The Sword looked back at him, and shrugged. 'No,' he said briefly. 'At night, though, we seldom know whom we're killing.'
Nordryn stepped back hastily, eyeing the gleaming sword between them.
'What happens if you slay one of… of our men?'
The Sword shrugged again. 'As I said,' he drawled mildly, 'by then, it's too late.'
Nordryn backed two paces farther from the blade.
'A wizard?' Itharr breathed, staring into the night.
Belkram nodded. 'No doubt. We go wide to the left now, down slope a bit. I see lights, so there'll be a track we can follow.'
Itharr grunted. 'Good. I've lost more blood than I thought I had in me.'
Belkram sighed. 'Hold up a breath or two longer,' he said. 'It would have to be your sword arm.'
Itharr growled agreement deep in his throat. 'Thanks to Storm,' he said, 'I can at least use a blade properly with my left hand. Next time, run to the right, will you?'
Belkram made a little bow. 'As you wish, Lord.'
Itharr decided it was his turn to sigh. Again.
Thalmond shifted his weight off the stool experimentally and winced. The burned leg shrieked at him. He unbuckled his sword and leaned on it, scabbard and all, hopping awkwardly across the guardroom. Aye, it would serve.
Someone groaned from one of the beds. Thalmond hesitated, then turned and went out. None of the others could walk unaided. If he hurried, he would not be seen.
He'd fought for Black Master Manshoon more years than most of these lads had been alive, and knew a thing or two about standing orders. What he sought had to be somewhere in the meeting room.
He hopped along as fast as he could and saw no one on the way. Shouldering the door open, he leaned against the wall for support and waved a seeking arm along it. Metal dangles clinked; he'd found the cord that ran up to the lamp. He lowered the lamp and felt at his belt for his flint.
With the skill of long practice, he struck the stone a glancing dagger blow that showered sparks where he needed them. Six careful breaths later he was easing the door closed and turning back to a room lit by the warm glow of the hanging oil lamp. The object he sought would be somewhere within reach of this lamp, where it could readily be found in the darkness by feel. Not under the chairs or tables, for every blade who grew bored was apt to run his fingers along the edges of his seat or rub itching hands or forearms on the underside of the table edge, and might discover what Thalmond now sought.
No, it was somewhere-here? He stared at the map on the wall and carefully pulled at its edge. Nothing. He pushed. No. He slid the map carefully to the right and it moved-three finger-widths, no more.
There! In the revealed niche, two metal vials hung one above the other by leather thongs. Thank Tymora for her good favor. Even priests of Bane used the warrior symbols for healing! He'd just have a little, enough to stop this Bane-blasted burning in his leg.
Thalmond plucked the sword-rag from his belt-if he never actually touched the vial, no clever magic could tell he'd been here-wrapped the cloth around his hand, and reached out.
A gentle voice, very close by his ear, said, 'My thanks, and farewell. Greet Tempus for me, old warrior.' The steel at his throat was very cold. Thalmond had only a little time to feel surprised, time to tell himself that at last he knew what death would feel like, time to grow just a little angry that he'd heard no one behind him… and then, no time at all.
'Did you have to set the place alight with them all inside?' Itharr whispered, face white in the darkness.
Men rushed past them, shouting. Belkram raised the loaded crossbow carefully on his knee and whispered back grimly, 'I had to kill one old warrior to get these. He flung up his hand as he fell, and by Tymora's favor broke the lamp that hung just above. Flaming oil everywhere! I scarce got out in time. Have you finished that yet?'
'Aye,' Itharr said in the sleepy voice of one who has fought pain for a long time, or pushed too far and done too much and now finds ease.
'Stay awake!' Belkram said sharply. 'Is one going to be enough?'
But he'd spoken too sharply. One of the running figures turned its head and took two steps toward them, sword raised. The Harpers lay still.
The man came on, peering into the shadows. 'Who's-? Hold!'
The crossbow kicked and death hissed into the Wolf's throat. He fell on his side, convulsed, and lay still, one hand raised in a claw that would never close.
'I'm getting a little weary of all this bloodshed,' Itharr said quietly. His voice was stronger.
Belkram nodded. 'I'm not overfond of it, either, but a guard down is one less sword to hunt us. You sound better.'
'I feel better,' Itharr said, putting the second vial carefully into his belt pouch. 'We're too close,' he added, watching the flames leap higher. 'We'll be well lit, soon.'
'Aye,' Belkram agreed, and they scrambled back into the trees. The dell, with its gate, was just a little way beyond.
Itharr looked toward it and then back at Belkram questioningly.
His friend shrugged. 'We've not found Elminster, and I know he came here. I can feel it.'
Itharr nodded. 'Aye,' he agreed, 'and these look like Zhent Blackhelms to me, from what little we've seen.'
Belkram nodded. 'Any work we can do against them is well done, whenever we get a chance.'
'Whither, then?'
Belkram tossed the crossbow away and stared into the night for a moment. 'Do you see mountains beyond?' he asked.
Itharr held up a hand to shield against the light of the leaping flames and said, 'Aye. Not too far off, either.'
Belkram nodded. 'Come day, they'll be searching these woods for our our trail. The rocks this side are the natural place to hide, and for them to look. Why not take ourselves across to those, over there?'
'And spare ourselves much of the hunters' attention?' Itharr asked. 'I like it. Let's use the road, and look for a stream to turn aside from it. Now, before the flames bring everyone out to watch.'
Belkram nodded, and they hurried around the back of the blazing building, flitting like shadows from tree to tree. Below them, houses and shops-and beyond, a smallish stone castle-rose out of the night.
'Where are we, then?'
'A mountain pass?'
'Aye.' Itharr nodded slowly. 'If there's a cart road through the lowest part, there, I'd say yes.'
'But where?' Belkram obviously did not recognize their surroundings.
Itharr yawned. 'I'll think about it,' he promised, 'when we're safely hidden.'
The two Harpers drifted into the night, seeking their stream.
'Bane curse us all,' Nordryn gasped, too astonished for anger. 'The barracks!'
'Now do you see,' the Sword said in a voice of cold steel, 'why I ordered the men to fall back there to make their stand? This is your doing, softskull!'
Nordryn stared at him, eyes glittering. 'You would speak to me so?'
'Aye. Be glad I do not cut you down where you stand, mage. I'd be doing High Lord Manshoon a favor, if this is any example of the glorious bungling you'll inflict on his plans in times to come.' He barked short, mirthless laughter. 'I'd be doing you a favor, come to that, saving you from Manshoon!'
Nordryn stepped back a pace, raising his hand. The officer's sword slid out to float menacingly just above it, preventing the wizard from gesturing to unleash a spell.
'Don't,' the Sword suggested in soft, heavy tones of menace.
Nordryn stepped away again, a brittle smile visible on his face where the leaping flames lit it. 'What if I told Stormcloak that the foray into the woods was your plan?'
