“Ah,” he said. He hopped over the lip and―nimble as a spider―climbed down the wall.
It was deep. A hundred feet down, maybe two in some places. The farther down he went, the more he heard. He pulled his cloak over him and covered his head. The fine hairs on his arms stood on end. His hand fell to his sword. He sniffed. Shook his head.
Not good.
The bottom of the grade was a forest of rocks and trees. Birds, dark and black with yellow eyes, darted in and out of the tree tops. The sunlight was blocked by the rim, bringing darkness early. Shum could see the warm patterns of the creatures that scurried.
The smell became stronger the farther towards the middle he went. On cat’s feet he moved. Swift and quiet. He could hear them better now.
Voices. Harsh. Unfriendly. Threats were made. Whips were cracking.
Women sobbed and cried.
He climbed a tree. Fingers digging into the thick wood and knotted branches. Up he went. Across a branch towards the sounds. He hunched down and narrowed his eyes.
Goblins.
Wolf faced, hairy, and ugly.
Gnolls.
Thick skinned yellow eyed minions.
Village women.
Dozens of them sat in barren clearing. A camp. Sewing nets similar to what he used for fishing. Hunting. Trapping.
It was a surprise. Why would poachers be aligned with Giants? Shum made a quick head count. Five Gnolls. Nine Goblins that he could see. It would take hours of scouting to cover the rest of the crater. He watched. Waited. The Goblins stood guard, hand axes on their belts or in their hands. The Gnolls ate slabs of meat and barked out orders. Every so often a Gnoll would come and go out of sight, but no others returned. Manageable.
The women’s fingers worked hard at the nets. He could see they were frightened, hungry, and thirsty.
“Water, please,” one said. She held her hands out.
A Goblin walked over, held out a jug, tipped it to its lips, and gulped it down. He wiped his mouth and shook the jug in her face, the water swishing around.
She clutched for it. The Goblin jerked it away. Swatted her in the face with his other hand. The Goblins laughed. Holding their little pot bellies. Mocking the cries and tears of the women.
Shum had seen enough of that. His blood stirred. The muscles in his jaw tightened. Roving Rangers weren’t the aloof clan the other races made them out to be. They believed in doing right wherever there was wrong. Slavery was wrong. Goblins were wrong. Gnolls were wrong. He slid his sword from his scabbard. It was time to make it right.
He hopped out of the tree. Strode right into the camp, sword resting on his shoulder.
The Goblins froze. The women stopped working. Silence fell among them. The Gnolls didn’t even notice.
“Let the women go,” Shum said, looking down at the Goblins.
“Huh?” A Goblin said, turning his way.
“What!” A Gnoll dropped his bowl on the ground and snatched up his flail.
The others jumped to his side, reaching for weapons. “You dare!”
The Gnolls were big. Bigger than Orcs. Bigger than Shum. He wasn’t much of a threat to them at first glance.
“Kill him, the trespassing Elf, Goblins!” the tallest of the Goblins ordered.
No hesitation. No fear. The Goblins raised their axes and charged.
Swish! Swish!
The women screamed.
Two Goblins fell dead at Shum’s feet. The other Goblins stopped. Blinking.
The lead Gnoll’s lip curled over his long canine teeth. Fear was in his eyes. He looked like he might consider talking.
Shum decided to give it another try.
“Let the women go,” Shum said, “and no harm will come to you.”
The Goblins, the remaining seven, had him surrounded now. Axes poised to attack him from all directions.
“Come any closer, little minions,” Shum said, “and I’ll finish the rest of you.”
They backed off a step, maybe two. Eyes darting between him and the Gnolls.
“I know what you are,” the Gnoll leader said. “You’re one of those rangers. A Rover. Is that so?”
The Gnolls’ eyes were all intent on him. Reputation alone could win battles, stop wars.
“I am.”
The lead Gnoll started laughing. The others followed suit, weapons jangling with their armor.
“Does something amuse you?” Shum said.
