“Oh yes,” the gnome said with enthusiasm. He bobbed his head. “I’ll kill ‘em. Do you want me to go now?”
“No. Not yet,” Tarah replied. Cletus asked them that question every morning. It was a ridiculous thought, one solitary gnome going up against more than a score of veteran dwarf smugglers, but after what she had seen him do that night on the docks of Filgren, part of her wondered if he might be able to do it.
Cletus frowned in disappointment, but then a hopeful gleam entered his eyes. “Are we riding today, then?” He loved riding horses, though he couldn’t sit still for more than a minute at a time.
“I don’t think so,” Tarah said. The smugglers had traveled fairly quickly until the last few days. Once their party had caught up, the dwarves hadn’t moved at all. They’d just set up camp in a gorge between two mesas and occasionally sent out small scout parties. Luckily none of them had come near Tarah’s position.
“Swen and Dinnis are out with Benjo watching their camp,” Djeri said. He gave both of them a reassuring smile. “I have a feeling that our opportunity will come soon. Who knows? Maybe we’ll see an opening and free Esmine tonight.”
As if in response to Djeri’s statement, they heard the sound of horse hooves pounding up the trail towards their camp. Tarah grabbed her bow and drew an arrow, but then the rider came into view. It was Benjo.
The large man reined in his horse and hopped down next to the fire, pulling his long scarf away from his face. “They’re gone,” Benjo said, his voice excited. “The smugglers left their camp while it was still dark. Swen says they made a beeline for the border. We need to leave right away if we want to keep pace with them.”
Tarah frowned. So much for freeing Esmine tonight. How long would the chase go on until they found the right opportunity? “Let’s go by their campsite first. I wanna know what they’ve been up to these last few days.”
They hurriedly packed up their things and headed out on horseback, Djeri riding Neddy. Cletus rode the battle-scarred warhorse that they had borrowed from Lenny before leaving Coal’s Keep. His name was Albert and he was the only one of their animals that would put up with the gnome’s antics. Cletus rarely put his feet in the stirrups, spending most of his time either crouched on the saddle or standing with his hands wide, somehow using his unnatural agility to keep his balance while enjoying the chill wind on his body.
Swen and Dinnis met them just in front of the entrance to the gorge. Tarah climbed down from her horse and began touching tracks. It was difficult to absorb what was going on because there were so many jumbled together. The dwarves had traveled in and out of the gorge quite often over the last few days.
“Alright,” she said. “It’s weird, but they’ve been trapping animals. With the memories I’m getting, the dwarves don’t know why, just that Blayne ordered it.”
“They were hunting, you mean?” Swen asked.
She rubbed the back of her neck. “No, they weren’t looking for food. They were looking for dangerous creatures and they planned on bringing them back alive. They brought wagons with them to bring their captures back in.”
“Dwarf smugglers do that some times,” Lem the Whip said. “They use live animals in their menageries and sometimes sell them to nobles or wizards.”
“Maybe Blayne has an order to fill,” Djeri suggested. “Could be the gnome wants more than just a rogue horse or he has other clients.”
“Could be,” Tarah said. “But-.” She saw another set of boot prints, perfectly pressed in a skiff of snow. The feet that had made these tracks were narrow and longer than a dwarf’s. Tarah smiled. She had a good idea who had made them. Tarah crouched next to the tracks and touched one. A memory flashed through her mind.
“These are Shade’s tracks!” she announced. “And he was upset about something.” She touched the next few tracks and stood, a clearer picture in her mind. “Blast!” she swore. “Dirt and leaves!”
“What is it?” Djeri asked.
“They know!” She turned to the others, her face pinched with concern. “When Shade made these tracks, he knew they were being followed.”
“How?” Benjo said.
“Was it Jerry’s stupid armor?” Jan asked.
“I don’t know,” Tarah replied. “There are only so many memories in these tracks.”
“The how is not important,” Djeri said. “The question is do they know who we are and what we’re after?”
“I need more tracks to find out,” Tarah said and made her way into the gorge, touching every surface that might have been trod on. The others stayed behind her, knowing that Tarah needed her space. If one of them were to step on a track, the old memory would be erased, replaced by their own.
