The Gates of Thorbardin h2-5

by Dan Parkinson

  Thorbardin, but had never thought much about them. Now he realized that they were relics of some long-ago time when the gates had been open and roads had been in use for caravans to come and go upon them. Chane thought of it, and felt as though some grand thing had been lost along the way.

  Wars and hostilities and conflicts among peoples had destroyed the roads, and put an end to the commerce they had represented.

  This very bridge, this soaring arch across a misted gorge, might have been part of that same old route from Thorbardin to Pax Tharkas to the lands of Abanasinia…destroyed in the Dwarfgate Wars. The bridge might have been a point of registry for dwarven goods outbound, and a point of inspection for the treasures of other places, coming to the dwarven realm.

  The broken lands beyond would have made ideal trading grounds. A hundred camps could be set up within a half-mile, each in its private corner, and all interconnected by the maze of stone-walled paths. It would have been a trading bazaar like nothing ever seen in Thorbardin, even in the great centers of the Daewar city.

  It was a pity, that such things no longer were.

  "If ever there is peace," Chane muttered, "real peace and cooperation, it will be warriors and fighters who bring it. For they are the ones who have seen the most of chaos."

  Chess glanced around at him. 'You sound like an elf."

  "Or a human," Jilian observed. "That does sound awfully human, Chane."

  "I wonder," he said. "I wonder if there's that much difference."

  "I think I'll take a look around," Chess said. "Things are getting dull around here."

  Before he could turn away, though, the kender looked up and grinned.

  'Things may perk up a little, I guess. Bobbin's back."

  Like a speck against the mountainside, rapidly growing, the soarwagon dipped and tumbled toward Chane, Jilian, and Chess. The kender's supply pole dangled below it, horizontal, attached to the hook on Bobbin's lifeline. They walked a few steps out on the bridge to watch its approach, and Chane's foot bumped something protruding from the bridge rail. He knelt for a better look. It was a metal ring the size of the palm of his hand, just inches above the bridge's floor. He raised his eyes, searching along the rail. There was another a few yards away, and another beyond that… and the same along the base of the south rail. Metal rings were set in the stone at intervals, as far up the bridge as Chane could see. He knew what they were. Every cable-cart tunnel in Thorbardin had such rings at every change in grade. Such winch rings were used for the hoisting and lowering of laden carts along slopes, by use of pulleys.

  Just like in Thorbardin.

  But why equip an open-road bridge with winch-rings? Unless…

  Chane stood, gazing past the rising bridge, across the gorge at the sheer face of Sky's End. They had come down from a high ledge, along a narrow switchback trail that approached the bridge from a sharp angle. No straight approach from the west was possible, because the bridge footings ran nearly to the sheer, clifflike face of the cutaway mountain. It had, now that Chane thought of it, seemed odd that a bridge should end at right angles to the foot.of a diff, but he had other things on his mind when they'd first encountered it.

  Chane took a deep breath and nodded. Intuition so strong it was beyond question poured through him.

  "I know where it is," he muttered.

  Beyond the west end of the bridge, at the foot of Sky's End's towering cliff, was a rockfall. And behind the rockfall… it had to be. An ancient tradeway, under the mountain. A tradeway that would lead to the warrens.

  The forgotten entrance to Thorbardin. Forgotten because an old war had brought an end to trade.

  "Hello!"

  Chane blinked and turned. Just a few yards away, level with the bridge, the soarwagon hovered over the gorge. The gnome waved at them. "Do you want this pole back?" he called. "I don't have any use for it, and it's a clumsy thing to carry around."

  "Why don't you just drop it?" the kender asked.

  "It's a nice pole, and you might want to send over some more raisins some time. Why don't you keep it?"

  Chess smiled. "All right. Let it down, and I'll keep it."

  "Not here," Bobbin said. "I'm afraid to get too close to that bridge.

  But I can let it down just past those towers."

  The soarwagon edged upward, dipped, and soared out over the gorge in a wide circle. It settled to a hover again just past the foot of the bridge.

  "I'll go get the pole," the kender said.

  Bobbin began lowering the horizontal pole, working his winch, then paused, looking toward the breaks. He cupped his hands and shouted, "Did you know there are goblins here?"

