shod foot
'Damn that man!' The oath followed hard on the rattling
clank of the still-spinning helmet. 'The nerve the utter gall!' Martine launched into a string of invectives, dredging up the choicest insults she had learned in her years along the coasts of the Inner Sea. It was fortunate the wizard wasn't present to hear her curse his ancestry, his wit, and especially his prowess.
' It was so like him, Martine knew. If there was anything that bothered her most among Jazrac's many irritating qualities his condescension, his smugness, his superiority it was Jazrac's consummate ability to thrust himself to the forefront in every situation. He was egotistical, overbearing, even childish, but most of all Jazrac had the talent to transform even the most mundane action to a mystery that captivated others even as it infuriated her.
'Wizards!' she fumed, as if that explained everything that bothered her about Jazrac's behavior.
As she sat in imposed contemplation, Martine doubted she was learning whatever lesson it was that Jazrac wanted her to learn. Instead, all she could think about was how close she had come, years ago, to being her mentor's lover. She had been considerably younger then, and Jazrac had seemed urbane and dashing. It seemed as if he had traveled to every exotic place she had longed to see and had tasted, touched, and seen things the young ranger could only imagine. She had been thoroughly infatuated with him. The thought appalled her now.
Still, Martine had to acknowledge a certain basic decency in the man. Naive as she had been, the wizard had always been gentlemanly toward her. He had never taken advantage of her and had always told her honestly what he thought was best for her career. Although his manner was infuriating, the wizard had always cared about her.
The longer she sat, the stranger the turns her contemplation took. Her anger at Jazrac became anger at herself. She had let him down, even though she had completed the mis-
sion. The wizard had a right to be angry with her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a distant blaring noise that sounded dully through the halls. It was a curious noise, one of those sounds that Martine was certain was familiar, yet she couldn't place it. She ignored it until it happened again, proving it wasn't just a freak occurrence. She went out into the hall to investigate.
The blaring note sounded again, tapering off like a wailing child. It sounded like a huntsman calling his hounds, like a huntsman's…
'Horn!' Martine blurted suddenly. 'Someone's outside sounding a horn.' Grabbing her gear from the room, she sprinted down the wooden hall, trying to remember the way to the main chamber. Just as she was beginning to think she was lost, the ranger rounded a corner and almost tripped over Jouka, rushing in her direction. Instinctively the two sprang back, both reaching for their blades, before realizing exactly what was happening. Hurrying behind the gnome came Vil, towering over the rest of the gnomes of the council.
The fierce look fled from Jouka's bearded face as he recognized the human. 'The south doors, everyone! Quickly!' Without waiting for a reply, Jouka sprinted past Martine and down the hall.
The Harper seized on the chance to follow before anyone could object to her presence. She knew she wasn't supposed to be part of this council assembly, but she assumed his words just now negated that restriction.
Led by Jouka, Martine, and Vil, the gnomes hurried through corridors lit by cold flames and passed through doors so low that even Martine, hardly tall by human standards, had to duck her head. Other gnomes they encountered, startled by this strange entourage, shouted questions as they passed. Martine couldn't make out the hurried replies. Elder Sumalo soon fell far back, his legs showing
his age. As they ran, more Vani men joined them, spears and short swords in hand.
At last they poured into the great foyer at the south entrance to the warren. The passage was built without regard for humans, and Martine found it impossible to stand upright. The low ceiling made her feel uncomfortable. She noted that Vil was forced to crouch on the floor.
Sumalo; with Turi in his wake, pushed his way through the throng to join Jouka at the front of the group. Looking back, Martine saw the colorful flash of Jazrac's doublet: 'Jazrac!' she shouted, trying to let the wizard know she was here.
From the inside, the exit was an elegant work of simplicity, consisting of closely fitted panels of polished pine, once blond though now golden-brown with age. Looking at the cracks in the doorposts and the worn floorboards, Martine judged they were in one of the oldest sections of the warren.
