by Peter Plasse
While he was speaking, the last of the Gnome soldiers filed by him, carrying the supplies that were needed for the campaign in the village of Utt, saying, “Sir, we are ready.”
“I must go,” he said.
“Wait,” said Jessica. “Please. I have some questions … ”
“I’m sorry,” he interrupted her, “I must go. The situation in Utt is most precarious, and I can delay no further. Good luck in finding your child.”
“Wait, you son-of-a … ”
Blake restrained her as she lunged for the Gnome, who marched from the room. Furious, she turned and slapped him hard in the face. “Are you going to let him walk away?”
“Jessica,” he barked back at her, seizing her by both arms. “That’s enough. Count your blessings, and let it go!”
She tore herself from his grasp. “What is wrong with you?” she directed at no one. “What is wrong with you?”
There was an oppressive silence in the room as Blake, Jessica, and Captain Pilrick all stood and considered the words spoken by the Gnome commander, Blake rubbing absentmindedly at his cheek.
“Where is this place?” Jessica asked the captain. “This place called Obb?”
“Far to the northwest. It is a few miles south of the border to the Enchanted Northland. It’s a three, maybe four, day ride.”
“Then that’s where we’re going, as soon as we can get hold of some decent mounts. Do you think you could arrange that?”
“I’ll do you better than that,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”
“Will you be able to do that?” asked Blake. “Don’t you have military obligations? You are still a captain in the resistance army, aren’t you?”
He laughed. “True enough. But there is something intriguing about these rumors that the commander said are circulating. Something that could potentially have enormous tactical implications, and it will not take a lot of convincing of my superiors to have me go check it out firsthand, now will it?”
“Very well,” said Jessica. “Make it happen. But know that Blake and I leave at first light. We’ll need horses and provisions.”
“You’re wife is a no-nonsense woman. She reminds me of my own.” He smiled.
Blake returned it. “Probably why we married them, huh? Maps would be good.”
Chapter 32
Orie crept slowly back towards the camp. All of the sounds of the fight had stopped, and it was deathly quiet as he moved cautiously along. More than once he thought about doing as he had been told and running back to join his friends in their flight away from danger, but he never wavered. Forrester Ragamund was his friend, and friends did not abandon friends in need. Ever.
It was a question of honor.
Making it to the edge of the camp clearing, he gently moved branches out of his way. Dead Trolls lay everywhere, and there was Maxilius Bravarus kneeling over Forrester’s great frame where he lay facedown in the dirt. In spite of the distance that separated them, Orie could see that he was breathing, but it was terribly labored.
He raced across the clearing and knelt beside his friend.
“Help me to turn him over,” he said.
Maxilius was clearly startled by this awful smell with a voice attached to it, but he complied with the request, rolling Forrester onto his back.
“Forrester!” shouted Orie. “Forrester, can you hear me?” There was nothing. He inspected his mouth. There was a scant amount of blood, but it was otherwise clear. He looked at his chest and noticed that only one side seemed be rising with his respiratory efforts. On the side that was not moving he noticed a large stain of fresh blood on his friend’s jerkin. He put his head to Forrester’s chest and listened carefully, first on one side, then on the other. “Quickly,” he said, “strip him out of his shirt.”
On the right side of his chest was a stab wound that bubbled blood, making a violent sucking sound with every breath.
“He’s collapsed a lung,” he announced, “from that stab wound there.” He reached for one of his daggers, but both sheaths were empty. “Give me your dagger,” he said.
Maxilius frowned at the sight of his dagger instantly vanishing into thin air as soon as Orie had taken hold of it. It was about twice as big as one of Orie’s, causing him to remark, “Oh, man, this is way too big.
“Hold him now,” he said. “Hold him good. He might wake up while I’m doing this and start moving around. I don’t want to slice his lung in half.”
The sober intent of his boyish face unseen by anyone, he plunged the dagger into Forrester’s chest, aiming it over the top of one of the ribs, and then twisted the blade slowly in a circle back and forth. From the perspective of Maxilius Bravarus, another wound appeared in the side of Forrester’s chest, and there was a loud hiss of air as it escaped under pressure from his chest cavity. His breathing instantly normalized. Orie slid the blade out and wiped it on his pants.
“Forrester!” he shouted. “Forrester, wake up!”
Forrester opened his eyes and croaked, “Where am I? What happened?” causing Maxilius to sit back on his heels, entirely unbelieving of what he had just seen. Cinnamon looked equally amazed as she sat with her head tilted to one side.
Orie looked at his big friend as he pressed the dagger back into the hand of Maxilius, which reappeared as soon as he alone held it, saying, “You died. Lie still now. Concentrate on your breathing. In … Out … Good.”
Blake and Jessica were not surprised when they showed up the next morning to find two horses saddled, complete with saddlebags and bedrolls, and waiting for them. But they were surprised that there were four ponies as well, all outfitted in like manner, astride three of which sat Gall, Oddwaddle, and Jebwickett.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Jessica. “I don’t want anyone coming along against their will.”
