Mulmar looked at it, knowing she had only a breath more to act, and inspiration came.
She stepped to his blind side as the Wolf's head started to turn, and slipped her dagger delicately up into the armpit of his sword arm, where armor plate ended and old, sweat-weakened leather began.
The man stiffened, roared in pain, and nearly dropped his blade. He whirled, snatching at it with his other hand, as three women screamed.
Ylyndaera snarled amid the shrieks and stabbed at the man's eyes from behind.
He shrieked, too, as blood fountained up from the wound in his armpit, and broke into an agonized, stumbling run. She watched him go, goaded by pain, as his bright blood ran down the dagger in her hand, and felt her gorge rise. No. She could not slay him that way, by finding an eye from behind, and feeling the blade go in… ohhh…
As her spew splattered on the stones in front of her, a thought came. She reached for a stone she knew was loose, from long-gone days when she'd played up this alley and down others.
The stone was large, flat, and very heavy. She caught up to the staggering Wolf, roughly tore off his helm from behind, and with both hands brought the stone down hard on his head.
He shuddered, started to curse, and fell. She did it again. Again. And again before something gave. His body jerked under her knees before it fell still.
As she rose, she looked into the great, dark eyes of the horse owner's wife, who stood watching, the marks of cruel fingers dark on her flesh. Daera managed a smile as she took up the man's sword, hefted it, and said, 'Come with me, Jharina. I'm for the castle. We're going to kill us some Wolves.'
From behind her, Daera heard a shocked gasp. Without turning she said, 'Ulraea? Bring along Tanshlee, too. She'll catch a chill, standing gawping in that doorway all day.'
Her eyes looked deep into Jharina's. The older, prouder lady looked back at the gangling girl with the sword and the bloody dagger, and drew in a deep, shuddering breath.
'Well?' Ylyndaera asked softly. 'Are you with me?'
Jharina smiled. 'Yes,' she said, her voice almost steady. 'Yes, I am.' She stepped forward and embraced the high constable's daughter, treading on the fallen Wolf uncaringly.
'Lead us, lass,' she said, 'as your father does. Lead us.'
Daera kissed her cheek, handed her the dagger, and started back out of the alley. 'Hurry, then,' she said. 'The men may need us. All's gone quiet up there, and when magic's about, that means ill.'
The bloodstained and mud-smeared Wolf who came stumbling out of an alley just then, to make a run for the castle, was unlucky indeed. The angry howls and screams of the women warned him before they reached him, but not in time for him to outrun them on a wounded leg. He swung his blade twice, jarring Ylyndaera with two hard parries, before his leg gave way and they had him. He did not scream long.
They paused for a moment to let Tanshlee be sick all over the body, then hastened up the road to the open castle gates. Men were hurrying about inside, halberds and swords gleaming in their hands. Wolves.
'Tymora,' Daera breathed, 'let us not be too late.'
The words had scarcely left her lips when there was a great flash and booming sound from within the walls. A man's head, still wearing a helm and a shocked expression, flew past them amid a shower of stones, dirt, and other things best not examined too closely.
'Oh, gods,' Daera cursed, and broke into a run. 'Come on!'
They were almost at the gate before they heard the growing thunder of hooves clattering and pounding toward them. Frantically they flung themselves aside, diving to the turf, as the world exploded in racing horses.
'Daera,' Ulraea quavered as they hugged the ground together amid rolling dust, 'could you stop praying, d'you think? Every time you call on a divine one, something happens!'
'Oh,' Daera replied, clutching her sword. 'All right.'
16
Elminster coughed. 'If ye feel up to standing,' he said, 'I'd best be putting my robe back on now. Thy reputation, ye know. Besides, 'tis cold when one is old and thin and not used to drafty battlements.'
Sharantyr chuckled and rolled to her feet. She felt a little weak at the knees and caught hold of the rampart for support, but when she moved there was no great pain, and everything turned and flexed as it should. She found her sword and took it up. Its familiar weight made her feel all was well again.
Elminster held up his robe and ostentatiously brushed it clean. After an undignified moment of struggling as he put it on over his head, he smoothed his beard and hefted his much-used wand. 'I fear more bloodshed awaits us,' he said, almost eagerly. 'Now, if someone will show us where the battle's gotten to…'
As if in reply, someone not far away laughed exultantly. They tensed, staring in the direction the sound had come from, and seeing only empty walks and stairs, lifeless turrets. The sound came again, from the far side of one of the turrets. A door or a window must be hidden from their view. In unspoken accord they hurried along the battlements as silently as they could.
'Fools,' a voice that matched the laughter called, 'you have come here, your hard and desperate way, only to find your own deaths!'
The taunt was not directed at them; it was hurled down into the inner courtyard, where men with weapons- pitchforks, old felling axes, and a few swords and daggers-stood warily in a corner, livestock milling all around them.
Elminster and Sharantyr exchanged glances and hurried on. They still could not see the speaker. In front of them was the turret the Wolves with the rope had emerged from. The voice must be coming from its other side.
'Rush in by that door,' Elminster whispered to the lady ranger, 'only after ye hear me shout. Move as fast as ye can. Only a Zhent wizard would be foolish and arrogant enough to gloat over foes instead of striking, but he won't go on forever. Don't give him a chance to use magic on thee.' He clapped her shoulder affectionately and darted around the curving side of the turret. Sharantyr held her blade high as she came up to the door.
The storm shutters had been thrown wide on an arched window that commanded a view of the courtyard and the parapet walk most of the way around the inside of the castle. Leaning out of the window, resplendent in rich robes, a cruel-looking man wearing earrings and a triumphant sneer was fairly spitting his words down at the trapped men below.
'Thought yourselves victorious, did you? Country idiots! Longspear ruled only as far as we let him. Now that you've swept him away and most of his stupid sword-swingers with him, what have you accomplished?'
The man raised his hand. Elminster saw that he held a handful of winking, glowing glass spheres that spun lazily around each other, and his heart sank. Zhent blast-globes!
'All you've done, worms, is thrown away your lives-and those of your wives and daughters and mothers-by hewing down all among us who might have shown you any mercy. Now you face wizards of power, dullards, and you'll discover just how we deal with defiance!'
The globes swept up, pulsing with sudden fire as he drew back his hand to throw them. 'Know, worms, that it is I, Haragh Mnistlyn, who destroys you!'
Elminster leaned close then and conversationally said, 'Boo.'
The Zhentarim turned a startled face to the Old Mage, who smiled sweetly at him and bellowed, 'Now, Shar!'
Elminster raised his wand with a confident smile and tensed to fling himself back around the curve of the wall.
The Zhent wizard didn't disappoint him. Snarling in surprised fury, he flung the blast-globes straight at Elminster.
If they struck anything, they would explode.
The Old Mage hurled himself back as energetically as he'd ever done anything in his long, long life.
There was a frozen moment when the only thing he heard was his own heartbeat booming between his ears
