Magician (27 page)

Kulgan saw them stirring and came over.
“How do you feel?” he asked, a look of concern on his
face. The boys indicated they felt all right, considering the
circumstances Pug and Tomas doffed their boots at Kulgan’s
orders, and he was pleased to report they had suffered no frostbite,
though one of the soldiers, he said, hadn’t been as lucky.

“How long were we asleep?”
asked Pug.

“Throughout last night and all
this day,” said the magician with a sigh.

Then Pug noticed signs that a lot of
work had been done. Besides the brush being cut, he and Tomas had
been covered by some of the blankets. A pair of snared rabbits hung
near the cave mouth with a row of freshly filled waterskins stacked
near the fire. “You could have woken us,” Pug said, a
note of worry in his voice.

Kulgan shook his head. “The Duke
wouldn’t have moved until the storm had passed, and that was
only a few hours ago. In any event, you and Tomas weren’t the
only tired ones here. I doubt even the hearty sergeant there could
have gone more than another few miles with only one night’s
rest. The Duke will see how things stand tomorrow. I expect we shall
leave then, if the weather holds.”

Kulgan stood and, with a small gesture
indicating the boys should return to sleep if possible, went to stand
beside the Duke. Pug was surprised that, for someone who had slept
the day around, he was again tired, though he thought he would fill
his stomach before seeking more sleep. Tomas nodded at his unspoken
question, and the two scooted over by the fire. One of the soldiers
was busy cooking meat and handed them hot portions.

The boys wolfed down the food and after
they were done sat back against one wall of the large cave. Pug
started to speak to Tomas but was distracted when he caught sight of
the guard by the cave’s mouth. A queer look passed over the
man’s face as he stood talking to Sergeant Gardan, then his
knees buckled. Gardan reached out to catch him, lowering him to the
floor. The big sergeant’s eyes widened as he saw the arrow
protruding from the man’s side.

Time seemed suspended for an instant,
then Gardan shouted, “Attack!”

A howling cry sounded from outside the
cave’s mouth, and a figure came bounding into the light,
jumping over the low brush, then again bounding over the fire,
knocking down the soldier cooking meat. It landed a short way from
the boys and spun to face those it had leapt past. It was wrapped in
a coat and trousers of animal furs. On one arm it bore a
battle-scarred buckler-size shield, and in the other a curved sword
was held high.

Pug staved motionless as the creature
regarded the company in the cave, a snarl on inhuman lips, eyes
glowing with reflected firelight and fangs bared Tomas’s
training asserted itself, and the sword he had clung to over the long
march was out of its scabbard in an instant. With a show the creature
swung downward at Pug, who rolled sideways, avoiding the blow. The
blade rang out as it struck the ground, and Tomas made an off-balance
lunge, awkwardly taking the creature low in the chest. It fell to its
knees and gurgled as blood filled its lungs, then fell forward.

Other attackers were leaping into the
cave and were quickly engaged by the men from Crydee. Curses and
oaths sounded, and swords rang out in the close confines of the cave.
Guards and attackers stood face-to-face, unable to move more than a
few feet. Several of the Duke’s men dropped swords and pulled
daggers from their belts, better for close fighting.

Pug grabbed his sword and looked for an
attacker, but found none. In the dancing light of the fire, he could
see the attackers were outnumbered by the remaining guards, and as
two or three men of Crydee grappled with each attacker, it was
quickly down and killed.

Suddenly the cave was quiet, save for
the heavy breathing of the soldiers. Pug looked and saw only one man
down, the one who had taken the arrow. A few others sported light
wounds. Kulgan hurried among the men, checking the wounds, then said
to the Duke, “My lord, we have no other serious injuries.”

Pug looked at the dead creatures. Six
of them lay sprawled upon the cave floor. They were smaller than men,
but not by much. Above thick browndges, their sloping foreheads were
topped by thick black hair. Their blue-green tinged skins were
smooth, save for one who had something like a youth’s beard
upon his cheeks. Their eyes, open in death, were huge and round, with
black irises on yellow. All died with snarls upon their hideous
faces, showing long teeth that came close to being fangs.

