Treasures of Fantasy - Margaret Weis [134]
Bjorn and Keeper and Grimuir had thrown themselves on the fury and managed to wrestle her off Skylan. He drew in gulping breaths and rolled over, too weak to do anything except watch as the three men fought her.
Bjorn let go with a howl of pain and fell back, clasping his arm where blood was starting to well up out of two puncture marks on his skin. One of the vipers had bitten him.
Sigurd yelled for the others to get out of his way. Keeper and Grimuir fell back and Sigurd ran at the fury, his axe raised. She turned her white-hot gaze upon the weapon and the axe head dissolved into a lump of molten metal and fell off. Swearing, Sigurd struck at the fury with the wooden handle. The fury seized the axe from him and smashed him on the temple with such force that the wood splintered. Sigurd fell to the ground. He heaved himself up, groaned, and collapsed. He did not get back up.
Farinn picked up a spear and was about to fling it. The fury saw him and spewed a glob of spit into his face. Farinn screamed and dropped the spear. He dug the balls of his hands into his eyes and moaned with pain.
Keeper snatched up a sword from the pile of weapons on the ground and tried to stab the fury from behind. One of the fury’s beating wings touched the iron. There was a strong smell of burnt feathers and she shrieked and whirled on him. Drops of blood flew from her eyes, striking his blade. The sword began to glow red-hot and Keeper dropped it with a cry.
The fury shifted her gaze to the pile of weapons. Axe heads melted. Sword blades started to bubble and dissolve. Satisfied that her foes could no longer attack her, the fury turned her blood-dripping eyes again on Skylan.
Wings beating, the fury rose up into the air. Skylan grabbed a wooden shield wrapped in leather and held it in front of him while he searched frantically for something to use as weapon. He looked at the smoldering mass of metal and saw Aylaen’s sword, untouched. The steel had not melted.
He made a lunge for it. The fury dove at him and he had to duck behind the shield, holding it braced as the fury struck the shield with her fist.
The wood splintered. The shield was covered in leather and remained intact, at least for the moment. He looked back at the sword and yelled and pointed. His warriors were focused on the fury, hovering near, wanting to help, but uncertain what to do. No one was looking at the sword except him. He shouted again and jabbed his finger at the weapon.
Aylaen saw and understood. She ran to the pile, snatched up the sword, and came to stand by Skylan’s side.
The fury glared at the sword in hatred. The magical white light beamed from her eyes. The sword caught the beam of light and reflected it back, striking the fury in the face. She screeched in anger and flapped away, staring balefully at the sword.
“Why didn’t it melt?” Aylaen gasped.
“Because Vindrash blessed it? I don’t know!” Skylan raised the shield. “I’ll cover. You strike.”
Aylaen was ready to thrust the sword into the fury’s body when a gray-robed figure darted in front of her, his hands raised.
“Don’t hurt her!” the druid cried.
At first, Skylan thought the druid meant that the fury was not to hurt Aylaen, and then he realized he was talking to Aylaen about the fury.
He cast a glance around the field, where Sigurd lay in a pool of blood, Farinn had his hands over his eyes, and Erdmun was sucking the poison out of his brother’s snake bite.
“Get out of my way,” said Skylan grimly. “I don’t want to kill you, too, but I will if I have to.”
“Please!” the druid begged. “Let me talk to her. I have been searching for her throughout Oran. I finally found her here. Unfortunately, I was too late.”
He turned to face the fury and began speaking to her in some unknown language. His voice was calm. He seemed to be trying to placate her.
The fury pointed at Skylan and her lips curled back from her bloodstained fangs.
Skylan kept his shield raised, not taking his eyes from the fury.
The druid spoke to