“Hah!” The Gnoll hitched his foot up on a log and slapped his knee. “You really do have a big belly. Kinda like an Orc.”
“Your insults won’t grant you any mercy,” Shum said, “and my patience thins. Let the women go. I won’t ask again.”
It coughed a laugh.
“There’s more of us in this crater than you know, Ranger. I think you better surrender.” It picked its slab of meat back up and tore off a chunk with its teeth. “Might even have you for dinner.”
If there were more, he hadn’t seen or heard them. But the tactic was sound. Even for a Gnoll.
“Well,” Shum said, “I hope you have enough for all of us?”
The Gnoll stopped chewing. Looked around.
“All of who?”
“Surely you didn’t think I came alone. A half dozen arrows are pointed right at you.” Shum held his hand straight up. “Awaiting my signal.”
Every pair of eyes shifted from tree to tree. But Shum’s gaze was steady. Right on the Gnoll. Not blinking.
It raised its arm and smiled.
“I’ve got a dozen in the trees,” the Gnoll said, “and they’re all pointed at you. Your bluff has been called, Ranger.”
“I don’t think so,” Shum said.
“I do,” the Gnoll grinned. The leader dropped his arm.
Clatch zip!
Clatch zip!
Shum spun away from the first bolt that found a home in a Gnoll. The next bolt ripped into his thigh, sticking through one side to the other. He dropped to a knee.
“Argh!” he said.
The village women cried out.
“Didn’t see that coming, did you, Ranger?” the Gnoll said. “Kill him!”
CHAPTER 15
We had them. Two Ettins slugged along over the grassy knolls with their four chins down. Arms shackled behind their backs, they led the way, one heavy footstep after the other. A host of Legionnaire riders accompanied us along with Ben and Garrison, who ran along on foot.
“Dragon,” Ben said. “Can I ride with you? My legs are tired.”
“No, Ben,” I said. “Commander’s orders.”
“But—”
“None of that now. Why don’t you scout ahead or something?”
“Aw,” Ben said, drifting back with a frown.
Sasha rode alongside me.
“Are you feeling better now?” she said.
I felt ashamed. How I’d shunned her earlier was wrong. Even worse, I’d have to admit it. I couldn’t treat her like Brenwar treated me and hold a grudge for days, weeks, or months.
“I’m sorry, Sasha.” I didn’t look at her. “I really am. It’s just—”
“Don’t explain yourself,” she said. “I understand. After all, you just came out of a battle. Men are different when their blood runs hot. I wish Bayzog would get upset every once in a while. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his cheeks flush.”
I looked at her, smiling a little.
“Well, maybe he doesn’t have any blood?”
“Dragon!”
“Sorry,” I said.
She giggled.
“No, that was funny. I think we needed it, but I am a bit worried. Do you think he’s alright with Shum? I don’t know anything about him.”
I reached over and patted her arm.
She didn’t flinch or pull away, which surprised me.
I said, “I’m sure he’s alright. The Rovers are the greatest Rangers in Nalzambor. He couldn’t be any safer if he was with me.” I squeezed her arm. “And thank you.”
“For what?
” she said, staring at my arm, stroking it with gentle fingers.
“Er … well, saving me, Sasha. That Ettin nearly popped my head off.”
“Oh, ho ho, don’t sound so surprised, Nath. Did you think I was just going to stand there and let you get all the glory?”
“Well, uh…” I rubbed the back of my head. “It’s just, I wouldn’t want you to endanger yourself on my account.”
She rolled her eyes. “You men wouldn’t make it through the day without us women,” she said. “How old are you?”
“Old enough to know that.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. “Nath,” she said, still rubbing my arm.
She was trembling inside. I could feel it.
“Truth is…” She swallowed, looked me in the eyes. “I was terrified. I don’t know how I did it. I just did.” She squeezed my arm. “My heart starts beating like a rabbit just thinking about that. Did I really do that, Dragon?” She looked forward at the Ettins. “Those things are huge.”
Now I was laughing.
“What are you laughing about?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Tell me, Dragon.”
