by David Cook
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. 'Mere 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 transfixed 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 theyll 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.
Suddenly the woods rang with Vreesar's buzzing rage, echoed by a chorus of howls from the gnolls.
Martine waited for the man's signal, and when it came, she launched herself into a blind sprint. "Quick-this way!" Vil ordered, shoving her farther into the woods almost as soon as she hurtled over the log. Blindly obedient, she sprinted on to fling herself down beside a frozen stream. "Ready!" she panted.
The bow came sailing across the gap. Catching it before it crashed into the brush on the far side, the ranger moved down the bank a bit till she was behind their original position. She saw moving shapes, and without waiting to find out just what they were, she fired off a series of quick shots. A chorus of yelps and confused shouts came from the general direction of the movement. Then the shadows scattered once more into the woods.<
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Working from cover to cover, the pair finally managed to put some distance between themselves and their pursuers. There was no doubt the gnolls were still on the trail-the sound of their savage voices was evidence enough of thatbut the creatures no longer could risk open movement, thanks to the stinging warnings from Vil and Martine.
Both humans were breathing hard and soaked with sweat, while their coats were sticky with pine resin from clinging to the cover of the tree trunks. However, neither was conscious of fatigue, being far too occupied with the chase.
It was Martine's turn to leapfrog. She darted across a half-shaded clearing, moving from shadow to shadow in an effort to remain unseen. Her efforts almost came to naught when a tall figure moved out from the shadow of a tree trunk directly ahead of her. It was a gnoll, his attention
focused just slightly off to her side. Martine froze in the shadow of a rock ledge like a rabbit caught in the open. The creature moved slowly, its canine head hung low as its body hunched over with the unmistakable poise of a hunter. In one paw, it held a cleaverlike sword; in the other, a small shield poised half at the ready.
Outflanked! The ranger instantly reassessed the situation, and indeed a quick scan of what she could see nearby told the Harper the beast was not alone. Dim; hulking shapes crept through the snow-draped woods to either side, barely visible yet close enough to respond to an alarm. Easing farther back into the shadow of the rock, she signaled Vil to stay down. They couldn't risk a missed shot or a howl of pain that might alert the other gnolls. The dogman before her would have to be taken out by hand. Martine silently drew her sword and waited for the stalker.
The woman breathed only slightly faster than the gnoll stalked, waiting for him to close the gap between them. Not only did she watch him, but she also kept a wary eye on his brothers. When at last he had moved close enough to be jumped in a single sprint, the Harper raised her sword, only to hold back from the final lunge that would close the gap. She wasn't concerned about losing her advantage over him, only whether she could drop him before an alarm was raised. She had to wait until the moment was right, a moment when the beast could die unnoticed by his companions.
The opportunity came when the gnoll passed on one side of a drift formed from a fence of tall, dried grass. With the drift on one side and a rock outcropping on the other, there was no better opportunity. Holding her breath, Martine waited until the gnoll had angled past her and then sprinted the last few steps between them to spring on the gnoll's back. With a single motion, she rammed the sword into its lower back, thrusting the blade under the ribs and up toward the creature's heart, while at the same time seizing the front of its helm. Her fingers closed on the metal, and she savagely wrenched the armor downward. Stooped forward for the hunt, the stalker crashed headlong into the snow even as its snout was jammed into its chest. The pair plunged through the frozen crust, where the gnoll's howl of alarm was muffled in the thick powder. Martine threw her weight onto the beast's back, jamming its face into the snow while she thrust again and again with her sword. The creature kicked and squirmed, choking on mouthfuls of snow when it tried to scream, but she clung on, pressing herself close till she breathed the gnoll's animal stench.
At last the creature writhed no more, though the Harper gave one last stab to be certain. Remaining in a crouched position, she watched for signs of any rescuers, flicking her head from side to side like a cornered mountain lion, but nothing appeared. The drift had screened her from sight of the others. Creeping forward, she reached the point where the snowy mound tapered down. There she could see the stalkers fade in and out of sight, still intent on their goal ahead. She had broken the line without their knowing. By hand signals, she let Vil know what she had done and then, ignoring the cold, wriggled on her belly through the gap. Vil followed suit, taking care not to be seen.
The pair burrowed like field mice for several minutes till they were sure there were no stragglers who might discover them. With a gasp of relief, the Harper sat up, the dying light of day shining on her as if she had surfaced from some deep, dark world.
Momentarily free of their hunters, the pair made the most of the opportunity, running through the snow as fast as they could. They crashed down slopes, bounding half out of control, and skidded across frozen patches between the trees.
"Where'd Jouka go?" Martine panted as they finally
slowed their pace along the banks of a stream.
Vil bent double, his shoulders heaving. "Probably… made for… the river," he gasped between huge breaths. The going should be easier there."
"Which way?" Martine asked, staggering so she didn't fall. She kept her arms wrapped round her sides so they wouldn't burst from the pain.
