“Jett,” replied the Guardmaster. “Do you not see how evenly matched we are . . . the Spider King’s forces and our own? Back and forth, the battle wanes. His Gwar resistance opposes our flet soldiers. His Warflies oppose our raptors. His power over the volcano counters our legion of Gnomes. Move and countermove.”
“But, sir,” said Jimmy, his mind lingering on Kiri Lee. “The Spider King . . . he might be able to match everything we’ve thrown at him so far. But he doesn’ have us.”
“Are you certain, Jimmy?” asked Grimwarden, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “Has your foresight grown so long that you can see what the Spider King has hidden away in that fortress of his?”
“No,” Jimmy said, lowering his head.
Grimwarden waited a tick. “Nor can I.”
“But we’re going to have to go in there,” said Tommy. “Sooner or later, we’ll have to face whatever he has in store for us. You trained us for that, right? What are we waiting for?”
“The map,” said Grimwarden quietly. “With that map, we will enter Vesper Crag at our bidding, not his.” He pointed to the tower where the red light shone.
Jett rubbed his temples. “But we left Nightwish,” he said, “knowing that we didn’t have the map. Now we’re gonna just sit here?”
“This is war, Jett,” said the Guardmaster. “We are in command. For now, we must give the orders and wait for our time to go forth. You do not see the Spider King down there chasing after Gnomes, do you? He bides his time. So must we. Nelly and Regis will return, and they will bring the map.”
“But, sir,” said Tommy. “They might get here too late. If they take even a few days on Earth, they’ll come back long aft—”
“TOMMY!” Grimwarden spoke louder than he desired. He lowered his voice and said, “I’m speaking in faith. I know Ellos. The map will come or . . . or Ellos will provide something else.” He was quiet a moment. “You have all the authority here, young lords,” he said. “I command the military, but you command me. Do as you will, but remember . . . what authority you have is given to you.”
Tommy and the other lords bounced their eyes between each other and Grimwarden. Clearly he had the end in mind, not the immediate. And doing so required more discipline—and perhaps more faith—than all of them put together. Perhaps that’s why he is still alive . . . and had kept so many of his people alive as long as he had.
“I’m sorry, once again.” Tommy dipped his head in respect. “We will wait.”
“I do not expect you to master in hours what has taken me centuries.” Grimwarden looked up. “When the time comes, I expect you to do your part. That’s what you have been trained for, that’s what you are gifted for. But for now, let me do my part.”
“Uh, Tommy!” Jimmy said excitedly. “Look!”
“What?” asked Jett, staring into the whirling ash. “All I see is spiders. They’re pushing south.”
“Wait,” said Jimmy.
Tommy extended his vision. The Warspiders were indeed moving south, mowing down Gnomes as they went. But as Tommy looked more closely, he saw that as many Gnomes fell beneath the mass of arachnids, others scrambled out from beneath the spiders and crept to the west. Still other Gnomes were behind the spiders now.
Above the rumble from the volcano and the sounds of the battle, and in spite of the muffling ash, there arose such a grating wail that the young lords covered their ears. Tommy squinted and got the surprise of his life. The Warspiders came to an impossibly abrupt halt. They shrieked and flailed, but they didn’t seem to be able to move. The Gnomes, meanwhile, in even greater numbers than Tommy realized, had the Warspiders surrounded. And these little warriors were leaning backward, pulling hard on something Tommy could not see—pulling as if they were playing tug-of-war with the countrymen on the other side.
“Here it comes,” said Jimmy, clamping his hands over his ears.
The other lords replied with a chorus of “What?” “Huh?” “Here what comes?”
KerrrracckKK!
If a giant had piled up a dozen dead trees the size of castle towers and then crushed them under his foot, it would not match the sound heard on the battlefield at that moment. When the young lords looked again, the mass of Warspiders was no more. It its place were dismembered spider parts and spider gore.
“The Gnomes!” cried Jimmy. “Those little ruddy-faced geniuses!”
“Unbelievable!” yelled Tommy.
“Believe it,” said Migmar, or at least an ashen replica of Migmar, appearing at their side.
“Small warrior,” said Grimwarden. “Tell me . . . how did you dispatch such a group of Warspiders?”
