Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [153]
When the village was in readiness, a dozen elves and half-elves who wanted to fight crept along with Ebenezer and Bronwyn through the hills south of the village.
Finally Ebenezer called a halt. “It’s close to twilight,” he said in a soft voice that was just above a whisper. “The raiders will be stirring around now, wanting to get an early start of it. The rest will still be sleeping. You know ore lairs.”
The elves nodded. Bronwyn remembered what she had been told. Most lairs were a series of caves. The warriors slept toward the front, and next would be supplies of food and weapons. Finally, in the deepest and most secure position, would be the young.
Ebenezer pushed aside some boulders and shouldered through the opening of a narrow cave. The elves squeezed in after the dwarf one by one. Bronwyn crawled through the utter darkness on her hands and knees. The tunnel widened as they went-at least that’s what she surmised, for she no longer felt the walls pressing in on either side. Bronwyn heard up ahead a dull thud followed by an orcish grunt. Ebenezer had found and taken out the tunnel guard. As she edged past the body, she was almost glad for her limited vision. She had seen too much death already.
The path slanting up now, winding up to the top of the cavern. They emerged onto a ledge that overlooked the cave devoted to food and weapon storage. Crouching down, they peered over the rock ledge into the den.
As they had anticipated, the warriors were preparing for yet another raid. They were ugly creatures, taller than most men and covered by a thick hide colored the range of swamp-like hues from green to brown to gray. Some were donning leather armor, and all took up weapons scavenged from their victims-an odd and daunting assortment of swords, axes, pitchforks, and fishing spears. They also slung sacks over their shoulders. More looting was clearly on the agenda.
The ores left in waves, a few at a time. Ebenezer’s troops waited until there were but ten of the creatures left. Each of the elves picked his or her target, communicating intent through emphatic hand gestures. Ebenezer pantomimed the count of three, and the elves launched themselves into the air.
Bronwyn winced as they slammed into the ores, catching them off guard and sending the much taller creatures crashing to the stone. Most hit their targets, knives or daggers leading; those who didn’t bounded up, weapon in hand, and dispatched their chosen foe with a few deft strokes.
A clamor arose from the inner chamber, and another wave of ores came running out. Some were bandaged and lame, some were females or toothless elders, but all had blades and the will to use them.
Bronwyn turned and began to slither down the cavern wall to join in the fight. A thrown rock hit her hand, hard enough to startle her into losing her grip. She tumbled down and landed squarely in Ebenezer’s arms.
He hefted her, as if surprised at how light she was, and then set her on her feet. “The village folk can mop up here. We’re going to the back,” he said.
She nodded and followed him, hugging the walls of the cavern and holding her knife out ready.
The back was nearly deserted. Two ore females stood guard, and three hideous, yeliow-skinned children, naked and blatantly male, huddled against the far wall. Ebenezer stooped and seized a handful of small rocks. With deadly accuracy, he hurled