The Gates of Thorbardin, page 19
“A little invisibility might come in handy,” the kender said. “I saw a lot of invisibility at Hylo the time the bird came from … well, I didn’t see it, exactly. What I did was not see it. That’s what invisibility does.”
“I wish we had the gnome here now,” Wingover said. “I wonder where he is.”
“Right here,” a voice came from aloft. Wingover stared up at the flying contraption, barely ten feet overhead. “It’s me,” the gnome said. “Bobbin. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember! Where have you been?”
“I’m not quite sure. Somewhere northwest, I think. Where are you going?”
“Across that valley,” Wingover shouted. “I’d like for you to scout for us.”
“All right, if that’s what you want. But I don’t think it’s such a good idea to go across there. There are surly people all over the place. Look here.” He tossed something over the side of the basket. It rang against stone, and Chane picked it up. It was a bronze dart.
“Somebody shot me in the hub with that thing,” Bobbin griped. “Would have cost me a wheel, if I still had my wheels.”
Wingover blinked, realizing for the first time that the flying craft no longer had its delicate silver-wire wheels. “What did you do with your wheels?”
“While I was in the northwest, I found some people—elves, I think—with raisins. I traded them my wheels for a half-bushel of raisins. Fat lot of good wheels do me up here, anyway.”
“Take a look at this,” Chane handed the goblin-dart to Wingover.
The man looked at the object closely. It was a slim bolt, about eighteen inches long, with a broad, sharp head and airfoils of shaved wood. Darts were a favorite weapon of goblins, and they often fired them from short, stiff crossbows. Wingover started to shrug, then looked more closely. “This isn’t sand-cast,” he said. “It looks as though it has been forged, or turned on a wheel.” He handed the dart to Glenshadow.
“Not goblin work,” the wizard judged.
“Well, it was a goblin that flung it at me,” Bobbin called down.
“I’d like to see a few more of these,” Chane said. “If I could compare some of them, I’d know whether they were forge-turned or ground on a cold lathe.”
Chestal Thicketsway snapped his fingers and opened his large pack. “Like these?” He drew out two more goblin-bolts.
“Where did you get those?”
“The other night, when I was flying with Bobbin, these came along. I’d forgotten that I had them.” He dug deeper into his pack, lifting out various other things one by one, to look at them. “I have some pretty good stuff in here. I should check it more often.”
“Lathe-turned,” Chane Feldstone pronounced, comparing the darts. “No goblin ever made these. I wonder who did.”
“Somebody whose purpose was to turn out a lot of them in a hurry,” Wingover said.
“Somebody equipping an army?” Chane asked.
“Somebody who isn’t a goblin, outfitting goblins? That’s crazy,” Wingover scoffed.
Chane shook his head. “No crazier than the idea of a human—a human female—being in command of a goblin force.”
“Speaking of females,” Wingover said as he looked around, “where’s Jilian?”
CHAPTER 20
———
JILIAN WAS TIRED AND COLD. WHILE THE OTHERS DISCUSSED plans and situations, she wandered about the area, looking for a place to rest out of the wind. The pass here was a snow-dusted trough between rising peaks, with little cover from the wind’s biting teeth. Not far away, though, an outcropping had sheared away in some bygone age, forming a mazelike rockfall where slabs of stone lay against one another and dark crevices beckoned.
She stooped to peer into one of these, a shadowy cave where slate walls broke the wind. The cave was deeper than it appeared, and another, darker opening, offset and aslant, lay beyond it. The wind gusted again as Jilian stepped into the shelter, leaning down to avoid the rock above. It was cold within, but not as sharply so as outside, where the relentless wind played. Her back to the deeper cave, she crouched there, watching the rest of the group. She hoped they would make up their minds soon. It would be a relief to get off this cold mountain pass, to be moving downward for a time, instead of toiling and climbing.
Mountain winds sang around the opening in the rocks, then died abruptly. In the silence Jilian heard a furtive sound. As she started to turn, the dwarven girl was seized by massive hard hands. She tried to struggle, but the strength of whatever held her was immense. She tried to scream … and could not. She was hauled backward, beyond the crevice and into the dark cave. A huge, leering face appeared directly above Jilian—a face twice the size of any she had ever seen, with a wide, grinning mouth and little glittering eyes set close beside a great snout of a nose.