Migmar held up a strand of cord as thin as fishing line. It was black but glistened as if alive with silver light. “Cutting cord, it is,” he explained. “Smelt vanadium and dremask, we do, to make alloy filament. Pull taut, it burns and cuts—very effective.”
“Uh . . . yeah,” said Jett. “Ouch.”
Still looking back and forth from Migmar and the remnants of the spiders, Tommy said, “So all that time your army was hopping around between the spiders, fleeing for your lives . . .”
“String them up with cut cord, we were. Ha, tangled those web spinners in a Gnome web! Ha!”
Grimwarden took Migmar’s hand, shook it—and the Gnome— vigorously, and said, “Praise Ellos for your ingenuity. You have bought us precious time.”
“Tommy!”
Tommy spun around. A scout on a pale rangesteed rode up behind him. He was drenched with sweat and covered with muddy ash. Gasping for breath, he said, “By your leave, m’lord?”
“Huh?” Tommy felt clueless for a moment. Then he remembered his position. “Speak, please. What is it?”
“I am Celedain from the Berylinian Brigade to the south. We’ve been watching the passes up into the mountains, but there is heavy resistance—Warspiders, a legion of Gwar, and nearly constant bombardment by those airborne insects—”
“Warflies,” said Grimwarden.
“Yes,” Celedain said. “They are perilous, but we have kept our post, if barely. But something strange happened. There came fighting from the path!”
“What path?” asked Tommy.
“Why, the path to the portal,” Celedain said. “There was intense fighting, much fire. Two Elves escaped it and are fleeing west—”
“Two Elves you say?” Grimwarden’s eyes burned eagerly.
“Yes,” he replied. “But my forces are engaged and cannot help them. These two, whoever they may be, are hemmed in.”
“Nelly?” Autumn blurted out.
“Regis!” exclaimed Jimmy.
“How long ago did you leave them?” demanded Grimwarden.
“Some minutes,” Celedain said. “I rode like the wind itself.”
Tommy came alive. “I want two-hundred archers deployed at once.”
“As I said, sir, we have no more archers. It was by Ellos’s hand that I even escaped to bear the news.”
“Grimwarden, what do we have left here?” asked Tommy.
Grimwarden shook his head. “No bowmen to move that quickly,” he said. “They cover Travin at the wall. Wait! Flet Marshall Thorian’s battle group remains—fifty archers, twice that number in spears.”
“We’ve got to send them,” said Tommy. He paused, looking questioningly at Grimwarden. “Don’t we?”
“They are yours to command,” Grimwarden replied.
Tommy did not blink. “They go south, then!”
“Yes!” Celedain exclaimed.
“I will see to it,” said Goldarrow.
“Kinsmen, you speak of?” asked Migmar. “Carry the precious map, they do?”
Grimwarden’s eyes narrowed. “By Ellos’s name, I hope so.”
“Ah,” said Migmar, scratching thoughtfully at his sideburns. “I wonder . . .”
“What is it?” asked Tommy.
“Might we help?” asked Migmar.
“YES!” the Elves replied in unison.
Migm
ar spun on his heels and raced away.
Twenty minutes later, the volcano still fuming, the ash still falling heavily, Jimmy grabbed Tommy’s shoulder and pointed to the south. “They’re coming.”
Tommy and the others looked to their right, hoping beyond hope that they might see the two faces they had long prayed for. But cresting the horizon came not two but dozens. More than a hundred easily . . . and all running as if their lives depended on it.
“Uh-oh,” said Johnny. “That’s not good.”
“Is it them?” asked Jett.
“Two Elves, yes! But . . .” Tommy let his vision flow to them, trying to make out faces. “There are Gwar, too . . . a lot of Gwar.”
“That’s really not good,” said Jimmy.
“Come on,” Tommy was growing frustrated. “I can’t make out their faces. But their clothes are Elven! It’s gotta be them! And the enemy’s gaining.”
“Where are the Gnomes?” asked Jett. “Should we—”
“Look!” Tommy cried out, pointing.
