by L. L. Bower
Grog and Tumea join Crisa, and we all crowd around her. My wolf still protects us, as he continues to yip and attack, but I can see he’s tiring because his leaps aren’t as high or his yips as loud.
Crisa raises her wand, swirls it and mutters several words under her breath. A cellophane-like dome shimmers above our heads. Again and again, the bogles swoop low and swing their scythes at us, but they can’t penetrate the dome. Their blows glance off.
“Here, Brutus. Here, Boy.” I move out from under the dome and gesture to him to join us around Crisa, before he’s too weak to fight anymore. The bogles see my vulnerability and come running. I quickly duck back under the dome, and Brutus joins me.
“This canopy is stationary,” Crisa warns. We all freeze in place.
It looks like we won’t be breaking into the prison today. Staying alive is the main goal now, and no way are these bogles going to let us sprint for the cave opening, about a hundred yards away.
I hear rustling in the bushes near us and deep growls.
“Now what?” Mordea raises his weapon.
The rest of us raise our weapons and turn to face the new enemies. Next to me, Mordea takes a deep breath. Brutus yips and, strangely, wags his tail.
From the bushes emerge several packs of growling, snarling, yelping wolves in numbers as great as the bogles, who are still hacking away at the dome above us. My heartrate quickens at this new threat, until Brutus yips a greeting to the wolf in the lead, who yips back.
I now realize why Brutus howled so loudly. He wasn’t trying to scare the bogles. He was calling nearby packs to aid us. Brutus’s pack must have anticipated trouble, and they must have been the ones I sensed following us through the woods. Several other packs also got Brutus’s message and joined the battle.
The wolfish yelps, howls and barks cause the bogles to scrunch their shoulders. Their red orbs squint, and their shadowy faces grimace. In order to put their hands over the sides of their heads, two bogles drop their scythes, which bounce off the dome and plop into the dirt. I’m surprised that spirit beings have ears, but evidently they do.
Like furry fireballs, the wolves launch themselves at the bogles, still airborne above us. Snarling and snapping, they spring from the ground, jumping as high as ten feet. One wolf latches onto a bogle’s leg, an amazing phenomenon in itself, pulls the creature out of the air, plants his feet on the bogle’s chest and goes for its throat.
Since the bogle isn’t flesh, no blood springs from the resulting neck wound, but the wraith writhes. Then, with a pop, it disappears in a puff of smoke. I have no idea how a wolf, a tangible creature, can overcome a bogle, a spirit being, but then Fairyland magic often doesn’t obey the laws of physics.
The bogles are so paralyzed by the wolves’ yelping that they don’t defend themselves, which makes it easy for the wolves to ravage them. We watch as more and more bogles are pulled down from the new-dawn sky and torn apart by wolves, whereupon they vanish. Some of the wolves land on the dome above us with their catch and bounce off it onto the ground where they destroy their prey.
Except for a slight pop before they disappear, the bogles make no sound as they die, which is eerie. They die as silently as they lived.
Scythes now litter the ground, and the remaining bogles gain altitude and then vanish into the gathering clouds. The wolves howl in triumph, lifting their noses toward the fading moon.
Light rain begins to patter on the dome, which causes the wolves to shake water off their coats. They also brush up against one another and rub snouts.
Crisa flicks her wand, and the dome over us disappears.
The rain, like fine mist, recharges our bodies. I relish its coolness and fresh taste as I turn my face skyward and let water vapor wash over my features. The new morning has broken over the cloudy horizon, so we’ve lost our cover of darkness, but I think it’s a moot point. Galdo must know we’re coming now.
Brutus runs over to the wolves and bows before them, stretching out his front legs and lowering his body to the muddying ground. He puts his nose between his front paws, a humble posture.
Crisa stares at the pack, and I know she’s communicating with them.
“What did you tell them?” I ask.
“How grateful we are for their aid and how they saved our lives,” she replies. “Their leader, Henson, said they all love a good fight, especially when it involves bogles. He asked if they should stick around for a while, and I said that’s a good idea, in case the bogles return.”
