by David Cook
embroiled in battle. Though she held only a knife, Martine unhesitatingly threw herself at the nearest creature, a big brute who had cornered Jazrac. The wizard didn't stand a chance in close combat and had only managed to survive by dodging behind a tree trunk. Preoccupied with Jazrac, the dog-man was blindsided by Martine's rush. With a pushing stroke, she drew her blade across the beast's belly, slicing through layers of fur to the flesh beneath it The startled gnoll tipped back its wolfish head and howled in astonished pain, leaving itself wide open to attack. Before Martine could strike again, Jazrac lashed out with his dagger. His grip was awkward, and the wizard left himself wide open to a counterstrike, but it didn't matter. 'Me blade dug into the gnoll's chest, and the creature sank to its knees, gasping for life. Martine seized its helm and twisted its head back to deliver a quick coup de grace.
Swallowing, Martine stood a moment until her heart stopped pounding. Breaths of raw air burned her throat, but until the panic of the moment passed, gasping gulps of air were all she could manage. -
Almost as quickly as it began, the battle was over. 8y the time the two humans were able to join the gnomes, the Vani's skirmishes were ended. A quick assessment revealed three wounded, two minor and one serious one. He was a youth named Yannis, who had been hit in the gut by two arrows. That was bad enough, but worse still by Martine's estimation was the fact that at least one gnoll had gotten away. Already the baying of the hunters was closing through the wood.
"We're not going to make it," a little bearded warrior grunted. "Not with Yannis wounded. You and the others make for the mustikka." He pointed toward a thicket of blueberry bushes off to the left.
"And you?"
"I will delay them." "No, not you. Me." Jazrac stepped forward.
"You, human?" Ojakangas said. He spat into the snow. "You ran from battle."
"I'm not running this time, and I have a better chance than you. My spells can take out more gnolls than your sword can."
"Ojakangas," Martine said impulsively, "take Yannis and the others to the cabin. "I'll stay here. The wizard goes with you."
"No, Martine-"
"I'm going to get you back alive, Jazrac," Martine promised as she wiped her blade clean. "We still need you to get help. Ojakangas, Jazrac… get going."
Jazrac didn't move: "No. You go. I'm staying here." Martine was about to protest, then hesitated. It was Jazrac's choice and the noblest thing he had done so far. For all his faults, the man was still her superior, and she couldn't deny him this chance to regain his own selfesteem.
The Vani had already completed a makeshift drag for the wounded Yannis.
"Get going," she ordered.
"Good luck, wizard," Ojakangas called back as he started off.
"Remember, I need you alive, Jazrac," the junior Harper said simply. "Mat was the plan."
"Plans change. A Harper has to be flexible. Now go." The gnomes had barely entered the edge of the thicket when the baying started up, close at hand. At the rear of the group, Martine lingered at the edge of the clearing, knowing she should stay with Jazrac. She saw the wizard turn, and for an instant, the ranger thought he was going to change his mind, but instead Jazrac turned toward the sounds of baying in the woods beyond and raised his arms. Twisted words flew from his lips, and a small flaming
sphere formed between his fingers, then rocketed between the trees. Jazrac didn't wait to see it hit but ducked low. Deep in the woods, the sphere burst into a fiery globe. The woods rattled with the crackling hiss of fire, and the air was permeated with the scent of burnt pine needles:
The searing flames roiled outward, catching several gnolls in its fiery wash. Fur and cloth, heated to the flash point, erupted in fire, and the screaming creatures flailed helplessly about like macabre torches. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the fire faded, leaving only a round melted scorch in the earth.
Even as the wizard was preparing to cast another spell, Martine caught a glimpse of silvery white movement through the trees off to the left Madly she abandoned the gnomes and charged across the snow, trying to angle between Jazrac and the icy white form she knew was Vreesar.
"Jazrac! Look out!"
Martine barely had time to see the elemental raise its hands before a blue-white sparkle flashed from its fingers straight for her. The Harper dodged to the right without thinking, and the air cracked loudly as a beam of bitter frost crackled across the gap between them. Intense cold coursed like galvanizing fire along her limbs and lanced at her joints till her body curled and spasmed. A violent shock wave and a deafening thunderclap followed immediately, the air shattered by the precipitous drop in temperature. The Harper crashed into the snow, her body paralyzed, her ears screaming from the reverberations of the blast.
