Kendermore

by Mary Kirchoff

  “No! I expected to find empty ruins.”

  “Oh, this place is lousy with monsters,” Trapspringer said plainly. “Once, out here, I saw an owlbear bite the head off a pony. And the rider, well …”

  Phineas felt the bread coming back up. He concentrated on keeping it down and on not hearing the details of Trapspringer’s story.

  “… But you’re a doctor—I don’t have to tell you what the inside of a person looks like.” The kender blithely jumped down from the wall and took his pony by the bridle. “Are you ready? Say, you don’t look very well.”

  Phineas pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to massage away a spreading headache. “The bread just didn’t sit well,” he said feebly.

  “We can go back to Kendermore anytime you like,” Trapspringer offered. “I’ve been here plenty of times—not much left to discover, really.”

  “Then why did Damaris come here?” the human asked.

  Trapspringer shrugged. “Why not? It used to be a great place to find relics, but it’s been picked clean for decades. Now it’s just a sort of unofficial rite of passage to survive the Ruins.”

  “Survive?”

  Trapspringer peered closely at Phineas. “You sure are the skittish type, aren’t you?”

  “I hardly think it’s being skittish to worry about having your head bitten off,” Phineas sniffed defensively.

  “Oh, that,” Trapspringer said, dismissing the incident with a wave of his hand. “The pony probably asked for it. So, are we going or staying?”

  Phineas dug his knuckles into his eyes and rubbed. He’d come awfully far to turn back now. With Damaris gone, Tasslehoff had no reason to return to Kendermore with the other half of the map. The human felt his tenuous grip on the situation, and the treasure, slip away. He heard himself say in a hollow voice, “Going.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Trapspringer said, clapping Phineas on the back. “I just hope we don’t run into any undead. I forgot my holy water, and skeletons and ghouls and the like are so persistent.” The kender secured his hoopak to the saddle, squared his shoulders, and led his pony into the Ruins.

  Phineas took a deep breath and followed, tugging at his own diminutive mount.

  From what Phineas could see, the city that had once stood here had been extensive. The ruins stretched for hundreds of yards in both directions, fading gradually into the surrounding woods and sloughs. The kender and the human picked their way along the large, loose cobbles of an old, weed-choked street. Along the winding street were the crumbling foundations of ancient buildings and jumbled piles of rectangular, white stones. Perhaps one out of every ten buildings was nearly intact, its walls still standing, doors and roofs missing.

  Trapspringer, who was standing with his pony a dozen or so paces ahead at the junction of two streets, stopped and turned to wait for Phineas. The street they were crossing was at least three times wider than the one they’d been following, and stretched off to the right and left in a gentle, graceful curve.

  “This must have been one of the main streets, back when this place was alive. It circles all the way around the Ruins,” Trapspringer said. “As long as you can find this road, you can’t get lost, because eventually it will bring you back to where you started. Remember that in case we get split up somehow.

  Trapspringer set off to the right. “In the meantime, you watch the far side of this road, and I’ll watch the near side.”

  “What are we looking for, exactly?” asked a confused Phineas, pumping his legs to keep up with the nimble-footed kender.

  “Signs of Damaris, of course.”

  “What sorts of signs?”

  “You know, signs! Footprints, hoofprints, turned-over rocks, bits of trash, campfires, whatever. Just keep your eyes open.”

  Phineas shrugged. He’d tracked his little sister through fresh snow once when he was seven years old and almost lost the trail. He suspected he was not going to be much help in this search.

  They followed the road slowly for some time, finding nothing but chipmunks and field mice, when Phineas heard Trapspringer calling his name. He looked over his shoulder and saw the kender standing several yards down a side street, motioning to Phineas to follow. The human led his pony behind Trapspringer as they approached a large, virtually intact building.

  Shortly, they stood among the crumbled columns of a large portico. “What was this, a temple perhaps?” asked Phineas, squinting up at the tall stone building. The front doors were twelve feet high, the side walls at least twenty feet. Arched windows lined the walls in graceful rows, and a round window stood out against the top of the peaked front wall. The roof of slate had survived centuries of neglect.

