“Never presume to order me to do anything,” she said. Her voice was cold and hard. “I am a Knight of the Magi and take orders from no man, but my Father. Do you understand?”
Nursing his bruised chin, Krin nodded his understanding, a habitual gesture more than anything.
“That’s why I was trying to apologize, you crazy girl! You didn’t have to hit me!” He shifted his jaw back and forth, tenderly testing it. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be broken. “And ow!”
“Your apology is accepted.” Krin felt the girl’s hand grab him at the wrist, and pull him to his feet. “So long as we have an understanding.” She sighed. “I came over to the Thanaheim when I was only three years old. Raised in Thana Pel. Perhaps I have broken some Dhunan’ahkian cultural etiquette by talking so much to a complete stranger.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“But surely, you know our people’s customs better than I. You would have a far better under—”
“Look. Let’s get something straight,” Krin said, attempting to reign in his irritation with the girl’s presumptuous line of thought. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Until two months ago, I had never heard of the Dhuna or Wyndter, thought dwarves and goblins the thing of faery stories. I was born in the Roman province of Hibernia, a place the locals call Ireland. I was raised in Asian Lycia. None of this…none of what you’re talking about makes any sense to me, and I’d rather deal with it when we’re safe, sound, and out of this hole in the ground. Understand?”
When Finleara didn’t immediately respond, Krin cringed, awaiting the inevitable slugging his tirade was about to elicit. But it never came. After a moment, she cleared her throat, and spoke.
“Did you say Asian Lycia?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah, why?”
There was an inexplicable pause. “No reason. Curiosity is all.” Then she sighed. “Just so you know, I am sorry.” She sounded genuine, but Krin got the strangest sensation it had little to do with his current discomfort. Before he could question her about it, she continued. “I just assumed…”
“It’s okay. Really. But I’m serious. I don’t want to discuss this any further until we’re out of here.” Krin glanced up at the trapdoor, and shrugged. It was a silent commitment to his plan. “And I think I know how we can.”
“How? I have been trying for days and have not been able to divine any means of escape.”
Before he could answer, the air outside the mound was suddenly filled with the rhythmic beat of drums. Bu-bu-bu-bum. Bu-bu-bu-bum.
“We are out of time,” Finleara said, grabbing Krin’s arm, and pulling him to the center of the cell. “Stand here. Don’t move an inch.”
“What? What’s going on?”
“We have just been condemned to death.”
***
Garhet’s feet pounded rhythmically, echoing through the forest as he wove through the maze of trees blocking his path.
Bu-bu-bu-bum. Bu-bu-bu-bum.
His muscles burned with every kick of his leg, yet he still pressed forward. He would continue doing so until he had no more energy to give. The cats would see to that.
Bu-bu-bu-bum. Bu-bu-bu-bum.
He wasn’t certain, however, if Ulfilas would be able to hold out much longer. The tall man’s strides were already beginning to wane, and the look of agony stretching across his face gave testament to utter exhaustion. If he slowed, even a fraction more, the Cra'chuna would be on him in an instant.
Bu-bu-bu-bum. Bu-bu-bu-bum.
Of course, the big cats could have taken either one of them at any moment they wished. They were faster than any human or dwarf. But it was their nature to play with their food, and the feline creatures were having the time of their nine lives.
Garhet had hoped they would have already made it to the nursery village by now, but Ulfilas had lost the trail a few miles back, and now they were running pell-mell through the forest with no clear course. No path. And no clue as to the direction of their salvation. Now, Garhet knew, it was only a matter of time.
It’s a miracle we’ve lasted this long. He leapt over a downed tree.
The dwarf heard the sound of a metal rapping against stone, and looked back. Ulfilas, defeat burned into his eyes, was tapping the tip of his falx against each rock he passed; preparing himself mentally for what was to come. He was about to stop. Make his final stand.
Bu-bu-bu-bum. Bu-bu-bu-bum.
“Not yet!” Garhet shouted. Something was nagging at the back his mind. He wasn’t sure what it was, but a sudden glimmer of hope had begun to take root somewhere within him. “Keep going!”
