Ten yards back, so did the Groll.
Runner leaped to the side and Ilien nearly flew from the saddle. The clop of hooves on wood sounded above the water's roar and Ilien looked down in surprise. Worm-eaten planks raced by beneath him, now and then empty air as well. Runner sped on, navigating the broken boards without missing a stride. Ilien looked up and gasped. A narrow rope bridge slithered out ahead of them, thrashing up and down in the darkness. He wondered for a moment just how much an invisible horse weighed, but before he knew it they had reached the other side and Runner stopped and spun around.
Halfway across the bridge, Anselm moved forward, gripping the side ropes, pulling himself along, his massive weight threatening to tear the bridge apart. Kink straddled the missing planks behind him as the Groll picked its way forward, closing the gap between them.
"Hurry!" Ilien shouted. But Kink and Anselm could only move so fast. As it was, Anselm had broken through the boards several times. Only the side ropes held him from the rushing torrent below. Kink fared better but could move only as fast as Anselm. The Groll was gaining ground. The boards beneath Anselm buckled again and he hugged the ropes, pulling himself upward, forcing Kink to stop. The Groll struck out eagerly with its tail and clawed its way closer. Kink spied Ilien on shore. Their eyes briefly locked.
"Kink," Ilien whispered. "No."
Kink turned to face the Groll.
Anselm struggled to keep his footing. "Kink!" But the Giant was helpless to stop him.
Panic gripped Ilien in its iron grip. "There has to be something I can do. I can't just sit here and watch them die."
His mind raced over the few spells he knew. Lightning? No good. He'd shock them all. Transformation? As frogs they'd fall off the bridge for sure.
"Think! Think!" he screamed.
"I am! I am!" his pencil shouted.
The remaining boards around Anselm shattered and fell into the rushing current below. Trapped on the ropes, Anselm watched as Kink and the Groll navigated the swaying bridge toward each other.
"I've got it!" the pencil cried. "I remember!"
Words tumbled over each other in Ilien's mind, nouns and verbs, a magical sentence from out of the very ether summoned without his knowing. He rose into the air. "What's going on?" he yelled, struggling to keep his balance. "Runner, stop!"
"It's not Runner!" the pencil exclaimed. "It's you. You're flying!"
Ilien hovered higher into the air. "How in the—"
"Shut up and fly! You once carried Windy, now go carry a Giant!"
Ilien looked in horror at the behemoth Giant clinging precariously to the swaying bridge below. "Carry Anselm?" he said. "I can't carry Anselm. He's too heavy!"
"And you can fly?" the pencil retorted. "Now go! You can do it! I know you can!"
With a cry of desperation, Ilien leaned forward and kicked his legs.
The pencil wriggled in his hand. "Stop swimming! Just aim me where you want to go!"
Teeth clenched, eyes wide, Ilien pointed the pencil at Anselm and he shot through the air, out of control.
"Go back!" Anselm bellowed, swatting him away.
Ilien wheeled in a circle above him. "Grab hold of me!" He swooped down toward him again. "Grab my legs! I'll carry you to shore!"
Anselm waved him away. "Go back!"
There was no time, and Ilien knew it. He hovered above the Giant like a seething storm cloud, ready to burst. A rope beneath Anselm snapped, pitching him toward the rushing current below.
Ilien kicked Anselm squarely between the eyes with as much strength as he could muster. "Grab a hold! Do it now!" Anselm reached up, his massive hand closing around Ilien's ankle. Ilien pointed the pencil skyward. "Hold on!"
A dog's shrill cry pierced the roar of the river and Ilien looked down in horror. The Groll held Kink by the neck with its human-like hands, its scorpion's tail poised to strike.
Anselm fought free of the ropes. "Kink! No!" He took a step forward—and fell.
A blinding pain tore through Ilien's leg as Anselm's crushing weight dragged him toward the river. A surge of wild magic rushed through him, crackling and buzzing in his ears and he stopped in mid air, held aloft by an uncontrollable power, dangling from the end of his pencil as Anselm dangled from him. The pain in his leg vanished as anger and frustration swept through him.
"Fly! Fly!" screamed the pencil.