Wheeling away from the icy streak the bolt had carved across the snowfield, the elemental turned on Jazrac. The wizard snarled something unintelligible to Martine's ringing ears, and another series of fiery sparks flew from his hand straight toward the fiend. The buzz of the creature's laughter filled the forest as the dazzling sparks faded before they reached their target.
"Your magic iz uselez against me, human," the elemental buzzed evilly.
It was as if the words were a signal, for out of the woods advanced a line of gnolls. Their clothes were ragged furs. Some wore conical caps with dangling earflaps; a fortunate few had helms: Jaws agape and panting steamy air, they closed in for the kill.
Martine heaved to her feet and drew her sword. She still felt weak and unsettled from the icy bolt she'd barely avoided. She knew she couldn't afford to be struck by another one of those, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that Jazrac needed her help. She stumbled toward him unsteadily.
Two gnolls closed on her, hoping to trap the Harper between them. Her attackers quickly discovered they had miscalculated. Even with her nerves still twitching, Martine easily evaded their unschooled blows, although she couldn't prevent them from flanking her on two sides. Even then she managed to hold them off, alternating lightning-quick thrusts from one side to the other. A swift lunge sliced the arm of one, sending him reeling back. That break in tempo gave her a chance to cast a look back toward Jazrac. The stalking line of gnolls had begun to charge, leaping through snowy drifts with yipping cries. Vreesar held back, apparently preferring to let the gnolls do its fighting. The dogmen knew their prey and sought to close the distance so their swords would have the advantage over the mage's spells.
"Jazrac, look out!" Martine screeched.
The wizard looked up and then jabbed a finger of warning off toward her left. Concerned about Jazrac, she'd ignored her own predicament. The unwounded gnoll was crashing through the knee-deep snow, axe swung back to the side like a bare-knuckle fighter about to throw a two
fisted roundhouse. The Harper dropped to one knee as the axehead whistled over her head, ruffling her hair. With a quick flip, she turned her sword and rammed it backhand into the gnoll's gut. The blade drove in with virtually no resistance till it hit bone.
The gnoll shrieked and continued its charge, blind momentum carrying it forward. Martine leaned backward to avoid the blundering beast, fiercely clinging to the sword hilt as the creature tumbled forward. She wrenched the blade sideways and twisted until the dog-man had spun almost completely around. Rolling back into the snow, she then planted one foot up against the gnoll's midsection, just below her blade, and kicked outward. The gutted gnoll tumbled backward, axe flailing, and her blade slid free, hot blood steaming in the frigid winter air. Her attacker writhed in the snow, yowling mindlessly.
Martine's other attacker, clutching its bloodied arm, broke and fled as she rose to her feet, chosing not to face her again.
Somehow Jazrac seemed to be holding his own, but the gnolls were pressing him hard on three sides. Suddenly the wizard put his hands to his mouth and uttered a tremendous roar, inconceivably loud. All along a spreading line, ice in the trees shattered and fell through the branches. Two of the dog-men, injured by the magical blast, c
lutched at their bloodied ears and flopped helplessly to the ground, while another staggered back, dazed.
Neither Martine nor the wizard waited to assess the results. As she plowed forward to dispatch the gnoll Jazrac had staggered, the wizard abruptly took flight just in time to avoid Vreesar's slashing claws.
To Martine's relief, the wizard shot upward. With Jazrac out of danger, she could concentrate on her own battles. She was alone now, facing Vreesar and half a dozen of the enemy. One was dying, one had fled, and two were crippled, at least for the time being. That left the one staggering from the effects of the magical sound blast and another somewhere off to her left. The fiend was the greatest threat, but he seemed more obsessed with Jazrac than her.
Hovering in midair, the wizard's hands flew as he worked another spell. This time flaming darts appeared in his hands, and he hurled these at the elemental. Unlike his earlier effort, these did not fade but struck the fiend solidly. The icy creature shrilled in pain as the fire burned into it, and the unfinished magic it had been forming crackled uselessly in the air.