“Alright, it’s just an old saying is all.”
“And the saying is?”
I took a breath. “Little women make big men stumble.”
“That’s it?” she said. “That’s not so bad.”
“Well, that’s not all of it, but that’s all that applies in this case,” I said, trying to pull my Dragon arm away.
She held firm. “I want to hear the rest of it.”
“Loud women make a boastful Man grumble. Pretty women make all men bumble. Wise women make a proud Man humble.”
“Hmmm,” she started, “I think I like the last part best. Is that a song?”
I nodded.
Her eyes brightened. “Can you sing, Dragon?”
I shrugged.
“Really,” she said, “please sing for me. I love singing. I sing all the time but sometimes Bayzog has to quiet me down.”
“Why don’t you sing then?” I suggested.
“You first,” she said.
“Well, it’s been a while, but I think I can remember a few verses.”
Yes, I could sing. Dragon music was the oldest in Nalzambor, and I knew many songs. Long as rivers. Ancient as the oldest forest. Songs men and women had never heard and never would hear. It had been so long I wasn’t sure I could do it anymore. I could try something in Common at least. I cleared my throat.
Sasha’s eyes brightened.
“In the meadow, the Dragons play, their scales sparkle—huh?”
“Why’d you stop, it sounded so—”
“Sssssh,” I said. I could hear something. Horse hooves coming our way.
“What is it?”
“Not what, but who. Yah!” I galloped off.
“Where do you think you’re going, Dragon?” Brenwar said.
I kept going. Racing up the hill, leaving the Legionnaires and Ettins far behind.
A lone figure on a horse rode over the crest. It was Bayzog, with a woman draped over his horse, sleeping, I hoped. “Dragon! Thank goodness I’ve found you!”
Brenwar had come too. We rode right up to one another. Formed a triangle of horses.
“Are you alright, Elf?” Brenwar said. “Where’s the big belly?”
Bayzog took a breath. “He’s a couple leagues back. Dragon, I’m sorry. He was fighting with an Ettin.”
“Who is she?” Brenwar said.
“One of the villagers, I assume. We were close. She escaped and the Ettin came after her.”
“Bayzog!” Sasha said, riding right up to him. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Dear. It’s Shum I’m worried about.” Bayzog’s stern face was wracked with grief. “I left him. The horse wouldn’t stop and I, I couldn’t leave the woman.”
“Shum can handle himself, I’m sure, Bayzog. Come on, Brenwar,” I said.
“Come on? Hah, I’m already going, Yah!”
“Bayzog. Sasha. Stay with the Legionnaires. Help them keep an eye on those Ettins.” I snapped my reins and off I went.
***
There’d been a battle alright. An Ettin was face first in the ground, dead as a stone. There was no sign of Shum.
“Took an Ettin all by himself,” I said, looking at Brenwar. “Pretty impressive, you have to admit.
Brenwar kept his arms folded across his chest. “Humph. It probably died laughing at his belly.”
“Brenwar,” I said, “would it kill you to give an Elf some credit?”
“Don’t know. I’ve never done it before. But it just might, so I’ll not chance it. Ever! Humph. Luck. Elves have lots of it. Even the big bellied ones.”
“Let’s go,” I said. “It’s getting dark.”
“So?” Brenwar said. “Monsters die in the night as easy as in the day.”
We followed the hoof prints.
I couldn’t get the image of the dead Ettin out of my mind. It was now a lifeless clump of hard bone and muscle. Soon to be sweet soil for the world. But it ate at me.
Shum was good. Very good. And he’d killed it.
Why couldn’t I do that? If it came down to me and an Ettin, what was I supposed to do, knock it out? It wasn’t possible.
“Outsmart it,” Brenwar said.
“What?” I said. “What’re you talking about?”
“I can see the look in your eyes, Dragon,” he said. “You want to know why Shum can kill an Ettin and you can’t. How you fight evil without killing.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.”
“Yes you were.”
I hated it when Brenwar was right. Crusty old Dwarf.