  In the instant the gnome took his hand from the winch, the pole dropped free. In that same instant a company of armed goblins surged out of hiding just beyond the bridge abutments and charged.

  The pole and the lead hobgoblin arrived at the gap between the pillars at exactly the same time. The creature's midsection hit the pole, jamming it against the pillars, and he flipped over it and fell. Several goblins fell over him, and others over them; the pole splintered, and Bobbin's line broke free. The soarwagon bobbed skyward as Chestal Thicketsway turned and ran, back up the rise of the bridge.

  "Goblins!" Chess shouted needlessly, for the sprawling, shouting mass of creatures behind him would have been difficult to overlook.

  Chane leaped to Jilian's side, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to the nearest vertical riser on the bridge rail. Without a word, he thrust her down behind it.

  Chess turned and drew his hoopak sling. As the hobgoblin tried to get to his feet, spilling goblins around him, the kender bounced a rock off his helmet, knocking it askew.

  Momentarily blinded, the hobgoblin waved his sword and screeched, "Rush

  'em! Cut'm down!"

  A goblin free of the rest started to charge, and a whining pebble took him in the eye. He went over backward, screaming.

  Jilian Firestoke had no intention of hiding behind a vertical pillar of a bridge rail, when there were things to be done. Holding her sword in launch position she rushed past Chane and headed for the enemy.

  Chane started to shout at her, then saw one of the goblins beyond her raise a crossbow. He drew his sword and threw it, as hard as he could. End over end, it flashed in the sunlight… over Jilian's head and downward.

  Point first it hit the goblin's breast armor, and the sheer weight of it drove it through. The goblin fell, skewered through the brisket, and his dart sailed out over the gorge.

  Jilian swung at the nearest goblin, missed, and spun around, clinging to her centrifugal blade. The creature's laugh was cut short as the sword came around again, this time full across his luring face.

  Chane hoisted his hammer and waded in, following Jilian.

  "Fall back!" the hobgoblin shouted. "Fall back! Use th' darts!" He sprinted for cover as Jilian whirled toward him. Her blade took the tassel off his helmet, the stock off his crossbow, and the tail off his kilt before he got out of range.

  For a moment there was scrambling, fleeing goblins everywhere, then the bridge was clear. Chane dived under Jilian's flashing sword to keep from being beheaded. "Stop now!" he roared, catching her around the waist in a diving tackle. They tumbled across a dead goblin and rolled against the bridge rail.

  "I said, stop," Chane panted.

  Jilian picked herself up and smoothed her hair. "I was trying to. You didn't have to be so grabby about it. Honestly!"

  A bronze dart ricocheted off stone beside the dwarven girl. Chane glanced around, then grabbed her hand and headed up the bridge, seeking cover. Darts zipped around them, and pebbles flew in answer.

  The kender was dodging in and out of the cover of stone uprights, stepping out to use his weapon, then darting back to cover to reload. But as the dwarves piled in behind him, he reached into his pouch and his hand came out empty. He was out of pebbles, and there was nothing on the bridge to throw.

  Chess dug deeper into the pouch. "I've probably got some
things in here that I can shoot."

  He searched, found something, and slipped it into the hoopak's sling just as a goblin peered around one of the bridge spires. The kender let fly, and his missile burst and splattered on the creature's face.

  "What was that?" Chane called.

  "Pigeon egg," the kender admitted. "Not a very good choice, I guess."

  Darts continued to fly and zing around the defenders.

  "We'd better retreat," Chane rumbled. "Come on. Follow me across the bridge."

  Chess glanced around, and his eyes widened. "I don't think so," he said.

  "Look."

  Above and behind them on the bridge stood an ogre with a huge club in his fist. As the dwarves turned and saw him, the creature grinned. He pointed his club at Chane Feldstone. "You see me, dwarf?" he thundered. "I see you, too. You think Loam don't remember you?"

  The darts stopped flying, and goblin cheers sounded below. The ogre stood, gloating, his stance nearly spanning the width of the bridge.

  "Maybe I can slice him," Jilian offered, but Chane pushed her back. The dwarf stood, balancing his hammer for combat. In return, the ogre licked its lips, grinned again, and came for him.