Martine was like the cold reaper collecting its due. A quick slash at the hamstrings of the staggering foe removed him from the fight. Moving past one of those the wizard had bloodied, Martine delivered a swift kick to its jaw, rocking its head with a satisfying snap, even as she faced off against the remaining uninjured foe. "Jazrac!" she bellowed, her hearing finally starting to return to normal. "How are you doing?"
"Holding my own!" The wizard twirled in midair, his arm raised to cast a spell even as Vreesar finished forming another of its potent ice spheres.
"Jazrac, look out!"
The icy sphere shot toward its target with a whoosh and struck the hovering wizard full in the chest. Without an anchor to hold him, Jazrac hurtled backward, encased in a blue, crackling aura, trailing frostlike sparks until he slammed into a thick pine with a sickening thud. Even as he ricocheted limply from the trunk, another sphere rocketed forth, grazing the wizard and throwing him into a tumble before tearing away half of the thick tree trunk. Wood and ice splinters showered into the snow, stinging Martine as they hit.
The wizard crashed to earth with an inert flop, gouging the icy ground in a smear of black ash and red blood.
Heedless of the gnolls, heedless of falling shards, heedless of Vreesar, even heedless of the teetering pine tree wavering dangerously on its half-shattered trunk, Martine crashed through the drifts to the fallen wizard's side. The Harper lay in a broken tangle, his back twisted in a way that was totally unnatural. His clothes were white and frostcoated, his finery brittle. The air smelled of blood and death. Martine didn't bother checking further. She knew there was no point.
"Son of a bitch!" she screamed in the direction of the elemental. Her view of the fiend was blocked by the trees, but that had probably saved her up to this point. Martine quickly scanned the distance to where she thought she saw Vreesar, trying to guess the best route to close on the monster.
Crack! Crack! Crack! All thoughts of attack were cut short by a rapid series of splintering sounds overhead as the cold-blasted pine sheared loose. The shattered .trunk swung outward, ripping away other branches.as-it fell. Another tree cracked and groaned as its shallow roots gave way, unable to support the weight of the fallen giant. The forest rang with the echoes of splintering wood. A mass of dark green and snowy white descended into the gap between the two adversaries, driving Martine back from Jazrac's corpse. The two trees crashed to earth in flumes of pine needles and snow. The grit of broken bark stung her eyes.
"Woman!" Vreesar's voice buzzed over the fading roar. "'I'hank you for the stone! I leave you now to get my brotherz!" From far off, she heard Vreesar's buzzing laughter as the elemental faded into the night. 'Tell the little onez I will be back!"
Seventeen
Everything's gone wrong, Martine thought miserably. Jazrac's dead, Vreesar has the key, and I can't do anything about it. I should never have come. I'm not cut out to be a Harper, and now I've killed them all. The gnomes, Jazrac, Vil, mewe're all either dead or as good as dead.
Martine sat in the snow next to her mentor's corpse in silent despair. The pain in her side, the arctic chill, the days without sleep-all added to her feeling of utter hopelessness. All she had to do was sit here among the drifts and slowly let herself sink into death. It would be so easy.
It was the yipping calls of the gnolls that roused her. She and Jazrac had beaten back one wave of them, but already another was forming. Soon they would sweep through, following the trail of the refugees.
This isn't right, a voice within her said. This isn't the way Jazrac died. He died fighting for his beliefs. Get up, woman. Die fighting, like Jazrac. Die like a Harper's supposed to die, the voice urged.
Blindly, automatically, the Harper lurched to her feet. Her hands felt as if they belonged to some other creature, and her side tingled with the cold. Feeling it was her duty, she futilely tried to drag the wizard's body with her, but his chest was wedged beneath a fallen branch. The body wouldn't budge. In her daze, the ranger managed to remember the ring, the one Jazrac had planned to teleport with, but even that was buried beyond her reach. Cold hands scrabbled at the snow, trying to reach the wizard's lifeless hand, but it was to no avail: The gnoll calls were coming closer; Martine couldn't wait any longer.
