Elbereth’s weapon rang loudly under the force of the blow, vibrating for many moments. Elbereth’s arms went numb, and he had to struggle just to hold his grip on the sword. Ragnor launched a second strike, identical to the first.
Elbereth knew that to similarly block that blow would tear the sword from his hands. He threw himself straight back instead, tumbling to the ground.
Ragnor attacked furiously, thinking the fight was won.
Elbereth’s agility and speed crossed the ogrillon up, though, for the elf suddenly twisted and whipped his sword across, swift and low, stinging Ragnor’s shins and abruptly halting the ogrillon’s charge.
Elbereth was back up again, wary and keeping his distance as Ragnor, spitting curses and limping only a little, advanced steadily.
Cadderly groaned and forced himself up to his elbows, knowing that he, and especially Elbereth, could ill afford any delays. The young scholar had landed hard from Ragnor’s throw, and had lost his breath in the tumble.
He looked at Elbereth, weary and sorely outmatched, and knew that Ragnor would soon add a second elf king to his day’s kills.
“Back to the fight,” Cadderly vowed, but he didn’t even manage to get to his feet before he felt the wetness along the back of his neck. Thinking it blood, Cadderly put a hand over it and scrambled to remove his pack.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the moisture came from his pack, not his own body, but then he nearly swooned when he realized the only possible source.
Slowly, carefully, the young scholar untied and opened the pack and removed the cracked flask. He shuddered to think of what might have happened if his landing had shattered, and not just cracked, the container of volatile oil of impact. He looked up to the high branches of the bluetop trees and imagined himself hanging up there, twisted and broken from the horrendous blast.
Cadderly glanced at Ragnor then back to the flask, and a wicked smile found its way across his face. He carefully removed the top half of the cracked container then scooped his spindle-disks inside, cupping his hand to get as much of the remaining liquid as he could.
When Elbereth’s back went against a tree, both the elf and the ogrillon realized that the running game had ended. Bravely, Elbereth launched a series of vicious thrusts, a few getting through to poke at Ragnor, but none solidly enough to keep the huge monster at bay.
Elbereth barely ducked in time as the ogrillon’s sword smashed in, chopping a sizable chunk from the tree. Elbereth managed yet another hit as Ragnor tore his blade free. The ogrillon winced and swung again, shortening up on his stroke so he would connect with the elf, or nothing at all.
His blade flew freely as Elbereth dived to the ground, the overmatched elf’s only retreat.
“Now it is done!” Ragnor proclaimed, and Elbereth, cornered and on the ground, could hardly argue.
Ragnor saw Cadderly coming in fast from the side, the young scholar’s arm cocked and the curious—and useless—weapon readied for a throw. The ogrillon, sword high for a killing strike, paid the young scholar no heed, didn’t even lower one arm to block the attack.
Cadderly growled and threw all his weight and strength into the throw. The spindle-disks slammed against the side of Ragnor’s barrel-like chest, and the force of the explosion spun the ogrillon around to face Cadderly squarely.
For a moment, Cadderly thought that Ragnor was running backward, away from him, but then the young scholar realized that Ragnor’s feet, pumping helplessly, were several inches off the ground.
Ragnor’s arms and legs continued to flail as the ogrillon tried to slow his flight. A branch bent then cracked behind him, and he came to a sudden stop, impaled through the backbone against the tree. Ragnor hung there, a foot from the ground, a scorched hole in one side of his furry leather tunic—and in the skin underneath—and his legs lifeless below him. He felt no pain in those limbs, felt nothing at all. He tried to plant his feet against the tree, that he might push himself free, but alas, his legs would not heed his call.
Stunned beyond words, Cadderly looked down to his weapon hand. There hung the cord, shortened by half and its end blackened. Of the rock crystal disks, there was nothing to be found except a single scorched flake on the ground where Ragnor had been standing.
Similarly amazed, Elbereth rose to his feet. He looked at Cadderly for a moment then took up his sword and stomped over to Ragnor.
