Natac’s heart sank at this disastrous development. Just when they had held so well, to get attacked by some impossible means. “What does it mean? How can they cross the canyon?” he demanded of no one in particular, though the dwarf took it upon himself to answer.
“I don’t know,” he replied laconically. “But it seems pretty clear that we’ve been outflanked. Where’s the next place you want to try and fight ’em?”
Miradel’s first thought, when she spotted the gargoyle looking at her, had been no thought at all but merely instinct. She had thrown herself onto the ground and huddled between a pair of boulders, fearing at any instant that the grotesque creature would take to the air and swoop down upon her. Burying her head in her arms, she lay utterly still except for the trembling she could not control.
How long she stayed that way she couldn’t remember. Eventually, however, she perceived that she had not yet been attacked. Hesitantly she raised her eyes, then lifted her head to look around the rock. She saw that the beast had made no move to leave its mountaintop aerie, though its eyes did remain open. They sparked brightly, crimson red in the distance, but no longer did they seem to be focused specifically on her. It was more as if the creature had gone from slumber to an air of general watchfulness.
Finally, she accepted that she would have to move. Carefully she lifted herself to her feet, finding that the pack was not such a burden as she would have expected it to be. Trying to stay hidden as much as possible, she started climbing again, sticking to the low ripples in the terrain where for the most part she could remain out of view. Every time she came into view of the gargoyle she looked upward apprehensively, but still the beast had made no move.
The time was drawing close to the Hour of Darken when at last, exhausted, sore, and full of despair, she reached Shandira’s position. Here she saw a sight more beautiful than anything she had beheld in days: her companion’s eyes. The druid was awake!
“What happened?” asked the black woman, gingerly touching her blood-encrusted hair. “I fell, didn’t I? How far? How long ago?”
“You took a bump on the head,” Miradel said. “About midday, I would reckon. Now’s it’s almost Darken. Here, have a sip of water-and tell me how you feel.”
“I have a headache,” Shandira admitted. “But I think I’ll be all right.”
Miradel looked at the sun, so far away and so low in the sky. Soon it would start to climb away from them, and then in the skies there would be only the stars for light and nothing at all to keep them warm. “Belynda will be seeking us in a few minutes,” she said tentatively. “I wonder if this, coming here, was a terrible mistake. Should I signal her to bring us home?”
“Well, no!” Shandira replied crossly, her spirited answer raising Miradel’s morale considerably. “We have to do what we came here to do, or what’s the point? And besides, I don’t see a stream nearby, do you?”
“No. And yes, you’re right. I mean, what’s the point of stopping now?”
Miradel wasn’t going to mention the gargoyle’s minor change, but her companion raised the issue as darkness closed around them. “Did you see it has its eyes open?” Shandira wondered.
“Yes… that happened after I climbed down to get my pack. I was afraid it saw me and was going to come after me, but it didn’t move. It’s still best to stay out of sight as much as possible,” Miradel suggested.
The pair huddled together, using all four of their cloaks and their shared body warmth to survive the cold, cold night. They were both awake before Lighten and decided to get moving right away, reasoning that activity would be a better defense against cold than anything else within their power.
Once more they stuck to cover as much as possible, and as light returned to the worlds, they saw that the gargoyle remained fixed in place. Miradel couldn’t escape the uncanny feeling that the great, stone eyes were seeking her, and once again they strove to stay out of sight throughout the long morning’s climb.
It wasn’t until late in the day that the incline began to level out, and they came into view of the great notch through the mountains, the pass that led into the shadowy maze of the Deathlord’s citadel. The druids remained off the road, skulking along just below the roadside retaining wall, using that barrier as concealment from above. But now they had come to an open approach, and if they continued forward, it would be in full view of the stony sentry.
“I don’t think we should go in there,” Miradel said, abruptly halting.
“I don’t like the looks of it either,” Shandira said. “But what are the options? Should we wait here and see if the Deathlord comes strolling out?”
