by David Cook
It wasn’t until the sun had started on its long descent toward the western treetops that the searchers ground to a stop. A terse word rippled down the line. “We’ve found them, woman. Come,” Jouka glided over to say. With that, he plunged deeper into the woods. The Harper signaled to the wizard behind her. She waited only long enough for Jazrac to confirm her hand signs before breaking position to follow Jouka’s trail.
The pace now became extraordinarily slow as the ranger scanned every inch for signs of the enemy. Matching her advance were the shadows of the others, flickering among the pines, the thickets, and the hummocks of snow. These farmers were better than she thought, moving as if they were stalking nervous squirrels for the dinner pot.
Gradually the raiders converged on a point where Jouka lay, belly down, in the snow at the base of a large drift. Beyond his position, the stalking was over and the strike would be at hand. Jouka softly issued a string of commands, sometimes drawing the more detailed instructions in the snow. The tired warriors, tight-lipped and tense, listened and then stealthily moved down the drift, each drawing his weapon and wending into the woods to his assigned post. Jouka laid a hand on Martine, signaling her and Vil to stay close.
“What should I do?” Jazrac whispered at her side.
“Don’t you know?” Martine hissed back, astonished by the question. She had assumed that the wizard, older than she and skilled in magic, was naturally experienced at this sort of thing. The look of uncertainty in his eyes said otherwise.
“I abhor fighting,” he explained. “I never was any good in battles. Research and study are my strengths.”
Martine bit back a curse, especially since Jazrac was her superior, but she certainly wished he’d said something before. “Stay back and be ready then,” she snapped, unable to keep a hint of scorn out of her voice. The wizard stiffened but, perhaps knowing his place, accepted her command.
With Jouka’s warriors in position, Martine expected the commander to immediately plunge over the drift and into battle. Instead, Jouka waited and listened for any sounds of their foe. After several minutes with no indication his advancing warriors had been discovered, he undid his skis, jammed them upright into the snow, and then slithered up the bank. Vil and Martine quickly followed suit.
At the top of the drift, the trio took position behind the cover of a thin stand of young birch that broke through the snow. They lay aflank several other gnomes hunkered down in the snow. Snarling voices came from beyond the ridge.
The gnome reached up and cut away a small gap in the drift for the trio to peer through. “There they are,” he whispered. “The brutes.”
Nestled in a bowl of drifts was the gnoll camp. Small dark leather tents dotted the ground. In a quick count, the Harper estimated there were about twenty of them. Along the base of a large drift opposite were the tunneled openings to snow caves like the one she and Krote had shared. About fifteen gnolls, bundled in furs and rags, were in the camp, most of them squatted around the large bonfire at the center of the clearing. With the habit born of combat, Martine noted three guards, none particularly attentive, widely spaced around the camp’s edges. They seemed more concerned about their freezing feet and fingers than the dark woods beyond the drifts.
Carefully the trio slid back just below the top of the drift. “Did you see any sign of Vreesar?” the ranger softly quizzed the other two, wondering if she’d missed the creature. Both gnoll and man shook their heads. The creature’s absence was both a disappointment and a relief. Martine had hoped they would catch the elemental here and end it all, but at the same time, with the fiend gone, their chances were much better.
“What’s the plan?” Vil asked.
“We outnumber them,” Jouka pointed out. “On my signal, we rush them from all sides. Kill everyone and destroy the camp. Those who are not in camp now can freeze or starve.”
“Not much of a plan,” Martine commented.
“We are not an army. It must be simple.”
“He’s right, Martine,” Vil concurred.
Martine peeked back over the ridge. “We should hold some of our forces back, just in case Vreesar shows up.”
The gnome shook his head, the spikes of his armor wavering as he did so. “No. We can’t weaken the attack, and the others would not be enough against the creature anyway. If the monster appears, we and your wizard will fight it.”
The Harper didn’t like the looseness of the idea but, upon consideration, knew that Jouka was right. Even the entire raiding party might not be enough against the elemental. She drew her sword to show she was ready.