“No I wasn’t!”
“If you say so,” he said, “but I can answer you this. You can outsmart an Ettin. That’s how you beat it. But can you outwit Evil? That’s the question.”
“Put a sword through it,” I said, riding off up ahead.
Dwarves don’t know everything anyway. They just think they do.
But the question gnawed at me.
Outwit evil. My father had said that. Many times. In hours-long form. And it had never sunk in until now. How do you outwit something that kills and destroys? Shows no mercy or compassion?
We navigated into the forest. It was dark, but my eyes didn’t have a problem with that. The horses had little trouble navigating either. They were well trained. Accustomed to hard travel and treacherous terrain.
“Whoa,” I said.
“What is it?”
I motioned up ahead. Something was moving. And it wasn’t a small creature that scurried, but something much bigger.
“Wait here.”
Brenwar started to object but I was already gone. A shadow slipping through the foliage. Not bad for a Dragon. My ears caught more rustling. I hunched down. Something was coming right at me.
Clop. Clop. Clop.
Shum’s horse emerged. It stopped, dark eyes looking right at me. I made my way over. Grabbed the reins. Felt the saddle.
“Where’s Shum?” I said.
The horse pulled away as if saying, “Follow me.”
A rustle caught my ears. I whirled around. It was Brenwar fighting through the pine branches.
“Stay with the horses,” I said.
“The horses can stay with themselves,” he said, “besides, I smell something as well.” He snorted. “Ettins and something else.”
“Just come on,” I said.
Shum’s horse led. I followed, Brenwar huffing right behind. I wasn’t sure what Brenwar smelled, but there was something in the air. It didn’t blend with the smells of the forest.
The horse stopped. Nickered a little.
“What have we here?” I said. It was a crater. Strange to see. Like a gargantuan spoon dug it all out. The rising moonlight lit up the trees of the thick forest down below. “What do you make of it, Brenwar?”
He peered over the side, glancing back and forth, s
quinting his eyes. He shrugged.
“Let’s go.”
“That’s pretty steep, Brenwar,” I said.
“It’s just a hole in the ground,” he said, shuffling over the edge. “It’s not a cli—ulp!”
“Brenwar!” I jumped out, reaching for him.
He disappeared over the rim. I heard him tumble and complain. I followed his dark sharp rolling. Heard his grumbling. Then nothing. My keen eyes searched for a sign. Anything. He was gone. This crater was deeper than I thought. I started after him.
“Should have tied a rope to him,” I said, climbing.
“Dragon!”
I heard a voice. It was faint, but it was Brenwar.
“What!” I yelled back down.
“Watch out for—”
There was a rustle. Then nothing.
Brenwar!
CHAPTER 16
Elven steel sang. Goblins died. One. Then two. Shum, hobbled, a bolt in his leg, was all over them.
The third Goblin chopped its crude axe at his mid-section, glancing off his leather armor.
Shum popped it between the eyes with his sword hilt.
It cried out and flailed.
Clatch-zip!
Shum dove onto the ground.
The bolt sank into the dirt by his face.
He rolled. The bolt in his leg snagged, drawing tears in his eyes.
The Goblin swung wild after him.
Clatch-zip!
The Goblin stopped. Fell face first to the ground. A bolt stuck in its back.
Shum scrambled for cover. He pressed his back to a boulder and took a breath. The Roving Ranger was calm. Collected. He’d been in plenty of fights before. He slid his dagger from his belt. Both hands were filled with sharp Elven steel.
Clatch zip!
The bolt whizzed high over his head. It was a good thing. The shooter wasn’t the best shot, but he had him pinned down. Crossbows took more time to reload than bows, too. He could take advantage of that. He was fast, but not as fast as he’d been. Not with a bolt stuck in his leg. He grabbed the shaft and yanked it out.
The women screamed. Running every which way.
One of the Gnolls barked and chased after them.
The others, the leader particularly, he’d lost sight of.
Clutch Of The Cleric (Book 4) Page 6