As Tarah went on, a picture began to build in her mind. The dwarves had figured out they were being followed the morning after their first night in the gorge. One of their scouts had used a long range eyeglass and saw the smoke from one of their camp fires. Blayne had ordered the others to wait in the gorge another day to make sure that the people who made the camp fire were coming their way. Then one of them had climbed to the top of the mesa and saw a group of riders, but more alarmingly, a gnome standing on the back of his horse.
“It was Cletus,” Tarah said aloud, looking back to scowl at the gnome. The others sighed, shooting him glares.
“What was me?” the gnome asked. He had gotten bored waiting for Tarah’s tracking and was sitting on Albert’s back, polishing the different attachments for his chain weapon. He had a variety of different pieces that could clip onto the ends of his chain. He kept them in multiple pockets on the vest he wore under his coat; everything from hooks to blades to strange star shaped pieces. He did everything with his chain. He even ate with it, attaching spoon and fork-like utensils to it and finding crazily dexterous ways to throw the food to his mouth.
Tarah turned her attention back to the tracks. She followed them to the middle of the gorge. The area between the cliff walls widened at this point and Tarah could see the remnants of the dwarves’ camp. Enormous boulders littered the area and the dwarves had simply set up their tents around them.
“They must have left in a hurry,” Lem said. “The place is a mess.”
He was right. Canvas tarps were scattered around the area, as well as several crates and boxes. The tracks were harder to read here, so many of them overlaying each other. In the very center of the camp Tarah saw a small golden orb lying on the ground. It was not far from the central fire pit, sitting within the outlines where the dwarves’ command tent had once stood. The orb glowed softly.
Djeri knew what it was immediately. “Don’t get too close. That’s a paralyzing orb. Dwarf Smugglers use them to freeze their targets.”
“I don’t think it’s active,” Tarah said, standing from the tracks she’d been examining. She thought it strange that the dwarves would be in such a hurry that they’d leave something that valuable behind. “There’s no buzzing in my ears.”
“If it’s glowing it’s on,” Djeri said. He looked up at the cliffs on either side of the gorge. This was a perfect spot for an ambush. He reached one hand up to grasp the hilt of the greatsword he wore on his back. “Swen, are you sure that all of the smugglers left this place?”
“Yeah,” said the tall man. “I rode around the mesa and watched them. They were heading towards the border in a great hurry.”
“I don’t like this,” said Helmet Jan, clutching her pike tightly. “I see yellow magic in the air.” Jan’s helmet allowed her many advantages, one of them being the use of Mage sight. “That orb thing is definitely turned on.”
“Maybe we should just leave,” Benjo said. The big man didn’t like the look of the camp any more than the others.
“Perhaps so,” said Tarah. She looked around the area where the command tent had been. There were a few sets of clear footprints around the orb. She hated to miss out on the opportunity to study the tracks. “But there’s so much we could learn here. Those might be Blayne’s prints.”
“We can back out and ride around the far side of the mesa,” Swen suggested. “We could pick up the tracks there.”
“They won’t be as good,” Tarah said. The dwarves would be on horseback at that point and horse tracks didn’t help. Horses had no idea what their rider’s plans were.
“I don’t see why we’re worried,” said Lem the Whip. He held out the runed pendant that dangled from his neck. They all wore one just like it. “They have no idea about the charms your uncle gave us. If they’re thinking to trap us here with paralyzing spells, they’d be wrong.”
“Paralyzing don’t work on me anyways,” said Cletus. He had climbed down from his horse again and was watching the orb with eager eyes. “Do you want me to get the shiny thing?”
“Yeah, send Doofus over there,” said Helmet Jan. Tarah and Djeri both sent her withering glares. They had gotten after her about calling him that. It wasn’t the gnome’s fault that he was low on smarts. Jan raised her hands defensively, rolling her eyes. “Sorry. Cletus. Look, you know he can’t be frozen by the magic and if there’s any trap, he’s too fast to get hit by it.”
“Oh yes,” said Cletus with a smile. “Metal hat girl is right. Zip-zip. I’ll get the shiny thing and be right back.”