“Now or later. What’s it matter, Runt? At least now I still have strength enough to swing my sword!”
Bu-bu-bu-bum. Bu-bu-bu-bum.
Garhet was about to respond when he realized the beat he had been hearing was, after leaping over the tree, no longer in rhythm to his own footsteps. It hadn’t been his own footfalls he had been hearing, it had been…
“Drums!” he shouted. Despite the rationed portion of oxygen his lungs were taking in, he found himself laughing at the new ray of hope. “Follow the sound of the drums!”
He risked a glance back to see the giant whirled his blade through the air with renewed vigor, a wide grin spreading across his face as he pressed forward.
EIGHTEEN
“What? But Tuhg said she had to consult the bones first,” Krin said, standing rigid where Finleara had placed him. “The imps had cheated. Arranged how the bones landed. I saw them do it!”
“And?”
“Well, they…I mean, I thought…”
“You thought they were manipulating the outcome on your behalf?”
Krin cradled his forehead in the palm of his hands. “Well, yeah. I’d sort of hoped anyway.”
“Lesson learned, I suppose.” Finleara turned to Krin. Or at least, he thought she had. “You said you had a plan for getting out of here?”
A sudden wave of hope rippled through him. The kind of hope, of course, mixed with a perfect blend of abject terror and last-resort desperation.
“Oh yeah, that.” Krin pondered just how much he should tell this strange girl who called herself an elf. And a dark elf, at that. Garhet hadn’t really touched on the different types of elves, but he had been pretty clear on one thing…they were the least trustworthy of any of the Dhuna. Still, given the circumstances, he had much choice. Besides, he couldn’t very well leave the girl here to her doom.
“Well, you see, I’ve kind of got this…um, power I guess you can call it. I haven’t really mastered it yet. Actually, it only started manifesting about a year ago and that was purely by accident, and…”
The drums outside beat louder. Faster. More frenzied.
Finleara grabbed Krin by the shoulders, and gave him a determined shake. “We are running out of time. Just tell me what your plan is!”
The way she was able to reach out to him…touch him at will. Punch him. Take him by the hand. Krin wondered if this girl could actually see in the pitch black of their cell. But there was no time to consider it further. She was right. They needed to get moving.
“Well, I sort of have the ability to break through the Divide and relocate somewhere else. I’m not sure exactly how it works, but it’s something apparently called rifting, and if I can just…”
“That is not possible here. There are no Rifting Stones nearby.”
“What is a Rifting Stone? You see, it’s always been kind of accidental for me, but I think if I can concentrate hard enough, then maybe I can rift us both somewhere else. I’m not exactly sure where we’ll end up, but anything is…”
“You can rift without the Stones?”
“Like I said, don’t even know what they are…but yeah, I guess.” He shrugged, acutely aware of her hand still firmly planted on his shoulders. He liked the way it felt. “So you want me to give it a try?”
“No!” Her grip tightened, eliciting a painful surge in his bandaged shoulder.
&n
bsp; He winced and she let go of him.
“I am sorry. I did not intend to hurt you. But no, I am not entirely sure how you are able to do it without a Rifting Stone, but you must not rift. Not here at least, and not around me.”
Her reaction caught Krin completely off guard. She knew of his gift? Or at least, was familiar with the ability somehow. But the sheer vehemence of her rejection of his idea bordered on something akin to…What? Paranoia, maybe?
“But why? It’s the only way I can think of that’ll get us out of here before…” A sudden thought struck him. “What exactly are we trying to avoid anyway? The queen and you both mentioned something about a Nephali…Nemnani…?”
“The Nerthani,” Finleara said. “It means ‘earth swimmer’. She is both the goddess of the Go’oblidin, and the source of their most essential commodity.”
“Those trenches they were digging outside?”
“Yes. The Nerthani burrows underground, leaving thousands of eggs along its wake. The goblins follow her trail, digging it up, and then harvest the eggs.”
“For what?” Krin paused, considering the unthinkable. “Do they eat them?”
