Gritting his teeth, Thealos heaved at the sword. It wouldn’t budge. He turned around, straddling where he thought the neck of the dragon was, and bent his knees. “Help me lift it,” he urged Tomn. The water soaked his cloak and pants. Keeping his back straight, he clamped his fingers over the dragon’s snout and lifted again. Tomn dug into the mud behind him and hoisted. Thealos felt the tendons in his neck bulge with the strain, and it started to move. The mud hissed and gurgled and it came higher and higher.
He let out his breath and then tugged again, feeling the strain on his calves and arms and back. “Keasorn, please!” he groaned. They came up suddenly – sword and dragon head, both with a splash. A glare of blue light stung his eyes as the blade shimmered in the night air. It was a Silvan short sword of such workmanship that he gasped. The hilt had the impression of a wolfs-head with two glittering green-blue gems as eyes. There was no rust or tarnish, and its blade was keen and sharp. The blade was aimed down, lodged in the dragon’s skull right over the eye sockets.
“Sweet, holy Achrolese!” Tomn whispered in shock, staring at the Crimson Wolfsman blade. “Look at it!” His eyes shone with greed and astonishment. “It must be worth a thousand pieces…worth a kingdom!”
“Look!” It was Jurrow’s voice, and then he heard the sound of boots dashing towards the gully. “It’s brighter than the moon. Over there!”
Thealos stared at the weapon. There was probably other treasure around in the clutch, probably deep in the bottom of the swamp. He had led them right to it. But how could he give Tomn such a noble weapon – a weapon of fine steel and charmed with Silvan magic? Its power belonged to the Shae, not to the humans who desecrated everything they touched.
The weapon looked almost hot to touch, so Thealos used the hem of his cloak and wrapped it around the blade. The light winked out as he folded the cloak around it. Then planting his foot on the dragon’s snout, he yanked the hilt. It grated free and he could feel it tingling beneath the cloth.
“Give it to me!” Tomn insisted, his palm reaching. He trembled with anticipation. His eyes danced with emotion. “Sweet Achrolese, let me touch it! Give it to me!”
“Ban it!” Hoth screamed, “It’s gone. Tannon – the lantern!”
“Tomn…” Thealos hedged. The cook lunged for it, but the mud-sucking pond slowed him. Thealos retreated towards the fallen Wolfsman, feeling the Silvan steel’s reassurance. The blade belonged to the Shae.
“Give it to me!” Tomn roared, anger now sparking in his eyes. “You promised!”
“Tomn,” Thealos hedged again. “This is a Shae weapon. I led you to the clutch. Please, the others are coming…”
“You banned liar!” Tomn shrieked. “You bleeding liar! Cropper was right! You knew…you knew about this all the time! I…I believed you!”
“Believed what?” Thealos demanded, his patience snapping. “You stole my money, my weapons! You held me against my will. Your friends were going to kill me. Listen to me, Tomn. A weapon like this doesn’t belong with your people. You don’t know anything about this kind of magic. It would destroy you.”
“Liar!” Tomn cursed, holding his dagger out. “Nothing but liars. Tannon!” he screamed. “Over here!”
A beacon of lamplight shot across the trees overhead. They were at least forty paces away and charging. The gully was tight and would be easy for them to follow. He had to make it into the forest. By the time they found his trail, he would be out of the wood and running. If he could keep ahead of them, he would make it to Sol and then to the Shae in Jan-Lee. Then he would be safe.
“I’m sorry, Tomn,” Thealos said coldly. “But this is mine.”
Rage twisted on the cook’s face. He flailed at Thealos, swiping the dagger in the air before him, trying to stab the elusive Shae as he retreated deeper into the gully.
Boots cracked the twigs and roots behind him.
Spinning around, Thealos saw Beck and Hoth sliding down the gully wall, cutting off that way of retreat. They looked furious. Gripping the bundle under his arm, he unslung the short bow.
“This way! Over here!”
Thealos ducked to the outside of Tomn’s thrusting dagger and swung the short bow around, cracking it against the side of his head. It dazed him, just enough for Thealos to slip by. He was halfway across the pond when Tannon’s lantern reached the scene, throwing light across his back. He slogged through the pond, struggling to reach the other side where he could run.
“Cropper, get him! Hoth and Beck, he’s right there!”
Thealos knew he’d never make it, not with that light exposing him. He let the bundle drop and slipped a steel-tipped arrow out of his quiver. Aiming, he shot at Tannon. The arrow hit the lantern, spinning it out of the soldier’s grip, spraying oil and shards of glass as it sailed into the trees. As the flame hissed out, the soldiers hooted with dismay as darkness blanketed the gully. The glare of the Silvan short sword was dim beneath the waters of the pond. It sank quickly.
Scanning the edge of the gully, Thealos found Cropper running ahead of him and launched another arrow with a feeling of overdue vengeance. Cropper grunted with pain as the arrow tore into his ribs, and he fell to the gully floor in a heap.