Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [97]
She moved carefully, using the shadows and slipping between stony outcrops and small stands of brush. As she eased around a familiar-looking pile of boulders, she found herself face to face with a small, straw-thatched hut.
It had not been there before.
Instantly she froze, reminding herself that her magic was of no use in this place and that silence and stealth offered her best defense. Slowly she eased back into the shadows of the rocks.
The hut was silent, dark, and cold. No sound came from the open windows, no smoke curled from the small stone chimney. Yet Liriel could not rid herself of the distinct sense that here was a living presence.
It occurred to her that the hut itself seemed to be breathing. It leaned this way and that, almost imperceptibly, with a long, measured cadence that brought to mind a deep and silent sleeper.
Curiosity overcame prudence, and she tossed a small stone at the hut.
Immediately the hut leaped into the air. Liriel's jaw dropped in astonishment as she found herself staring at a pair of enormous avian legs. Scaly limbs the size of young trees bent, and the huge, taloned bird feet flexed. The startled hut whirled and sped off into the night. This in turn alerted the ponies. Whickers of alarm and the swift-fading rumble of cantering hoofs filled the night.
Liriel sprinted back toward the campsite, knowing that these sounds, however faint and distant, would surely awaken the sleeping warrior. Sure enough, she saw Fyodor coming to find her, a make-shift torch in hand.
Her keen eyes saw the trap that he, entrapped in turn by his own circle of light, could not perceive. A drift of autumn leaves shifted, and the faint moonlight reflected off the teeth of a vicious steel trap.
She seized a fist-sized stone and hurled it toward him. It struck the trap, which sprang into the air like a striking pyramo fish. The warrior jumped back, and his quick glance traced the stone's arc to the place where Liriel stood.
"Don't move," he cautioned. "There may be others."
"It wasn't there last time I passed by. It was just set. I don't think it's traps that we should be worried about."
Fyodor pulled his sword and continued toward her, probing the ground with the blade as he came. Another, smaller trap sang shut with a metallic clatter. He lifted his sword and showed her the steel maw clamped onto his weapon.
"Very well, it's not just traps," Liriel muttered.
He worked his way over to her without incident. Together they retraced their path toward the camp. To her puzzlement, Fyodor continued to test the ground, poking at the sod on either side of their path. Suddenly the sword tip sank deep into a narrow crevice. Fyodor yanked it free and put Liriel behind him.
A square piece of sod flipped open like a hatch, and several small creatures roiled out of their hiding place. They looked a bit like goblins, only smaller and brown of skin. None of them were above Liriel's waist in height, and all worn ragged trousers from which protruded long, hideous rat tails.
They were very like the kobold slaves who did menial chores in Menzoberranzan, but unlike the kobolds Liriel knew, and unlike the rats they resembled, these creatures did not attack in a swarm. They surrounded their larger prey, cutting off retreat but making no other move. Their round eyes caught the moonlight and reflected red.
"Traps and ambush pits," she said softly. "What other tactics do these things employ?"
"None," Fyodor responded, sounding genuinely puzzled. "They are sometimes mischievous but never do serious harm. I have glimpsed one before from time to time, but they are as skittish as deer."
"They're holding steady now," she pointed out, "and there's a lot of them. Right about now I could make good use of a meteor swarm spell!"
"It is bad luck to kill them."
"Let's hope they feel the same way about us," she said, eyeing the waiting hoard.
A creaking screech filled the air, like the sound of stormed-tossed tree limbs rasping together or the wooden hulls of two ships