Choking around the icy metal that had so suddenly somehow appeared in his gullet, Blade Teln Orbrar found himself unable to reply.
'Not-' he struggled to say, staring into two eyes that wept tears and blazed with pain and fury.
'Not a bastard,' he managed to choke out as Faertin went dim around him. 'Not. Decent, really. I…'
Night fell. Forever, he knew. Forever.
'That's the last tluining arrow!' Halmur snapped, tossing his bow down and reaching for his sword.
Steldurth nodded, raised his own blade, and gave the sardonic, dusky-skinned Turmishan an approving smile. 'You feathered Dragons enough for us. No one left to get in the way of us killing the Knights this time!'
'Kill?' Kraskus growled, bending down to thrust his red-bearded, brutish face close. 'Time to kill?'
'Time to kill, Kraskus,' Brorn said firmly from behind them all. 'To avenge Lord Yellander!'
'Yellander,' the bullyblades snarled in unison, hefting their swords, and rushed out of the concealing trees.
'I don't want to kill you!' Florin said, striking a Dragon's thrusting sword aside, then slashing in the other direction in time to parry a second Dragon's attack. 'Stop this!'
'Stop this? Man, we are the law here!' Blade Hanstel Harrow snapped back at the ranger. 'Lay down your sword, and we'll-'
'You'll kill us where we stand,' Semoor Wolftooth said, retreating and vainly trying to wipe his forehead clean of blood from a gash made when the very tip of one of the Dragons' swords had just caught him a lunge or two earlier. His streaming gore was almost blinding him. 'Those're your orders, aren't they? Well?'
Neither Dragon answered with more than wordless growls of exasperation and effort, as they went right on hacking at Florin as hard and fast as they knew how.
'Stop this!' Semoor spat through the blood dripping from his nose and chin. 'Stop or someone's going to get killed!'
Raging, Dauntless came to his feet. Their horses were dead or fled, the last one lashing out with its steel- shod hooves at one of the priest Knights-Doust Sulwood, wasn't it? — as it reared one last time before racing back toward the road.
Grathus was dead at his feet, and their saucy wench of a thief was just rising from beside Orbrar, his life- blood all over the knife in her hand.
With a roar the ornrion launched himself into a run across the uneven, trampled ground, swinging his sword up and back for a great cleaving stroke that should end her sly evil forever.
She was reeling, wet with blood and with half her hair and leathers burnt off her, but her eyes glittered with a fury to match his own as she raised arms that trailed wisps of smoke, bloody knife coming up to greet him.
Dauntless slowed not a whit. That fang could do nothing against his armor for the moment he needed to hack her down-and then she'd not be using it on anyone, ever again.
'Die, outlaw bitch!' he bellowed, bringing his sword down. 'Die!'
Florin sprang aside again. He didn't want to kill these Purple Dragons, didn't want their blood on hisThe snarling face of the nearest Dragon changed, fear falling across it ere its owner backed away. He was gazing past Florin, and so was the other Dragon, whose outflanking rush had faltered.
Florin kept moving, aside and back, but turned his head ro see what they were both staring at.
A swarm of men with swords raced toward them, the foremost almost close enough to touch, clenched teeth opening to bellow, 'Yellander!'
'Oh, tluin,' Florin said and set his feet to meet the nearest of Yellander's bullyblades blade-to-blade. Just in time.
Jhessail rose out of her crouch, daring to breathe again, as Doust said, 'Guard yourself!' and erupted out of the little hollow where they'd crouched together. Mace in hand, he charged into the fray.
Standing-these outlaws must have run out of arrows, hence their charge out into the open-the spellhurler drew the dagger from her belt.
It seemed so puny, against all these hulking men in armor and their swords. Yet her battle spells were all gone now, most spent on half-seen archers in the trees. So she could run away, sprint after Doust, and do what little she could, or she could stand here and watch.
Which really bid fair to mean stand and watch her friends die.
Dauntless brought his blade down so hard, it couldn't help but break the dagger raised against it and both the wench's slender wrists gripping that knife, too. If she managed to parry at all.
Only to find himself stumbling awkwardly forward, almost impaling himself on his own pommel, as his sword bit deep into forest leaf mold. Somehow the thief had ducked or twisted away, and-where was she?
He spun, fearing being hamstrung.
Damn all if he didn't find himself looking into her defiant grin! Pennae was reeling, teeth clenched in pain and fighting to keep standing. Blood was running in a dark wet flood down the arm that held out her dagger to menace him, and that arm was wavering. She had been trying to hamstring him, gods take her. Only the weakness of her wounds had kept her from doing it before he could get his sword unstuck and whirl to face her.
'Curse you, wench!' he spat, stepping back from her to give himself space enough to swing his blade back up to his shoulder.
She fought to keep standing, lurching forward to try to stay close to him, too close for his seeking steel-but Dauntless turned with her, took another step back, and then leaned forward and put all the strength in his shoulders behind a woodcutter's chop, bringing his sword down in a cleaving that-missed the staggering thief entirely as something slammed hard into the ornrion's knees from one side, snatching his hacking sword away from his intended victim.
It was his turn to stagget, as his sword bit into turf again and plunged him into a fight to keep from falling. He managed amid all the awkward hopping to turn his head enough to look down his struck leg and see that his assailant wasThat weakling of a Tymoran priest among the Knights!
Sulwood, Doust Sulwood. That was his name.
And this Doust Sulwood was glaring up at Dauntless fight now, gasping for breath with his hands still clawing at the knee-plates of the ornrion's armor.
Dauntless jerked back with a snail and kicked his way clear of the sprawling priest.
'Deal with you later, holynose,' he growled, swinging his sword aloft again.
Then he let out a roar that rang with the rage rising in him, and charged the thief again. If he did nothing else this day, felling this little bitch and delivering Cormyr from her tireless thievery shouldShe was stumbling back, gasping, staring at him almost beseechingly through her hair. Defenseless and reeling, on the brink of begging for mercy.
'Not this time, wench,' Dauntless said. 'Not this time!'
He drew his blade back for a killing blow, bounded forward, and brought it down.
In midair it struck a bright blade rhat seemed to thrust out of nowhere, a sword as hard and unmoving as an iron bar.
The impact struck sparks past his nose, nigh deafened him with its clang, and numbed his sword arm right up into his shoulder. Dauntless roared in startled pain and hastily stepped back. The bright blade followed, thrusting at him.
'Well met, ornrion,' said a cold, sarcastic voice, and Dauntless found himself blinking into a wintry gaze he recognized. 'Islif Lurelake, at your service.'
Onrushing bullyblades washed over Florin Falconhand in a tide of pounding boots and thrusting swords. He parried, danced aside, and slashed like a madwits, running another few strides toward the Ride whenever he could snatch an instant amid the frantic swordplay.
After those brief skirmishes, most of the bullyblades swept past him and across the clearing, seeking easier prey. Of the few who tarried, Florin sent one man staggering away clutching a slashed face, plunged his sword into the shouting mouth of a second to silence him forever, and drove a third to his knees, gurgling and feebly trying to hold his head on an almost-seveted neck.