Jouka looked down both sides of the line, signaling his warriors to prepare themselves. As the silent signal passed from gnome to gnome, their leader fitted his spiked helm in place. His fierce eyes raged from behind the bizarre smoothness of the black mask.
With a loud battle cry, the gnome heaved to his feet and charged the unsuspecting gnolls, plowing through the waist-deep snow with dreadful abandon. His fellow gnomes caught up the signal and hurled themselves upon the foe, leaping and bounding through the drifts as best as their short legs could carry them. Some twirled swords over their heads, while others hammered their blades against wooden shields. The air was filled with a horrible din, the convoluted call of bloodlust accompanied by the deadly hum and clash of steel.
The unsuspecting gnolls froze in confusion near the fire pit, their savage eyes staring with shock. One recovered quickly, disengaging itself from its stunned fellows to scramble frantically for a bare-bladed sword stuck into the snow. The others sat staring, unable to move for a crucial instant as the gnomes descended upon them.
Almost as surprised as the gnolls, Martine sprang to her feet only moments after Jouka led the charge, but even with her longer legs, she couldn’t keep pace with the enraged gnome. Then suddenly Martine was brought low when her feet hit a patch of hidden ice and dropped her solidly to the ground.
The nearest guard stood transfixed with astonishment. When it finally realized the situation, all it could do was futilely fling a fistful of snow before attempting to run. Bounding down the slope with extraordinary speed, Jouka whirled his sword over his head and caught the fleeing gnoll across the neck with the full force of his swing. The meaty thunk of blade slicing through muscle and bone rose above the bloodthirsty din of his fellow raiders. Fresh blood streamed in an executioner’s arc as the blow cleanly severed the gnoll’s neck, its mange-marked head plopping softly into the snow. The gnoll’s decapitated body staggered two lifeless steps forward, the arms jabbing at the air in spasmodic twitches. Then, although its legs moved no more, momentum flung the body forward, spraying warm blood across the pristine winter ground.
A second gnoll, a battle-scarred veteran distinguished by a lopped-off ear, wasn’t going to fall so easily. With canny verve, it dove upon the nearest charging gnome and clamped its fangs into the Vani’s sword arm. The warrior shrieked, his blade slipping from his grasp, and the gnoll callously hurled him aside and scrambled after the weapon. Momentarily beyond the reach of its enemies, the gnoll tensed to fight, the rags it wore flapping wildly about it.
Yet even as the gnoll battled to gain a fighting stance, the Vani were slashing through its fellows. Barely breaking stride, Jouka shrilled out a series of orders that his fellow gnomes were quick to implement. The ring quickly closed about the gnolls trapped beside the fire pit, cut off from their weapons. When they drove forward, the gnomes ahead gave ground while their brothers rushed up from behind to catch the stragglers unprepared. One by one the gnolls fell to the overwhelming numbers of the Vani, until only a small knot remained, surrounded by the dead and the blindly thrashing wounded.
With the main force pinned, Martine and Vil found themselves facing the veteran. It was quick and canny, whirling constantly to face off against first one, then the other. The creature’s face was contorted, its black lips pulled back in a tight, skeletal rictus. Martine could hear its breath come in rasping gasps, and its legs wobbled from exhau
stion, but the primal glare in the gnoll’s eyes showed its determination not to give up. The dance between hunter and prey, the roles shifting constantly between gnoll and human, slowly continued toward its inevitable conclusion.
Huffing from the effort of breaking through the snow, Vil growled, “I must be getting old. I can’t keep this up anymore.” Nonetheless, he lunged again, the point of his blade tearing into the gnoll’s side. The creature swept its sword about in a hapless effort to parry, and in that instant, Martine slashed at the opening the creature left in its guard. Her blade hit the beast in the midsection. With fury driven by pain, the gnoll parried Vil’s second thrust with a vicious clang of metal and whirled to face the Harper, driving her back with a mad series of slashes. As she stumbled out of reach, the creature staggered to a stop. Woman and beast stood staring at each other, both too intent on their foe to feel fear.
It was the gnoll who ended the standoff. With a wild leap, it hurled itself toward Martine. The gnoll’s ululating cry rang through the woods as the wind shook the branches in sympathy. The long sword slashed out viciously.
