Nancy Berberick - Stormblade

“You are allies,” he said, slowly, distinctly. “But, my people are edgy and likely won’t work with strangers until it’s too late. Do you understand?”

Caramon’s eyes flashed with sudden anger. Tanis dropped a hand onto the big warrior’s shoulder. The gesture itself warned Caramon to silence. Gneiss had wondered why the half-elf, likely unwelcomed by either humans or elves by the fact of his mixed blood, was the one to lead not only these two humans, but all nine companions who had single-handedly freed eight hundred slaves from Verminaard’s mines. There was, after all, this fine, young knight among them. He glanced at Sturm. At best, one would characterize the look in his eyes as one of impatience. The dwarf snorted as Caramon settled back, hard-jawed but silent. The hasty giant had at least half a brain.

“Are there any more questions?”

There were none. After another few minutes at the map, the three left and Gneiss was alone. He crossed to the windows again and realized that the shouts and laughter of the children had fallen silent. The gardens were empty. He listened carefully for the sounds of the streets beyond the garden wall. He found nothing but an eerie silence.

The captain of Gniess’s own guard found him a moment later with word that an attempt had been made on the life of the Klar’s thane. Tufa, only slightly wounded, had gone to join the fighting that had broken out at the southern end of the Theiwar holdings between the Urkhan Sea and the Klar city.

“Thane,” the captain said, his eyes grim, his fist closing on the grip of his war axe, “the Klar says that the Theiwar have split their forces and nearly fifty of them have fallen back toward Northgate. He and his warband can hold those who remain, but he fears that the squads making for Northgate are acting on some order.”

Gneiss buckled on his sword belt and assured himself of the deadly sharpness of the blade. He knew now where Hornfel was, and he knew why Realgar hadn’t been seen in hours. A trap had been sprung in Northgate.

“Ten squads to me,” he snapped. “Four of archers, the rest swordsmen. You are under Tufa’s command now. Take the rest of our warriors and support the Klar where he thinks best.”

Gneiss held no hope that he could get to the ruined gate in time to prevent Hornfel’s death. However, one hundred strong Daewar, forty archers and sixty swordsmen, would cut through the Theiwar like sun through fog. He would at least avenge his friend’s murder. A bone-snapping hug from Stanach, a hearty kiss from Kelida, and the reunion was over. Lavim tugged his old black coat into order as Stanach fixed him with a look.

“You say Tyorl is here?”

“Oh, yes.” Lavim nodded vigorously. “He’s on his way and should be here soon.” He looked around as Hauk ran toward the gate opening. “Do you think you could be just a little more careful greeting him? There’s two rangers with him, and Tyorl might not be the first one you see. Do you remember that ranger Finn that Tyorl was always talking about, Stanach?

He’s here, too, and Kem.

“It’s all right,” the kender assured Hauk, much the way he would assure a hasty watchdog that the visitors approaching the door were not to be torn limb from limb. “They’re friends.”

Hauk grinned. “Aye, old one, I know they are.”

“He’s mighty quick with that sword,” Lavim muttered when Hauk had left. “I thought for a minute there that it was going to get a bit drafty around my middle.

“Sir,” he said, addressing Hornfel, “did you know that there are people trying to kill you?”

Hornfel, quiet during the reunion of friends, now fixed the kender with a hard look. “I know it, Lavim. Tell me, how do you?”

Lavim had the feeling that the dwarf’s look was not meant as grimly as one might think. Still, he thought it a good idea to answer as best he could.

“Well, Stanach told me some of it. All the part about Stormblade and how it was made for you, but this other thane wants it, too, and that you’re all fighting about who is going to be the king something-or-other—”

“Regent.”

“Yes, that’s it. Sort of like a king and sort of like the fellow who watches the store while the shopkeeper has his dinner, right?”

Bemused, Hornfel nodded.

“That’s what I thought. Piper told me the part about how this other thane is trying to kill you now. He—”

“Piper?” Kelida shook her head. “Piper, Lavim? He’s—”

“Well, yes, he is. He’s dead. But he told me. You just ask Tyorl. He knows. It’s kind of a strange story, Kelida. You see, it all started back in Qualinesti when Stanach was building the cairn for Piper and—”

A confusion of cries, some from Hauk and Tyorl at the gate and some from the south end of the gatehouse, brought Stanach to his feet.

“What is it, Stanach?”

“They’re coming to kill the thane, Lavim. How are you weaponed?”

“My dagger. I lost my hoopak in the bog, but—”

“You’ll find plenty of weapons in the guards’ quarters over there. Arm yourself well and come back here to me.”

As Lavim scurried toward the guards’ quarters, Stanach caught him back by the collar. “Wait. What do Tyorl and these rangers have?”

“The rangers have bows and swords. Tyorl lost his bow in the marshes.”

“Show them the weapons lockers and get them armed fast.”

Stanach was thinking quickly now. An increase of four in the ranks of Hornfel’s defenders would make little difference at all if Realgar stood ready to bring several squads of warriors against them. Stanach smiled coldly. But we have archers now. That should count for something. He touched Kelida’s arm with his broken-fingered right hand.

“ Lyt chwaer , send Tyorl up here and—” Stanach stopped, suddenly aware that he was speaking without authority.

Hornfel nodded to Kelida. “ Kelye dtha , when you’ve done as Stanach asks, give Finn my welcome to Thorbardin. Tell him that I’m in need of good archers, and I’d be grateful if he would put his men at the command of my young captain here.”

Stanach watched her sprint down the corridor with Hornfel’s message.

“Stanach,” said Hornfel, breaking the momentary silence, “If I’m to die, it will not be like a rat in a hole.”

“Every sword is welcome here, Hornfel Thane, and yours not the least.”

Stanach turned and, with a whispered word, gave his plan of defense to the six waiting in the gatehouse.

Outside in the great hall, the murmuring of the Theiwar fell silent, the rattling of their swords against mail and breast plate was stilled.

Like the voice of winter, Realgar’s order to attack rang cold and high. There was only room in Stanach for a last prayer, and he made that as he lifted his sword and instinctively found its balance.

Please, Reorx, please defend us now …

The two archers, placed out of sword’s reach on the ancient gate mechanism’s shaft, kept the air thick with arrows. Kelida knew no difference between her terror of being impaled on an opponent’s sword and her terror of catching a friend’s arrow in the back.

More frightening than the rangers’ arrows were the bolts from Tyorl’s crossbow. Those split the air with a wailing shriek that was always echoed by an enemy’s high, dying scream.

“Leave the aim up to the archers,” Hauk had said. “That’s their business, Kelida. Yours is staying alive.” He’d started to say something more, but there had been no time. The battle dragged them apart. Kelida fought with no more skill than she’d had in the great hall, but with as much, if not more, ferocity. It did not take a tactician’s skill to know that their backs were to the last wall now. There was nothing behind them but the burning valley a thousand feet below the city. A black and silver liveried guard lunged from her right, a second from her left. Kelida drove her dagger into the throat of one and kicked out, breaking the knee of the second. Blood was everywhere, steaming from her dagger’s steel and running between her fingers.