"Cowards always make good runners." Even as he spoke, there was a jangling noise and he stiffened. Before he could take another step, his legs buckled and he toppled over, raising a cloud of glistening snow. When the flakes settled, he was buried beneath a layer of white crystals. Sticking out of his neck was a bolt fired from a crossbow.
The others, with the exception of Djerun, threw themselves to the ground so as not to fall victim to the archer.
Once again, Andфkai barked an unintelligible command, whereupon the giant scanned their surroundings and set off at a sprint.
It definitely wasn't an дlf, thought Tungdil. Unlike Djerun, he could see no sign of their hidden assailant. Guardsmen? But guardsmen carry torches…
The maga crawled through the snow to examine the mason's wound. Balyndis wriggled over to join her.
"The tip stopped just short of his spine," said Andфkai, after a cursory inspection. "If it weren't for his cloak and the metal-plated nape of his helmet, it would have penetrated farther." She gripped the shaft of the bolt resolutely and pulled it from his flesh. With her right hand she stemmed the blood from the wound. "I hope he'll forgive me for using my dastardly magic to save his life." She closed her eyes in concentration. "I can't say I've had much experience in healing dwarves. I hope I can do it."
So do I. Something whirred past Tungdil, just missing his head; then a third missile rebounded off Goпmgar's shield. They heard a high-pitched scream, which stopped abruptly as Djerun seized his prey.
He cast their tormentor into the snow beside them. A yellowy-green circle sullied the pristine snow around the diminutive corpse. A head with two long pointed ears plumped beside it.
Goпmgar shrank back in horror. "Sverd!" The dead cross- bowman was Bislipur's former slave. The artisan looked at the mangled gnome and shuddered, then stared at the dent in his shield where the third bolt had struck. "But why would he…" He broke off, not wishing to draw attention to the matter, but Tungdil finished the question for him.
"Why would Sverd be aiming at you?" He stared into the gnome's unseeing eyes, but Djerun's ruthless solution to the problem had ruled out all hope of an answer. "You were traveling with the wrong party, I suppose."
He bent down to pick up the now-redundant choker. Sverd was free at last, but not in the way he had hoped. Pensively, he pocketed the collar, intending to confront Bislipur with the evidence when they next met. As he looked down, he noticed a shiny lump of butter-yellow metal. Gold! There could be no further doubt that the gnome was responsible for the mishaps that had befallen them on their journey.
Boпndil got straight to the point. "Bislipur is the most contemptible dwarf that ever lived." He wiped the snow furiously from his thick cloak and beard. "Setting his lackey on us and trying to have us killed! Dwarves don't assassinate their kinsfolk; it's the most dastardly crime a child of Vraccas could commit!"
"The gnome did all his dirty work," commented Tungdil, his mind still whirring. "Bislipur wasn't going to kill us himself. He would have washed his hands of all responsibility."
"Just wait until I get hold of his wretched king," threatened Boпndil, praying to Vraccas to hasten their encounter. "I'm going to beat him black-and-blue."
Still struggling to digest what had happened, Goпmgar shook his head slowly. "No, Gandogar would never have agreed to it; he's not a murderer, whatever you think. Bislipur must have taken it upon himself to…" The artisan lapsed into a helpless silence, no longer sure what to believe.
"Hang on a minute; you want Gandogar to be high king, don't you?" Boпndil accused him suspiciously.
"Of course I do! I said so from the start. But to murder a dwarf because of it…" He shuddered. "Bislipur must be mad," he murmured, staring at Bavragor's motionless form. "He must be so desperate for Gandogar to be crowned that he doesn't know what he's doing. He's insane."
Balyndis took Bavragor's hand to comfort him. Slowly the open wound in his neck shriveled until only a small scar was left. Exhausted, Andфkai sank down and cooled her face on the snow.
"I've healed the wound," she said faintly. "In a moment he'll…"
"Magic," Bavragor muttered sleepily. "I've been thinking; maybe it's not so useless after all." Groggily, but with a profoundly serious expression, he nodded to the exhausted maga. There was no need for him to thank her in any other way.
A question if I may, glorious captain of our troupe." The sun was just rising when Rodario, shivering with cold but gripping his duffel bag with grim determination, drew alongside Tungdil. The impresario pointed furtively at Djerun. The events of the previous night had reminded him and the others that the giant was unlikely to be an unusually tall man. "What kind of creature is he?" The question was barely audible through the layers of scarf wrapped around his head.
"I have no idea," Tungdil said frankly without slowing his pace.
Rodario displayed his customary persistence. "No idea? But I thought the lot of you had been traveling together for a while…"
"She told us that he isn't a monster." Tungdil suddenly remembered the night in the desert when he had caught a glimpse of what lay behind the terrifying visor. A shiver ran down his spine.
The impresario blew on his frozen fingers. "Not a monster, eh? Then what in the name of Palandiell is he? I've never known a human to light up a darkened street with the power of his eyes. If it's a trick, I'd give anything to know the secret; the audience would love it."
Hoping that Rodario would give up and go away, Tungdil said nothing and trudged energetically through the snow, glancing at the map to get his bearings.
"Very well. I'll have to assume that he's a creature of Tion." Looking pretty pleased with himself, Rodario stuck his hands into the pockets of his fur coat. "It adds a bit of drama to the plot. Ye gods, the play will be brilliant. The whole of Girdlegard will flock to see it." He stopped and cursed. "I wish my blasted ink would stop freezing. At this rate, I'll have forgotten the best bits before I get a chance to write them down."
"You should carry the inkwell next to your skin," Tungdil advised him. "That way the ink will be nice and warm and you can scribble as much as you like."
Rodario gave him a friendly pat on the back. "There's a sharp mind hiding under all that hair, my little friend. I was thinking the same thing, but thank you nonetheless."
Not a single footprint marred the snowy road ahead. The wintry weather and marauding orcs had convinced the people of Tabaоn to stay by their hearths and barricade their doors.
The terrain was so flat that raiding parties could be spotted well in advance. In clear weather the watchtowers commanded views of over a hundred miles, but no amount of warning could save the settlements from the orcs. The northern hordes could be stopped only by good swordsmen, and Tabaоn had precious few of those.
Tungdil checked their position against the map. They were closer than ever to the southernmost reaches of the Perished Land. Who knows how far the pestilence has spread? There's no way of telling with the landscape blanketed in snow.
"Orcs," came Boпndil's warning from the front of the procession. "Twenty miles to the west. They're…Hang on, they're turning east," he reported, surprised. "They're moving fast. You don't think they're looking for us, do you?"
Bavragor pointed to a hamlet situated in the direction that the beasts had been heading originally. The superior vision in his remaining eye enabled him to see what the others could not. "That would have been their next stop, but they've abandoned their quarry." He wiped the sweat from his forehead. A red glow had settled over his face.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Balyndis asked. "You look a bit feverish."
"What if it's gangrene?" said Boпndil. "Maybe the hocus-pocus hasn't worked as well as it should."
The allegation spurred Andфkai into action. She asked the mason to lean forward so she could inspect the wound on his neck. Boпndil was beside her in a flash. They came to the same conclusion.