“Not at all.” A wave of relief washed over him at the answer. Though he had no idea exactly what a Nerthani truly was, he imagined anything slithering through the dirt, and laying countless eggs couldn’t be very appealing—especially if creatures as vile as the goblins had venerated it into some pagan deity. “The eggs that remain intact, healthy, and viable eventually hatch and produce…” More drums joined the cacophony outside. The beat now sounding like one steady roll of thunder in the night. “…we are running out of time. The drums are calling to their goddess, drawing her here. To us. We need to figure out what we are going to do.”
Krin ignored her protests. “They produce what?”
“Goblins! The eggs contain goblins. Fully mature. Fully foul and full of hate. The Nerthani is literally the Goblin Mother.”
“But I thought Tuhg…”
“She’s merely the High Priestess. The Mouthpiece of the goddess.” The ground suddenly rumbled beneath their feet, a tremor that transformed Krin’s legs to jelly. Though he could still see nothing, his ears picked up the rustling of dirt and stone, and sensed it churning from underneath in a violent upheaval. Finleara suddenly reached out, clutching Krin’s hands in hers. “She’s here! The Nerthani is here!”
***
Garhet vaulted over a tree stump, pushing off with one foot to propel him farther away from the Cra'chuna’s snapping jaws. Upon landing, he instantly launched into a full sprint.
Just up ahead, a soft, warm glow appeared in a small clearing that led to a steep embankment. The light—the flicker of campfires—seemed to dance to the rhythm of ominous drums just over the horizon.
Almost there! Just a little bit further…
Just as Garhet shot past the tree line, Ulfilas cried out from behind him. The dwarf whipped his head around just in time to see one of the creatures now clinging to the giant’s back; its great claws ferociously digging into the man. With a cry of pain, the bounty hunter crashed to the ground, and rolled to his right. The Cra'chuna was thrown just long enough for Ulfilas to ready his falx just as the beast pounced again.
Having been distracted by his companion’s plight, he had forgotten about his own, and had slowed his pace. Before he could correct the mistake, he felt the predator’s putrid breath against the hairs of his neck as it prepared to pounce.
Anticipating the move a split second before, Garhet dove forward, hitting the ground in a slide that carried him uncontrollably over the ledge of the embankment. He tumbled down the hill, barreling toward the goblin village; the monster cat bounding lithely after him.
As he descended, end over end, his sharp eye caught the blur of fur and claws to his left. With one of the creatures busy with Ulfilas, and the other hot on his own tail, Garhet surmised that the third Cra'chuna had at last, revealed itself. He struggled to slow his fall enough to spring once more into a run.
Reaching out a hand, he managed to grasp the elastic shoot of a stray sapling growing up the incline, to falter his descent. The pull of gravity and the sudden stop, wrenched at Garhet’s arm, nearly pulling it from its socket. His own pursuer, having just leapt towards him for another attack, sailed right over the dwarf.
The feline head swooped around to track the dwarf as he flew past. But the cat was unable to watch its own landing with its gaze diverted. The predator’s front paws hit atop an uneven cluster of boulders jutting out from the rock-studded slope. Its hind legs, unable to find purchase, whipped around with its own momentum, sending the cat spiraling down the hill heading directly for the goblin village.
Before Garhet could breathe a sigh of relief, the third creature bounded in front of him, blocking any further egress. The giant cat’s lips curled back into a silent snarl, accentuating the foot-long fangs protruding from each side of its mouth. Its hackles rose to rigid tips on its back, and it emitted the most curious keening sound low in its throat.
Why the creature hadn’t just swooped on top of Garhet as he dangled so precariously from the sapling, he couldn’t fathom. The Dhunarolc had bred the creatures to be as merciless, as they were ravenous. And though they had a reputation for reveling literally in the game of cat and mouse, the dwarf had suspected their appetites would have long overpowered their lust for tormenting their prey. The only option that made sense was if they had been instructed by their master not to kill them, but that made even less sense…unless Garhet and Ulfilas weren’t their chosen prey.
