“There’s Yuri,” Nakkar said softly, pointing to one corner.
Bowspear squinted and could just make out a headless form there, tossed aside like a child’s doll, a broken, lifeless heap. Swallowing, covering his nose against the stench, he moved forward, grabbed Yuri’s arm, and began to drag him to the ledge. He didn’t deserve to be left in here, forgotten amid the countless bones of goblins, Bowspear thought. They’d build a stone cairn for him on the ledge outside.
After a second’s hesitation, the others moved to help. It was the least they could do for their friend.
As he stepped out of the troll’s cave, though, a guttural voice called, “Hold there!” and he felt the sharp tip of a spear thrust up against his spine.
Fifteen
The goblins marched Bowspear and his men around the side of the mountain to another cave. Disarmed, outnumbered, he still watched and waited for his chance to escape. If even the slightest opportunity presented itself, he planned on taking it.
Unfortunately, none came. The thirty-five goblins who’d captured them—short, gnarled, grayskinned creatures in crude armor, with spears and axes constantly held ready—kept a close and careful guard.
As they passed through the cave mouth and into a broad stone passageway curving down and to the right, Bowspear noted hundreds of goblin faces leering out at him from side passages. Many of them gnashed their teeth, making horrible grinding noises. Others hooted in glee.
“Keep goin’!” grunted one of the goblins behind Bowspear, shoving him in the small of the back.
Bowspear stumbled, almost falling, but quickened his pace. No sense getting hurt in a fight with the guards. He and his men would need all their strength if they were going to escape.
At last they reached a broad underground cavern lit by smoky torches. More goblins joined the procession, surrounding them, and still they were herded on. Bowspear watched their faces, but saw little sympathy.
At last, the march halted before a blacksmith. Coal burned a deep orange-red in his forge, and the thick black smoke drifted slowly upward. Bowspear covertly glanced at the ceiling. The smoke seemed to be floating up into a natural chimney. If they could break away and climb inside it, they might well escape.
The blacksmith, a burly goblin covered in soot, began selecting heavy iron chains from a rack.
“You!” one goblin said, pointing to Nakkar.
Nakkar gulped.
Grinning wickedly, the goblin guard prodded him toward the blacksmith. Nakkar leapt away from the jabbing spear point.
Seizing his arms, the blacksmith fastened huge iron manacles to his wrists, then chained them to shackles on his feet. Clinking a bit, Nakkar returned to the line. He could barely move, Bowspear saw with rising panic. If they didn’t do something now, they wouldn’t get a chance.
“I want to see your leader,” Bowspear demanded suddenly, stepping forward. “I’m a man of importance.”
The blacksmith laughed. An old, grizzled goblin with a huge scar across half his face stepped forward, looking Bowspear over carefully. In one quick movement, he ripped Bowspear’s shirt off his back, then circled him, feeling his muscles. Bowspear tensed, angered and outraged, but he knew better than to fight.
“Good eating,” the goblin announced with a grin.
A horrible sick jolt ran through Bowspear. So that was to be their fate … eaten by goblins in the mountains.
He swallowed and once more glanced up at the natural chimney. So close …
Captain Evann pulled his gray woolen cloak more closely about himself and tried not to shiver. The wind felt bitterly cold here, on the water, as they sailed up the Gletscherel. They were rounding a bend, and ahead he heard the roar of a waterfall.
Gradually Gletscherel Felsen came into sight, and the size and beauty of it caught him by surprise. The falls stretched easily two hundred feet across, tumbling off a high rocky cliff in a dazzling show of froth and foam. The sun caught the spray, casting a huge bright rainbow across the sky, and the air smelled fresh and moist. Evann didn’t think he had ever seen anything quite so amazing before. If it weren’t for the Hag, surely a village would have sprung up here long ago.
All his men were chattering excitedly. He found he didn’t blame them. It took effort to tear his gaze away from the falls.
Studying the shore, he decided to land on a small rocky bank just to the left of the falls. They could beach their craft there. If the fishermen returned to claim it, it would be safe enough. If not … they might be able to use it on their way back. He nodded. A good plan.
“Put in there,” he said, pointing.
“Aye, sir,” Harrach called from the rudder.
As soon as he heard their hull scrape bottom, Evann leapt to shore from the prow. As Uwe lowered the sail and Harrach lashed the rudder down, everyone else stripped off boots and pants and, in just undergarments, hopped out knee- or thigh-deep into the icy water. Quickly they dragged the boat up out of the water.
“Gather wood and light a fire,” Evann said. “Dry yourselves off. I’m going to take a quick look around.”
As the men hurried to obey, Evann headed for the cliffs beside the falls. There has to be a way to the top, he thought, tilting his head back and studying them. He’d heard of an old trade pass here.
As he neared the cliff, the roar of the falls grew deafening, and a cold spray fell like a mist on his face and hands. Then he spotted a narrow, winding path carved deep into the rock. It had been carefully disguised to look like part of the mountain, and it led all the way to the top.
Nodding, he returned to find his men clustered around a small fire, busily toweling themselves off with cloths taken from the fishing boat. They were using dry wood, so the fire didn’t let off much smoke, but it wouldn’t do to have it burning more than they needed.
Evann fetched a bucket from the boat, filled it with water, and hauled it back to them. As the last of them finished dressing, he emptied the bucket on the flames. Hissing and sizzling, the fire went out.
“I found the pass,” he said, shouldering his. pack. “Follow me. Keep close together, and watch your step—it’s slick from the spray.”
Turning, he led the way to the path. As he’d expected, it proved readily accessible—a long, stepped climb, full of turnings and switchbacks. The rock underfoot, slick and icy, proved a little treacherous, but the company made the climb with few slips and no falls.
As they reached the top, Evann glanced back and down. Below, nestled in the little river valley, sat their boat. From this height it looked more like some child’s lost toy than a sailing vessel. The Gletscherel itself swept on, curving between the mountains on either side and vanishing from sight.
He drew a deep breath and turned. Onward, he thought. Winding gently to the left, the river passed through a dense forest of towering pines. Along its bank grew waist-high grass, now brown and dead with winter fast approaching.
Few people had come this way in generations, Evann realized. He walked toward the riverbank, shoving his way through the grass, feeling like an explorer venturing into the wilderness. He saw no signs of logging or camps, no tracks or trails that hadn’t been made by small game. The scruffy waist-high brown grass ahead of them showed no sign of ever having been trampled down by anyone passing through.
At last Evann reached the soft muddy bank. The river had cut a deep path here over the centuries, and the low winter water level left ten feet clear. They would have no trouble making their way.
On the other side of the river, directly across from the company, three deer looked up from drinking, then bolted into the cover of the trees, white tails flicking. A few birds called raucously from the pines. Then came silence, broken by only the muted roar of the falls behind them.
Despite how safe it looked, Evann had to remind himself that this was the Hag’s Domain. He started forward, skirting just short of the water in the clearest passage. Though the land around them looked deserted, it likely held any number of traps, as had the village where they had run into the wizard.