Djeri and Tarah looked at each other and the dwarf said, “Is it worth the risk, Tarah? What if that’s not the trap. What if there’s something else?”
“Theodore says that orb is the only item of magic in the area,” Willum said. “He says the cliff walls seem stable and he’s sure that there are no dwarves hiding around. The only thing he senses are a few wild animals.”
Tarah looked back at the orb and thought about what the imp had told her the night before. Someone was going to die. She squared her shoulders. “No. It’s not worth it. Let’s backtrack and go around the mesa. We’ll do like Swen said and see if we can learn anything from their tracks on the other side.”
“Aww,” said Cletus, giving the orb one last longing glance before they turned around to head back out of the gorge.
They made only a few steps before there was a loud crack. Tarah looked back in time to see the golden orb shatter. There was sudden movement all around them.
The smuggler’s trap was ingenious in its execution. The dwarves had spent that last few days setting it up, capturing vicious animals and digging holes. Many of the discarded pieces of canvas or crates had been covering a paralyzed beast. The dwarves had known exactly how to manipulate the situation and set the trap to trigger if anyone entered the area and then tried to leave. When the orb broke, the creatures were freed from the spell. Two days paralyzed while being tortured and starved of food had left the creatures in a violent rage.
Blocking the entrance of the gorge, three enormous rust-colored cliff vipers burst up from the ground where the dwarves had buried them. Each snake was easily ten times as long as a man and had heads the size of wine barrels.
On the right side of the gorge, four huge desert jaguars sprang from holes in the ground under pieces of tarp, their fur bristling with anger. They saw Tarah’s party and immediately began to advance, their heads close to the ground while their throats issued a chorus of low growls.
“A few wild animals, Willum?” said Djeri, drawing his sword.
“He says he’s never had to worry about something like this,” Willum replied, his axe at the ready.
“They’re just animals. We should be able to scare them off,” Tarah said, pulling out her bow. But the moment the words left her mouth, she knew that was an empty hope. Her years of experience told her that there was madness in these creature’s eyes.
As if in agreement with Tarah’s revelation, a large crate at the far end of the gorge burst open. Out charged a full grown bearhog. The hairy beast was nearly as tall as a horse and had long sword-like tusks and wicked claws. It charged towards them, squealing with rage.
Both Tarah and Swen fired at once, their arrows taking the oncoming beast in the neck, but the bearhog wouldn’t be taken down that easily. It rounded the fire pit and barreled towards them.
With a cry of challenge, Djeri stood in its path, swinging the Ramsetter. The blade caught the beast in the side of the head. But the Ramsetter was made to slice through metal, not bone, and he didn’t hit hard enough to carve through the bearhog’s thick skull. The bearhog dipped its head and thrust up with its tusks, tossing the dwarf into the air as it charged on.
Tarah dove out of the way, and Swen stepped to the side, but Willum was not as quick. When he saw that he wasn’t going to escape, he hastily brought down the blade of his wicked axe, striking the beast right between its beady eyes. “Force!”
Two sounds issued at the same time. One was the sound of a heavy bell. Deep and long, it reverberated along the cliff walls of the gorge. The other sound was a loud crack as the bearhog’s skull split in two. The force of the blast slowed the beast’s momentum, but it still plowed over Willum, slamming him to the ground and stomping on his leg with one heavy clawed foot as it continued a few more yards before falling over dead.
The creature fell right at the feet of the horses, which caused several of them to rear up. They were academy-trained beasts and most of them held their ground, but one bolted. Helmet Jan’s horse turned and galloped back the way they had come, heading towards the entrance of the gorge.
The horse tried to run between two of the cliff vipers who had coiled up in attack position. Both vipers struck. One of them missed, but the other sunk its fangs into the horse’s belly and latched on. The horse valiantly continued forward, dragging the enormous snake along with it for a few yards before the snake let go. The viper’s venom churned through the horses veins and it collapsed just outside the gorge.
Cletus cried out in outrage over the horse’s demise. He darted at the two closest vipers, his chain whirring through the air. He had clipped a spear tip to one end of the weapon and a short blade on the other.