“Pretty toy,” the thing whispered, a low rumble of sound at her ear. “Nice for Cleft. Maybe Loam can have what’s left.” Crouching, the thing turned and headed down into darkness, carrying Jilian as a child would carry a doll.
Jilian’s dwarven eyes adjusted quickly to darkness. Even in her shock and panic, she noted that the tunnel along which she was carried was of dwarven design. Like the load-shafts in Thorbardin that led from one level to another, it was a long, delved curve, spiraling downward, turn after turn.
She tried to struggle against the hands that held her, but it was no use. The monster’s hands completely encircled her, binding her arms to her sides so that all she could move was her head and her feet. The pressure of the thing’s grip was crushing. Jilian fought desperately just to breathe, and her spinning mind registered spiral after spiral of descending tunnel, its walls echoing to the thud of the creature’s feet.
After a time, the girl twisted her head around, trying to get her teeth into a huge thumb. The thing glanced down at her, saw what she was trying to do, and chuckled, a deep, evil rumble of mirth. It shifted its grip slightly and increased the pressure. Jilian felt as though her ribs were breaking. Ogre, she thought. This is an ogre! Maybe the same ogre that has a grudge against Chane. Maybe it’s doing this to get even with him … or maybe to lure him into a trap!
Jilian made herself hold very still. After she pretended to go limp, the creature’s grip eased slightly. There was a little more light now, and she could see that the tunnel widened out, then widened again, becoming a vaulted cavern twenty or thirty feet across.
A staging area, she thought. Whatever dwarves had delved this place, in some bygone time, had crafted a cavern here—a place to store and sort things to be carried up or down the spiral shaft. A resting place. She had seen such places in Thorbardin. Dim marks on the floor might even have been the bases of ancient cable-track, though there was no hardware in the place now. All this she noticed in an instant, as the ogre slowed its pace and raised her higher in the dim light.
“Far enough,” the creature rumbled. A mouth like a yawning slit revealed spike teeth. “Well underground. Let’s see what pretty thing I have found.”
Jilian lay limp in its grasp, and let her head loll to one side, feigning unconsciousness. Higher she was lifted as the ogre peered at her in the dim shaft-light, turning her this way and that. It relaxed its grip, holding her now with one hand while the other poked her with large fingers. Finally, the ogre took hold of her tunic and started to tear it away. Close enough, Jilian decided. With a heave, she freed herself from some of the fingers, twisted around, and delivered a solid kick, directly into a leering eye.
The ogre roared as it staggered back and dropped Jilian. She hit the cavern floor and scooted away on hands and knees. Suddenly, though, she remembered that her borrowed sword was still slung on her back. Ignoring the monster’s roars, she got to her feet and loosed the sword, then ducked as the ogre’s hand whisked past her. She turned and ran into the descending tunnel beyond the staging cavern.
In this lower spiral there was no light at all.
Surrounded by complete darkness, Jilian ran as she had never run before, counting her steps, trusting her dwarven instincts and the skills of the tunnelers who had built this place long ago. The lower spiral would be a twin of the upper … she hoped. She put her faith in the dwarven passion for symmetry and ran. The thudding footfalls of the ogre echoed off walls around her, and its rumbling curses were thunder in her ears. The monster was no more than a half-turn behind, and she wondered for a moment how something that big could move so quickly in a black tunnel. Then she recalled something Wingover had said about ogres. Ogres are at home underground. It’s their natural element.
Well, it’s mine, too, Jilian thought fiercely. And no ogre built this place. Dwarves did. “You don’t belong here, you ugly rust-heap!” she shouted. “You aren’t fit to use a good delving!”
Behind her the ogre roared again and quickened its pace.
Again counting her steps, and putting blind faith in the good judgment of dwarven delvers, she sprinted another dozen paces, then stopped, turned to her right, and scurried forward. In the upper spiral there had been a small cubicle opening to the left. In the lower tunnel, midway, there should be one to the right.