  Chapter 31

  Out on the plains, Thog had gathered the separate segments of Kolanda's command, and was marching toward the breaks. From the bridge-trail gap,

  Kolanda saw the troops funneling between the distant hills, and knew there would be little for them to do. It would all be over before they arrived.

  Already, she could hear the hoofbeats of the approaching horse. Edging back into the shadows of a stone slab, the Commander waved her six guards farther back into their hiding places across the trail. In moments, the riders would be between them.

  "You can have the wizard, Caliban," she muttered. "The goblins and I will deal with the barbarian."

  "Glenshadow," the withered thing at her breast whispered. "Caliban has waited a very long time. Glenshadow will die many times now, before he is released to death."

  Kolanda felt the tingling of magic being amassed, and was satisfied.

  Caliban would have no time to think of other things until he was through taking his revenge on the red-robed mage. By then, she would have the thing the wilderness man carried, the thing that would make Caliban truly her slave.

  The horse's hooves clopped on stone, only yards from the ambushers, and the Commander gripped her blade and held her breath, counting the seconds.

  Closer and closer the sounds came. There was motion beyond the stone, and a horse's head appeared. Kolanda raised her sword… and stopped. There were no riders, only a horse with an empty saddle. Looking straight ahead, the creature trotted on, seeing none of them… though its ears swiveled toward the goblin guards in hiding as it passed.

  Kolanda stepped out from her hiding place and peered back the way the horse had come. Nothing. She turned and stared after the horse. It trotted on up the trail and disappeared around a turn, its hoofbeats fading.

  "They've tricked me," Kolanda breathed. "Well, we'll see who gets the last trick." She waved at her guards. "Come out! Follow me, on the double!"

  They fell in behind her, glancing at one another in confusion, and headed up the trail. At a dark cleft in the broken stone, the rearmost goblin saw the others pass by ahead of him, then paused as something seemed to move in the cleft. Slowing, he approached and stepped close to the darkness. It was the last thing he ever did. Hard hooves lashed out, with great haunches driving them. One caught the goblin in the face, the other in the chest.

  Geekay stepped out of his hidey-hole, pawed at the dead thing on the trail, twitched his ears in revulsion, and looked up the trail where the others had gone. At an easy trot, he followed.

  "It's a thing a man picks up, traveling wilderness," Wingover explained, helping Glenshadow over a fissure. "Never backtrack yourself without a diversion of some kind. You don't know what might be waiting for you."

  "And you might lose your horse," the wizard rasped.

  "Better him than me." Wingover shrugged. "But it's not likely. We've been around a while. He knows what to do." The wilderness man paused and sniffed. "I smell goblins."

  "And I sense evil," Glenshadow said. "Magic and evil. I wish I could see."

  The man looked at him, peering into his eyes. 'You mean you can't see?"

  "I don't mean just with my eyes. There are better ways, you know." He sighed. "It seems I've been blind forever. The cursed Spellbinder."

  Wingover turned the helmet, indicating the green gem inside. "What about this one? Pathfinder. What does it do to you?"

  "Nothing… unless I touch it. You saw what it does then."

  "Is that because you're a wizard?"

  Glenshadow nodded. "The two gems react to magic. Pathfinder holds it in place; Spellbinder confuses it, turns it upon itself. It is how Gargath trapped the graystone. At least, such is the legend. I believe it now."

  Abruptly Wingover turned away, holding up his hand. "Hush," he whispered. "Listen!"

  Ahead of them, not far away, there was a clamor of voices. Goblins cheered and cackled.

  "They're at the bridge," Wingover said. "Let's go." With a bound he hurried on, leaving Glenshadow to follow as best he could. Running, sprinting, leaping from stone to stone atop the broken zone, Wingover rounded a shoulder and saw the bridge ahead. Goblins in force pressed forward at the foot of it, and a huge ogre with a club stood halfway up its slope, facing down. Between were the two dwarves and the kender.

  Even at this distance, Wingover saw Chane Feldstone brace himself for battle… a tiny creature, not half as tall as the monster he faced, and armed only with a hammer. Above it all, the crazy gnome circled in the air on the wings of a sailcloth kite.