“They all volunteered,” said the captain. “So I guess the answer to your question would be yes.”
“All of them?” asked Blake, while they were still out of earshot of the three.
Captain Pilrick, murmuring, “Uh-huh,” nodded in the affirmative, and they walked up to meet their mounts.
“What are their names?” asked Jessica, fishing in one of the saddlebags and finding a handful of dried, what looked like, carrots, one of which she offered to hers.
“I’m sorry,” said the captain. “I didn’t think to inquire.”
“Have they ridden before?” asked Blake, nodding toward the Gnomes.
“Only this morning, for a few minutes. But they have all assured me they will not be talked out of going.”
“All right,” said Jessica. “Let’s move out.”
They rode hard but stopped often, giving the Gnomes a chance to develop their saddle skills, as well as to walk off the soreness that soon plagued them all. Only Jessica seemed immune. Her tenacity to hold her seat might have been made out of the same iron as her will to find their daughter, such was the amount that she complained. All of the others grumbled and groaned, but when it came to mounting up again, none hesitated. They had been together for so long, it was as if the mission to find Stephanie had now become their mission, and all were bound and determined to see it to its conclusion.
During every stop they consulted the maps to be sure they were headed in the right direction.
Rounding a bend, they came across a band of about a dozen Troll warriors in plain sight, no more than fifty yards out and closing fast!
All of the horses reared, only Blake and Jessica keeping their seats, the Gnomes all spilling to the ground like beans poured from a sack. With nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, Blake and Jessica placed their mounts in front of them, ordering the horses smartly to “Whoa,” then quickly hauled the Gnomes to their feet. Everybody drew their weapons in preparation for the impossible fight that was now seconds away, but, amazingly, the Trolls loped by them like they weren’t even there. Many glanced their way, but that’s all the attention they got.
It was a miraculous encounter, and one that gave
them cause for speculation for the remainder of the day and into the evening after they had set up their crude camp.
Two more days would pass before they ran into a band of their comrades-in-arms with whom they shared the story. They learned that the word was that all of the Trolls had been ordered to return to Slova without delay and to not engage the enemy unless absolutely necessary.
But the bigger news was that all had heard of the “miracle girl”, although none of them had seen her.
However, as they got closer to the garrison in Obb, they began to encounter those who not only claimed to have seen her, many declared that they had spoken to her. If the stories were true, she was at least eight feet tall, had hair of spun gold, and was riding a pure white horse that could not only outrun the wind, but could fly straight up into the clouds.
All agreed that she was riding hard and fast to the south, so they aborted the plan to ride to the garrison in Obb. This proved to be the right decision because the Trolls there, all of whom were streaming south at the behest of Malance Venomisis, had long abandoned it.
On the fifth day of their journey they made it to the town of Jadf G’nor, where the Gnomes who dwelt there were giddy with the fact that she had ridden through not but two days before. Miracle after miracle was said to have been performed by her, and now that they were, at least temporarily, free from the scourge of the Troll occupation, the first official town business was erecting a place of worship where they could meet and pray in her name. All of the citizens were convinced that the Trolls were leaving because of her, and it was rumored that she had killed hundreds of them with no more effort than it takes to scratch a good itch.
Having lived in the wild for so long, the group was entertained, if not distracted by, the activities of regular townsfolk going about their business. Captain Pilrick decided to make a quick stop at the local town hall to try and gain a little more insight into the girl over whom everybody seemed so taken. Leaving Gall, Oddwaddle, and Jebwickett outside to look after their mounts, the captain, Blake, and Jessica entered the ancient wooden structure and asked for the town manager. Taking note of his rank, an aide told them he would go fetch him right away and asked them to have a seat at a table and chairs in a foyer off to the right of the entryway. The captain declined, saying they were on a mission of the highest military priority and instructed the young Gnome politely, but firmly, to return with the town manager at once. While they were waiting, he turned to Blake and Jessica and said, “It would appear that your daughter is not only alive and well, but is causing quite a fuss. I wonder how much truth there is to all of these stories.”
Neither of them engaged the conversation. Neither cared. All they wanted was to get any information that they could from a credible source as to the best estimate of her whereabouts and be about the business of tracking her down as quickly as possible.
The town manager came to them straight away, followed by the usual entourage of courtiers that always seems to surround politicians. “Captain,” he said, offering his hand, “This is indeed a pleasure, and an honor. It is not often that … ”
“That will do, Sir,” said Captain Pilrick. “We have not the time for prattling on and on.”
The faces of the manager’s busybodies all registered looks of disappointment at the lack of tact demonstrated by the captain towards their town’s most important and influential citizen. “We come looking for the girl. The one everyone seems to be talking about. What is your best estimate of where she is and your best understanding of where she is headed?”
