Clayton Emery - Netheril 01 - Sword Play

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Sword Play

Book 1 of The Netheril Trilogy

By Clayton Emery

Ebook version 1.0

Release Date: November, 21th, 2003

In the road ahead shimmered a gilt-edged portal like a ring around the sun. Swooping from the

middle came a huge yellow glob only vaguely man-shaped. Its jellyfish arms had enfolded Ruellana

and were dragging her toward the shining portal.

Unsheathing Harvester as he ran, Sunbright dove and grabbed Ruellana's boot with his free hand.

He stabbed at the creature, but to no avail. The woman was hauled steadily into the glittering portal.

Greenwillow ran to the barbarian's side, grabbed his arm, and tugged. "Let go!" the elf shrilled.

"You can't help her!"

"I can't desert her now! I didn't desert you!"

"But she's not what she seems!" the elf wailed. "Don't—"

"Get to Dalekeva!" Sunbright roared. "I'll meet you there!"

Then, hanging on to only a foot, the barbarian lunged headfirst at the portal, now no bigger than his

hips. With a twinkle of golden light on his hobnailed boots, he was gone.

The Netheril Trilogy

Sword Play

Clayton Emery

Dangerous Games

(available November 1996)

Dedicated to Hunter, My Best Bud

Chapter 1

They'd seen him climbing, and he'd seen them following. He'd scaled as high and fast as he could,

but they'd pursued, and now he was trapped.

Making the best of a bad situation, the young barbarian selected a pocket in the sheer wall of red-

gray granite. The pocket curled around to his left, then broke off jaggedly. A trail trickling through the

mountains kissed the jagged edge, but after that descended into a gorge full of shadows. The shadows

he could have used to hide in, despite the midday sun, but he'd peered over the edge and seen the trail

was too steep. He'd be tripping down it, wary of breaking his neck and unable to turn around, his back

a perfect target when his enemies arrived. He settled for rolling a round boulder into the trail as a

temporary barricade. Then he stayed put. They could attack only from the front and the left, and would

have to mount a short slope to do it, so they couldn't flank him. As long as they didn't have missile

weapons—arrows or slings—he could fight hand to hand to match any warrior.

The sunny cliff was warm against his back as he waited—perhaps to die. It was coming on winter,

especially here in the high country bordering the Barren Mountains. The thin wind that sighed and

soughed around his legs was cool, but would bite after sundown—if he were still alive to feel it. Away

from the warm cliff, patches of snow hugged the northern side of the rocks. It was all rocks here above

the tree line, which was a clean cut, as if by the knife of a titan. Sunbright wondered if the gods were

closer up here, and if so, to whom he should pray. Garagos, god of war, to give him strength in the

fight to come? Or Tyche, Lady Luck? Somehow neither seemed appropriate, so he sent a common

prayer for help and guidance to Chauntea, the Earthmother. She was laid out before his feet, miles and

miles of scrubby trees down a long sweeping valley over which red-tailed hawks and vultures soared.

Sunbright might be visiting her soonest, after all. But if so, he wouldn't go alone. A grunt from below

brought his sword up.

They skulked out of the tree line, seven of them. Orcs, but not the usual variety. These had gray-

green skin, lank black hair, pug noses, and long knotted arms. They moved warily, watching him and

not charging to crush his skull as the usual idiots did.

But this lot, seen for the first time close up, were oddly neat. They wore actual uniforms, almost

like human soldiers. Tunics of various leathers had been dyed a consistent lichen gray, and painted on

each breast was a not-so-smeary red hand of five spread fingers. Rather than go barefoot, and thus

cripple themselves on the scree, they wore sturdy, scuffed boots that came to their knobby knees. And

each orc soldier wore a rusty kettle helmet, round with a short brim. In their hands trailed clubs

studded with black obsidian, which Sunbright knew to be sharper than his own steel blade, for the

layered stone presented not one but a dozen razor edges.

Sunbright could have shot his few arrows, but didn't bother. Somehow it didn't seem right on this

momentous, lonely day. He'd work with what the gods had given him, take the contest as it came.

Still, to die now seemed unfair when he'd been so careful to cover his tracks, stepping from stone to

stone all morning. How had they discovered him? Were the orcs' gods favouring them?

The orcs grunted again and stopped, consulting about how to attack. They could see their prey, a

young human male, tall and gangly, yet laid with ropy muscle. His hair was sun-bright blond, shaved

at the temples, then gathered into a topknot from which dangled a short tail. He wore a faded linen

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SwordPlayBook1ofTheNetherilTrilogyByClaytonEmeryEbookversion1.0ReleaseDate:November,21th,2003Intheroadaheadshimmeredagilt-edgedportallikearingaroundthesun.Swoopingfromthemiddlecameahugeyellowglobonlyvaguelyman-shaped.ItsjellyfisharmshadenfoldedRuellanaandweredragginghertowardtheshiningportal.Unsheat...

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