By now, a half-dozen gnomes had formed a rough line in response to Jouka's shouted commands. Their weapons were a mismatched assortment of whatever had been at hand. Martine noticed swords, spears, and axes, and one gnome even flourished a meat cleaver as he chattered eagerly in an accent so thick the Harper couldn't follow it. Jouka's sharp commands formed them into a rough rank that blocked the door. Curious children who had followed the group were herded back behind the line in case there was some danger.
While the gnomes were getting organized, Martine slid to the front to take the opportunity to scan the surface. Kneeling, she slid open the small peephole in the door. Dazzling light burst through the square opening and splayed across the worn floor, reflecting off the golden pine to brighten the entire chamber. A freezirig draft accompanied the sunbeam, as if to mock its warmth.
'Human, get away from there!' Jouka snapped. Mindful she was only a guest, but still curious, Martine started to close the shutter but kept her eye glued to the peephole. Squinting, she strained against the sun-dazzled snow to make out anything clearly. A frosty morning haze hung over the berry canes at the meadow's edge.
Martine could hear Jouka's grumbling grow louder with every passing second, and she was about to give up when she spotted a movement among the canes. 'Jouka, look there,' she whispered eagerly as she stepped aside. 'By that uprooted pine.'
The gnome pressed his eye to the slot. 'I don't see you mean the big white thing?'
The ranger nodded. Wreesar.'
The rasping horn blew again, sounding louder through the opening. Standing next to the distant elemental was a gnoll blowing a curved horn. The winter wind whipped the gnoll's ragged clothes.
'It followed you here!' Jouka accused Martine as Elder Sumalo stepped forward to have a look.
'Not me,' Martine said with a shake of her head. 'I've never used this entrance. Buri, perhaps.'
Jouka grunted, unwilling to divert the blame. 'You brought them to this valley,' he insisted.
The Harper couldn't deny that. The accusation reminded her of Jazrac's words last night. In solving one problem for the Harpers, she'd created another, and it was just as much her duty to solve this one.
'We should hear what Vreesar has to say,' the woman said when Jouka gave no orders to open the gate.
The dour little man snorted. 'There is nothing to say. I say we kill it when it comes closer.'
Martine's first reaction to the gnome's suggestion was that it would solve the problem, and in the instant when words come before thought, she almost agreed aloud. How
ever, second thoughts followed, and she recoiled at what she had almost done.
'No, Jouka. The woman speaks wisely. We must hear the creature out,' Elder Sumalo said disapprovingly. 'Heikko, open the door.'
The golden-bearded warrior nodded and shot back the massive bolt in its track. Martine, Jouka, and Sumalo fell back among the ranks of gnomes as the gate swung inward, releasing a shower of icy chunks from the bank overhead. The hardened snow shattered on the wooden floor and lay there to crackle underfoot. Warmth fled the hallway, fluttering the long beards of the little warriors braced for attack.
Across the snowfield, the elemental stood hunched and motionless at the edge of the woods. Behind him, in clusters of two or three, Martine saw in the haze the phantoms of Burnt Fur warriors among the brambles and trees. Like the elemental, they did not move.
'People of the dirt!' the elemental croaked in its peculiar buzzing accent. 'I am Vreesar, prince of ice and master of the Burnt Fur. Who speakz for the little dirt people?'
Without hesitation, Elder Sumalo stepped from the line of militia advanced to the doorway. 'I am Elder Sumalo. I speak for the Vani.' The old gnome's normally thin voice penetrated the distance across the clearing with authority.
The elemental's icicled brow flared in the sunlight, and it cocked its head to survey the small figure that faced him. 'Su-ma-lo,' the creature said with difficulty, shaping the soft syllables with its harsh lips. 'Su-ma-lo,' it repeated, striding across the snow. 'Come out and we will talk.'
'Watch for any sign of treachery,' the priest said softly to Jouka. The warrior nodded, then motioned several