I’m worried that the bogles have delayed us too long, and the centaur/dragon battle has already ended. Any uninjured guards involved in that skirmish might be returning to the prison. We have no choice though. We must go through with the plan. And we need to hurry.
Crisa pulls the communication device out of her pouch and turns it on. The voices sound agitated, and she informs us, “The battle is still raging. The ogres have been called from the prison to fight, as they say the dragons are falling because of the centaurs. So we’re not too late.”
Tumea still lies on the ground, eyes closed. “Someone needs to stay with him.” I point to the tomte.
“Me will,” Grog replies. I admire his sense of responsibility toward someone who despises him. He’s a perfect example of loving one’s enemies.
“I think you mean ‘I will.’ ” I taught Grog English, but he’s still working on it.
“No, you needed in cave,” Grog responds. “Me stay with Tumea.”
“That’s ‘I’ Grog, not me.”
“No, that what me say. Me stay, not you.” Grog scratches his head and wrinkles his forehead in confusion.
“Never mind.” I sigh. “That’s very generous of you, Grog, but we need your size and strength inside the caves. The wolves will take good care of Tumea, don’t you think?”
Grog shrugs and nods.
The fine sprinkle of rain slows and then ceases, leaving the air moist and clean.
I ask Crisa to relay my request to the wolves that they stay with Tumea. Their leader, Henson, nods his head. The pack circles around the prone tomte, and several lay down next to him, while others fan out to patrol the nearby forest. If Tumea regains consciousness while we’re gone, he’ll be in for a shock.
A lone wolf heads off into the forest. I ask Crisa where that wolf is headed, and she explains, “I asked someone to get a Fairyland healer for Tumea. I could heal him, but it would weaken me. I want my full strength to fight Galdo.”
I turn toward the narrow cave entrance and urge, “Let’s go.”
We all hasten to the hole in the rock as I tell Crisa how Geryen had trouble escaping due to his size. She enlarges the narrow cave opening slightly, and we send Grog through first to make sure he can make it. He has no problems, and the rest of us squeeze through one at a time. Try though we might to be quiet, our armor makes quite a ruckus on the rock walls. Forget about a sneaky entrance.
Crisa uses her wand to light our way once we’re inside.
I listen for sounds with my super hearing, but there are none, except for occasional drips of water and clangs from our armor. I don’t even hear the brushing and scraping noises that Galdo’s bats made. I hope that means all of Galdo’s troops are otherwise occupied, at least for now, either outside fighting the centaurs or inside guarding the lab. But I have to wonder where the bats are. Maybe they’re waiting for us deeper in the cave.
My senses are heightened as we proceed cautiously down the tunnel. So far, so good.
After many twists and turns, we reach the large chamber with the hole in the roof. This is where we’ll bring the baby dragons after we free them.
Now that we have more light because of Crisa’s wand, I notice alcoves in the rock walls on the far side of the chamber I hadn’t seen before. It’s too dark inside the alcoves to tell if they’re passageways or dead ends. I hear heavy breathing, which I believe originates from the exertion of our group.
Between our spooky shadows on the cave walls, something else moves w
ith us. Close examination reveals them to be pale pink cave salamanders.
We start across the chamber’s uneven floor with Grog in the lead. Then, out of those far dark alcoves, lumber more than half a dozen bugbears, breathing heavily and armed with axes and clubs.
Chapter 12 – An Enemy we don’t have to Fight?
My helmet flashes red around the bugbears as I draw Noblesse and change the temperature around only them, with their heavy fur coats, to over a hundred degrees, while we stay cool and dry.
Mordea shapeshifts into a large bugbear, his magical armor accommodating his new bulk, and Crisa transforms into the biggest grizzly bear I’ve ever seen. She now has long deadly spikes for claws. The leather pouch strung over her shoulder looks even smaller.
Brutus makes a rumbling sound, crouches low and bares his teeth.
The bugbears snarl, and those of us with weapons thrust them out in front.
Mordea and Crisa both growl.
The oreads stare upward, toward the ceiling, and move their arms.