Pug crossed to Gardan, peering into the
gloom of the night for signs of more of the creatures. “What
are they, Sergeant?”

“Goblins, Pug Though I can’t
fathom what they are doing this far from their normal range.”

The Duke came to stand next to him and
said, “Only a half dozen, Gardan I have never heard of goblins
attacking armed men except when the advantage was theirs. This was
suicide.”

“My lord, look here,” came
Kulgan’s call, as he knelt over the body of a goblin. He had
pulled away the dirty fur jacket worn by the creature and pointed to
a poorly bandaged long, jagged wound on its chest. “This was
not made by us. It is three, four days old and healing badly.”

Guards inspected the other bodies and
reported three others also bore recent wounds, not caused by this
fight One had a broken arm and had fought without a shield.

Gardan said, “Sire, they wear no
armor Only the weapons in their hands.” He pointed to a dead
goblin with a bow slung over its back, and an empty quiver at its
belt. “They had but the one arrow they used to wound Daniel.”

Arutha glanced at the carnage. “This
was madness. Hopeless madness.”

Kulgan said, “Yes, Highness;
madness. They were battle weary, freezing, and starved. The smell of
cooking meat must have driven them mad. From their appearance I’d
say they’ve not eaten in some time. They preferred to gamble
all on one last, frantic assault than to watch us eat while they
froze to death.”

Borric looked at the goblins again,
then ordered his men to take the bodies outside the cave. To no one
in particular, he said, “But who have they been fighting?”

Pug said, “The Brotherhood?”

Borric shook his head. “They are
the Brotherhood’s creatures, or when not allied against us,
they leave one another alone. No, it was someone else.”

Tomas looked around as he joined those
by the entrance. He wasn’t as comfortable speaking to the Duke
as Pug, but finally he said, “My lord, the dwarves?”

Borric nodded “If there’s
been a dwarven raid on a nearby goblin village, it would explain why
they were unarmored and unprovisioned. They would have grabbed the
nearest weapons and fought their way free, fleeing at first chance.
Yes, perhaps it was the dwarves.”

The guards who had carried the bodies
off into the snow ran back into the cave. “Your Grace,”
one of them said, “we hear movement in the trees.”

Borric turned to the others. “Get
ready!”

Every man in the cave quickly readied
his weapons. Soon all could hear the tread of feet crunching through
the icy snow. It grew louder as they waited, getting closer. Pug
stood tensely, holding his sword, pushing down a churning feeling
inside.

Suddenly the sounds of footfalls
stopped, as those outside halted. Then the sound of a single pair of
boots could be heard coming closer. Appearing out of the dark came a
figure directly toward the cave Pug craned his neck to see past the
soldiers, and the Duke said, “Who passes this night?”

A short figure, no more than five feet
tall, pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing a metal helm
sitting over a shock of thick brown hair. Two sparkling green eyes
reflected the firelight. Heavy brows of brown-red hair came together
at a point above a large hooked nose. The figure stood regarding the
party, then signaled behind. More figures appeared from out of the
night, and Pug pressed forward to get a better view, Tomas at his
side. At the rear they could see several of the arrivals leading
mules.

The Duke and soldiers visibly relaxed,
and Tomas said, “They’re dwarves!”

Several of the guards laughed, as did
the closest dwarf. The dwarf fixed Tomas with a wry gaze, saying,
“What were you expecting, boy? Some pretty dryad come to fetch
you away?”

The lead dwarf walked into the
firelight. He stopped before the Duke and said, “From your
tabard, I see you to be men of Crydee.” He struck himself upon
the chest and said, formally, “I hight Dolgan, chief of village
Caldara, and Warleader of the Grey Towers dwarven people.”
Pulling a pipe out of his cloak, from under a long beard that fell
below his belt, he filled his pipe as he looked at the others in the
cave. Then in less formal language he said, “Now, what in the
name of the gods brings such a sorry-looking party of tall folk to
this cold and forlorn place?”

T
he
dwarves stood guard.

Pug and the others from Crydee sat
around the campfire as they hungrily ate the meal prepared by
Dolgan’s men. A pot of stew bubbled near the fire. Hot loaves
of trail bread, thick hard crust broken to reveal dark sweet dough
thick with honey, were quickly being devoured Smoked fish, from the
dwarves’ pack animals, provided a welcome change from the diet
of horse meat of the last few days.

