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.The armsman didn't have time to change his aim.His bow hurled a quarrel harmlessly down the ravine as the spear took him in the breast, plucking him away from his rock, and flung him back to crash down on his shoulders in the snow, bouncing and arching in agony.Elminster's charge took him onto the armsman's bloody chest, and he stabbed down again with his bloody dagger."For Elthryn, prince of Athalantar!" he snarled as he dealt death, and the warrior under his knees managed a startled look before all light fled from behind his eyes.Elminster flung himself aside in a roll.Quarrels and spears from both ends of the ravine crossed in the air above the dead warrior where he'd been kneeling.Scrabbling in the snow, El-minster slew the man who was still clutching his bleeding hand."For my mother, Amrythale!"Panting, he took up the man's bow and ducked behind a rock to catch his breath and ready the weapon.His boots bristled with spare daggers now, and the bow was soon loaded.He crouched low, cradled it in his arms, and came around the last rock with his finger on the trigger.No one was there.Elminster stood frozen for a moment, and then knelt down.Another outlaw quarrel hummed past to fall into the empty snows below the ravine.El watched it go, and then looked up.He could climb the shoulder of the ravine and from above see where the armsmen had gone; the snow had stopped falling and the wind had died, leaving the hills around white and smooth with fresh-fallen snow.Everyone could see him as he climbed, too, aye-but then, Tyche put a little hazard into everyone's life.Elminster sighed as he plucked the quarrel from its groove and slid it down into one of his boots.He left the bow cocked as he slung it across his back by the carry-strap and scrambled up the slope.He'd not climbed more than his own height before a quarrel tore into the snow a handspan away from his head.El snatched at it, kicked himself free of the snowy rocks and frozen grass, and slid back down the slope, feigning lifelessness.The quarrel came with him as he crashed on his face in the snow, trying to keep his bow unbroken.Tears blinded him for a moment, but his nose didn't seem broken.He blinked them away and spat out snow while he slid the bow free.It wasunbroken; he loaded it, emitting a drawn-out rattling groan to cover the sounds he made.An armsman with a second crossbow ready rose out of a snowy thicket nearby, looking for the man he'd hit.He and Elminster saw each other at the same instant.Both fired.And both missed.Elminster found his feet as the quarrel sang past him-would he forever be running around this ravine, panting and slipping?-snatched daggers from his boots, and ran toward the thicket, blades flashing in both fists.He was afraid the warrior had a third bow cocked and ready.He was right.The armsman rose again with a triumphant smile on his face-and Elminster flung a dagger at him.The man's smile tightened in fear, and he fired in haste.The quarrel leapt at Elminster, who flung himself desperately over backward.As he fell, his knife met the quarrel with a clang and a spark.The dagger spun wildly away, and the quarrel burned past Elminster, ripping open his chin and thrusting his head around.El roared in pain and fell on his knees, hearing the crunching of the armsman's boots behind him as the warrior came running.Elminster turned, shaking his head to clear it and growling at the pain.The man was scant paces away, sword raised to slay, when El flung the dagger in his other hand into the man's face.It clanged harmlessly off the nose guard of the armsman's helm, but the man's swing missed the diving youth, the sword striking the snowy ground and the rocks beneath.The warrior roared and fell heavily on top of Elminster's left hand.Elminster screamed.Gods, the pain! The man rolled about atop his hand, kicking at the snow to get a grip with his boots.Elminster sobbed, and the world turned green and yellow and swam fuzzily.He grabbed at his belt with his free hand.Nothing there.The man grunted; Elminster felt the hot breath of the armsman turning to face him and bring his blade down.His weight drove the hidden bulk of the Lion Sword, on its thong, bruisingly into Elminster's chest.Desperate, Elminster tore at the throat of his jerkin.His fingers found the hilt of the sword.Over long nights in his first winter in the hills, he'd sharpened the broken stub of the blade until it had a keen, raw edge and point-but beyond the quillons, the weapon wasn't even as long as his hand.Its puny length saved him now.As the armsman's face glared into his, inches away, and his elbow swept his sword up for a gutting thrust, Elminster thrust the Lion Sword up and into his eye."For Elthryn, prince of Athalantar!" he hissed-and as the hot rush of blooddrenched him, found himself sinking into red, wet darkness.*****He was floating somewhere dark and still.Whispers rose and fell around him, half-heard through a slow, rhythmic thudding.Elminster felt the pain of his hand and an answering ache all around.In his head? Yes, and the white glow was rising and pulsing, now-the one he saw when he gathered his mind.The glow grew, and the pain lessened.Ah, thus! Elminster pushed with his mind, and the white radiance faded.He felt a little tired, but the pain receded.he pushed again, and again felt weaker, but now the pain was almost gone.So.He could push pain aside.Could he truly heal himself? Elminster bent his will.and suddenly all his aches and hurts returned, and he could feel cold, hard ground beneath his shoulders, and the wet stickiness of sweat all over.From the place of whispers, he swam up, up, and burst out into the light.The sky was blue and cloudless overhead.Elminster lay on his back on snowy rocks, stiff, cold, and aching.Gingerly, he rolled to one side and looked around.No sign of anyone or any movement-good, because his head swam and pounded and he had to duck down again to catch his breath.The darkness again rushed up to claim him.and it felt so good, his head so heavy.***** A little later, he rolled over.Snow vultures flapped heavily into the air, circled over the ravine, and squalled complaints at him.The last armsman lay dead beside him, the Lion Sword in his face.Elminster winced at the sight, but put his hand to the blade, turned his head away, and pulled it free.Wiping it in the snow, he squinted at the dimming sky-steel-gray now, with the last light of day ebbing behind full clouds-and got up.He had a task to finish if he wanted to live.He felt weak and a little numb.Down the ravine in the open space in front of the Wind Cavern, eight or more armsmen and more than twice that many outlaws lay dead, quarrels protruding from most of the still forms.The vultures were circling overhead, and wolves would be here soon.Hopefully they'd find enough to feed on without entering the caves, where the weak would guard until armsmen came to hack them down.He'd have to slay more armsmen to prevent that.and he was getting sick of killing [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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