They all did. Once more, the Gnomes had come to the aid of the Elves. But due to the incessant ashfall they had not the advantage of invisibility, and they had no more cut cord. It was hand-to-hand combat and they were little match for charging Gwar. Gnomes were tossed and kicked aside. They barely slowed the pursuers.
Tommy watched as two figures ran a serpentine path, dodging enemy darts and arc stones, fleeing for the small rise where the commanders stood. But in the dim light, Tommy still could not make out exactly who they were. One certainly moved like a lady warrior, lithe and swift. But the other . . . more like a man . . . Who? Tommy’s heart quickened. What had happened to Nelly and Regis?
“I think it’s time,” said Grimwarden.
Tommy and the young lords looked to their mentors. “Time?” Tommy echoed. “For us?”
“Go,” said Goldarrow.
SCHIIING! The young lords drew their weapons and charged off the hillock.
“I’ve got the first two enemy lines!” yelled Autumn, and then she was gone.
“I’ll fry the next two!” Johnny exclaimed.
“Jimmy and I will pick off any that get through!” Tommy returned.
“What about me?” asked Jett. “. . . And Kat?”
“Bodyguards!” Tommy replied. “Get to the Elves and escort them back to the hill! Anything gets near you, crush it!”
“You can count on it!” exulted Jett. “You ready, Kit-Kat?”
Kat whirled her fighting knives like pinwheels as she ran. “I think so,” she said.
Sliced, burned, shot through with arrows, and pummeled—the Gwar fell away, and Tommy led the young lords and the two Elves they’d rescued back to the hill.
They came immediately to Grimwarden and Goldarrow, and neither could read the look on Tommy’s face. There was a kind of grim satisfaction there, a restrained joy. Without a word, the lords parted, and up came Regis, her dark hair matted to her face with sweat. Her clothes were torn, even bloodied, but her face was still strong, and she clutched a jagged Gwar sword.
She smiled bravely and handed Grimwarden a rolled parchment. “We . . . we got it,” she said, and then she collapsed into his arms.
Goldarrow stood dumbstruck, staring at the dark-skinned Elf before her. “Charlie?” she said. “Charlie . . . is it . . . is it really you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
Goldarrow embraced him. “I don’t know how,” she said, her voice tremulous. “We thought . . . I mean, we assumed the Wisp . . . and . . .” she couldn’t finish. “Oh, thank Ellos you survived.” She hugged him and wondered why his grip was loose, tentative. Then she realized.
Goldarrow pulled away and scanned the hill. Autumn and Johnny stood side by side, blinking mutely.
Regis recovered enough to stand. She whispered, “Nelly . . . she didn’t make it.”
“We had to fight our way to the portal,” said Mr. Charlie. “Drefids was waitin’ on the other side. Nelly took down two of ’em, ’fore they slew her.” Mr. Charlie shook his head. “I got there too late.”
The volcano exploded once more; orange light bathed their hill and glimmered in their wet eyes.
“The portal goes to Canada,” said Regis. “Northern Canada. The Spider King has assembled the greatest army I have ever witnessed in a vast forested region. Regardless, we made our way through the enemy camp, only to find Charlie there. He’d already made his way northward in the hopes of returning through the portal—”
“Which I discovered through a little pressure on a Drefid spy,” Charlie interrupted, then gave a small gesture for Regis to continue.
“Charlie provided us a seaplane on one of the area lakes. We flew back to the Briarmans’ home, where we found the map.”
“Were our parents—um, the Briarmans, were they there?” asked Autumn.
“No one was in the house,” said Regis, gaining energy as she spoke. “But it was the middle of the morning, a Tuesday. They were likely out working or shopping or some such.”
Johnny and Autumn thought that was a possibility. Their Earth parents liked to hit the farmers’ market during the week when it was less crowded. Their minds traveled from there, through town, to a little bookstore they knew was no longer there . . . and to a shopkeeper they would never see again.
Grimwarden gently unrolled the parchment. “It’s more detailed than I thought it would be.”
“Sir,” said Regis. “If I may?”
“The lords are in command,” said Grimwarden.
“Lords, with your leave?”
“Regis, I’m still just Jimmy,” he said.