In a single, graceful move, Martine dropped flat, thrusting upward at the same time. Her sword tip caught the charging gnoll just above its sternum and sliced downward. Warm blood sprayed her face as the gnoll toppled past her to die, twitching, on the ground.
Martine didn’t waste any time but was already moving to rejoin the main battle. Five gnolls remained, glaring at their enemies who thronged around them on all sides.
At the forefront of the gnomes, Jouka picked up an axe from the litter of a trampled tent and, with a snap of his wrist, hurled it spinning into the gnolls’ midst. Immediately behind it, he plunged into their ranks, bloody sword in hand. The closest gnoll threw its furry arms up. It could have been no more than a cub, barely trained in combat and hopelessly outmatched. Jouka’s single darting lunge was enough to plunge his blade past the futilely warding arms and into the gnoll’s gut. The creature staggered to its knees with a look of terrified astonishment across its drawn muzzle. Savagely Jouka slashed the blade free, ripping the wound open to complete the job, his eyes already alighting on another gnoll.
Their leader’s onslaught released the other Vani warriors from their hesitation. With a communal rush, the band hurled itself upon the gnolls in a flood of savagery. Hopelessly overwhelmed, the creatures staggered and reeled under the Vani charge, futilely trying to lash out even as they fell with a howl of agonized terror. A chorus of blades flashed, first silver, then bloodstained, as the gnomes hacked blindly at their enemies even after the beasts were long dead.
Martine turned away, sickened by the sight. Up to now, the Vani had seemed a fierce but nevertheless compassionate people. Now, crazed by bloodlust, they acted with unbridled savagery. Echoes of Krote asking who was better, gnoll or Vani, flooded her thoughts. The words made the shaman seem like a remarkably accurate seer.
“Look out!” Vil’s hand shoved Martine forcefully to one side. There was a loud thunk from roughly where she had stood. The shaft of a spear vibrated in the snow beside her. Her battle instincts springing to life, Martine maneuvered as quickly as she could manage in the broken drift.
“Kill them! Kill the little people!” a buzzing voice shrilled from behind them.
Wheeling about, Martine looked up in horror at the snowy ridge. There, towering over them all, flanked by more gnolls, was Vreesar, glinting cruel and silver in the afternoon light. Jazrac, who had been waiting on the ridge, was nowhere in sight.
“The trap haz worked, my slavez! Kill them … all but the female! She must live to give me the stone!”
Thirteen
“Over there … more of them!” Vil shifted Martine’s attention to the west side of the bowl. The Harper was distracted as another spear arced over their heads to tunnel into the drift behind them. “Damn their mangy hides! It looks like a war party!” the former paladin cursed.
A baying rose from the woods in the direction where Vil pointed. Surging from the trees was a lanky line of fur-clad, snowshoe-shod gnolls, wreathed in a swirl of white snow. Yipping and howling, the beasts charged in ragged waves, some breaking stride to let fly steel spears. As the six-foot shafts hissed through the cold air, a screech of anguish proved one had hit its mark. Suddenly the air was filled with spears that flew like lightning on the tightly packed gnomes. One scream became a chorus as a full score of the Vani fell under the iron-tipped bolts.
“Jouka, fall back—now!” Vil bellowed, his hands cupped around his mouth. Already the gnomes were aware of the danger and had begun to retreat in confusion. Fear and panic became their enemies now as much as the gnolls themselves.
“This way! Stay in order and don’t panic!” Martine found herself calling to the fleeing gnomes. The trap was not completely sprung, she saw. A gap in the line of gnolls lay open to the east. Some luck held with them, for the gnolls held their position on the ridge, either in confusion or because they were content to merely drive the gnomes away. With Vreesar screeching in rage at his own warriors, it wasn’t an opportunity that was likely to last.
“You, you, and you—into the bush and keep watch in all directions so they don’t flank us,” the Harper snapped, grabbing the three nearest gnomes and pushing them toward the gap. Their skis abandoned, the little men floundered through the snow. “The rest of you, fall back through there.”