The world was a blur to the burly leader of the invading forces. Ragnor had to forcibly thrust out his chest just to draw breath. Still, the stubborn creature held fast to his sword, and he managed to raise it in a semblance of defense against Elbereth’s determined approach.
Elbereth swatted the blade once, then again, driving it aside. The elf’s sword slashed across the ogrillon’s eyes, blinding Ragnor. Wisely, Elbereth stepped back as Ragnor’s fury played itself out in a series of vicious cuts.
Cadderly thought Ragnor a pitiful thing as the blinded ogrillon continued to slice wildly at the empty air. Ragnor began to tire, and Cadderly looked away as Elbereth stepped back in. He heard a growl then a groan.
When he looked back, Elbereth was wiping his crimson-stained blade and Ragnor hung near death, one hand twitching pitifully at the hole Elbereth had cut through his throat.
“Stupid things,” Ivan whispered, looking ahead across a small clearing to the group of mixed humanoids and giant-kin.
The dwarf and his three companions had easily backtracked to get behind the two giants, several orogs, and numerous goblins that had been pursuing them. One of the giant’s movements appeared strained, the creature having caught several of Shayleigh’s arrows.
“Bring them in,” Ivan said with a wink to the elf maiden then he and Pikel slipped out of the tree line into the deep grass of the lea.
Shayleigh looked to Danica. The elf was not timid by anyone’s standards, but that group of monsters seemed a bit too powerful for the small band to handle.
Danica, clearly similarly concerned but perhaps better understanding the dwarves’ prowess, nodded grimly and motioned for Shayleigh to continue.
Shayleigh raised her great bow and took aim for the already wounded giant. She put a second and third arrow into the air before the first ever struck its mark.
The first hit the giant at the base of its thick neck. The monster howled and grasped at the quivering shaft, and the second arrow whipped in beside the first, pinning the giant’s hand in place. By the time the third arrow hit, just below the first two, the giant was on its way down. It fell to its knees and held unsteadily there for a few moments then dropped into the grass.
The rest of the monstrous band let out a common shout of outrage and spun around, charging wildly back across the lea. Shayleigh promptly dropped one ferocious orog, putting an arrow between its bulbous eyes.
“Take to the trees,” Danica instructed her. “Shoot for the lesser monsters. Be confident that the dwarves have a plan in mind for the giant.”
Shayleigh looked to the grass where Ivan and Pikel had disappeared and smiled, surprised to learn that she, too, had come to trust a couple of dwarves. With agility befitting an elf, Shayleigh found a handhold and pulled herself into the branches of the nearest tree with remarkable ease.
With its great strides, the remaining giant came ahead of its smaller companions. It heaved a boulder Danica’s way, and the nimble monk barely dodged it as the rock took down a small sapling.
An arrow from above cut down a goblin.
Danica looked up and winked her appreciation to Shayleigh. Then, to the elf maiden’s amazement, Danica stormed ahead, right at the approaching giant.
As the lumbering creature raised its huge club, Danica whipped her two already bloodied daggers into its face. The giant roared in outrage, dropped its club, and grabbed at the stuck weapons. Danica veered, smiling as Ivan and Pikel popped up from the grass, hacking and bashing at the monster’s thick legs.
The confused giant didn’t know which way to turn. Ivan chopped at one of its le
gs, cutting out wedges as though he were felling a tree, but the pain in the monster’s face demanded its attention. Finally, the giant mustered the courage to tear out one of the stubborn daggers, but by then it was too late for the leg, and the creature toppled to the side.
Ivan rushed past the monster toward the oncoming orogs, and Pikel headed for the giant’s head to finish the job. The giant got a hand on Pikel as he neared its face, and started to squeeze. Pikel wasn’t overly concerned, though, for he was close enough for a strike and Danica’s remaining dagger, deep in the monster’s cheek, offered a positively marvelous target.
As Danica broke to the side, so too did a group of three orogs. Danica continued to veer, allowing the monsters to stay close enough so that they wouldn’t give up the chase. Soon, the monk had nearly completed a full circuit, heading back for the same trees she’d just exited. Orog swords nipped at her heels, but Danica was confident that she could keep just ahead of the stupid things. She heard a yowl of pain and surprise behind her, and a gasp after that, and knew that Shayleigh had begun her work.
