Marsheila Rockwell - Legacy of the Wolves

“Now we’re going to back out of here slowly, and you’re going to act as my dwarven shield.” She seemed to find that funny, chuckling at her own joke.

Irulan had her bow in hand, an arrow nocked and ready, and was keeping pace with them, trying to outflank them and get a shot, but d’Medani was compensating for the other woman’s movements, keeping him firmly interposed between the two of them. Andri had picked up Irulan’s sword-d’Medani must have tossed his when she captured him-and was following, ready to take advantage of any misstep on the half-elf’s part.

But there would be no misstep this time, Greddark knew, and no timely rescue. If he wanted an opportunity to escape, he was going to have to make it himself. And, unfortunately, he had a feeling it was going to hurt.

As they backed out of the clearing, Greddark knew he was running out of options. Though d’Medani hadn’t had a teleportation device at Shadukar, he realized it was probably because she had been on foot-the horse Irulan had described her riding away on sounded like a Valenar warhorse, and there was no way the bounty hunter would risk leaving such a valuable mount behind. Once they got to wherever the half-elf had tethered her stallion, all bets were off. He had to make his move now.

He decided to wait until they were past the first few trees and into the forest proper. The extra cover should make d’Medani relax a little. The trunks would impede both Irulan’s line of sight and any charge Andri might see fit to make. It would also serve as protection for his companions if his aim was off.

There. The pressure on his back lessened almost imperceptibly. Before he could change his mind, Greddark pretended to stumble over his own feet, falling backward into the half-elf.

Agony exploded through his back as she released the trigger on the war spikard and the crossbow bolt buried itself to the fletching, the quarrel tearing through muscles and organs and popping out through the front of his abdomen with a squelching sound. At the same time, the chain about his neck was pulled taut, effectively choking him even as his hands were jerked up to slam into his nose so hard he felt blood gush. Then they went down in a jumble of limbs and Greddark rolled onto his side, trying desperately to pry the blasting chime off his bracelet before d’Medani could regain her feet, or he blacked out from the pain.

He was too slow. The half-elf was up, and instead of loading another bolt into the crossbow mechanism, she used the spikard as a hammer, bringing the heavy head down on his shoulder. Distantly, he heard the crack of bones and realized they were his.

But he had the chime off now, and the charm grew to fit in his hand, an inscribed bell with an ornate grip, a small Siberys dragonshard embedded in its clapper. As d’Medani raised her arms for another blow, this one aimed for his head, Greddark used the last of his strength to ring the bell, its sweet tone echoing through the surrounding forest. As Greddark watched the warhammer descend, he thought fuzzily that the timber of the bell’s ring had changed since the last time he used it, followed by the horrified realization that he’d grabbed the wrong chime .

Then the head of d’Medani’s hammer was blocking his vision and he closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

The blow never landed. Greddark opened one eye, half-expecting the hammer to smash into his face as he did so.

D’Medani was gone. Andri and Irulan were rushing to him, the paladin sheathing Irulan’s sword in his father’s ornate scabbard while the shifter cast about wildly for some sign of the bounty hunter.

“Where did she go? She just disappeared-an invisibility spell, do you think?”

Disappeared …?

Then Greddark was laughing as understanding dawned, though the movement made fire blaze in his belly and pulled the chain even tighter about his abused neck.

He thought he’d grabbed the blasting chime, but he’d inadvertently pulled a different charm off his bracer, the one he’d never been able to figure out how to use. Whenever he’d tried it before, nothing would happen. But it had worked now, because d’Medani was a dragonmarked member of her House.

It was a recalling chime, designed to teleport anyone within a certain radius who bore the Mark of Detection back to the Warning Guild in Wroat. No doubt d’Medani was there even now, cursing his name.

“Gone,” he gasped, his laughter fading as he struggled to breathe. “To Breland.”

“Don’t try to talk,” Andri admonished as he knelt beside the dwarf. First the paladin loosened the chain about his neck, then he used Maellas’s silver dagger to cut the quarrel off the crossbow bolt protruding from his stomach. With great gentleness, he pulled the bolt out through the inquisitive’s back. Greddark nearly bit his tongue in half to keep from screaming, then promptly vomited blood all over them both as soon as the wooden shaft was free.

The darkness deepened around him, and he realized that he was losing consciousness. He felt Andri lay one hand on each wound, both entry and exit, and a seeping warmth crept outwards from the paladin’s fingers, running through Greddark’s body, up to his ruined shoulder and abraded neck, even through his bloody nose and mouth and out to the tip of his tongue. He was healed.

But then why did his veins still burn like he’d swallowed acid, and why was he so terribly thirsty all of the sudden?

Irulan was kneeling beside him now as well, apparently satisfied that d’Medani had indeed departed. A look of concern crossed her face, and she picked up the quarrel Andri had discarded, sniffing it experimentally. Her expression grew grave.

“Poison,” she said. “Concentrated, by the smell of it. I think it’s dwarfbane. And I’m guessing d’Medani took the antidote with her.”

Greddark couldn’t suppress a groan. If she was right, then he was already dead.

Sul, Eyre 8, 998 YK

Is it still in his system?” Irulan asked, watching as a sheen of sweat formed on the dwarf’s creased brow. “Maybe your healing took care of it?”

Andri reached his hand out to touch Greddark’s forehead. His skin was hot to the touch. “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “But I’ll try again.”

He invoked the Flame once more and felt warmth course through his fingers, but if he’d done anything more than delay the effects of the poison, Andri couldn’t see it. Greddark’s clothes were drenched in perspiration, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing.

“I don’t think it’s working. We’d better get him back to the fire.”

“Wait,” Irulan said, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him from lifting the inquisitive in his arms. “Let me talk to him first.”

The dwarf’s eyes were glazing over, and she slapped him lightly on the cheek to bring him around.

“Greddark! Can you hear me?”

His eyes cleared for a moment, focusing on her. He gave the barest of nods, as though the movement pained him.

“You know what the antidote for dwarfbane is, right? What the plant looks like? I need you to describe it to me.”

Greddark opened his mouth, licking away a string of drool that had been forming.

“Purple … flower. Seven petals. Spiny leaves. Use … sap, stems.”

Irulan chewed on her lip. “Hmm … sounds like dweomer root, though the flowers are usually reddish. They’re most likely related, but whether it’s close enough, I don’t know.” She looked uncertainly at Andri. “I could probably find some, but it may take a while.”

He nodded. “Do it.”

Her grip on his shoulder tightened for a moment, then she stood. Andri handed her sword back to her.