The elder druid chuckled in spite of her fatigue, her mood, their surroundings… everything. Then she laughed outright. “Well, that would serve us well. Might answer a lot of questions, in fact. But I was thinking more along the lines of us finding a different way to continue on.”
Shandira nodded thoughtfully and looked skyward, toward the great summit rising on their right. “Such as… that ridge? The one that climbs around the far shoulder of the mountain?”
“That’s what I had in mind. If we can stay on the right side of it until we’re halfway up, it looks like the we could follow the crest the rest of the way and still be out of sight of the gargoyle.”
“First light, then, let’s give it a try.”
They spent another cold night in the Fifth Circle, this time wedged into a crack between two rocks. It was cramped and rough-edged, but the close quarters seemed at least to help them conserve their body heat. Miradel found that she slept better than she had since their arrival… How many days ago had it been? It was getting very hard to keep track of time.
Again they were up before the Lighten Hour, chilly and sore but anxious to get started. Their loads were noticeably lighter, Miradel thought-either that, or her muscles were getting so used to the strain that the backpack had seemed to become a part of her. She felt strangely invigorated, ready to continue the climb.
Shandira led the way around the base of the mountain until they were safely beyond the view of the gargoyle. Then they started to ascend in earnest. This slope was even steeper than the vast incline that had led them up to the pass. The ground was covered with loose rock that broke away without notice, and the going was very slow. They paused every two dozen steps for a quick breather, then resumed the ascent.
Miradel was amazed at the change in her condition: far from the pain and exhaustion that had afflicted her during their first days, she now felt strong and invigorated, ready to continue each time she caught her breath. Even the shadowy twilight did not seem so oppressive. All this and more could be endured, she decided, with courage and the comfort of a good comrade.
By midday-during which it was no lighter than a cloudy twilight upon Nayve-they estimated that they had reached the point where they could climb to the ridge crest. They did so and were pleased to find out that they were now blocked from the gargoyle’s view behind a shoulder of the mountain on the opposite side of the pass. Continuing on, they now followed the top of the ridge, which still rose steeply upward but seemed to offer better footing than the scree-dappled sides of the edifice.
By the Hour of Darken they felt as though they were nearing the top, though it remained impossible to see any great distance above them. But they resolved to continue on, slowed only slightly by the lack of light. An hour later, the two women made their way to the very top of the knife-edged ridge crest and collapsed there, finding a pair of boulders barely the size of narrow bunks. But each was solidly resting in the mountain rock and provided the first flat space they had encountered in the last six hours.
In the pale starlight they could see little of what lay beyond. Miradel perceived a maze of deep valleys and steep ridges, all leading toward a vast gulf of dark space some five or ten miles away.
Next the druid looked at the distant sun, now merely the brightest star high above Nayve, so far away across the Worldsea, and she shivered against the feeling o
f unnatural chill. Shandira, a short distance away, lowered her head and murmured an inaudible prayer.
The elder druid lay on her back and watched the stars, full of fatigue but hopeful of their purpose. Then she stifled a gasp, clasping a hand to her mouth and staring.
“What is it? What did you see?” Shandira whispered, crouching at her side.
“Something was flying up there,” Miradel said, still trembling. “It was huge, and its wings were so broad they seemed to blot out the stars. Look, there it is, flying around the side of the mountain.”
“It is what we feared,” Shandira said bluntly. “The gargoyle has taken wing.”
T HE trolls ran from their riverside camp, pushing through the thickets that grew in the lowlands, streaming among the oaks that had started to take root on the gentle hillsides rising a mile back from the Swansleep’s banks. Awfulbark forgot about being king, abandoned any notion of trying to control anything but the direction of his own and Roodcleaver’s flight.