Vil added his voice to her commands, and under the direction of the two humans, the Vani tumbled madly for the woods. It was barely in time, for the elemental finally compelled the gnolls forward.
“Jouka!” Vil bellowed again. The Vani leader still stood in the center of the camp, trying to drag a wounded gnome with him. Seeing that sense was not going to overcome passion, Vil hurtled back through the camp and grabbed the gnome by the collar and shoved him toward the others. With a manic heave, the man threw the injured gnome over his shoulder and sprinted after Jouka.
A gray-haired gnoll lunged forward from the rest of his pack, closing on the burdened former paladin, but by then Martine had already unslung her bow. A feathered shaft shot through her fingers and pierced the beast’s shoulder. Squealing in pain, it toppled to the ground, giving Vil the time he needed to reach safety. Several gnolls, sprinting forward, hurled their spears. One glanced off the man’s plate armor, but he continued to run. Martine quickly released a volley of ill-aimed shots that, while they caused little harm, slowed the gnoll advance.
Clearing the last drift with wild leaps, Jouka and Vil rejoined the others. Without hesitation, Jouka barked out a quick series of orders.
“You know the way,” Martine shouted to the gnomish commander. “You lead. Vil and I will guard the rear.”
Amazingly enough, Jouka did not argue, but let himself be caught up in the arms of Ojakangas, who had managed to recover his skis. Vil declined the set offered him, and Martine did the same. Of those gnomes who had escaped, less than half still had skis. Those that did doubled up, awkwardly balancing another gnome on the boards with them. Vil passed the wounded gnome off to one of them. “Where was your wizard during the fighting?” Jouka demanded angrily as they set out.
Martine said nothing as she floundered through the waist-deep snow, trying to match the speed of the gnomes. Over her rasping breath, the Harper strained to hear sounds of pursuit. She heard the mingled cries of the gnolls, some like wolves on the scent, others barking and quarreling as the creatures fell to looting the dead. Over it all, Martine distinctly heard the shrill voice of Vreesar. The pursuit was on, with only herself and Vil to act as the rear guard.
Martine took position behind a pair of tree trunks that formed a V, a good shelter for her archery. With arrows staked in the snow around her, she waited while Vil stayed close by, his sword at the ready.
The first three gnolls that broke the crest of the ridge received two arrows each. Five of the six were hits, Martine noted, and two of her targets squealed and flopped into the snow. The third gnoll did neither, for the shafts had transfixe
d him to the trunk of a tree. There he hung, making gurgling noises while his arms swung feebly like a broken puppet.
“On your left!” Vil hissed in her ear.
Another shaft hissed from between her fingers, speeding toward a shadow that darted across a sunlit patch. Martine didn’t see the arrow hit, but a yowl from the woods confirmed the accuracy of her aim.
“Any more?” she demanded, relying on Vil as her spotter.
“Nothing yet,” he whispered.
The pair waited, trying not to start at every shadow. They could hear the gnolls barking crude insults at the gnomes, though no more of the dogmen showed their faces.
“What do you suppose they’re planning to do?” the ranger asked.
“They’re scared. They’ll shout insults for a while, and then they’ll rush us.”
Martine nodded, “That’s what I was thinking.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Good time to move,” she offered.
“Right,” the man said. “Give me some of those arrows.” Without wondering why, she grabbed a handful from her quiver and passed them to the former paladin. “Cover me.” Vil said. The warrior struggled to his feet and set out toward a fallen log in a doubled-over run. He disappeared behind the log in a frantic, ungraceful dive.
Panic started to rise in Martine, an unreasoning fear that she had been abandoned. When the man didn’t reappear immediately, she shifted about nervously and hissed, “Vil!”
Nothing. The shouts of the gnolls were growing fiercer.
“Vil!” she repeated, a little louder.
Vil’s black-haired head popped up over the log. “Quiet! Throw me the bow. I’ll cover you.”
Unnocking her arrow, the Harper threw the bow like a spear. The throw came up short, and a for a fearful instant, she thought it would end up stranded between the two of them, but the curve of the bow acted like a sleigh’s skid, and it slid across the snow till it was just within Vil’s grasp.