Before Brutus can leap toward our enemies and before the bugbears can charge us, a shower of stalactites falls from the ceiling over them, compliments of the oreads. Two bugbears fall to the ground unconscious, and their dropped clubs roll along the stone floor. The others manage to dodge the falling rock and keep coming, even though their coats shrink and mat from sweat. The smell of wet bugbears, more pungent than wet dogs, fills the chamber.
Brutus attacks one of the remaining bugbears and clamps his teeth onto an arm, causing that bugbear to drop his axe.
Grog runs toward the lead bugbear, who’s still charging. He swings his axe at the bugbear’s head. The dark creature ducks, and the blade misses.
Mordea swings his metal club at another bugbear, whose axe is raised, and their two weapons connect with a clang. Crisa rakes her claws across the chest of a third bugbear, and he staggers backwards.
The bugbear in front of Grog raises his club to strike, looks Grog in the eye, and then points his weapon at the ground. He says something to Grog in their native language, and Grog also sets his axe down. My understanding of their language is rudimentary, but I understand they’re greeting each other.
They bump elbows, which I’ve learned from Grog is the bugbear equivalent of a handshake, and the other two bugbears stop and stand, dumbfounded. Crisa and Mordea too have paused in their fight to witness this unbelievable sight. The fourth bugbear is still trying to shake Brutus off his arm.
Grog says to Brutus, “Stop, Friend!” and Brutus lets go of the bugbear’s arm, sits down and wags his tail. I’m unsure what’s happening, so I leave Noblesse at the ready.
Both shapeshifted Mordea and Crisa, in grizzly-bear form, stand in wait, also uncertain. The first bugbear says something to the others, and they turn to check on their fallen comrades. One of them slaps an unconsciousness bugbear, who groans, rubs his head and slowly rises. The other fallen bugbear gradually sits up on the floor, looking dazed.
Grog turns and points to me. He says something in Bugbearese that includes my name before turning back to the other bugbear. I understand his words for “trap,” “injured,” “war” and “law.” Then he jabbers some more, at a faster rate, and I don’t catch much at all except for the bugbear word for “champion.”
“What’s happening, Grog?” I ask.
“This, how you say, not brother but ...” Grog rubs his chin.
“Cousin?” Mordea interjects.
Grog’s eyebrows rise. “Yes, this cousin Berb. Me tell him we friends, and me guard you. Me tell him why, about bear trap, and that he fight on wrong side. Galdo tell him,” he points at me, “you evil, bad man—take Berb freedom.”
I raise my helmet’s face guard, so Berb can see my face and look me in the eye. “That’s a lie. Please tell him I don’t want to take anybody’s freedom. I only want peace for Fairyland and to stop the cruelty of evil ones like Galdo.” I pause. “Ask him if Galdo treats him well.”
Grog relays this information, and Berb shakes his head. He sighs and says another couple of sentences in Bugbearese. Galdo’s name is repeated several times in the sentence.
Grog translates. “Berb say Galdo treat everyone bad. He kill dark ones if they not fight.”
“How is Galdo not already taking his freedom away, by not letting him decide whether or not to be a part of the sorcerer’s plans?”
Grog translates this, and Berb hangs his head.
The other bugbear drops his club on the ground and approaches me. He thrusts out his elbow. I sheath Noblesse and gently bump his elbow with my armored one. “Zoder,” he says, “namaa Berb. Gorda caumo.” This last phrase means “pleased to meet you.”
“Zoder, Berb, namaa Calen.” I don’t say “pleased to meet you” because I’m not sure if he can be trusted.
A surprised look crosses Berb’s face when I respond in his native language. Then he starts babbling in Bugbearese, and I get lost in the intricacies of his language.
I interrupt with, “Grog, tell him we’re on a mission to free dragon babies, and we must hurry. Ask him if he wants to help or not. If not, we have to go on.”
Crisa morphs back into her human self and says something to Berb in Bugbearese. He responds, and she translates to me. “Berb and his buddies were supposed to kill us before we got to the lab. But Galdo lied about our mission. Because of that, Berb says he’ll help us. But first, he must meet our other companions.”