'Mat way." Vil didn't point but set off in a stumbling jog. Sucking in a lungful of raw air, Martine followed after him. Vil's guess proved right, and it didn't take long for the two groups to join up at the frozen grass hummocks that marked the edge of the river meadows.
Martine noted that no more than twelve gnomes were with Jouka… twelve out of forty who had started the day. There were probably a few stragglers in the woods, but there was no doubt that many of the Vani had fallen at the gnoll camp. Twelve gnomes, tired and dispirited, stood among the hummocks with the same dejected blankness beggars develop when they have lost all hope.
"Is Turi with you? Or that wizard?" were Jouka's first questions, the first asked eagerly, the second dark with the edge of threat.
Both humans shook their heads. To his credit, the gnome took the news well, displaying none of the anger or fear he must certainly have felt. The other news was quickly shared, and word of the gnolls' pursuit gave new life to the weary band of Vani. They laid into their skis in a desperate race for the warren.
At every brief break, the gnomes strained their ears as they listened for sounds of pursuit. Their efforts were not unrewarded. From the wooded ridge along the river came the barking exchanges of gnoll trackers as they picked up the trail. The intention of the marauders was clear to all in the group. That knowledge gave further strength to the little homesteaders, a strength Martine could not match.
The Harper toiled to keep up, ignoring the fire in her sides as she slogged along in the flat pressed tracks of their skis. Her fingers and toes were numb from cold, a cold that was steadily sapping her drive. Only Vil's strong arm, which sometimes pulled her up the steep grades, at other times guided her across half-frozen streams, enabled her to keep up with the pack.
By dusk, the race was in its final lap as the survivors neared the east gate. The snarling howls that rang through the eerily still woods told them the gnolls, fired by the lust of the hunt, were close at hand. Shrill barks were punctuated by the thick chop of metal against wood and the clang of beaten shields. Through the woods, the Harper caught glimpses of dark moving figures, awkwardly loping through the drifts. At staggered intervals, the creatures turned their muzzles up to bay at the fading sun.
The panting group finally crashed through the last of the brush, all pretense of caution and silence forgotten, and plunged toward the hillside that held the gate. Human and gnome floundered across the familiar ground, each drawing reserves from deep inside. At the front of the exhausted and dispirited party, Jouka hailed those inside with a gasping cry, his voice rattling with breathlessness.
The Vani ahead of Martine shrieked in pain and abruptly sank to the snow. A feathered shaft jutted from his shoulder. Martine heard the hiss of another arrow passing close by her ear. A quick glance back revealed a tall, ragged bowman, its wolfish ears perked up with excitement, clumsily nocking another arrow with its mittened hands.
"Archers!" the woman squawked in hoarse warning. It was hardly necessary; another arrow dug into the snow close beside the bobbing line of retreating gnomes.
Ahead, the door cracked open cautiously as the gnomes inside peered out fearfully, alarmed by the cries and howls descending on them. Jouka's barked commands urged
them to greater speed, his voice harsh
and coarse.
Martine thrust a hand under the arm of the fallen gnome. "Help me, Vil!" The big man grabbed the other arm, and the pair heaved the gnome upright. The bearded warrior choked off a scream as the protruding arrow twisted in his shoulder. The two humans dragged the gnome across the last few yards. Vil's shield arm, held high as a screen to protect them from the gnoll archer, jumped when a deadly shaft pierced its wooden face and jutted out the back side.
The door gaped just wide enough for the trio to tumble through, slipping as they hit the polished wooden floor. Craning her head around, Martine saw a line of perhaps twenty gnolls already spread along the edge of the woods. The sudden thunk of arrows against the wooden gates testified to the presence of more than one archer.
Martine tugged her ice-encrusted mittens free with her teeth while a throng of Vani threw their shoulders against the doors. The sight of the gate shuddering shut and their chances slipping away caused the gnolls to charge with savage abandon. The doors met just as the first of the huge beasts thudded against the heavy wood. A frustrated chorus of animal howls rose from beyond the gate, and then the pressure grew, while inside the Vani grunted and heaved against the surge.
Slowly the Vani gave ground to the greater strength of the gnolls outside.
"Look out!" Vil shouted as metal scraped against wood and a sword thrust through — the gap. The former paladin sprang to the portal and hurled his mass against the parting gates. "Martine-the bar! Help them!" he shouted, rolling his head in the direction of a trio of old Vani who were struggling to raise a heavy wooden crossbeam over their heads and slam it home to lock the gate. The Harper sized up the situation quickly and bent to the task. With a heave, she got a shoulder under the bar. Small Vani hands groped behind her, scraping the beam over her injured shoulder till it felt like gravelly fire. With a laud bang, the bolt dropped into the metal brackets.
The door shook and shuddered at the gnolls' assaults but held firm. Everyone inside seemed to wilt with relief. Beside Martine, Vil sagged back against the gate in his wet clothes, his beard streaming with melting ice and perspiration. Her own her black hair was soaked with sweat. Her hands shook when she tried to steady them, and her breath came in uneven pants. At her back, the gates continued to shake as the gnolls futilely tried to batter them down.