  “Perhaps. Let’s see if Damaris is in here,” Trapspringer suggested. Wasting no time, he took a small lantern from the limitless pack on the pony, lit it, and strode into the structure. Phineas followed anxiously, leaving the ponies behind.

  They stood in what must have been a vast, tall antechamber, which looked like it once had a second floor. Long lengths of pitted stone hung suspended midway between the ground and the roof. Indirect light from the gray day filtered through the window holes and lit the room. Not even a block of stone littered the floor.

  “The most intact stones from these ruins are the rage among builders in Kendermore,” explained Trapspringer. “They come out here in wagons and completely disassemble what’s left of some of the buildings. I’m surprised this one’s still here.” Trapspringer’s voice echoed in the hollow stone room. Swinging the lantern at his side, he walked to an opening on the far side of the chamber.

  The next room was smaller. Less sunlight reached the ground here, since the windows were smaller, too. Trapspringer held the lantern over a black square of marble against the left wall, making the shadows dance. “You were probably right about this being a temple. I’ll bet this is where the altar was.” He started toward the next opening at the far side of the room.

  “Can’t we just call to her from here?” Phineas suggested, feeling less secure with each step. Cobwebs tickled his nose annoyingly.

  “Sure, if you want everything in the area to know we’re here, go ahead,” was Trapspringer’s reply. “But me, I’m the cautious type,” he added as he stepped through the next door.

  A thunderous roar rose up in the next room, accompanied by screeching, Trapspringer hollering, a loud crash, and then both rooms plunged into darkness. Phineas froze, unable to see or think. Something struck him in the chest, then struck him again. Suddenly, he was surrounded by a storm of shrieking, flapping, hairy things. He squeezed his eyes shut and flailed mindlessly at the unidentifiable horror that assaulted him from every direction. “Trapspringer, help me!” he screamed. Phineas felt something settle on his neck. Terror tightened around his rib cage, and his breath came in shallow gulps. He slapped furiously in the darkness at the thing on his neck, nearly knocking himself senseless.

  Suddenly, the attack slackened. He felt fewer and fewer creatures banging into him. He heard their distant cries as they found their way through the rooms to the outside.

  “Trapspringer?” Phineas said tentatively. He heard movement to his right. The human froze.

  “Wow,” breathed the kender’s voice at last. “That was something, eh? Those bats sure were anxious to leave.” The kender struggled to his feet. “The lantern must have gone out when they knocked me down and I hit my head. Are you all right?”

  Phineas could feel his cheeks growing warm. He hoped the kender hadn’t heard his foolish cry for help. “Fine, fine,” he said lamely. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Trapspringer fumbled with the lantern. In moments, it blazed again. The side of Trapspringer’s face was bruised, his graying topknot in disarray as he looked around the room. “No more doors. Damaris obviously isn’t here.”

  “Obviously,” Phineas repeated. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I’m sure it’s safe now. Don’t I feel silly!” He laughed. “An experienced adventu
rer like me getting flustered by a gaggle of bats,” he said, walking back through the temple and out onto the portico.

  “Say, do bats come in gaggles?” he asked, turning back toward Phineas. “Maybe its a brood. A drove? A herd? Flock? Hmmmm.”

  Through the rest of the day, Phineas followed the kender into several more ruined buildings. His body ached with tension, and he expected something to spring on him at any moment. But nothing did. The worst thing they saw was a couple of giant centipedes, which seemed almost as anxious to leave as the human was to see them go.

  A hazy sun burned through the gray at about midday. Kender and human looped the ponies’ reins around the stump of a column near what once must have been a reflecting pool. They collapsed and nibbled a bit of dried beef Phineas had brought. Finally, Phineas asked a question that had been haunting him the whole, fruitless morning.

  “Is it possible that something has happened to Damaris? Could she have … disappeared somehow? Had an accident?”

  Trapspringer considered that, lips pursed. “It’s possible. But more likely she got bored already and left. As you can see, there’s not a lot here anymore.”

  Phineas thought that the constant possibility of a monster attack ought to be exciting enough for even a kender. He asked, “Where would she have gone, then? Are there more ruins near here?”