Garhet shivered at the thought, then was reminded of more pressing matters when the beast placed a single paw forward, its claws extending much farther than Garhet would have imagined possible, and pulled itself up the steep incline. When it drew itself up another step, the dwarf unhooked his axe from his belt, brought it up one-handed, and prepared to strike.
“All right, ye snaggle-toothed ball of fur. I hear ye,” Garhet growled. “No more runnin’ for me either.”
The two stared each other down. The beast’s hind legs coiled, ready to spring. Garhet’s own muscles tensed, the weight of the axe a calming presence in his hand. Suddenly, the dwarf released his grip on the sapling just as the cat launched off its haunches. The two collided mid-air, Garhet’s axe blade slamming down across the beast’s flank, imbedding deep into bone and tissue. A spray of crimson exploded from the gash; spattering the snow-carpeted embankment. With a squeal of rage, the Cra'chuna lashed out; its claws swiped across the Garhet’s chest, slicing clean through his armor. Multiple spears of white hot agony lanced through skin, muscle, and sinew. As the dwarf screamed, the wounded cat whipped around, and loped down the hill at full gallop with axe-blade still firmly planted in its side–Garhet still holding firm to the handle.
He found himself being dragged behind, as they raced breakneck toward the village. Blood now spewed from both adversaries as their hearts pumped wildly, supercharged with adrenaline, and the will to survive.
Garhet was unsure if he had inflicted a fatal wound or not. In fact, he was unsure these creatures were even mortal. But he knew his only hope was to hold on and ride it out for as long as he possible.
Gripping the axe handle tighter, he pulled himself up until he could scramble onto its back and straddle the beast like a horse. Whipping its head around, it tried to snap at Garhet’s knees. In a blind panic, the cat kept racing down the hill, directly toward its stunned litter mate; who was just beginning to rise on wobbly legs. His mount slammed into the second cat, and they both tumbled over each other. The axe slipped free, sending Garhet hurdling toward the goblin villages’ woodland fortifications.
He slammed into a web of entwined branches—jarring teeth and bone alike—slowing, but not stopping his momentum. He continued headlong through the barrier, finally coming to rest in a soft pile of recently turned earth.
The drumming stopped. Once he caught his breath, he wiped the dirt from his face, and looked up to find seve
ral angry goblins brandishing weapons.
“Um, if I were you,” Garhet said, remaining perfect still, “I’d start running.” The axe still firmly clasped in his hand gave him a measure of comfort at the lopsided odds. Just then, a horrendous, ear-shattering yowl erupted from outside the wall. He sprang to his feet, and barreled through the guards intending to put them between himself and the great cat.
“Darhk nagi! Darhk nagi!” one of the goblins screamed, using the goblin word for ‘dwarf’ to raise the alarm.
Ignoring the shouts, Garhet sped through the village, leaping over the trenches that scarred the settlement. At every turn, he had to dodge the goblins’ clawed fingers. By his calculations, there were nearly seventy-five workers, hunters, and diabolists scattered throughout the camp, and they were all now either after him, or watching the pursuit with great interest.
“Grab’neol shen!” Garhet cursed as he tucked his legs in, rolled between the lower extremities of an exceptionally tall goblin, and came up running again. “First the Cra'chuna. Now the entire blasted goblin clan! If we get out of this in one piece, I vow to never venture from the Keep again.” A single black arrow whooshed past his face, burrowing into the ground less than a foot away. “And now they’re shootin’ at me!”
Another feline howl came from the other side of the encampment. The panicked cries and shouts of surprised goblins followed.
I warned ‘em, Garhet thought morosely, just as he caught sight of a rickety watchtower that reached nearly three stories into the air. From his vantage point, he caught sight of an archer, huddled in the tower, whose gaze was now diverted to the ruckus being created by the Cra'chuna on the other side of the village. The dwarf, now forgotten, slipped up the tower’s ladder, and sneaked directly behind the bewildered archer undetected. Once safely in position, the dwarf raised his axe, and brought the flat side of it down on the goblin’s head, rendering him unconscious. He then peeked out over the tower’s ledge at the scene below.
The Legend of the Winterking: The Crown of Nandur Page 14
