The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [67]
She looked around the quiet camp. Numerous well-screened cookfires dotted the woods, sending the aroma of bacon wafting through the trees but raising no telltale plumes of smoke. The dwarves took their time about eating, since they all knew that there was no purpose in haste. Still, it agitated Finellen even further to see such a lackadaisical attitude among dwarves on the trail of war.
A human stepped from a clump of trees beside the dwarven captain's group, and Finellen spun on her heel, sputtering with surprise, as Danrak bowed politely and settled to the ground beside the others. The druid's comings and goings were always abrupt, and he had a distressing way of appearing in the center of the dwarven camp without having been observed by any of the pickets.
"Well, what did you find out?" demanded the dwarfwoman bluntly.
"They march on Codscove, as we feared," replied the druid sadly. "I left the army last night as it gathered into two great camps beside the town. I don't doubt that by now they've attacked."
"Damn!" snapped the dwarf. "And we sit here a day's march away! How many towns have to get sacked before we-" Abruptly she clamped her mouth shut, her bristling chin fixed in determination.
"Everybody up!" she bellowed, her voice ringing through the forested camp. "Douse your fires and swallow your bacon! We march in three minutes!" Finellen turned back to her immediate companions. "Maybe we can't take 'em in a fixed battle, but if they're occupied with Codscove, we might be able to hurt them from behind."
"It beats sitting around waiting for help that might come too late," Hanrald agreed.
"It will come too late," noted Danrak, "if what I saw last night is any indication."
The dwarves responded with alacrity to their leader's command, and within the allotted minutes, the full column took to the trail. The light-footed scouts scattered to form their wide screen, while the two riders followed at the rear. Finellen had made the indisputable point that the pair of horses were a lot noisier than the sure-footed dwarves leading the formation.
A new sense of urgency propelled the dwarves of Cambro as word of Danrak's information spread through the ranks. They hoisted their weapons, grimly buoyed by the prospects of wetting them in the enemy's blood. As a consequence, the two riders had to urge their horses into a trot just to keep up.
* * * * *
"Thurgol-come here!" hissed Garisa, her piercing voice somehow penetrating the boisterous firbolg celebration. The battle outside remained forgotten as the giant-kin all crowded into the storage house. The noises of combat, with the humans of Codsbay fiercely contesting against Baatlrap's trolls, occasionally came to them through the stout wooden walls. The firbolgs, Thurgol included, had little interest in pursuing the fight.
Over the last few minutes, the chieftain had occasionally thought that perhaps he should hasten his creatures back to the attack, but somehow his heart couldn't support the effort. Hearing the shaman's cry now, the firbolg chieftain looked up from the broken keg he had just seized from a young and undisciplined member of his band, as opposed to the old and undisciplined giant-kin who also celebrated raucously in the huge storage depot.
"What is it?" Thurgol barked at the elderly shaman, irritated by everything going on around him. "Can't it wait? I'm busy!"
"Get over here, you great oaf!" she hissed, in a tone that couldn't help but gain his attention.
For a moment, the chieftain considered responding to the ancient hag with angry words or even a thump from his club, but he well remembered Garisa's command of things of the spirit world. He decided he'd best not tempt such unnatural forces and grudgingly climbed to his feet.
"Look!" she crowed, pointing out the crack beside the warehouse door. It was the same crack the humans had used to thrust out with their