  “No, this is it,” Trapspringer responded. “I take that back,” he corrected himself instantly. “There is one more place she could be near. It’s actually part of the Ruins, but I don’t know anyone who’s ever actually gotten into it.”

  Trapspringer had already jumped up and was leading them toward a wooded area on the north side of the Ruins. The woods looked like a nearly impenetrable tangle of trees, brush, brambles, roots, and vines. Phineas could not see far into the gloom.

  “Why would anyone go in there?” he asked Trapspringer as he followed the kender’s lead and tied his pony’s reigns to a tree. Trapspringer took his hoopak from his saddle and started chopping his way through the green density. Phineas sprang forward to follow.

  “I understand that the brush thins out quite a lot once you get inside,” explained Trapspringer unhelpfully.

  “What’s inside?” asked Phineas, gingerly picking a thorn-covered branch from his pant leg.

  “The tower, of course—the fifth Tower of High Sorcery. It was one of the five original Towers of High Sorcery, but it must have been ruined shortly after the Cataclysm. The tower isn’t really the problem. The problem is that an enchanted grove was planted around each tower to keep out unwanted visitors. No one I know of has ever reached as far as the tower.”

  Phineas stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around and practically ran back to the ponies. “What are you doing, leading us into a magical grove? And a Tower of High Sorcery at its center! Are you crazy?” Just as suddenly, he stopped again and gave the kender a skeptical glare. “I don’t see any tower. And I don’t see anything magical about these woods. Besides, how do you know all this?”

  “The grove’s effect isn’t physical,” Trapspringer explained. “The grove just sort of … makes whatever you’re feeling at the moment seem more intense and hard to control.”

  “Gods, that’s stupid, Trapspringer! You obviously think I’m a simpleton!” His eyes narrowed as he confronted the kender. “I know what you’re up to, though. You think you can scare me into running away so you can find Damaris. Then you’ll go back to Kendermore as the big hero and get the map from your nephew for yourself!” He poked a finger into Trapspringer’s chest. “You’re not dealing with some silly kender, you know.” Phineas’s head was throbbing fiercely, and he’d never felt so angry and frightened at the same time.

  Trapspringer’s almond-shaped eyes grew wide with unaccustomed fury. “Silly kender! You smelly, bug-infested sack of straw! You’re nothing but a cowardly, toadying hobgoblin! And I’ll bet it comes from your mother’s side of the family! I never thought any human could be stupid enough to reproduce with a hobgoblin, but if there was one, he’d be your father! And he’d still be smarter than you!” Trapspringer raised his hoopak threateningly.

  Phineas didn’t wait to see what the kender intended to do with his forked weapon. The human spun around, dropped to his knees, and crawled furiously through the brush and into the depths of the grove. He had to reach the tower and find Damaris Metwinger before Trapspringer!

  “Phineas, come back!” Trapspringer called, tears welling in his eyes. “Was it something I said? Whatever it was, I didn’t mean it. I haven’t meant anything I’ve said for years. Except what I just said. I think.” Trapspringer was terribly confused.

  The kender’s heart was near to breaking. He wiped the tears away angrily. Phineas is all alone in the grove, and it’s my fault! he thought. Huge, hiccupping sobs racked his small frame. He crashed through the tangled growth of the forest after the human, blinded by his tears.

  Branches slapped him, thorns tore at his clothing, his hoopak thumped behind him, banging against his right heel. Then, “Whooooffff!” All the air exploded out of the kender’s lungs as he slammed into another living, running creature.

  Trapspringer was thrown backward by the force of the blow. He landed on a small bush, its stiff branches stabbing his back. His eyes were closed as he struggled for a few ragged gulps of air. But whoever had hit him jumped on top of him now, swinging and clawing at him like a tiger.

  “Phineas?” he gasped, fending off the blows.

  Whoever it was pressed him flat to the ground and slammed its mouth down on his and stayed there, the kiss becoming more and more insistent. Trapspringer hoped his assailant wasn’t Phineas. The kender cracked one eye open hesitantly, gripped by the unfamiliar sensation of fear.