He did remember to hang on to his sword, however, and in fact the blade proved quite useful on those occasions when one of his countrymen was moving too slowly in his path. A swift stab proved remarkably persuasive, either convincing the laggard to hurry up or persuading him that he had better get out of the way or face an even more aggravating thrust.
They fled over the low elevation and across the smooth grassland beyond, running for hours, it seemed, until finally fatigue began to take its toll. Trolls collapsed from exhaustion by the dozens, while many others staggered wearily along, losing any sense of direction and purpose.
“Gotta stop,” Roodcleaver groaned, tugging on Awfulbark’s hand. His first instinct was to yank her along for another dozen steps. He bulled forward until he heard an unfamiliar sound. When he stopped to look, he saw that his wife was sobbing and nearly exhausted. Her rough shoulders heaved, and she drew ragged, rasping breaths-breaths that emerged as great, grieving bleats of misery. When Awfulbark let go of her hand, she simply slumped to the ground and buried her face in her hands.
“Okay, we stop, rest for a bit,” the king acknowledged. Looking around, he saw that the throng of trolls had thinned considerably. It occurred to him that many of them, weaker and lacking his own strong will, had probably already collapsed. Too bad for them… they were probably already caught by the…
Only then did he stop to consider what, in fact, had been the cause of their flight. With a sheepish look backward, he remembered the quake, the awful feeling that the world was lurching beneath him, actively seeking to do him, King Awfulbark, personal harm.
Of course, he had not been the only one to take off in flight, but he reflected that, perhaps, he could have set a better example. Natac had explained to him that it was important to keep the ghost warriors from crossing the river, and the trolls had really not done a very good job of that, not if the enemy had decided to advance some time in the last few hours.
Awfulbark had become a very chagrined troll by the time he saw the great, winged shape in the sky. Glumly he stood and waved, spotting Natac astride the great dragon’s neck. Then the monarch of the forest trolls slumped in shame, looking at the ground as the serpent landed, and the general dismounted to speak to the troll.
“Greetings, King Awfulbark,” Natac said politely. “I am relieved to find you well. I saw the damage wreaked in your grove by the quake.”
The troll, expecting a rebuke for cowardice, was rather pleased by the general’s words. He took a moment to ponder his answer. “Yes… some killed. But I lead trolls away from that place. We go back now?”
“I appreciate your courage, my loyal monarch,” said Natac, reaching up to clap the lanky creature on his bark-rough shoulder. “But there has been a change in our battle plan. The quake we felt was caused by powerful magic-magic that brought the Delvers across Riven Deep. Now, we must fall back from the river.”
“Fall back-you mean run away?” Awfulbark was stunned at first, and then indignant. “But we was winning fight!”
“I know. Your trolls did a magnificent job,” the general declared, but he shook his head. “Even so, to stay here is to face ruin-so we must retreat.”
“How far?” The king had only a vague idea of Nayve’s geography, but he knew this was an important point.
“March toward the center,” was the answer. “We will have to go as far as the Ringhills to make another stand.”
“Okay,” Awfulbark agreed. “You points us the way, and we goes there. And if the ghosts come, we fight!”
“Very good,” Natac replied, seemingly sincere, though the troll king had never quite grown accustomed to sincerity. “The Fourth Circle is depending upon you, and you have answered the call, brave leader. Now, lead your warriors away from here, so that they may fight again tomorrow.”
Awfulbark, feeling very pleased that he had not been rebuked for his impetuous flight, did just that, bellowing and cajoling even as the general and his mighty steed took to the air. His trolls gathered to him, and all within earshot echoed his orders to those who were too far away to hear the king directly. Gradually, the army of the forest trolls came together again.
M IRADEL no longer had a sense of daylight, even though she knew that the Lighten Hour, on Nayve, had passed several hours ago. As she and Shandira made their way up the narrow, black-walled gorge, however, they might have been climbing through thick twilight.
They had spent the cold night trembling on the mountaintop, scanning the skies for another sign of the gargoyle. But the massive creature, after flying past that one time, had not reappeared. The pale illumination of dawn had revealed it back in its position on the upper rampart.