Ilien's body tensed rigid as a plank. Over and over he shouted his magic spell and over and over the words rang clear above the thundering water. But he couldn't lift the Giant. By inches he sank toward the river below.
Another shrill cry sounded over the tumult as the Groll cast Kink to the planks. Its tail drove downward but the bridge shifted violently and the razor sharp barb arched past its target, severing a side rope. Kink twisted free and raked the Groll's face with his claws. The Groll reared in pain, clutching at its eyes, exposing his neck, and Kink lunged forward.
The Groll's tail lanced out unbidden and Kink's eyes flew wide. He stood tall on his hind legs, and straight as an arrow, his chest thrust outward as the tail drove deep, pushing him back against the ropes, quivering as it poured forth its venom.
"No!" A blinding flash accompanied Ilien's cry as he struggled to rise above the bridge, Anselm still hanging from his ankle. Lightning stabbed the darkness again, illuminating the scene before him as Kink crumpled to the planks. The Groll pulled its pulsing tail from Kink's limp body and turned toward Ilien. Deep scratches furrowed its face, exposing rich red flesh beneath its fur. Another stroke of lightning fingered the blackness above and the Groll advanced toward Anselm, eager to end its hunt.
Anselm loosened his grip on Ilien's ankle.
"Hold on!" Ilien cried.
"Don't look back!" Anselm shouted. "When you get to shore, ride and don't look back!" He let go of Ilien and dropped into the water below.
Ilien sailed into the air, lightning splintering the sky around him as he catapulted above the bridge. The Groll howled in rage as its target shot up and out of reach. Ilien turned and stopped twenty feet up. Hot magic boiled in his veins as he looked down upon the wounded bridge. He struck out with his pencil and a bolt of lightning knifed the churning waters below, revealing the Groll as it clawed its way along the swaying bridge toward shore. He struck out again and the bridge buckled under the assault, flames pouring forth from the singed wood. The fire spread quickly, igniting the ropes. The Groll continued on undeterred.
In the light of the fire an arm rose from the river, the churning water boiling around it. A hand reached up and gripped the edge of the bridge. Anselm pulled himself from the rushing current, clinging to the ropes in exhaustion, unable to defend himself as the Groll scrambled to reach him. He hoisted his arm to fend off the Groll's hovering tail but before the Groll could strike, the bridge shifted violently, tossing the beast off its feet. The Groll looked up in surprise.
Kink stood a dozen paces away, his powerful jaws set to sever the last remaining rope holding the bridge aloft. The Groll turned in panic as Kink viciously bit down and the bridge shuttered, split in two, and dropped into the river below.
Ilien landed on the shore, staggered to the water's edge and fell to his knees, his eyes searching the thundering darkness for signs of life. The river swept by him, unaffected by the sacrifices it had claimed. It tugged at the tattered remains of the rope bridge still attached to shore, its roar drowning out his cries as he held his head and wept.
How many more must die? Who will be next? He dropped his pencil and clenched his hands into useless fists. Who will be next? Let it be me! he raged. Let it be me!
A hand gripped his shoulder and he turned with a cry. Anselm stood behind him like a rain soaked tree. "Kink's dead," Ilien sobbed, and he threw his arms around the Giant's leg. "Kink's dead."
Anselm lifted him off the ground and cradled him in his arms. Together they stared across the tumbling water as to the east the black of night began its slow turn to grey.
Chapter XIX
&n
bsp; Herman the Heretic
Neither had the stomach for food but they ate a meager meal of Awefull under a flat, grey sky. They had traveled without rest all morning, making their way north toward Greattower with all the haste they could muster. They reminded themselves that their mission still lay ahead of them, but all they could think about was what lay behind.
"How much farther to Greattower?" Ilien wondered aloud. He speared his portion of the damp, spongy bread with a finger, then pulled it back in disgust.
"Not far," Anselm replied, his mouth full and slowly chewing. "A hard day's ride perhaps."
Ilien had convinced the Giant to stop and eat. Not only were they safe from pursuit, but Ilien was sure he'd get sick if he was forced to eat something as nauseating as Awefull on horse back, so they sat amidst the tall, swaying grass, their conversation a mask against the sadness they felt for Kink's loss.
