'I see them.'
`Then send them this present. If we kill a few, that should encourage the others to stay out of range.' The warrior pressed a slim shaft into her hand. With experienced precision, the ranger nocked the arrow and drew back without looking. As she brought the bowstring to her cheek, she noticed that the leaf-headed tip glowed a silvery blue, radiating its own light. She paused; the tip wavered.
'Yes, it's magical,' Vil assured her, reading her thoughts: 'I've been saving these, but I think now's the time to put them to use.' Martine focused on the target. Behind her, Vil slid away to direct the shooting of the others, like a master of archers guiding his unit through a drill.
The bowstring released with a
A spitting howl was proof of her aim. Sighting in again, the Harper spotted her target, twisting and staggering, one clawed hand clutching at a shoulder.
'Hold fire! They're retreating!' Martine shouted triumphantly.
A clatter of arrows hailed the shelter of their barricade. The Harper ducked for the cover of the fallen trees. A thick gnomish curse sounded near her as an arrow grazed one of the defenders. The gnome clamped back the pain, determined to stay at his post at all costs.
'Good work!' Vil praised. 'That'll hold them for now. Put the torches out, keep watch through the logs, and don't stick your heads up.' The warrior commanded the Vani with easy confidence. This was clearly not his first big
battle. The fires hissed in the snow as the gnomes put his commands into action.
Vil crawled to where Martine sat, cradling the bow in her arms. 'What happened out there?'
Martine looked at him dully, for a moment not comprehending the question. 'