we can walk along the stream, and I can try to confuse our tracks.”
“Agreed!” said Egrassa—for some reason he trusted the goblin straightaway. “Will you show us the way?”
“Yes, let’s go.”
We moved deeper into the wet forest. The rain whispered a lullaby to the leaves. It was wet, cold, and very dark. I was walking behind Hallas, so I didn’t notice when Mumr joined the group. He simply appeared beside me, gave me a friendly punch on the shoulder, and hurried on ahead to report to Alistan.
“Eel,” I called to the Garrakian walking behind me. “Didn’t the orcs set any sentries for the night?”
“We took out five of them round the perimeter, but otherwise things were quiet,” Eel replied. “What would they be afraid of in their own home, and at the start of the festival? I think without it we wouldn’t have got you out of there so easily, never mind the Horn.”
“The flinnies told us everything,” said Kli-Kli, appearing beside me. “About the Horn and about you.”
“Is that ring worth so much to them?”
“Yes. And by the way, we had to hurry to get here in time. Galloped all the way to rescue you, and you haven’t even said thank you!”
“Thank you, Kli-Kli.”
“Don’t mention it,” the jester replied magnanimously. “I’m very glad you survived, Dancer in the Shadows. Wordofonner.”
“Me, too.”
“By the way, how did you come to meet him?” the goblin asked, nodding toward Glo-Glo, who was walking at the front.
“We ran through the Labyrinth together.”
“Aaaaah,” the goblin drawled in surprise, and left me in peace for a while.
After that we walked on without speaking. Glo-Glo kept pushing up the pace, and sometimes we had to run after him. The rain kept falling, getting stronger all the time, and I wrapped myself tighter in the jacket of the newly deceased Fagred, may a h’san’kor devour his bones! We walked for an hour without any rest, and I imagined what it must have been like for the warriors who had rushed halfway across Zagraba to help me, and were now running away from the orcs with me. Just as it started to get light, we left the area of the old cliffs and found ourselves beside a very wide stream that babbled merrily. Our path now lay along its banks. About twenty minutes later Egrassa asked Glo-Glo to stop and raised his hand to ask for silence.
“What’s going on?” I asked Kli-Kli.
“Shhh,” he hissed at me.
Like everyone else, I started listening to the morning silence and the sound of the rain. And eventually I heard that other sound, too. It almost merged into the rain, so I didn’t realize what it was at first.
Very faint, barely distinguishable—the rumble of the orcs’ war drums, sounding the alarm.
“So they have noticed the pit’s empty and the shaman’s turned his toes up!” Hallas said, and spat.
“We have to hurry.”
“How can we hurry any more, Harold?” Deler grumbled.
“Go in under the trees, I’ve got to do a bit of work here,” said Glo-Glo.
Milord Alistan was about to object, but Egrassa shook his head. The count frowned in annoyance, but decided to follow the elf’s advice.
By this time the rain had changed to a fine drizzle, which made things a bit more pleasant, and the trees at least offered some sort of protection. Everyone walked away from the old goblin and started watching as he twirled like a top, waving his arms about and stirring up the leaves. All this went on for quite a long time, and Milord Alistan started getting a bit nervous—and so did all the others.
“How long are we going to watch the old crackpot prancing about?” Lamplighter asked when he couldn’t take any more.
“He’s not an old crackpot,” Kli-Kli snapped. “He’s Glo-Glo, one of the very greatest shamans of our time!”
“So how do you know?” Hallas sneered.
“I just know, that’s all!” Kli-Kli said sulkily, and stared down at his boots. “And by the way, he happens to be the keeper of the great shaman Tre-Tre’s
“We have to be sure they don’t overtake us, milord!” Now it was the patient Eel whose nerves were feeling the strain.
“Oi!” Kli-Kli squealed and put his hands over his eyes.
Lamplighter swore. Everybody stared at what Glo-Glo had done. And there was something to stare at! The goblin finished casting his spell, and for as far as we could see, all the leaves fell off all the trees and hung in the air. Then they were joined by the leaves that had been lying quietly on the ground.
And what came after that was really strange—I had the impression that thousands of hands started tearing up the poor leaves and didn’t stop until every leaf had been reduced to a hundred little pieces. In another instant they were transformed into thousands and thousands of winged creatures. A thick, dark cloud rose up and hung, trembling, above the forest. And then every part of this vast cloud started to grow, and grew until it reached the size of a large fist.
“May the gods save us!” Hallas exclaimed, trying to shout above the droning roar.
“They won’t!” Eel shouted.
And then the goblin waved his hand in the direction of the rumbling drums and the cloud of magical hornets went darting away. There were thousands and thousands of them, and it really was frightening. One of the hornets broke away from the cloud and flew to us. I got a very clear look at its impassive, glowing silver eyes, its shaggy black and yellow belly, and fearsome purple sting.
We only moved again when the drone of hornets’ wings had faded into the distance.
“Well, what kind of leaves do you call those?” Hallas blurted out, looking at Glo-Glo warily.
“I’m glad you liked it, gnome,” said the shaman, scowling wearily as he walked over to us. “I spent a week preparing that spell, so I was curious to see how it would work out, myself. Now I have to rest for half an hour. You don’t need to hurry anymore. The Firstborn will be too far busy to think about you. Gnome, do you have any water?”
Hallas hastily held his flask out to Glo-Glo, who took a mouthful, handed the flask back, and said, “Everyone take a stroll in the rain for half an hour, and I’ll sit here under a tree and recover my strength.”
Egrassa agreed with the goblin again, and we walked off, leaving the shaman alone. Without its leaves the forest was naked, and it seemed colder.
“Did you see that?” Deler asked Lamplighter in amazement.
“Did you? I wouldn’t change places with the orcs for all the vessels of Sagra.”
“I told you he was the great Glo-Glo!” said Kli-Kli, with his eyes staring wildly. “Be thankful he didn’t turn you into worms!”
Hallas gave the goblin a frightened glance. Glo-Glo was sitting with his eyes closed. He looked as if he was asleep.
“He is a very powerful shaman. The most powerful I have ever seen. To work the Hornets of Vengeance would have taken five of our First Ten sorcerers,” the elf told Milord Alistan in a low voice.
As usual, the count nodded without speaking, and sat down under the nearest maple.
“I don’t think we’ll lose anything by waiting for him to recover.”
“Have you noticed the drums have stopped?” the jester yapped from under his hood. We listened. He was right. Zagraba was totally silent, not a sound apart from the cautious babbling of the stream trying not to attract the great shaman’s attention. A very interesting little thought was gradually taking shape in my mind. Supposing that …
“Oh, Harold!” Kli-Kli’s voice shattered my reverie. “Of course, you didn’t hear a thing I just said to you, did you?”
“Ah? Sorry, Kli-Kli. I was thinking.”
The jester sighed and asked me again: “Where’s your crossbow? Did the orcs take it?”
