakable, but Ebenezer wasn’t buying that. Humans and dwarves did very littie cavorting, and no serious courting to speak of. “Bah!” he scoffed. “What would a dwarf want with the likes of you?”
She proceeded to tell him, in detail so vivid that he was certain his cheeks were as red as his beard. Ebenezer liked a good tall tale as much as the next dwarf; but he was in no mood to swap boasts with a murderous Zhent wench. He cut her off with a quick advance, followed by a series of hammer-swings that kept her dodging and retreating for several long moments.
“You’re quick,” he gave her, when they both paused for breath. “But trying to distract me just ain’t going to work!”
“No?” The woman smirked and lunged forward with a knife feint.
Ebenezer leaned back away from the blade. She sprang at him before he could right himself He did his best to bring the hammer up and around, but she was already in too close.
Her weight slammed into him-a pretty good hit for such a scrawny thing, but Ebenezer was used to harder hits, and he didn’t expect to go down. He wouldn’t have, except for the large stone right behind him. Seems that he had been a mite distracted, after all. Never saw the rock. It hit the back of his knees, which buckled and folded on him. Ebenezer toppled back, much to his mortification.
The woman went down with him, writhing and scratching and spitting mad, impossible to hit in so close and just generally as hard to hold as a trout. Little and puny she might be, but she fought with a fury that would have had Tarlamera’s cats sitting up and taking notice.
Embarrassed now as well as angry Ebenezer wanted nothing more than to be finished with this. He palmed the stone floor in search of his hammer. Nothing. He cast a look to one side-and hollered when the damn female sank her teeth into his exposed ear. The weapon lay well out of reach. Ebenezer swore and shoved the two-legged she-cat away. He scrambled to his feet and then dived for the hammer.
The woman spat blood and leaped after him. Her arms wrapped around his ankles. Down he went, flopping onto his already abused belly. His chin hit the stone with a mind-numbing crack. Worse, his outstretched fingers fell short of the weapon’s handle.
She scrambled over his back and grabbed the hammer, then flung it away as far as she could. Ebenezer heard the crack of mithral on stone, then the slithering, metallic slide down the steep bank into the river.
That was one blow too many for him. Ebenezer bucked once, easily throwing her off. He staggered to his feet and stabbed one stubby finger at her in furious accusation.
“Now you’re starting to get me riled,” he bellowed, with typical dwarven understatement.
The human was already on her feet, circling again, those big eyes all wild looking and wisps of her brown hair sticking up every which way. It occurred to Ebenezer, briefly, that she looked almost as angry and crazed and grief-ravaged as he felt.
“Getting riled, are you?” she gritted out. “Then I suppose it won’t make much difference if I do this-”
She leaped at him, cat-quick, and fisted both her hands in his long red beard. Ebenezer yowled in pain and fury and outraged dwarven dignity.
But the wench wasn’t done with him yet. She leaped up, yanking back hard on his beard as she tucked up her knees and then kicked out, planting