It was there. Jilian found the opening and scurried through, holding her breath as the ogre raced past … and stopped. For a long moment there was silence, then she heard its rasping breath, returning. It knew she had eluded it, and it was coming back to search.
Quickly, Jilian felt around on the floor. Her hand closed on a small, flat stone. She eased herself to the portal, edged partway into the tunnel, and threw the stone upshaft, toward the staging room. The stone rang against rock wall, and the ogre chuckled in the darkness. Jilian ducked into the cubicle again as it charged past, heading back up the tunnel. Then the girl darted out into the tunnel and ran.
She hadn’t gained much. Within seconds the ogre was in pursuit again and closing. She ran and let dwarven instinct guide her flying feet.
Abruptly, she realized that she could see the walls. There was light ahead, and it was growing. The lower end of the spiral-shaft was ahead.
Another hundred yards and the tunnel bent slightly to the left, straightened, and ended. Jilian sprinted between fallen stones and emerged on a cleared shelf on the side of a mountain—a shelf that once had been the terminus of a path. But there was no path now. It had sheared away in some long-ago rockfall. It would be a tedious climb, to get down to better ground, but at least now there was light.
“So far, so good,” Jilian panted, then turned as a thunderous growl erupted behind her. Only yards away, the ogre had emerged from the tunnel. It still held a hand over one eye.
“I’m warning you,” Jilian shouted, “I’m getting very tired of this. You’d better go away and leave me alone.”
The ogre growled again and started for her. Jilian picked up a rock and flung it, aiming for the thing’s other eye. The rock bounced off the monster’s nose.
“Oh, rust,” Jilian swore. “That’s only made things worse.” She hefted her sword and squared her stance sideways to the approaching ogre. “I didn’t want to have to do this,” she muttered.
As the monster charged, Jilian braced her feet and swung the sword with all her strength.
CHAPTER 21
———
ATOP THE PASS, THE OTHERS HAD SPLIT UP. WINGOVER sent Bobbin sailing off westward to have a look at the backtrail, then swung into his saddle and spurred his horse down the twisting, perilous path that led away into the Vale of Respite. Chane Feldstone started after him, then glanced aside and recognized the cavern behind the rockfall. “Tunneling,” he muttered. Without a backward look, he dashed into the cavern and ran, his hammer at the ready. Within a few yards, his nostrils caught the earthy scent of ogre, and he gritted his teeth. “Jilian,” he whispered. “Ah, Reorx. Jilian.…”
Chestal Thicketsway was right behind the dwarf, followed by a whining, complaining, voiceless voice that seemed to object fiercely to being dragged through subterranean places.
The wizard Glenshadow watched them go, then chose a peak and began to climb. He noticed almost immediately that the crystal atop his staff had cleared as soon as Chane Feldstone went underground. It was something important to remember, regarding Spellbinder. Glenshadow climbed, seeking an ice pool that would give him seeing eyes.
Down and down the searchers went, the dwarf and the kender pounding down a long, corkscrew spiral in the heart of the mountain; the mounted man descending the slope, looking everywhere, trying to see everything.
In the cavern with the light shaft, Chane found prints in the dust on the stone floor and paused, then hurried on. Jilian was ahead somewhere, with the ogre in pursuit.
As one, Chane and Chess darted into the far tunnel and continued downward, running as fast as they could in the darkness. The kender’s natural balance and simple luck were all that kept him abreast of the tunnel-wise dwarf.
The downward slope eased, and the tunnel began to straighten. Chane put on more speed. Just ahead, he knew, the shaft should emerge into open air. And if Jilian had managed to escape the ogre in the tunnel—how, he couldn’t imagine—her fate would be sealed when the monster had room to maneuver. Outside, she would have no chance.
The tunnel wound slightly to the left, and then there was light ahead … light and an abrupt, heart-stopping sound. A shrill, agonized scream reverberated back into the tunnel from just beyond its end.
Chane put his head down, filled his aching lungs, and plunged ahead into the evening light. Off to one side, he heard a horseman coming downslope, rocks clattering beneath charging hooves.