Danica dived headlong, twisting as she rolled, to come up facing the charging orogs. The closest beast, glancing back at its companion, who had taken two arrows, turned back just in time to catch Danica’s fist on the chin. A sickening crack resounded above the din of battle, and the orog’s jaw broke apart. When the creature at last settled on the ground, the bottom half of its jaw was aligned more with its left ear than with the upper half of its mouth.
The remaining orog spun and took flight. It managed to get a few strides away before Shayleigh’s next arrow pierced its thigh, slowing it enough for Danica to rush up and bury it.
Ivan waded into the horde of goblins and orogs with typical dwarf finesse. The dwarf butted with his horned helmet, bit where he could, kicked with both feet, and generally whipped his axe to and fro with such ferocity that the entire band of monsters had to give ground steadily. Those that could not retreat, caught between the dwarf and their own companions, most often hit the ground at about the same time as their severed extremities.
The downside to Ivan’s tactics, in addition to the weariness that inevitably would accompany such a wild display, was that Ivan was all but blind to the events around him. And so the dwarf was off his guard as one orog managed to slip in behind his tirade. The creature, timing its attack between axe slashes so as not to get caught in a follow-through, stepped right up to the dwarf and let loose a wicked downward cut with its heavy club that Ivan couldn’t begin to dodge or deflect.
“Yuck,” Pikel remarked as soon as he realized that his head-bashing had become rather redundant.
The giant’s grip had relaxed by that point, and Pikel stepped purposely away from the gruesome thing that had once been the creature’s head. The dwarf seemed to consider retrieving Danica’s dagger, which was buried in giant flesh with the tip of its point poking out the other side of the huge head, but clearly decided that if Danica wanted it back, she would have to get it herself.
That business done, Pikel crawled over the giant’s chest to join his brother, and let out a squeaky warning just as the orog’s club descended on Ivan’s head.
“Ye called?” Ivan replied then added, “Ouch!” almost as an afterthought.
He spun to clobber the orog, but kept on spinning, around and around, finding no bearings until his cheek came to rest on the cool grass.
The orog howled in victory, a cry of glee cut short by Shayleigh’s next arrow and even more so by Pikel’s fury. The dwarf imitated the orog’s own tactics, but while the orog’s club had sent Ivan in a spin, Pikel’s bash dropped the creature straight down in a heap with its legs straight out to the sides and its head lolling about on a useless neck.
Pikel wanted to hit the thing again, and again after that, but he had no time, for the remaining monsters had descended over helpless Ivan.
“Ooooo!” the dwarf bellowed, following yet another arrow into the throng.
Goblins flew every which way—even powerful orogs prudently leaped aside—and in mere moments, Pikel straddled Ivan’s prone form.
Danica hit the group from the side a moment later, with equal fury, and Shayleigh dropped another orog, sinking an arrow right through its eye.
The monsters broke ranks and scattered.
Pikel remained defensively over his brother while Danica took up the pursuit, tackling an orog and rolling over it in the grass. Shayleigh fired off several shots, but realized to her dismay that she could not down all of the monsters before they found the safety of the trees.
The monsters’ hoots of relief as they made the tree line were short-lived indeed, though, for out of those same shadows came a host of elves. In a few moments more, not a goblin or orog remained alive on that blood-soaked field.
Cadderly stood staring as Elbereth came over to join him. The world had gone mad, Cadderly decided, and he had been fully caught up in that insanity. barely a month before, the young scholar had known nothing but peace and security, had never even seen a living monster. But everything had gone upside down, with Cadderly—almost by accident—playing the role of hero, and with monsters, so many monsters, suddenly very real in the young scholar’s life.
The world had gone mad, and Elbereth’s forthcoming congratulations, the mighty elf’s thanks for a blow that had defeated a monster beyond innocent Cadderly’s wildest nightmares, only confirmed the young scholar’s suspicions. Imagine, Cadderly winning where Elbereth could not—where King Galladel, lying dead at their feet, could not!