Sword in hand, the Harper crashed through the thicket, alternately ignoring the thorns that scratched her face, then cursing them when they caught her clothing and slowed her down. Smaller than even Martine, the gnomes had chosen paths that were nearly impossible for her to follow. More than once she dropped to her hands and knees to crawl through a gap in the thick thorns. Her only consolation was that the route would be even more difficult for the gnolls who followed.
When she was finally out of the brambled ravine, it still took the Harper almost an hour to reach Vil's cabin. Snow borne on a stiff night wind helped to cover her tracks, but the same wind froze her blood-dampened clothes stiff.
"Martine! Jazrac!" a voice cried ahead of her and slightly off to the left
"Over here!" the ranger tried to shout back, but the words choked in her cold-parched throat. Even speaking hurt through her chapped wind-cracked lips.
They must have heard her, however, for within moments, tall Vilheim, accompanied by a pair of diminutive gnomes, stormed into sight, weapons held ready for battle. Spotting the Harper wading through the snow, the man rushed to her side while the gnomes fanned out in both directions. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice a mixture of relief and concern. "Where's the wizard?"
"Jazrac's dead," she mumbled. "What are you doing here?"
"Scouting."
A wolflike cry echoed through the woods.
One of the two gnomes skied to a stop alongside the humans. "They're coming, Master Vilheim." Fear filled his voice.
"Lean on me, Martine." The warrior pulled the woman's arm over his shoulder, holding it in place with one hand while he wrapped his other arm around her waist. He was still on his skis, and she was surprised he could remain balanced, the way her weight tipped him off center. Nonetheless, Vil managed to half drag her along with him.
When the cabin came into view, a dim glimmer of light in the darkness of the woods, Martine was relieved to see the gnolls had not yet discovered the place. Heads bobbed back in forth in the flicker of torchlight. The woman thought the clearing around the building seemed slightly larger than before, but she couldn't decipher why. As they neared, Martine saw a good deal of activity outside and then realized what had changed. A crude barricade filled the center of the clearing, surrounding the cabin. It was constructed of thin-trunked trees chopped from the clearing's edge and heaved into place. In spots at the edge of the clearing, the concealing underbrush was cut or trampled for several yards into the woods. The gnomes had been industrious in the short time since their arrival.
Panting, the group reached the solid logs of the barricade and began scrambling over it. The howls of pursuit were clear now, and t
he Harper could catch glimpses of movement through the trees. Outlined by the glow from the cabin windows and the torches, she knew they were easy targets. The hiss and thunk of an arrow into one of the logs confirmed her fears. Two, then three more whistled
out of the night. One of the Vani screamed as an arrow struck him squarely in the shoulder. The little man toppled into the compound.
"Get him!" the Harper croaked to the gnomes guarding the perimeter, pointing to the injured gnome, who sat dazed in the snow at the base of the barricade. "Vil, are there any archers?"
"Not enough." Noticing that the Harper did not carry her bow, the man thrust his wooden longbow into her hands. "Take mine. You're probably a better shot."
The wood was cool and smooth under her fingers. Instinctively Martine field-checked it, sliding the bowstring between her fingers, checking the mounts at top and bottom. The bow was supple, the string a little overstretched, but it would do. Vil stepped behind her and gripped her shoulders in his gnarled hands, guiding her sight toward the trees. "See those shadows over by the bent pine?" he whispered, as if the gnolls would hear. His scratchy cheek pressed against her neck as he sighted down her temple.
Focusing her attention on the area Vil had indicated, Martine finally saw a shadowy shape, tall and feral, then two, then three move out from under the sheltering trees and into the moonlight, stalking. Martine judged the distance and the light.
"I see them."
`Then send them this present. If we kill a few, that should encourage the others to stay out of range." The warrior pressed a slim shaft into her hand. With experienced precision, the ranger nocked the arrow and drew back without looking. As she brought the bowstring to her cheek, she noticed that the leaf-headed tip glowed a silvery blue, radiating its own light. She paused; the tip wavered.
"Yes, it's magical," Vil assured her, reading her thoughts: "I've been saving these, but I think now's the time to put them to use." Martine focused on the target. Behind her, Vil slid away to direct the shooting of the others, like a master of archers guiding his unit through a drill.
