Dark Warrior Rising (32 page)

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Authors: Ed Greenwood

BOOK: Dark Warrior Rising
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“Up ahead!
Ruse?
”
“I'm here! Lharlak?”
“Dead—that's his arm there, dangling! Is the Throat within reach?”
“Aye, but
look!
They're
right
behind us!”
“So we fight and run—thank Olone they're Ouvahlan: no hurlbows!”
They ran.
Laughing now, waving their swords, the Ouvahlan warblades sprang down the tumbled rocks and sprinted after them. One waved Lharlak's severed head around—and then hurled it.
It fell far short of them, thudding wetly on rocks, and Bloodblade snarled, “Crone-schooled
bastard.
I'll remember that face, I will …”
Then he was huffing and puffing too hard to say more. Stones turned and tumbled underfoot as they ran up a steeply rising, narrowing passage, ducked around a sharp bend, and came out into a tiny cavern.
“The Throat,” Daruse panted. “We stand here, and strike at the Ouvahlans as they come along the narrow way.”
Orivon stared across the cavern, at a wider passage running on. “Won't they just circle around and come at us from that way?”
“Of course, but it's a
long
way around, if they know it at all. Any tricks to help us, Bloodblade?”
“Nothing that's any use in a battle. One healing-stone.”
“Huh,” Daruse grunted dismissively. “Right: we fight!”
“My turn,” Orivon growled, hefting his sword and glaring at Taerune, daring her to say anything against him.
Gravely, she nodded, kissed her dagger, and gave him an Evendoom salute with it.
“Firefist,” Bloodblade grunted, “if they blind you or wound you, or you start to slip, back out
fast.
In this direction, if you can, so we can jump in past you and hold the way.”
“I hear,” Orivon grunted, stepping forward—and then staggering, as the first hard-running Ouvahlan charged right into him, striking his sword aside and trying to bull his way on, into the cavern. A second Ouvahlan warblade was right behind him.
Orivon kicked the blade right out of that second warblade's hand—and Taerune hurled herself forward like a spear to put her sword tip into his face. The force of Orivon's kick slammed the warblade he was grappling into the wall where the narrow way started to widen into the cavern—and the flat of Bloodblade's sword slammed into the warblade's sword, pinning it against the stone. Orivon dared to let go of his own trapped blade long enough to punch the Nifl's throat as hard as he could,
and managed to catch hold of his sword hilt again before the gagging, gargling warblade started to fall.
Another two Ouvahlan warblades slammed into their dying fellows from behind, driving everyone out into the cavern—and suddenly the room was full of hacking, thrusting Niflghar, Daruse was roaring in pain, and Bloodblade was snarling out a flood of curses as two or three Ouvahlans drove him back, clear across the cavern and into the passage beyond.
Then Taerune swung her whip, shouting, “
Down,
Orivon!”
Deadly blades sliced Nifl all around her; warblades shouted in pain all around the cavern. Someone threw a dagger that caught in her hair and another that struck her bodice and was turned away by the bracers Orivon had thrust into them—and then Orivon was up and hacking furiously at any bloodied, startled warblade he could reach, crouching as low as he could. Something icy sliced across his back, he heard Taerune cry, “
Sorry,
Orivon!” and then more Nifl screamed.
“Motherless, Ice-loving sleeth!” Bloodblade snarled, sounding faint and far away—and then Orivon was too busy killing Niflghar warblades who were trying to kill him, to notice anything else but the frantic thrust, turn, twist, leap, and hack of his own fighting.
He was vaguely aware of bodies underfoot, and thought he saw the staring face of Daruse among them, but really couldn't be sure—as he panted for breath, whirled to look for a warblade he was sure had ducked past him, found that Nifl sinking down as Taerune's whip tore out his face, and caught sight of a puffing, blood-drenched Bloodblade staggering back into the cavern.
Then Taerune's whip entangled the legs of one last warblade, he toppled, she ruthlessly drove the blade her left arm now ended in into his throat … and silence fell.
There were no more Ouvahlans standing in the cavern, though the floor was heaped with them. Bloodblade peered down the passage that led back to Glowstone, swore, started to run—and then stopped, sighing. “One—their commander—getting away,” he panted. “Back to tell—”
“I'll take him!” Orivon snapped, and launched himself into the passage. He could hear Taerune gasping behind him as he ran, shoulders slamming bruisingly into this side wall and then that one, hurling himself along.
Soon they'd come to the steep slope down, with the loose stones, but
it was a long way before there'd be side caverns and other passages, that the Nifl could choose to take. He had to run down the Ouvahlan before then, or the rest of the army would be guided, patrol after patrol, until—
A dagger came hurtling right at his face!
Behind it, the Ouvahlan was rushing forward, sword up.
Orivon slipped.
The dagger flashed over him as he started to fall, and he heard Taerune grunt, and then sob.
Thorar, no! She's been hit!
The grinning warblade thrust at him. Still falling, Orivon kicked desperately, slashed back and forth with his blade, and flung up his free hand to try to slap the darting Ouvahlan blade away.
His kick struck only air, his blade clanged off the Ouvahlan's sword but drove it past his shoulder—and his hand slammed into the Ouvahlan's sword hand. He shoved at it as he slid on past, slamming into the Nifl's legs.
The Ouvahlan fell on him, hard. They both cursed, and Orivon saw a Nifl hand plucking at a sheathed dagger. He slammed the hilt of his sword into his foe's head, heard the warblade grunt, and—was flung sideways as Taerune hurled herself along his body, blade-first, to bury her steel in the Ouvahlan's neck and throat.
The Nifl went limp, and Taerune crawled on them both, using the warblade's own dagger to make sure the Ouvahlan was dead.
Then things went very quiet, save for their hard breathing.
“Are they all dead?” Orivon gasped.
“Yes,” Taerune gasped back, her knees and elbows bruising him as she turned atop him.
“Are you hurt?” he managed to gasp out—before her lips found his.
They were hot and hungry, and were all the answer he got until Bloodblade grunted, “Could you two couple in a slightly roomier spot, d'you think? Taerune, you're bleeding something fierce, and should be cuddling my healing-stone, not this huge hairy human!”
 