The druids had proceeded over the ridge and pushed into the labyrinth of gorges and ravines on the far side, which is where they now found themselves in such stygian conditions. The rock walls seemed to be a mixture of dark gray and smooth, black stone that absorbed any trace of light that might have found its way here. In some odd way, however, the darkness was a comfort, for it seemed to lessen their chances of being discovered as they made their way closer to the great, dark vale they had seen from the crest.
“Are you sure that’s the hall of the Deathlord?” Shandira asked once, whispering as the two women paused to drink some water and to rest.
“I have studied this place in the Tapestry, and yes, that high valley is the place where he sits on his great throne. It is the last place in this world or any other, as far as one can go in the direction that is neither metal nor wood. Beyond rises the great darkness, end of the cosmos. Every time I observed him, he has been as still and lifeless as a statue, but we will see if that is his true state or if he can be aroused by visitors.”
“Visitors?” Shandira was looking at her intently. “Do you mean to pay a social call upon him?”
Miradel shook her head. “No… I wonder if we’ll even find…” She didn’t finish the thought.
“What? Find what?” Shandira demanded.
A shriek of uncanny power abruptly penetrated into the depths of the gorge. The sound echoed and rang, lingering for a long time after the original had faded.
“The gargoyle!” Miradel felt a stab of fear, sheer, unbridled terror gripping her entire body in a sweaty cocoon. Instinctively she was up, following the vague shape of Shandira, who was already sprinting along the winding floor. Glancing upward, she saw no sign of the monstrous pursuer, but that did nothing to hold up their pace as they raced, headlong toward the citadel of the Deathlord.
15
Blood Under Coolfyre
When twenty swords are ranged against you, quick feet ever outweigh the strongest arm.
Goblin Proverb
“ I can get this door open,” Konnor whispered, as the three Houseguard siblings crouched in the alcove and waited. The company of dwarves had marched past just a few minutes before, and already they heard the smashing of at least one gate in the Wood Wall of the ghetto. “Maybe we can go through the warehouse and come at the wall farther from
the waterfront.”
“How can we be sure this place is abandoned?” Borand wondered.
“Look at it-dusty and dark, and quiet as a graveyard,” Aurand replied. “No one’s been in here for years!”
Darann readily agreed. “We don’t have any choice. Let’s go!” she urged, fearful that another company would be along at any moment. Next time, the shadows might not be enough to conceal them.
Quickly, Konnor eased the door open. The creak of rusty hinges seemed terribly loud to the four of them, but Darann hoped that beyond their hiding place the sound was buried in the greater tumult rising throughout the ghetto. Not daring to spark a light, they moved into the almost pitch darkness of what felt like a single, large room-at least, the little illumination spilling from the wharf side allowed them to see only empty space to either side. Dust kicked up by their feet hung in the stale air, tickling her nostrils, and Darann suspected that it was more than just a few years since this place had seen any activity.
When Konnor pushed the door shut, nearly soundlessly, there was no way to see anything at all. Borand risked lighting a match, the sulfurous flame shockingly bright, the smoke and scent pungent. In the flickering illumination they could see long, bare shelves extending into the distance on both sides. This certainly had been a warehouse, though it was now empty of goods.
Holding the match high, Borand led them forward, down a long aisle between the empty racks. Each step kicked up more dust, and there was a lingering smell of mold, slightly tainted by fish, in the air.
“An old fishery warehouse,” Konnor guessed, whispering to Darann. “Probably abandoned not long after the king walled off the ghetto.”
Darann was inclined to agree. She couldn’t help reflecting that the cost of the goblin imprisonment had, in this case and many others, exacted a very real economic toll from the dwarves who had implemented that confinement. “What a waste,” she breathed silently-at least, she thought she had spoken silently until Konnor turned to her and nodded in agreement.
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