He waited throughout the night, knowing he would need to mesmerize them, impossible if they could not see his gaze.
The gnolls spent most of the night squatting on the damp ground, bracing themselves by sitting back to back. They slept fitfully, but finally their fatigue won out. The sun was well up before they awoke. The largest one, who wore a cooking pot on his head and had a rusty sword tucked inside a wide leather waist strap, was the first to wake. When he stood, the others tumbled to the damp ground.
“Sun shining makes time to leave this place,” he said to the others, glaring at them as they sorted themselves out and reluctantly rose to their feet.
Czrak knew the area well, and had positioned himself so the gnolls’ only escape from the tussock was across the quicksand. He slowly rose from the mud, bringing his huge, bloated body up so it was in full sight of the gnolls.
They stood gaping, the dark animal noses on their humanoid faces twitching with fear. Their long tongues rolled out of their mouths, and they seemed to be trying to draw their hyenalike faces down into their thick necks.
The largest was less frightened than the rest. He turned his head from side to side, seeking escape, but the tussocks had led them out onto a spit of semisolid land surrounded on three sides by quicksand. Czrak had placed himself squarely across the only exit. Realizing there was no escape, the gnoll pulled his rusty sword, preparing to fight. The others took their cue from him. Two carried woodcutter’s axes, the other a stout club.
The awnshegh nodded, deciding the four had courage, even if they weren’t the brightest creatures on Aebrynis. He might have done worse.
“You don’t need your weapons,” Czrak said, fixing the largest with a hypnotic stare. “You are honored above all the peoples of this world, because you are the first called to serve your god.”
The large gnoll was harder to subvert than he had expected, but with an extra surge of power, he succeeded, and the others were easier.
Once they were under his power, he sat watching them as they whined and sidled around on the tussock, seeking his approval. Their eyes gazed on him with adoration, and they raised their heads to howl a hymn to his glory.
Their raucous noise disturbed the wildlife in the swamp, but Czrak enjoyed their worship.
Yes, he was a god, and they would bring him more converts. He gave them their instructions and led them to solid ground so they could return to Ansien.
Soon they would be bringing captured humans to him. He would have an army of slaves. He hoped there were enough for him to have his army and still assuage his appetite. He was tired of feeding off the swamp creatures.
Seven
Cald Dasheft grabbed the axe that the dead orog had dropped. He raced forward, slashing at a black-visaged human who loomed up in his path. He caught the man across the chest, splitting his metal-trimmed leather corselet. Bones crunched under the heavy blade, and blood shot out in a red fountain. The human’s blue eyes lost their evil in that moment of surprise, pain, and nearly instant death.
Despite his battle fury, Cald paused as he watched the man die. He had already struck down an orog and a gnoll, but killing his first human was a sickening experience, particularly since it was the first of his race he had seen in almost fourteen years. At least the man was human in death. In life, when he had stepped from behind a tree, Cald had seen only the twisted expression of evil.
Movement beside him caused Cald to jump to the side, but before he could swing, he recognized Stognad, one of his two goblin companions.
“Be-gelf be plenty mad,” the goblin announced as his small, restless eyes watched the wood. Unable to get their awkward tongues around the musical elven names, the goblins had labeled the elves with names they could say. Their name for Prince Eyrmin came out “Be-gelf.”
“You’ve said that ten times today,” Cald replied. After the fifth time, he’d lost his temper. By the eighth time, the goblin’s complaints had worn out his irritation. He knew Stognad had accurately gauged the reaction Cald could expect from Eyrmin, reason enough not to want to hear about it beforehand.
The prince usually ordered Cald to stay in the village when the elves had warning of trouble on the borders. This time, Cald had been visiting the halfling caves when the alarm came. Eyrmin had not had time to give Cald his usual orders. The youth was taking full advantage of the omission. The goblins had accompanied him, complaining all the way.
“Anyway, the prince needs all the help he can get,” Cald said, glancing around. The fighting must have been heavy at the edge of the woods. The elves had to be badly outnumbered, or there would not have been invaders so deep in the forest. No other intruders were in sight. He led the way toward the sound of clashing steel and the cries of the wounded and dying.
Bersmog appeared through the trees at their right and paced Cald. The human slowed his steps to accommodate the goblins. They were good runners, but in the six years since they had first been granted the right to live in Sielwode, he had grown until he was taller than any elf but Saelvam. At seventeen, the human boy could pace the fastest of Eyrmin’s messengers, though he could not match their endurance.
For years he had been developing his fighting skills. He could best a few elves with his bow, but their ability to draw their arrows, target, and shoot with a speed that blurred their movements was quintessentially elven. His ability with a sword or a spear was equal to any human and most elves, and he had just discovered he was able to use an axe effectively. To him it seemed past time for him to join the warriors who protected Sielwode.
Eyrmin always kept him away from the battles. The prince admitted he did not want Cald to fight against his human kindred. Cald also suspected that in keeping him away from the battle and giving him the goblins as guards and companions, the prince was also keeping Bersmog and Stognad away from the fight. None of the elves believed the two would stay loyal to Sielwode when they faced their own kind.
That afternoon, the three had been on their way to join Eyrmin when they found themselves on the fringes of a battle. They raced through the trees until they were closer to the sounds of the fight and Cald raised his hand, signaling the goblins to stop. Elves could run silently, Cald made slightly more noise, but the goblins sounded like a pair of wild boars on the rampage.
They walked less than thirty yards and were approaching a small, flower-dotted meadow when Bersmog grabbed Cald’s arm and pulled him into the shelter of a tree. The goblin gave a wicked grin and raised one short, grubby finger to his lips. Cald heard the snapping of twigs and harsh voices grunting softly. Seven goblins came out of the forest and started across a small clearing. They all wore rusty-black hardened-leather armor with yellow circles on their shoulders.
Bersmog and Stognad hefted their axes and stepped out into the open.
“None of the elf-scum back this way,” Bersmog called to them.
“Then that’s the way we’re going,” one of the intruders announced, and turned to approach Cald’s companions.
“Plenty smart, you ain’t,” Stognad muttered under his breath.
Both goblins stepped out farther into the small clearing and waited for the six intruders to get closer. The leader, a big fellow with a long scar down his face and an iron helmet, stood directly in front of Bersmog.
“Them tree-stinks got a village close by, think you?” He glared at the two strange goblins as if he could not quite make up his mind about them.
“Plenty trails,” Stognad announced, looking at the ground, but the goblin leader was slowly working his way though the fact that he did not recognize the two who had suddenly appeared out of the wood.