 
Jalandral smiled as the glow that had claimed him faded away again. Drawing his sword, he stepped forward confidently into an unfamiliar passage, deep in the Wild Dark.
He was walking into danger again, and that was just how he wanted it.
 
 
Orivon's bundle was much smaller now. Taerune walked ahead of him, her painful healing done, and Bloodblade trudged along behind. No one mentioned Lharlak or Daruse, and no one dawdled. There might be many more Ouvahlan patrols looking for travelers to butcher.
“I'm sorry you got hurt,” Orivon told Taerune. Again. “That dagger should never have got past me.”
Taerune sighed and turned. “Don't be. It was
battle.
Behave cruelly more often; you'll find it gets much easier.”
Orivon gave her a dark look. “That's
precisely
what I fear.”
“Enough, you two,” Bloodblade growled from behind them. “We're almost at the way up into the Blindingbright—and there's always beasts lurking thereabouts to deal with.”
 
 
By the time he reached the Hidden Gate and found its guards gone, Lord Evendoom was more than tired of burning Nameless rabble, crones, and Evendoom servants. Moreover, spellblade magic doesn't last forever, and he did
not
want to end up beset by Lord-murderers in his own bed-chambers, defending himself with nothing but a dagger and a no-longer-magic sword. So he had to remember all the places battle-magic had been hidden in the Eventowers, and hope by Olone that the crones hadn't gotten to all of them first.
Trudging down the long tunnel that served as the back way into the Eventowers, he passed the time thinking up new curses.
 
 
“I'll wait down here in the Dark for you two to kiss and slobber and all of that,” Bloodblade grunted. “Don't go throwing any temporarily discarded clothing down on my head, now.”
Orivon and Taerune both gave him withering looks; he just grinned and waved them up the narrow, winding way that led up into everbrighter light.
Despite Bloodblade's dire warnings, there'd been no beasts, though they'd seen gnawed and scattered bones in plenty. Taerune shivered as they stepped up into a boulder-strewn cavern whose far end was one blinding wall of light.
“The Blindingbright,” Orivon said roughly. “My home.”
“Another world,” Taerune mumbled, trembling.
Orivon put an arm around her. “It's just light. Nothing to be afraid of.”
“For you,” she hissed, her fingers over her eyes. “Humans slaughter Nifl, remember?”
Orivon stroked her hair awkwardly, drawing her against his chest. “I hated you so much,” he muttered, “for so long.”
She sighed. “I didn't hate you,” she said, in a small voice. Then she added firmly, “Have my thanks, Orivon. I owe you my life. Dark Warrior.”
Orivon looked over her head at the sunlight. He could just see green leaves, now. “I won't forget you,” he said, suddenly very weary.
“I know that. We're blood-sworn … and you're Olone's Dark Warrior.”
“And what is Olone, but a name priestesses threaten other Nifl with?”
“Be not so sure of that.” She shivered violently, and then hissed, “If ever you are in need, get back down into the Dark, away from this light, fill your hand with your own blood, and say my name. I will hear.”
“And?”
“And come to this place, if I can. I stand in your debt, Orivon Firefist.”
“For lashing you? And turning your city into a battlefield?”
“Oh, Olone damn you, human, don't make this
harder!
” Taerune's finger caught hold of his ear, she dragged his face down and kissed him fiercely, her tongue like a sword—and then tore free and strode away from him.
They gazed at each other in silence, and then Taerune slowly drew her dagger, gave him an Evendoom salute, and turned away.
“Taerune—lass—” Orivon blurted out, and she turned to face him, already two strides down the cleft that led down into the Dark.
“Keep safe,” he said roughly. “And may we meet again as friends, by Thorar. And Olone.”
Taerune gave him a smile, blew him a kiss, and was gone.
Orivon stood for a long time staring at where his last sight of her had been, remembering those eyes staring at his, wet with tears.
And then he sighed heavily, felt for the hilt of his sword, and started the walk out to the waiting sunlight.
 
 
Taerune wiped her eyes and stood still in the gloom, with the light of the Blindingbright behind her and the deep and familiar darkness ahead.
She was an Evendoom no more.
Whether Maharla or her father were alive or dead, no matter who was Eldest and who ruled the Place of the Goddess, the family she knew—and knew her place in, a place she still sorely wanted—was gone. Gone to her. No one-armed Nifl-she could stand in the favor of the Goddess.
This one-armed Nifl-she no longer wanted to. Merely thinking of the cruelty and endless striving, blood against blood, family against family, city against city … no.
Not for her.
Nor was she truly a Ravager, embracing their endless skulking to survive. It was still fighting, always fighting.
Something she'd had a taste for when she was a pampered Lady Evendoom, able to sneer at so many, take what she wanted, and never fear danger nor hunger. Something that held no glee at all now, when she would have to struggle to seize everything, from her next meal to freedom from a slave chain or the pawings of every Nifl-he stronger than she was, who had two arms to defeat her one.
“I am alone,” she murmured to the waiting darkness. “Loyal now only to myself, and those who've proven their loyalty to me.”

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