The gnome swung the bladed end out in a sweeping slash, opening a wide gash in the coils of one of the vipers. Both snakes struck at him in unison, their huge mouths open wide, venomous fangs extended. Cletus jumped and twirled, his long narrow body passing between the snake’s mouths, narrowly avoiding their dripping fangs. He lashed out with his chain again in mid-air and brought in his legs, turning his dive into a somersault. His blade opened another gash in the snake’s hide as he landed on his feet.
Benjo, Helmet Jan, and Lem the Whip faced off against the jaguars. The big cats growled, swatting at Benjo’s spear and Jan’s pike, while Lem’s whip kept another at bay. The fourth one slunk behind a large boulder, making its way around to attack them from the side.
Dinnis watched the jaguar’s progress, his hands twitching around the hilt of his new sword. He was paralyzed with anxiety, the horrors of the past war intertwining with reality. He had seen his comrades torn to pieces by Ewzad’s twisted beasts and had watched helplessly as his own friend’s head was bitten off. Now he could see it happening again. The great cat would take Lem down and the others would die soon after.
“Come on, Dinnis,” he mumbled, his lips trembling. The jaguar crouched, its hungry eyes watching Lem crack his whip. Then the hilt of Dinnis’ sword began to burn. It seared through his palms and ran up his arms. The burning feeling poured into his heart where it was pumped through his veins, spreading through his body. Meredith urged him on until anger overrode his anxiety and fear.
He charged at the cat and roared. The jaguar turned its head to regard his approach, cringing with surprise. Then its lips pulled back from its teeth and it lunged at him.
Dinnis’ rage had gotten him this far. Now his training kicked in. He sidestepped the cat’s attack and slashed out with his sword, cutting a deep wound in its side. The cat roared in pain and sidled away, but Dinnis did not let up. He thrust with Meredith, piercing between two ribs.
The cat recoiled, then lashed out at him with a swipe of its paw. Dinnis parried the paw to the side and spun, bringing his sword down in
a two-handed slash. The sword bit through the side of the cat’s neck, cutting deep and severing its jugular. Blood fountained across the ground.
Swen crouched at Willum’s side, checking on his friend. Tarah rushed over to Djeri. The dwarf had landed in a crumpled heap, but seemed none the worse for wear, cursing as he climbed to his feet. Relieved, she ran her fingers across her quiver, feeling the fletchings. She chose a steel-tipped arrow and turned, drawing a bead on one of the cliff vipers.
Only a short time had passed since the battle had begun, but the two snakes the gnome was fighting were in tatters, their coils slashed open in multiple places by the whirlwind that was Cletus. As she watched, the gnome sent the spear-tipped end of his chain through one of the snakes’ eyes.
Tarah focused on the third viper. It was, as of yet, unharmed and was advancing towards the gnome. She let fly. Her arrow struck the snake in the neck just below its jaw.
The snake jerked back and its reptilian eyes focused on Tarah. It slithered towards her. The horses scattered at its approach. She drew another arrow and fired, striking it in the neck again. It reared back, mouth open, and she tossed her bow to the side, snatching her red staff up off the ground.
The viper struck and Djeri ran in front of Tarah thrusting the tip of the Ramsetter into the snake’s open mouth. Tarah cried out as the viper’s strike slammed the dwarf to the ground. Its long curving fangs scraped across his polished armor but did no damage and its venom emptied impotently onto the dusty floor of the gorge. The snake collapsed and trembled. The long blade of the Ramsetter had pierced through the back of its skull.
The rest of the battle was soon over. Swen and Tarah fired arrows into the two remaining vipers, helping Cletus finish them off. Dinnis, having slain his jaguar, had rushed at the others, cleaving deep into the one Lem had faced off against. His attack distracted the two remaining jaguars allowing Benjo and Helmet Jan to slay them with expert thrusts of their weapons.
Djeri had some bumps and bruises, but Lenny’s armor had held up to its legendary reputation and he was otherwise unharmed. Willum was the only one of their party that had been wounded. The bearhog’s stomp hadn’t broken his leg, but it had left him badly bruised and he had a minor puncture wound in his thigh from one of its claws.
Protector Of The Grove (Book 2) Page 26