There was no pride in the young scholar’s thoughts, just blank amazement. What cruel trick fate had played on him, to drop him so terribly unprepared into such a role, and into such chaos. Was that what Deneir had in store for him? If so, did Cadderly really want to remain the Scribe of Oghma’s disciple?
Elbereth’s startled look turned the young scholar around. Ragnor’s remaining elite guard, half a dozen mighty bugbears wielding tridents dripping with a substance the two companions could only assume was poison, charged at the two, not so far away, certainly not far enough for Cadderly to escape.
“And so we die,” he heard Elbereth mutter as the elf lifted his stained sword, and the young scholar, weaponless and weary, had no words to deny the proclamation.
A blast of lightning abruptly ended the threat. Four of the bugbears died on the spot, and the other two rolled around in the dirt, scorched and crippled.
Cadderly looked to the side, to Tintagel, bravely propped against a tree, wearing a smile only occasionally diminished by throbs of pain. Cadderly and Elbereth ran to their friend. Elbereth started to tend the wound, but Cadderly shoved the elf aside.
“Damn you, Deneir, if you do not help me now!” the young scholar growled.
It didn’t take someone knowledgeable in the healing arts to see that Tintagel’s wound would soon prove fatal. Where the elf had found the strength and presence of mind to release the magical strike, Cadderly would never guess, but he knew that such courage could not be a prelude to death.
Not if he had anything to say about it.
Elbereth put a hand on his shoulder, but Cadderly muttered and slapped it away. The young scholar grasped the spear shaft, still deep in Tintagel’s side. He looked up to the blue-eyed elf, who understood and nodded.
Cadderly tore the spear out.
Blood gushed from the wound—Cadderly’s fingers could not begin to hold it in—and Tintagel swooned and stumbled to the side.
“Hold him steady!” Cadderly cried, and Elbereth, a helpless observer in the spectacle, did as he was told.
Cadderly futilely slapped at the pouring blood, and actually held in Tintagel’s spilling guts.
“Deneir!” the young priest cried, more in rage than reverence. “Deneir!”
Then something marvelous happened.
Cadderly felt the power surge through him, though he did not understand it and hardly expected it. It came on the notes of a distant, melodious song. Too surprised to react, the des
perate young priest simply hung on.
He watched in amazement as Tintagel’s wound began to mend. The blood flow lessened then stopped all together. Cadderly’s hands were forced aside by the magically binding skin.
A long moment passed.
“Get me to the fight,” a rejuvenated Tintagel bade them. Elbereth threw a hug on his elf friend, and Cadderly fell to the ground.
The world had gone mad.
TWENTY-FOUR
PACK OF WOLVES
Hammadeen’s hand stroked Temmerisa’s muscled flank, tenderly touching the bloodied white flesh around the garish, three-holed trident wound. The great horse hardly moved in response, only snorted now and again.
“Can you do for Temmerisa what you did for me?” Tintagel asked Cadderly.
The young priest, retrieving his walking stick, shrugged helplessly, still not even certain of exactly what he’d done for Tintagel.
“You must try,” Elbereth bade him. Cadderly saw the sincere grief in his friend’s face and wanted dearly to say that he could mend the horse’s wounds.
He never got the chance to make the attempt, though, for Temmerisa gave one final snort then lay very still. Hammadeen, tears in her dark eyes, began a soft song in a tongue that none of the companions could understand.
Cadderly’s vision blurred and the forest around him took on a preternatural edge, a surrealistic, too-sharp contrast. He blinked many times, and many more when he looked at Temmerisa, for he saw the horse’s spirit rise and step from his corporeal body.
Hammadeen spoke a few quiet words in the horse’s ear, and both she and the spirit walked slowly away, disappearing into the trees.
Cadderly nearly fell over as his vision shifted back into the material world. The young scholar didn’t know how he could apologize to Elbereth, didn’t know what in the world he might say to the elf whose father and prized steed lay dead at their feet.