"I think when this is all over I'm gonna go back home and make amends with my wife," Anselm said, chewing thoughtfully. "She may have her faults, but . . ." He trailed off into silence.
Ilien couldn't think that far ahead. Too much lay ahead of him. Windy still huddled alone under Greattower Mountain. The NiDemon still awaited him. And if he ever did get back home, how could things ever be the same again? His life was changed forever now.
"I suppose we should go," was all he said. They mounted up and rode on.
They traveled hard across the plains, keeping a watchful eye on the distant horizon. Anselm ran like a Giant possessed, flying over the earth in long, powerful strides, Runner matching his reckless pace with ease. Ilien wasn't sure if the Giant was running to reach their destination, or fleeing from where they'd been. Probably a little bit of both, he thought.
The sun arched slowly across the sky and dusk approached. Ilien kept looking over his shoulder as they traveled, expecting to see Kink running crookedly behind them. Each time he glanced back it felt like waking from a bad dream into a nightmare. Each time his heart grew heavier with the realization that Kink was gone forever.
"Look!" Anselm said, slowing from his reckless pace to catch his breath. The afternoon sun laid a golden blanket across the flat expanse of grassland that stretched out before them, and far in the distance a pile of pale purple rose from the land, casting a jagged smear of shadows beside it. "Greattower!"
Ilien bounced up and down in the air as Runner cantered along beside the Giant. "How far?" he asked as he squinted into the light.
Anselm shielded his eyes from the angled sun. "Tomorrow midday."
Tomorrow midday, thought Ilien. Then there'll be no turning back.
"Come on." Anselm picked up the pace again.
They traveled a few miles more but the mountain never moved. It seemed stuck on the horizon, refusing to be approached. Anselm ran on faster, but Ilien held Runner back a moment, eyeing Greattower's purple peak, his stomach tied in knots. Purple, the color of childhood, once his favorite color. He took a deep breath. Somewhere under that innocent hue lurked a demon.
"Ilien!"
Anselm's cry spurred Ilien forward. The Giant had stopped up ahead and when Ilien drew near he saw what had halted him.
The ground before them had been beaten to a muddy pulp as a path twenty men wide had been trampled into the plains. It came from the east and swung northward in front of them, stretching out into a straight, brown line toward Greattower. Anselm put out his hand to stop Ilien from riding on it, and walked along its edge, studying the grass as he went.
Ilien looked close. At the Giant's feet were footprints that matched his own. "Those are Giant's prints," Ilien said.
Anselm placed his foot over a muddy impression. It was as if he had made it himself.
"Aren't they?" Ilien was taken back by Anselm's sudden silence. "A hunt?"
"No. Not a hunt." Anselm's eyes gleemed brighter than usual. "An army."
Ilien watched the hair on Anselm's arms stand straight on end. "An army of Giants headed for Greattower? What do we do now?" he asked.
"What do you mean, what do we do? If they lie between us and Greattower then we'll have to go around."
"We don't have time," Ilien argued. "There's an army of wierwulvs carrying the soul of the Necromancer behind us. If we don't make it to Greattower before they do, the NiDemon will force Windy to open the Book. The Necromancer will be free!"
"Have you ever seen an army of Giants?" Anselm stepped toward Ilien, his massive frame rising above him, blocking out the sunlight. "I'm considered small among my people."
"We can't go around," Ilien insisted, his face set in defiance "There isn't time."
Anselm stood over him a moment longer as if to take measure of the small boy who stood in his shadow, then he stepped back. "The Giants will be waiting for the wierwulvs to arrive with the Book," he said, turning back to the muddy track and ignoring Ilien's protest. "We have to move fast and head east, following the trail they came along until nightfall. Come morning, we'll head north again. That should keep us a safe distance from any Killer Scouts trailing the main army."
"Killer Scouts?" Ilien eyed the beaten track in the earth, his glare fading away, and he was suddenly just a boy once more, frightened and bewildered.
"I know you're worried about Windy," Anselm said, “but this is my decision to make. Trust me, we don't want to meet an army of Giants. We have to avoid them at all costs. It's the only way." The Giant tousled Ilien's hair. "You remind me of my own boy, you know, proud and brave."
Ilien started, but before he could say anything further Anselm took off running.