Distrust abounds in our group. Everyone remains where they are, and no one responds to Berb’s request. Even I wonder if bugbears, except for Grog, can ever be trusted. Do I harbor the same prejudices against Grog’s kind that Tumea has?
After a few moments of stare-down, Crisa says to the oreads and the tomte, “Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered with magic, if need be. Now introduce yourselves to our new allies, and let’s get on with our mission.”
A pale cave salamander that looks more like a worm with legs crawls up Crisa’s clothes and sits on her shoulder. She strokes its back, much like she did with the robin. Lizards like this rarely see light and are essentially blind. The fact that this one senses Crisa’s presence and wants to be near her speaks volumes about his love for her.
Mordea reverts back to his tomte shape, which changes him from two eyes to one, a startling phenomenon. His armor shrinks with him, and Caroom and Lawra, the oreads, chatter to each other in their language. Then they all three look at each other, remove their helmets and take a hesitant step forward. They each speak and then point to themselves to finish the introductions. Everyone sticks out an elbow to bump Berb’s elbow.
Caroom says, “You’re dark creatures, so you can understand our hesitation to trust you. We’ve fought against your kind for too many years.” Crisa relays this on to the bugbears.
Berb steps forward and declares in bugbear, which Crisa deciphers, “We feel the same about you. In the past, we’ve endured bigotry at your hands, the so-called light ones. We don’t like the labels given our kind, like you’re all good and we’re all bad. Numinals should be judged by their actions, not by how they look.”
Mordea nods. “You’re right. We’ve learned how noble Grog is and how traitorous one of us, a tomte, was.” Mordea adds, and Crisa translates all of it. “How do we know you won’t betray us once we reach Galdo?”
“You’ll just have to trust me,” Berb answers and Crisa interprets.
“Don’t you think we have to get to know someone before we can trust him?” Lawra asks. Crisa restates this sentence in Bugbearese.
Berb shrugs. “But how will you get to know someone like me if you don’t get past your prejudices?”
Caroom ponders this for a moment and then tilts her head. “Why do you work for Galdo?”
When Crisa finishes translating, Berb sighs and then says through Crisa, “He promised us peace. But some of us feel he’s losing his grip on sanity. He lacks respect for any life form, light or dark. He can turn on anyone without notice.”
After s
he translates Berb’s last message, Crisa gives him a sad smile and says something to him in bugbear. Then she turns to us. “I told him we can all agree on that.”
She asks, “Are you all satisfied? Can we rescue our dragonettes and recover my spell books now?” Then she translates this to Berb.
Berb nods and responds, and Crisa tells us, “Berb says he’s willing to trust us, if only for this mission.”
After conferring at a whisper with the two oreads, Mordea assures, “With you on our side, Crisa, we’ll be safe, even if Berb doesn’t fulfill his part. And please don’t translate that last sentiment.”
“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Caroom asks.
A dialogue runs between Crisa and Berb. When they finish, Crisa tells us, “Berb wants to bind the hands of Mordea, Caroom and Lawra to look like he’s captured them.” She turns to the tomte and the oreads. “You’ll still be able to undo the restraints, when you need to. This strategy should get you past the guards.
“Since Galdo knows I’d never allow myself to be captured without the use of strong magic, and since the champion would be recognized, Brutus, Calen and I will follow. When we get close to the lab, I’ll put a cloaking spell over the three of us. Then we three will attack the guards while we’re still invisible and while you’re distracting them.”
Most of the bugbears choose to stay with their injured friends, so only Berb and Grog will accompany us. Grog plans to impersonate a bugbear guard.
Crisa plucks the cave salamander from her shoulder, gives him a kiss on his head and places him gently on a nearby wall. She stares at him, and he scampers away. I’d love to know what she said to him, but there’s no time.
The tomte and the oreads put their helmets back on and place their hands behind them, so Berb and Grog can bind them. If all goes well, the guards won’t see how poorly they’re tied.
Berb leads, his club draped over one shoulder, followed by Caroom, Lawra and Mordea, their hands bound, and trailed by Grog with his axe. Crisa, Brutus and I bring up the rear.