  Damaris Metwinger!

  Trapspringer’s wrinkled old face spread into a delighted grin. He hadn’t remembered her being so pretty, hadn’t remembered her much at all. Her waist-long hair had the color and scent of meadow buttercups. Though it was tangled and ratty now, she wore her topknot in six braids woven with colorful bird feathers. Her eyes were the pale, pale blue of winter ice on a clear day. Phineas’s arms were around her now, and he could feel that her figure was slim and well-toned; Trapspringer was certain she’d have no trouble scaling a building with him.

  Her heavy wool vest was matted and dirty, with dozens of twigs and leaves tangled into it. The sleeves of her cotton blouse were torn, her red leggings were crusted with dried mud and covered with burrs.

  Her only flaw was that her face had not yet developed the network of fine wrinkles Trapspringer found so attractive in a woman, but she was still young so there was hope.

  “I don’t know who you are, but you’re not a bad kisser,” she mumbled. Trapspringer thought her voice sounded like soft, melodious bells. “But you’d be a whole lot better if you—”

  Trapspringer silenced her with a crushing kiss of his own, as his passions took over his mind.

  There was even less conversation after that.

  “What was that?” Trapspringer demanded all of a sudden. He wrestled Damaris away from his face and tilted his head to the side. “Don’t you hear something?”

  “I hear something, all right,” she giggled. Damaris whispered something obscene in Trapspringer’s ear.

  “Good gods, girl!” Trapspringer breathed in admiration. “You’re too much of a handful for my young nephew!”

  Damaris held herself away from Trapspringer and inspected his face. “You’re the uncle of that worthless no-show, Tasslehoff Burrfoot?”

  Trapspringer saw the lusty fire in her eyes growing into an angry blaze. Perhaps he’d made a mistake mentioning the name of the kender who’d jilted her.

  “Well, sort of,” he equivocated. “But we’re not close, really. If you want to know the truth, I don’t like him much, never have! Why, I’d spit on him if he were here now!” To show his sincerity, the graying kender spat on the ground in disgust. His hands sought Damaris again.

  But his words came
too late. Damaris was already well on her way to boiling over. She thrust his hands away.

  “Spitting wouldn’t be enough for the likes of him. Why, if he were here, the first thing I’d do is stake him out on the ground. Then I’d pluck out his eyelashes and nails, and then I’d slice off his fingers one at a time so he’d never be able to pick a lock again!” Her voice was rising hysterically. Trapspringer scuttled backward like a crab.

  “Hmmm, yes, well that should show him you’re upset,” Trapspringer said weakly, not wanting to excite her further. He wanted only to resume their previous activity.

  Damaris was on her haunches, rubbing her hands in glee, her eyes glowing with hatred. She smiled at him maniacally. “That’s just the beginning!” She quickly went on to outline the order in which she would remove Tasslehoff’s major organs. “Then I’d stuff his nose and mouth with cloth and watch him blow up!”

  “Be sure to leave his lungs in for the finale,” Trapspringer pointed out helpfully. He jerked his head to the side once more. “There it is again!”

  At that moment a huge, loping form crashed through the brush. It might have looked vaguely human if not for a sloping forehead that led to a pointy brow and greasy, slicked-back, dark hair. It had unusually long arms, no chin, and horned feet. That, and it was nearly ten feet tall. Damaris stared in amazement. But Trapspringer wasn’t amazed at all; he recognized an ogre when he saw one.

  “Too much noise!” it howled. Snatching up a startled kender under each arm, it advanced a dozen yards through the brush. Suddenly, Trapspringer saw a gaping hole in the ground with steps cut into the side. The opening had to be at least six feet across. Certainly big enough for …

  The ogre, without pausing, leaped into the emptiness. The walls rushed past as they plunged down the twenty-foot pit and slammed into the packed dirt at its bottom. The ogre landed on his feet, the kender still safely tucked under his arms. Twisting around, Trapspringer was able to see that the ogre was charging down a tunnel. Damaris was squirming and punching, while Trapspringer was enjoying the bumpy ride.