'You're not getting bored, are you?' Belkram asked in mock concern.
At his shoulder, Gedaern grinned and cocked his head to survey both the Harpers.
'Are the two of ye always like this?'
'Worse,' Belkram replied mildly as three Wolves in full plate armor shouldered aside an anxious servant with a halberd and lumbered forward to meet them. ' 'Ware, brothers!'
The two Harpers stepped forward to meet the charge. The Wolves came at them swinging heavy battle-axes in great roundhouse swings the lightly armored men could not hope to stop except with their bodies.
'Back!' Belkram called, waving a hand at the older dalesmen. He ran back to where they'd thrown down the shields, snatched one, and threw it to Itharr. Itharr ducked under a swing, dropped the shield, and had to scramble away to avoid being beheaded. The Wolves came on, grinning through the bars of their full helms.
'Itharr, you do the sticking!' Belkram called, and laid hands on the body of a Wolf he'd killed breaths before.
One Wolf charged him. Belkram heaved the corpse up into a cradled position across his own chest, puffing under the weight, and dumped it into the Wolf's swing, dragging axe and arm to the floor. The corpse's arms flopped loosely. Belkram sprang over them to land with both feet on the man's axe-wielding arm. The man roared hollowly inside his helm as Itharr arrived, daggers in both hands, to drive them into the sallet's eye slits. The roaring stopped abruptly.
The two Harpers sprang away just in time, leaping and rolling to avoid the wild, chopping blows of the other two axes.
There came a shuffling sound from behind them, and the dalesmen trotted past, carrying a heavy wooden table like a ram. They flung it into one of the Wolves, knocking him over, then snatched out their blades to attack the other Wolf together.
The Wolf drove one to the floor with his first blow. His second hacking swing struck sparks from their weapons with its fury. A dalesman screamed as his wrist snapped under the impact and his old sword flew from it to clang along the flagstones. Then Belkram leapt in from one side, tackling the Wolf waist-high.
They went to the floor together, but frantic axe work forced the Harper to break free and roll away without delivering any real blow.
Itharr was getting up off the table, daggers dripping. The Wolf under it would never rise again.
There was a shout from the room beyond, and more Wolves rushed into the room. They were lightly armored, but there were six of them.
Itharr rushed to meet them, trying to keep them entangled in the doorway. 'To me, men of the dale!' he called over his shoulder as he sheathed one dagger in his boot and drew his sword again. 'To me!'
His blades met those of the foremost Wolves, hurling them back for an instant. Then he ducked low and lunged in a move Storm had used on him-ages ago, it seemed. A Wolf made a strangling sound as the blade burst up between his arms to slip into his throat.
Itharr let go of the blade in an instant, spinning to one side, and avoided the angry counterstrikes of the other Wolves. Then Gedaern of the dale was there, his old broadsword in hand, taking one Wolf's blade on his and darting out an old, hairy hand to clasp the man's other wrist and arrest the streaking dagger it held.
Itharr spun two Wolves around with a series of lashing blows, forcing them to parry, and then lunged at one. That Wolf crashed backward into the one Gedaern was facing. Both staggered, giving Gedaern an instant to slide his blade free of the Wolf's steel and slash the man across the face. The armsman screamed as blood began to flow, and dropped his sword to clutch at his head.
Itharr drove another Zhent back with a flurry of lunges, using weight and fury to drive the Wolf who'd run into Gedaern's foe back into him again. This time Itharr's Wolf fell. A breath later, Gedaern took down the man he'd blinded.
Behind them, Belkram was still circling the armored Wolf with the axe. The man's swings were slower and shrewder now. He was tiring and knew the speed of the man he faced. The Harper wore an eager half-smile as they danced and spun, remembering Storm, sweat glistening on her bare shoulders, as she'd fought her way coolly through Itharr's best blade work, and his own. There was a trick she'd used…
Belkram feinted a lunge. The great axe swept up to block it, then drew back a little for a return blow. Belkram flung himself forward in a jump, turned his blade sideways, and thrust it into the back of the man's arms, driving them and the axe upward.
Then the Harper dropped to the floor, kicking against the flagstones and surging forward into a roll against the Wolf's booted ankles.
The man toppled, hitting the floor with a metallic crash. An old dalesman sprang forward, almost weeping in rage, and chopped at the man's helm until it rang like a bell.
The blade glanced off again and again as Belkram found his feet and was forced to deal with a Wolf charging down almost on top of him.
When he could turn back again, the Harper saw the old dalesman clutching a broken sword-it had snapped against the helm-and cautiously lifting the Wolf's head. It lolled loosely; the helm had held, but the neck must have given way. The old man knelt beside the man he'd killed and started to cry, gnarled old hands trembling.
Belkram wheeled and charged back into the fray. From the room beyond, someone called, 'Aid! They're in the castle! They've broken in!'
Another voice called back, 'Keep them from the great hall, or the lord'll have our soft bits!'
'What lord?' the first voice roared back.
'Stormcloak,' was the terse reply.
The first voice snorted. 'If it's him,' it said, 'let him use his magic to deal with these. Our swords don't seem enough.'
'He'll find you, after, if you shirk your duty.'
'Let him,' the first voice responded bitterly, 'if he lives. You haven't seen these idiots fight!'
Belkram grinned savagely, stepped around a dalesman who was falling with a groan, two swords through his body, and drove his sword point into the mouth of another Wolf. 'Friend,' he called out, 'which way is this great hall?'
After a startled moment, the first voice said laconically, ' 'Twould be the most foolish treason to tell you that it's through here, turn right, and behind the double doors at the end of the straight passage-so I won't tell you that.'
The voice started to say something more but suddenly rose into a scream and abruptly fell silent.
'So die all traitors,' rumbled a new voice.
'Hey!' Belkram called, hewing down another Wolf. 'I liked that man!'
'Who speaks?'
'I do,' Belkram yelled. 'Who are you to ask?' The last Wolf fell, and he hurried to join Itharr's rush forward to the room beyond.
There stood a hulking armored form as wide as them both but of their own height. It lowered its war helm, and they had a brief glimpse of blond hair, scarred cheeks, and cold, calculating eyes. 'I am Gathen Srund,' the rumbling voice came hollowly to them. 'I was Left Axe to Lord Longspear. I will avenge him, rebel traitors.'
The armored man lumbered forward, hefting a huge warhammer. There were other Wolves behind him, but they stayed well back to watch.
The two Harpers looked at each other and darted a glance behind. All the Wolves were down, and three dalesmen were with them. A fourth dalesman sat against a wall, clutching his broken wrist and cursing softly.
'Have you noticed,' Itharr remarked, 'how pompous these Zhent bully blades always are? They occupy some place, usurping rightful rule and law, and then squeak of 'rebels' and 'traitors.' It's odd…'
'I have noticed that, yes,' Belkram replied as the warhammer swung, and they ducked and hastily sprang apart. 'Scatter, men!' he added urgently over his shoulder to the dalesmen.
They needed no urging. Belkram heard the clatter of hasty booted feet receding, then the helm of their foe rang with hollow laughter. 'Hah! See them run, large-mouths! What say you now?'
The two old men threw down their swords, halted by the overturned table, panted for an instant, and then heaved it up to their shoulders and came back to the fray in a stumbling rush.
Itharr attacked, slashing repeatedly and jabbing at the helm's eye slits, forcing Srund to use his hammer to parry, and pulling it to one side. The table was driven in through the gap Itharr had created, crashing into the Wolf