“Well, Master Jimmy,” she said, giving him a weak smile. “To you and the other lords, I say this: I’ve spent a day and a night going over this map with Charlie and . . . and Nelly. I now know everything about Vesper Crag. I know where we should place our siege towers. I know where we should aim our catapults. I know where there are relatively unguarded entryways in the mountains. Once inside, I know how to get to the slave chambers. I can even tell you how to march right to the Spider King’s private living quarters if you like.”
Grimwarden, Goldarrow, Tommy, and the others were speechless.
“So in short, m’lords,” Regis went on, “in Nelly’s place and to honor her, I would like to advise you how to conquer Vesper Crag.”
“I say AYE!” proclaimed Jimmy. “Um . . . sorry, mates. Tommy?”
Tommy looked at Jimmy kindly and said, “I yield to the military experience of Grimwarden and Goldarrow. Will you accept Flet Marshall Regis as Chief Battle Planner?”
“Tommy,” said Regis, blushing, “I’m merely a Dreadnaught, not a Flet Marshall.”
“You are now,” said Tommy. “I promoted you.” He paused and looked at Goldarrow. “I can do that, can’t I?”
“Yes,” she replied. “And I heartily accept Regis as battle commander.”
“As do I,” said Grimwarden, his voice swelling with military pride. “Nelly did not surrender her life for nothing. We will see to that.”
36
The Enemy’s Backyard
BRILLIANT, TOMMY thought as they crept through a mountain pass high above the battlements of Vesper Crag. He’d always thought of the Dreadnaughts as kind of wise beings, but Regis took the cake. Her plan was masterful. As soon as they’d all understood it in its intricacies, messengers had been dispatched to Travin and the other battle commanders. They’d had the siege engines spread along the northernmost section of the fortress’s main wall—the worst possible place. The wall was lower there, but there were no fewer than a dozen access ramps leading up from the enemy armories behind; the Elves trying to gain access to the walls fought a near inexhaustible stream of Gwar soldiers. Instead, Regis had pointed out the sheer drop behind the wall just south of its midpoint. There were no access ramps for sixty yards on either side. Such a design meant it would be much more difficult for enemy reinforcements to defend. Flet soldiers saw the impact immediately, storming out of their
siege towers onto the enemy walls. The real battle had begun at last.
Flet Marshall Regis hadn’t known about the Gnomes, of course, so she hadn’t planned for their phase of the battle. But Migmar was as good with maps as he was with gadgets. Examining the map, he, Thorkber, Sarabell, and the other Gnome military commanders had found drainage pipes through which warriors of their stature might gain access to the fortress. Once inside, the Gnomes would be near an area with water where they could wipe free the ash that hindered their camouflage. And once invisible, Migmar promised to wreak havoc on the enemy in the most inventive ways.
Meanwhile, Grimwarden, Goldarrow, and Charlie would lead a team through a lava tube into the Vesper Crag underground. Regis had plotted a winding course through a bewildering network of tunnels to the catacombs where the Spider King kept his slave population. There were few guard posts noted in that area on the map, but the slaves worked in and among the Warspider breeding chambers. That can’t be good, thought Tommy. But he knew Grimwarden, Goldarrow, and Mr. Charlie too well to worry about their success.
That left an arduous climb for the young lords over the spiny mountains to an old mine shaft and then through the narrow pass between two peaks into Vesper Crag. It had been carved from the living rock as an escape route for the Gwar, but according to notations on the map, it had mainly been used as a trade road with the Taladrim in the far east. The young lords would take that route and descend into the enemy’s stronghold. Kiri Lee’s raptor had gone down near one of the fortress’s oddly tilting towers. If, by Ellos’s hand, Kiri Lee was still alive, the young lords would put her in as secure a location as possible. Then they would go after the Spider King himself. Regis had identified what she believed were the most likely places to find him: a watchtower near the wall, a strategy-plotting chamber, and, finally, the Black Balcony in the high tower where the red light shone. A masterful plan, indeed.
Now if only they could carry it out.
“No guards yet.” Kat’s thought entered Tommy’s mind as the young lords marched along the shadowy pass. “I’m surprised he would leave the back door open like this.”
Venom and Song Page 36