“Yes, of course, yes,” said the manager. “Isn’t it amazing? That she visited us, I mean. And I not only saw her, I spoke to her. Her voice was … ”
“Hey!” interrupted Jessica, seizing the Gnome by his dressy shirt and leaving a large dirt stain on the front of it, “The captain asked you two questions. ‘Where is she now?’ and ‘Where is she going?’Answer him.”
Blake looked on, always amused by his wife’s manner of getting from point A to point B.
She pushed him away while he looked down with dismay at the stain she had left on his shirtfront. “Yes … yes … ” he stammered. “And who might you be?”
“I’m her mother,” said Jessica, placing her hand deliberately on the handle of her sword, “and this is her father. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time to answer the questions, and if you don’t, I am going to kill not only you, but everyone in this building.”
“Well … well … ”
Captain Pilrick took the fellow, badly shaken, by the elbow and led him a few steps away where they conferred in low voices, after which the manager and his followers walked briskly away without so much as a backwards glance.
“Same as before,” he said. “Headed south in a hard ride. He said she was making inquiry of everyone she met as to whether they had heard of you. They all, including your friend there, directed her to Belcourt, figuring, I suppose, that that’s where she had the best chance of finding you. Anyway, that’s his best understanding as to where she is headed.”
“Don’t the Trolls hold it now?” asked Blake. “They certainly did when we were there last.”
“He says the word is they have all left. They’re all headed back to Slova. Same as we heard on the way here. Makes you wonder what they’re up to, doesn’t it?”
“No,” said Jessica as she marched briskly from the building.
She snatched the reins from Oddwaddle and mounted up. “It doesn’t. This is not our war. Never has been and never will be. Let’s ride.”
“Don’t hold back now, Jess,” said Blake. “Tell us how you really feel.”
“Not yet,” whispered Saviar Murlis to the Gnomes crewing the guns in the hold of the Mexyl Wyn. “Not yet.”
On both sides of the river, the Trolls crept closer and closer to the great ship. What was this ever-so-strange looking thing that floated on the water before them? When many had gotten within a few feet of the river’s edge, he hollered, “Fire!” and the six guns, three on each side, roared at once. Dozens of Trolls were torn apart as the thousands of iron balls that they had manufactured along the way tore into them. Hundreds more were wounded. The ones on the northern shore were hemmed in by Dorin’s forces, who streamed out into the open to do battle with the survivors, cutting them down with ruthless efficiency as they took quick advantage of their weakened state. The ones on the southern shore fared no better. Thinking they at least had the advantage of being able to retreat into the forest, they were met by the entire male contingent of the Agden Wolves, led by Patriachus and Brutus, who showed them no more mercy than the Ravenwild soldiers. All of the wounded and crippled Trolls were killed in minutes, whereupon the Ravenwild forces to the north, and the Wolves to the south, retreated quickly to defensive positions, leaving the Trolls once more exposed to the cannons of the Mexyl Wynn, the ear-shattering roars of which again erupted in the afternoon air. With no possibility of escape, and no cover, it was merely a question of time before the surviving Trolls knelt in surrender.
Dorin paid no heed to the laying down of arms, instead leading a squad of four that rushed with him to the wall of the fortress city, where he pounded at the entryway with the hilt of his sword. The stick of a man that opened it would have broken the heart of any decent soul. Once inside, they went first to the barracks, which were entirely empty. Next, they searched house to house in the officer’s sections where they found the survivors that had managed to stay together. All told, there were two hundred and eight of them, many so weak from starvation that they could not walk. Most of these looked to be at death’s door. Those who still could walk were tending the ones who were bedridden. Dorin ordered water brought in to at least begin to correct the obvious dehydration all around them, then walked back out through the entryway to see if there was any way they could get some food to these brave soldiers and their families who had hung on for so long. He took the trail to the north and received the dismal news that there was precious little, if any, food to be spa
red. Hunting parties had been sent out daily, but this was not good hunting country, and there had been no fresh game brought in for days. Saddened, he walked slowly back towards the entrance to The Gate, trying to muster the courage to break the bad news to those inside. He happened to glance down towards the river where he saw a dozen or so Wolves swimming across. He was about to call for help, and had actually turned to do so, when he spun back around, having noticed that they appeared to be swimming in pairs and that each pair seemed to be dragging something large in the lazy currents. He jogged down to the water’s edge and, sure enough, saw that each pair of Wolves was dragging a large deer. He looked towards the far shore and saw that more of the Wolves were dragging even more game down to the riverbank for the trip across. Not quite knowing what to do with this miracle before him, he ran back up to the fortress and summoned his squad. He was so excited they had to slow him down several times before they could understand what he was rambling on about.
Back down to the river they went, slowly and with great caution. Their intention was to help the animals drag the deer up over the riverbank and on to the fortress. But when the soldiers approached them, the Wolves would have none of it, barking and growling for them to get out of the way. One of them approached a soldier and bit him gently on his sword arm, easing him off to the side of the trail.
