“Maybe Gapemouth Clan think me one of them and not shoot,” Bersmog explained.
“And maybe the elves will think so, too,” Cald warned. “Their arrows are surer than any others.”
Bersmog acknowledged the flaw in his thinking and pulled off the cloak. Using a leather thong from his belt pouch, he tied it to his belt and pushed it behind him, out of his way. It bumped along behind him as he trotted at the human youth’s side.
A quarter of a mile to the north, they discovered an elf who had heard the alarm and had been on the way to join Eyrmin when he was ambushed by goblins. The elf was on the ground with a wound from a thrown spear, desperately trying to hold off the enemy soldiers.
Cald joined him, but Bersmog faded into the night.
“I knew those goblins would turn traitor,” Wiermar said as he clamped his hand to his bleeding leg and stared into the night.
“And do you believe the same about me?” Cald snapped, his tension built to the point where he could no longer keep quiet. Part of his irritation was caused by the fear that Wiermar might be right. He was watching the wood when a shout from behind the goblins startled the defenders as well as the attackers.
“Hoi—you scum in plenty trouble!” They heard the voice of a goblin, though only Cald recognized it as Bersmog. He appeared briefly between two trees, now wearing the captured fur. “The master, he think you desert, you so far from stream.”
“You scum, yourself,” a gruff voice called back in the goblin tongue. “We told to scout out to side.”
“Scout where you please, but I go back plenty quick. He not think me a deserter,” Bersmog said, and turned as if he were heading for the stream.
“Aagh—could have killed them elveses, too,” the second voice growled as he trotted off after Bersmog. His companions followed him. Cald saw the invaders run past Bersmog in their hurry to join the rest of their forces.
“We should get out of here while we can,” Cald said, helping Wiermar to his feet. They had only gone a few feet when Bersmog appeared out of the shadows.
“Me help elf, you be ready to use bow,” he said, taking the weight of the wounded elf from Cald.
“You owe Bersmog an apology,” Cald told Wiermar, who limped along with the help of the goblin.
Bersmog needed no explanation for the remark. He gave a low chuckle that sounded, to those unfamiliar with goblins, like a rumbling growl.
“You think me go with them and join Gapemouth Clan? Your brains leaking out your leg?” he asked with a grin.
Cald led the way, angling toward Reilmirid rather than toward the stream. Eyrmin was harrying the invaders in a delaying action, hoping to pick off as many of them as possible. Cald knew the prince would not be able to stop the awnshegh from reaching the grove.
Twenty-Three
When they neared Reilmirid, Cald left Bersmog to make sure Wiermar reached the village. He hurried through the wood, listening to the receding sounds of the wounded elf furiously objecting to his loss of dignity. The goblin, tired of the elf’s slow, limping progress, had hefted him bodily and draped him across his shoulders.
Wiermar will carry his resentment for a long time, but he will at least live to complain, Cald thought as he saw a large forest cat stalking through a clump of undergrowth. The animals had heard battle and were gathering, waiting their chance. He froze until the cat was out of sight, then hurried to where he heard the loudest noises.
Prince Eyrmin would be in the thick of the battle.
Cald was not quite right. The battle was taking place between the forward ranks of goblins and the retreating elves. Eyrmin was nowhere to be seen. When Cald met Glisinda, she wore a worried frown.
Cald took time to shoot three arrows in rapid succession, catching one humanoid in the knee and another in the upper arm. His third arrow missed its target. With a silent gesture, he directed Glisinda to move farther upstream. He noticed the gleam from the lorekeeper’s scabbard. Her own sword was tucked, sheathless, in her belt.
“You’re carrying Starfire,” he said, stating the obvious. “The prince?”
“He left it with me,” she said, frowning. “I’ve no knowledge of his intentions.” By her look, he knew she suspected more than she was willing to tell, and so did Cald. Eyrmin had stayed behind, likely near the stream.
They needed to know what sort of creature they faced and whether or not the awnshegh was vulnerable to their weapons. Dread caused the hair on the back of Cald’s neck to rise. If Eyrmin faced the monster alone, he could be facing his death. That would not deter the prince, and Cald knew it.
Cald turned away, as if taking a position in the line. As soon as he slipped from Glisinda’s sight, however, he worked his way west, crouching in a clump of bushes when the first of the goblins passed.
Slipping from tree to bush and staying in the shadows, he used the Embrace of Sielwode to blend in with the trees when no other shelter offered itself. He had worked his way more than half a mile downstream when the call of a startled night bird chirped above him. The faintest up-scaling of the call alerted him to the elven presence.
Cald scaled the tree as silently as an elf, though with less skill. When he reached the first large limb, he found the prince glaring at him.
“Humans are not known for wisdom,” Eyrmin hissed at him.
“Where is the wisdom in a prince who risks his leadership on a foolhardy mission?” Cald asked, incensed at Eyrmin for endangering himself. The prince was the heart of his warriors, and as such, his life was the most precious of all.
He knew Eyrmin had been relying on the darkness to help protect him, but the clouds were breaking up. Below them, the moonlight flooded down on the stream for a few seconds before the clouds hid the light again.
Neither Eyrmin nor Cald was concerned about being overheard. The goblins had passed. The gnolls and humans treading below on broken limbs and twigs muttered to themselves as they pushed through the heavy undergrowth near the banks of the Star Mirror Stream.
Sounds of splashing and occasional roars of frustration approached slowly. The awnshegh was working its way upstream. It barked orders with every splash, and as it drew nearer, the humans and gnolls accompanying it ran back and forth like ants.
Minutes later, the monster came into view, and Cald felt his gorge rise as he looked on the bloated creature. Awnshegh were usually human, though a few were members of the humanoid or demihuman races. This creature was none of these.
As the thing crept upstream, it passed through a patch of moonlight. The bloated humanlike face seemed three times its original size, and the mouth was wider in proportion than was natural. The neck disappeared into the body of a giant slug that was at least twelve feet long. Two human arms extended out of the bloated shape, not far below the head. Behind them, eight hairy exoskeletal legs worked to move the monstrous body upstream.
“Can it be killed?” Eyrmin murmured. “If we can destroy it here, its minions won’t continue. Remember the spells thrown by its first mages. Keep to this spot.” He jumped, grabbed a second, higher limb and ran along it until he reached another tree. Cald stayed where he was. While he waited, he pulled a thin, strong, elven rope from his belt pouch and tied one end to the limb, preparing for a hurried escape. Eyrmin did the same in another tree.
When the prince gave a birdcall, they both shot three arrows in rapid succession. All six hit their target, and for several seconds, the awnshegh screamed and thrashed in the pain. Cald thought he might be able to lodge another arrow in the bloated body, and it was nearly his undoing.
The awnshegh was still thrashing, but he recognized the direction of the last arrow and turned a glare on the tree. The great trunk withered, and Cald caught the rope, swinging down just in time to avoid the spell. He had not, however, been fast enough to reach the ground before the rope above him gave way. He fell the last fifteen feet. Luckily, his fall was broken by a pair of gnolls, whose attention had been on the awnshegh.