"Come on!" the Giant cried.
As they sped along the trampled ground, Ilien felt relieved that Anselm had decided on their current course. Some of the tracks they passed were enormous. He could only imagine the size of the Giants who had made them, and imagine he did until he had Runner flying so fast that Anselm struggled to keep up.
Soon the overcast grey of day began its descent into darkness and they were forced to stop. Their campsite was little more than a few blankets laid on the grass in the dark, a few for Anselm, one for Ilien. Anselm insisted they not light a fire, so Ilien reclined in the gloom, peering into the small vial of fireflies. The two remaining bugs wandered aimlessly about its bottom, their rumps lit like tiny glowing cigars, casting off a faint light that lit their camp in dull shades of orange. Every time they reached the side of the jar they turned and wandered back the other way.
"What makes everything in the Drowsy Wood so different from the rest of the world?" he asked, tipping the jar upside down to watch the bugs fall from top to bottom like miniature shooting stars.
"The question you should ask," Anselm said from off in the grass to his left, "is what makes the rest of the world so different from the Drowsy Wood. The Drowsy Wood came first, after all."
"What's the difference?" Ilien leveled the jar again, secretly desiring to open the lid and free its captives. "It's the same either way."
"It's not the same at all."
"It is if it doesn't change the facts."
There was a rustling of blankets in the darkness. "Why the fox eats the rabbit is a completely different question from why the rabbit gets eaten by the fox," Anselm replied. "The facts are the same. The rabbit gets eaten. Point of view makes all the difference."
"Okay, okay," Ilien conceded, rolling onto his back and placing the vial of fireflies up to one eye. "Then why is the rest of the world so different from the Drowsy Wood?"
"Because of the wizards."
Ilien looked over at the gloom surrounding Anselm. "The wizards created the Drowsy Wood?"
"No," Anselm said. "They destroyed it."
"Destroyed it?" Ilien sat back up. "Why would they do that?"
"To keep Reknamarken from winning the war, why else?"
Anselm sat up, too, and to Ilien his dimly lit shadow looked like the outline of some gigantic boulder tossed onto the plains from the mountain far away.
"You know," Anselm said, "for a Nomadin, you don't kno
w much."
Ilien tightened his grip on the jar of fireflies. "Just tell me."
"Alright. Here we go, then. History of the Drowsy Wood, lesson one," the Giant laughed.
"Will you knock if off? I'm serious."
Anselm chuckled to himself then cleared his throat and sat in silence for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. When he turned back to Ilien, his shadowed eyes held a measure of caution and Ilien had the feeling that what he was about to say was a close-held secret.
"When Reknamarken came to Nadae," Anselm began, "the Drowsy Wood stretched the world over and Nadae was a paradise, more beautiful than you could ever imagine." The Giant leaned forward suddenly, his face losing all merriment. "And Reknamarken desired it all for himself. His lust for power was insatiable, uncontrollable, even by the combined armies of the Four Kings. Soon Reknamarken and his spirit minions crushed any who stood in their way, and it looked like he would win the war for no one knew how to stop him. Even the Nomadin were no match against him. Only through sheer luck did the Nomadin discover the source of his power and turn the tides of battle."
"What happened?" Ilien was so wrapped up in the beginning of Anselm's tale he didn't notice that the vial of fireflies had fallen from his hands.
"As the war progressed," Anselm continued, "there were patches of enchanted forest that were destroyed by the forces of battle, scraped clean to the dirt below, to the very bones of the earth, and Reknamarken avoided these areas whenever he could. Every battle fought in one of these blasted fields or ruined glens went decisively to the Four Armies, and where the Drowsy Wood remained the bones of brave soldiers littered the ground, without exception Reknamarken and his spirit army prevailed. It was obvious then."
"What was obvious?"
"That the magic of the Drowsy Wood filled the Necromancer and his armies with power," Anselm said. "And once the wizards realized this they at once set about cutting the Wood to ribbons, burning it to the bare ground. Soon nearly all the enchanted forest had vanished, and soon, too, had Reknamarken's army. After the Necromancer's defeat, what little that remained of the Drowsy Wood was hidden from the rest of the world forever."
Nomadin Page 20