and sending him staggering back.
'Well met,' Belkram replied mildly in answer to Gathen Srund's taunt, as he sprang forward to get the war- hammer. He got a good grasp on it and was promptly dragged and battered about the floor as the awesomely strong Left Axe tried to wrench his weapon free.
'I wonder what the Right Axe is like?' Itharr asked him, stretching over the struggle to bury his blade in one of the eye slits of the Zhentilar's helm. Gathen stiffened, dropped the hammer, fumbled for it with failing fingers, and fell over on his side with a room-shaking crash.
The dalesmen rushed forward, but the room was emptying of Zhents as fast as they could flee. The warriors all ran down a passage to the right.
Belkram got up, breathing heavily, and watched them go. 'I wager,' he said slowly as he fought for breath, 'that we'll… soon find out… once they get where they're going… and tell their tale.'
Itharr nodded. 'You're right,' he said simply.
Then the two Harpers embraced each other and roared their delight. 'What a fight this is!' Itharr shouted happily. 'What a fight!'
The oldest dalesman looked at him, unsmiling, and shook his head. 'They're still young, indeed,' he said to another white-haired veteran, who only nodded.
Then they heard men begin to scream, down the passage.
Sharantyr came down the dark stairs like a vengeful wind. The lighted passage below was full of worried, running men with weapons. Armored men. Wolves. More to be slain.
In grim silence she leapt down among them, and started to slay. One fell, and then another. A third slipped, and she was past him to run her blade through a foolish one without armor. He clutched himself and collapsed with a horrible groan, and she was on to the next one. Was she killing with her eyes? Men fell wherever she looked, and the passage was warm with the smell of their blood and fear.
A fresh group of Wolves came running up the passage. She turned to them with a savage smile. The shortest warrior started the screaming as he tried to turn around and found his fellows in the way.
Then they were all screaming. Sharantyr had never thought she'd enjoy such a sound.
The men were fleeing from her. Behind them, bloody and bedraggled men were coming out into the passage, well-used weapons in their hands. Dalesmen!
She snatched a glance back over her shoulder. Wolves were fleeing in that direction too, falling back to join a guard of armored men in front of a set of closed double doors. In their midst was a dark-haired man in full armor who stood a head taller than the rest. 'Hold fast,' he said with cold authority. 'They cannot pass us.'
Sharantyr gave him a sneer and turned to join the dalesmen in their slaughter. She snuck a glance back, but the man had refused to be drawn out of the guard. He stood coldly waiting as they butchered the few milling Wolves in the passage.
The lady ranger embraced the two men in leathers she'd seen fight so well in the marketplace and said, 'Sharantyr. Knight of Myth Drannor.'
They bowed. 'Itharr and Belkram of the Harpers, with true men of the dale.'
They exchanged grins, and one of the old men lumbered forward. 'Give us a hug, lass. Then, live or die, I'll do it happily.'
Sharantyr shed a few tears as she put blood-spattered arms around him.
Then they all turned, in sudden silence, to face the Wolves at the door.
'Lay down your arms,' the tall man said flatly, 'or we'll kill you, as painfully as we know how.' He looked at them with cold confidence and added, 'Consider this: We are warriors of Zhentil Keep. We know much of killing.'
'You certainly know much about dying, after this day,' Itharr told him, 'if this is all of you there are left.'
'Save your brave words for pleading,' the tall man told him contemptuously, 'and we may let you live.'
'My thanks to you,' Sharantyr told him with biting sarcasm. 'Your generous pacifism overwhelms me. 'Tis so sudden and heartfelt.'
The tall man lifted his head, pointing his chin at her. 'Bring me that one alive,' he told the Wolves around him. 'I have… plans for her.'
'Aye, Right Axe,' several voices murmured in reply.
Beside Belkram, Gedaern nodded suddenly. 'Ah. This one's Heladar's Right Axe-his trusty, like, and probably their commander, now. A merchant told me, a few months back, that he's known for cruelty and butchering women and younglings when he gets a chance. Sunthrun Blackshoulder's his name.'
The tall man laughed shortly. 'Your merchant friend was right.'
Belkram saluted him with raised sword. 'Then it will be a pleasure killing you, Sunthrun Blackshoulder.'
The tall man sneered. 'A pleasure you'll never live to see.' He drew a blade as long as the shortest dalesman there was tall. Its blade was dull black and menacingly evil.
Belkram smiled tightly and looked around at Itharr, the dalesmen, and Sharantyr. He collected nods from them all and jerked his head forward. Calmly, unhurrying, they strode down the passage to where the Wolves waited.
Itharr struck first. His blade met that of one Wolf and thrust it sideways toward another. That man moved to avoid catching two battling blades in the face, and the Wolf on the other side of Itharr moved to take advantage of a chance to strike at the Harper's unprotected side. This opened a gap in the line, and Sharantyr leapt through it to lunge at the Right Axe himself.
The tall man smiled coldly, parrying with such force that her numbed fingers tingled. Somehow she held on to her sword, but now the men on either side of Blackshoulder were striking at her. She dodged, letting the blade of one man slip past her ear, and ran in under it to open his throat. Behind her, Belkram felled a man and came up against the Right Axe in his turn.
Sunthrun Blackshoulder attacked with dazzling speed, striking at Belkram's face and throat. Only frantic parries saved the Harper's life. Sharantyr turned, punched the back of a Wolf's neck she found within reach, and lashed out with her blade to cut the Right Axe on the elbow above his free hand.
Blackshoulder roared and turned on her. Sharantyr leapt to one side, got her arm around the neck of another Wolf, and swung him in front of her as a shield, just in time to take the Right Axe's vicious thrust. She fell back as the tip of his black blade came out of the Wolf's back, parting the plates of his armor as if it were rotten leather.
Sharantyr rolled on the floor and contrived as she came up to trip another Wolf's feet out from under him. Itharr killed that one, tossing her a smile as he attacked the next. One of the dalesmen gurgled horribly and went down as a blade found his throat.
They were still killing old men, these Wolves. Angrily Sharantyr ran at the Right Axe again as he shook the corpse from his blade. Belkram hacked down a Wolf to reach Blackshoulder from one side just as the Right Axe's blade came free, and the lady Knight came at him from the other.
Blackshoulder tried to duck and parry, to force them into each other. It would have been a good move against the inexperienced warriors he obviously thought them to be.
Both the Harper and the Knight followed the Right Axe's move. As Belkram's blade bound and lifted the Zhentilar's weapon, Sharantyr's sword found the armpit of his raised sword arm. She moved with him, driving it in deep. After a moment's resistance, her blade slid in easily. Right Axe Sunthrun stiffened, spat blood, and collapsed silently to the floor. Gedaern of the dale, intent on a battle of his own, stepped on the Axe's head a moment later and almost apologized before he saw whom he'd trampled.
'Are there more?' Itharr asked as the Wolf he'd been fighting fell heavily against the wall and slid down it, gauntleted fingers clawing feebly for a hold.
They looked around. Not a Wolf was left, but Gedaern and the oldest graybeard were the only dalesmen still standing. The two Harpers looked at Sharantyr, and she looked back at them.
'Shall I?' Itharr asked, waving at the door. Sharantyr smiled.
Belkram sighed. 'Itharr, one always opens doors for a lady,' he said in mock despair.
Itharr bowed and opened the door silently. They went in.
