Free Downshadow by Erik Scott de Bie Page A

enhance his leap, Shadowbane lunged, crossing the distance in one great step, and slashed down, as though to cut his foe in two.
    Vindicator sliced only air and sparked off rhe stone as Rath leaped. The dwarf wrapped his legs around Shadowbane’s head, rwisted, and tossed the knight back—this time even farther. Shadowbane rolled as he landed and kicked onto his feet.
    The dwarf landed lightly and beckoned with one languorous hand.
    Shadowbane obliged. He darted forward, sword reversed as though for a high thrust. Rath sidestepped, just as Shadowbane expected. Exploding out of the feint, he spun toward the dwarf, slashing out and across rather than thrusting.
    He had not expected the dwarf to be so fast. Rath ducked and, capitalizing on his low gravity, plowed into Shadowbane, driving him out of his spin and onto the ground.
    The knight tried to rise, but Rath leaped onto the flat of Vindicator, which lay across his chest. He shifted his feet, caught the sword
    between his toes, and kicked it away, where it skittered into the shadows, its light still blazing.
    Rath’s eyes weren’t amused. He bent down, pulling back his fist to crush Shadowbane’s head against the stone. “Enough of this,” he said.
    “I agree,” said a feminine voice from behind them.
    Rath and Shadowbane looked, and there stood Lorien Dawnbringer, divine radiance shrouding her. If she had been lovely before, she was now truly beautiful—fantastically so, glowing with a force and grace not given to mortals. Shadowbane could not look directly at her.
    The dwarf danced off Shadowbane and leaped toward her, but then stopped and lowered his fist, unable to approach her aura of majesty.
    “Run,” Lorien said, and her words bore the weight of royal command. “Flee this place as fast as you can, and do not stop running until your legs fail you.”
    The dwarf shivered, fighting against her will.
    “Run!”Lorien commanded again.
    With an angry snarl, the dwarf turned and streaked toward the east tunnel. He moved so fast and with such grace that Shadowbane could hardly believe him a mortal creature.
    He looked up. The priestess’s figure no longer seemed quite as bright, but she was still almost blindingly beautiful. She reached toward him. “Lorien,” she said.
    “Shadowbane.” He stared at her proffered hand.
    “Come,” she said. “I shan’t hurt you—you just saved me, did you not?”
    “You—” he said. “You’re not going to command me to remove my helm, or the like?”
    She laughed then, and the sound was like cascading water in a nymph’s cove. “Of course not,” she said. “If you’re wearing that helm, then you must have your reasons. Though”—she pursed her lips—”though it isn’t horrible scarring, is it? That would almost be a chapbook, right there. The priestess and the masked horror.”
    She grinned, and Shadowbane realized it was a jest. Warily, he put his hand in hers, and she helped him to his feet.
    “You’re hurt,” she said. She pursed her lips. “I can heal you, if—” Shadowbane tapped his helmet.
    “Aye,” she said. “Well then, my good knight.” She curtsied girlishly, but thanks to the divine grace that lingered about her, ir seemed straight out of the palace courr.
    “Well done,” he murmured. “Though you might have cast some of those dweomers before he kicked the piss out of me.” His cheeks felt hot. “Forgive my rough manners.”
    “I can swear like a sailor in my rages,” she said. “It’s unlikely ‘piss’ will offend my ‘virginal’ ears. Speaking of which—” She hugged him tightly before he could elude her.
    “Ah, lady?” he asked, confused and more than a little uncomfortable.
    “My thanks,” she said against his chest. “If you hadn’t delayed him so long, I couldn’t have cast as many spells as I needed to send him away.”
    “I delayed him?” Shadowbane said. “You mean—with my face?” “Aye.” She hugged him tighter. “That.”
    To distract himself from how