Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [40]
'Take his usual pratfall," Torm put in, his blade finding the throat of the Zhent whose frantic swing had made Rathan stumble back hastily. The fat priest tripped over a tree root and sat down heavily. "Oww!" he complained as the ground shook.
For their next few breaths, the knights were too busy slaying the last few Zhentilar to notice that the tree whose root had felled Rathan shook now in soundless laughter. Two golden eyes high on its trunk watched the last blood spilled, and then closed, just as Torm leaned against the bark below them, breathing hard, and said, "Well, still no sign of what we seek-how many Zhents is that, now?"
"Thirty-three," Rathan's voice came back gloomily to him from the other side of the tree. "Why do they always come along just when I need to relieve myself? Tymora, if ye're listening-tell me that!"
The day passed in continuous plodding travel-one weary stride after another, slipping and ducking and scrambling through, around, and over trees-fallen trees, leaning trees, and gnarled, tangled, growing-inall directions trees, damp leaf-mold slippery under their feet. Here and there pale brown mushrooms the size of halflings' heads rose up in clumps, and rotting stumps held lush green cushions of moss.
Shandril hadn't thought she could ever tire of trees-but then, she'd never thought she'd see so many trees in her life, let alone in one day. These weren't the beautiful giants of the Elven Court; Hullack Forest was dark and dense and damp, its trees grown thick together.
The three travelers felt like unwelcome intruders; none of them had wanted to stop at highsun to eat.
They'd hastened on, instead, searching for higher ground and a clearing where they could camp.
The sun had sunk low by the time the ground began rising again. Here and there, rocks showed through the moss and the fungi-cloaked wreckage of fallen trees. Ravines and gullies appeared more often, and the black pools of standing water were smaller and fewer. As the sun slipped to a last, low red ribbon under the trees, the weary travelers' hearts rose. They were climbing sharply at last.
"DeIg," Narm said excitedly from behind the dwarf as they slipped and clambered upward, Shandril between them, "some of these rocks have been cut and dressed. Look: straight edges on this one-this must be some sort of ruin."
"You don't say," the dwarf said softly. "It wouldn't surprise you overmuch, I suppose, if I told you I'd noticed a thing or two about these rocks myself…"
The dwarf's voice died away in wonder as they came out into a height of crumbling stone arches, walls, and broken stairs. Shattered pillars reached like jagged fingers up at the twilight sky. Selune shone faintly just above the horizon as night came down on them.
"Well, here we are for the night, whatever your likings," Delg said, peering all around with keen interest. "'This is old, old indeed-and not dwarven nor yet elven, either. I'll have a look at this in morning light… I can tell the age of the stonework better then."
"For now," Narm put in firmly, looking at the dark trees behind them, "we'd better find a corner of this we can defend, or we may not live to see the morn."
Delg sighed. "Shandril," he said plaintively, "you had a thousand thousand dalesmen to choose from after-after the company fell. Did you have to choose a whiner and a worrier?"
Shandril sighed right back. "Delg," she said mildly, "I love this man. Give him at least the respect you'd give a dwarf of his age, will you?"
"I am, Lady. I am," Delg replied, and they saw his grinning teeth flash in the growing moonlight. He lurched over to Narm and clapped him low on the back, hard