The dwarf raised his hammer. As Chane skidded to a halt, the kender bumped into him from behind, then dashed aside to wield his hoopak.
But there was nothing to attack. Chane and Chess gathered there, staring in wonder.
Jilian was a spinning top, just beginning to run down—a flashing, tilting, dancing blur spewing blood from the point of an extended sword. Cloven carnage was just collapsing, almost at her twirling feet. The head and shoulders of an ogre thudded down on top of a tangled pile of bloody parts, just as the dwarven girl’s sword flashed around again and took off the top of its skull, above its eyes.
“By the Hammer of Kharas,” Chane swore.
“Yuk,” Chestal Thicketsway said.
“What in the name of all the gods?” Wingover’s voice came from just upslope. “Jilian? Are you … are you all right?”
Jilian pivoted a few more times, then got her balance. Wordlessly the girl lowered the point of her sword and rested on its hilt as she tried to catch her breath. She stared at the pile of sliced ogre, then turned away, wrinkling her nose. At the sight of Chane, she ran to him. “I knew you’d come,” she puffed, “but that … he didn’t give me any time to wait for you.”
Chane simply stared at the dismembered ogre, speechless.
“He was rude,” Jilian explained. “He wasn’t behaving well at all.”
Chane began to shake his head, slowly.
“That’s Cleft,” Jilian introduced, pointing at the stack of ogre parts.
“That’s one way to put it,” Chess noted. “Although ‘sliced’ would be a better word. Wow! Look at that! Feet … shins … knees … hands … thighs … nothing is connected together. Even his head’s in two pieces. Wow!”
Wingover had dismounted, and now he, too, stood and stared.
“I never realized that ogres had two stomachs,” Chess remarked, poking around in the gore of the monster with a stick.
Chane took Jilian’s sword and began to clean it, still shaking his head. “Where did you learn to use a sword?” he asked dazedly.
“In Silicia Orebrand’s parlor,” she said. “It didn’t take much practice. I seem to be a natural. Now aren’t you glad I came looking for you?” She strode to Wingover’s horse, led the animal a few yards away, positioned it beside a boulder, and said, “Excuse me for a minute, please.” Dropping its reins, she climbed up on the rock and began unlashing one of the packs.
Wingover was still gawking at the cloven ogre, but now he noticed Jilian with his horse, and hurried across. “What are you doing? Those things are mine.”
“Then make yourself useful and convince your animal to stand still,” she said. “He keeps sidling away.”
Wingover stilled the horse, caught up its reins, and scowled across the saddle at the dwarven girl. “Those are my private things. What are you doing?”
Rummaging deep in the open pack, Jilian drew out a long garment of stained white linen. It was longer than she was tall, but by holding it high and turning to the edge of the rock, she could study it full-length. “This will do, I suppose,” she decided. “What is it?”
Wingover tried to reach across the saddle, to grab the garment out of her hand, but couldn’t reach it. “Put that back,” he demanded.
“That ogre ripped my clothing,” Jilian said. “But what is this thing, anyway?”
“It’s a cleric’s robe,” Wingover snapped. “I traded some deerhides for it.”
“Why? What did you want it for?”
“I intend to sleep in it! Sometime, if ever I find a quiet room in a civilized place. Now, let’s drop the subject. If you can use it, go ahead, I guess. Do you want me to—?”
“I think I can tend to the fitting.” Jilian smiled, folding the robe and turning back to the open pack to see what else might be useful. She had help now. The kender had lost interest in ogre internals and was up on the boulder, helping her rummage.
“You have some nice stuff in here,” Chess told the man.
“There are goblins or something all over down there,” Chane said, peering down at the valley. “They’re out in squadrons, patrolling all over the place. We won’t be able to go around them.”
“Through them, then?” Chess asked, looking up from a saddlebag.
“I wish we had Bobbin to sort out a route for us,” the man said. “But he went the other way, and there’s no telling when he might show up again. By the way, where’s the wizard? I haven’t seen him since we came down from the pass.”