Pug looked from where he sat beside
Tomas, who was hard at work consuming his third portion of bread and
stew. Pug watched as the dwarves worked efficiently about the camp.
Most were outside the cave’s mouth, for they seemed less
inconvenienced by the cold than the humans. Two tended the injured
man, who would live, while two others served the hot meal to the
Duke’s men, and another filled ale cups from a large skin
filled with the bubbling brown liquid.

There were forty dwarves with Dolgan.
The dwarven chief was flanked by his sons, Weylin, the older, and
Udell. Both showed a striking resemblance to their father, though
Udell tended to darkness, having black hair rather than red-brown.
Both seemed quiet compared to their father, who gestured expansively
with a pipe in one hand and a cup of ale in the other as he spoke
with the Duke.

The dwarves had been on some sort of
patrol along the edge of the forest, though Pug gained the impression
a patrol this far from their villages was unusual. They had come
across the tracks of the goblins who had attacked a few minutes
before and were following closely behind, otherwise they would have
missed the Duke’s party as the night’s storm obliterated
all tracks of the men from Crydee’s passage.

“I remember you, Lord Borric,”
said Dolgan, sipping at his ale cup, “though you were scarcely
more than a baby when I was last at Crydee. I dined with your father.
He set a fine table.”

“And should you come again to
Crydee, Dolgan, I hope you’ll find my table equally
satisfactory.” They had spoken of the Duke’s mission, and
Dolgan had remained mostly silent during the preparation of the meal,
lost in thought. Suddenly he regarded his pipe, which had gone out.
He sighed forlornly, putting it away, until he noticed Kulgan had
pulled out his own and was producing respectable clouds of smoke.
Brightening visibly, he said, “Would you be having the
requirement of an extra pipe upon you, master magician?” He
spoke with the deep, rolling burr the dwarves made when speaking the
King’s Tongue.

Kulgan fetched out his tabac pouch and
handed it across to the dwarf “Providentially,” said
Kulgan, “my pipe and pouch are two items always kept upon my
person at all times. I can withstand the loss of my other
goods—though the loss of my two books troubles me deeply—but
to endure any circumstance without the comfort of my pipe is
unthinkable.”

“Aye,” agreed the dwarf as
he lit up his own, “you have the right of it there. Except for
autumn’s ale-—and my loving wife’s company or a
good fight, of course—there’s little to match the pipe
for pure pleasure.” He drew forth a long pull and blew out a
large cloud of smoke to emphasize his point. A thoughtful look
crossed his rugged face, and he said, “Now to the matter of the
news you carry. They are strange tidings, but explain away some
mysteries we have been tussling with for some time now.”

Borric said, “What mysteries?”

Dolgan pointed out of the cave mouth.
“As we told you, we’ve had to patrol the area hereabouts.
This is a new thing, for in years past the lands along the borders of
our mines and farms have been free from trouble.” He smiled.
“Occasionally a band of especially bold bandits or moredhel—the
Dark Brothers you call them—or a more than usually stupid tribe
of goblins troubles us for a time. But for the most part things
remain pretty peaceful.

“But of late, everything’s
gone agley. About a month ago, or a bit more, we began to see signs
of large movements of moredhel and goblins from their villages to the
north of ours. We sent some lads to investigate. They found entire
villages abandoned, both goblin and moredhel. Some were sacked, but
others stood empty without sign of trouble.

“Needless to say, the
displacement of those miscreants caused an increase in problems for
us. Our villages are in the higher meadows and plateaus, so they dare
not attack, but they do raid our herds in the lower valleys as they
pass—which is why we now mount patrols down the mountainside.
With the winter upon us, our herds are in our lowest meadows, and we
must keep vigilant.

“Most likely your messengers
didn’t reach our villages because of the large number of
moredhel and goblins fleeing the mountains down into the forests. Now
at least we’ve some gleaning of what’s causing this
migration.”

The Duke nodded. “The Tsurani.”

Dolgan was thoughtful for a moment,
while Arutha said, “Then they’re up there in strength.”