Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [144]
These creatures were smaller than any Algorind had seen, and younger. The female wore nothing but her ragged boots and a small leather loincloth, and her small young breasts rode high against her clearly delineated ribs. Likely she was not yet of breeding age, and some of the males looked younger still. But they were orcs. The paladins charged as one.
The ambushers lacked the courage for honest battle. When it was clear that the fight would not be easy, most of them shrieked and tried to flee. Algorind cut down one orc who charged him with a knife, then gutted a second with his returning stroke. He lunged forward and high, cutting deeply between the ribs of the coward trying to scramble up and over the rocks.
The survivors scattered and fled. The boot-shod orc had the wit to try to steal a horse. She hauled herself onto Corwin’s black steed and frantically kicked the horse into a run, but she did not reckon with a paladin-trained mount. As the horse cantered past, Corwin gave a sharp whistle. Instantly the black horse reared, pawing the air. The orc rolled backward and fell heavily onto the rocky ground. Corwin was there in a moment, his sword at her throat. The little orc wench managed to spit at him before she died.
Algorind leaped onto Icewind’s back and called for Corwin to follow. Working together, they managed to slay all but two, and even those did not escape unscathed. The two surviving orcs were wounded and promptly left their companions to slink away and lose themselves among the rocks and shadows.
“That is the way with wild animals,” Corwin observed when at last they gave up their search. “Even a wounded dog will seek out a small, quiet space to lick his wounds.”
Algorind nodded. “Let us find a place to make camp. In the morning, we will surely find the trail. If Tyr is willing, we will find Bronwyn before the sun sets again.”
* * * * *
Bronwyn stepped through the tower wall and collapsed onto the ground. Never had she felt so chilled, so drained of life, so utterly despairing. Dimly she noted that the terrain looked different and that the walls of Summit Hall were not where she expected them to be. Later, she would think about that. She pillowed her cheek on the rocky ground and let the darkness claim her.
When Bronwyn awoke, twilight had nearly passed, and the sky’s silver was tarnished with the coming of darkness. A sudden flutter seized and focused her groggy thoughts. Shopscat landed beside her, batting his wings and cawing furiously.
Bronwyn groaned and turned her head so that she was face down. The raven’s raucous voice made her temples throb. “Think about it,” she pleaded with him.
The familiar thunder of Ebenezer’s iron-shod boots came rumbling toward her. The dwarf picked up her head by her braid and scrutinized her face.
“Thought you forgot how to read, woman. Where in the Nine Hells were you-an ice cave? You’re blue as a Moon elf!”
Bronwyn rolled up into a sitting position, hugging her knees and shivering uncontrollably. “A lich. Gods, I’m cold. I didn’t realize how cold until I got away.”
“Fear’s a good thing,” the dwarf commented. “Keeps you going. And speaking of going, we’d best keep on. Can you stand?”
She let him haul her up and after a few trembling steps, her legs held her well enough. She listened as Ebenezer told her about the paladins’ arrival, and how Cara’s idea enabled them to find her. In turn, she told him what the lich had revealed.
“We’re going to Gladestone,” she told him, “a village perhaps two hours’ ride north of here. It’s a small community of elves and half-”
“Stones!” the dwarf spat. “An elf village. Never thought the day would come when I’d be heading to one on purpose. And what’s this thing that we’re looking for?”
“A toy siege engine. I’ll explain later.” She cast a glance over her shoulder. “We’d better move.