  Wingover slung the dwarven helmet at his back, tightened the straps on his shield, and raised his sword. By the time he hit the lower trail, he was moving at a run. His war cry was a howl of fury as he burst upon the goblin platoon.

  Loam advanced slowly toward the waiting dwarf, enjoying the moment, drawing out the sweet satisfaction of destroying the small creature who had humiliated him. For long days and long miles, the ridicule Cleft had heaped upon him after digging him out from the fallen stone, had rung in his ears. His fury had fermented into a deep hatred for the dwarf with the cat-fur garments. Cleft was dead now, and Loam felt no regret, but still the harsh glee of his fellow's taunts lingered to haunt the ogre.

  Many times in his life, Loam had killed dwarves — as well as humans and other lesser creatures. He had even killed two elves, purely for the sport of it. But this kill would be the sweetest of all. He wanted to make it last.

  Just within reach of the smaller being, he feinted suddenly, thrusting his club forward. The dwarf's frenzied dodge delighted him, and he chuckled, a deep rumble like distant thunder. Again Loam jabbed, prodding with the huge club, this time grazing Chane's head as the dwarf backpedaled. Was that panic in the little creature's eyes? Loam's pleasure deepened. He held the club out, waving it lazily from side to side, taunting, and beckoned with his other hand. "Little fighter," he chuckled.

  "See how brave! Can't even make his knees behave. Think your hammer worries me? Come and try it, then you'll see."

  From the corner of his eye Loam saw the little kender sidling along the bridge rail, trying to flank him. With his empty hand he reached out, swatted casually, and sent the small thing tumbling. "Friends can't help the fighting one," he rumbled. "Dwarf must deal with Loam alone."

  He raised his club higher, threatening, and suddenly the dwarf darted under it. Loam roared as the creature's hammer cracked against his kneecap.

  Chane ducked between the ogre's legs, whirled around, and went between again as the monster turned, getting in another blow at the same kneecap.

  The ogre's roar was deafening. Chess darted past, swatting the ogre across the knuckles with the heavy end of his hoopak and chattering at the top of his lungs, hurling taunts and insults that fairly summarized the misbegotten na
ture of ogredom.

  A tide of goblins had started to flow up the bridge, but they now hesitated. Beyond the bridge spires a bloodchilling howl sounded, and goblins scattered in panic as Wingover charged among them, shield pummeling, sword flashing. A few goblins at the foot of the bridge turned and tried to form a defense, but were cut down by Jilian in full spin.

  At the ogre's feet, Chane managed one more solid blow with his hammer, this time at Loam's midriff. The dwarf was then knocked flat by the massive club. He lay stunned, trying to breathe, and Loam stepped to him.

  Ignoring the kender's prodding hoopak, the ogre raised his club to crush the dwarf.

  Chess flailed at the ogre's back, then blinked as something fell across his arm… a metal hook, attached to a rope. He dropped his hoopak and grabbed the rope. After throwing it around the ogre's massive ankle, the kender set the hook to the rope in one motion. Finally, Chess straightened and pulled down on the rope as hard as he could.

  Overhead, the soarwagon's sensitive vanes reacted to the tug. They instantly realigned themselves, and the craft nosed up, seeking the sky.

  Loam's club descended as his feet went out from under him. The blow rang against stone a foot from Chane's head, and the dwarf looked up, trying to see clearly. Just above the bridge, a flailing ogre dangled upside down from Bobbin's supply line, while overhead the soarwagon shivered and trembled, fighting for altitude. The gnome's voice was a screech: "Get that creature off my line! He's too heavy!"

  Chestal Thicketsway picked up his hoopak and dug into his pouch desperately. The only thing that came to hand was a small glass ball, something he had picked up on the old, frozen battlefield in the Valley of

  Waykeep.

  He set it in the hoopak's sling-pocket and sighted at the hook holding the rope to the ogre's ankle. "Maybe I can shoot him loose," he called reassuringly.

  The glass ball flew, ricocheted off Loam's foot, and zoomed upward to imbed itself in the wicker of Bobbin's cab. In the air above Chess, something voiceless seemed to say, "Ah. Much better."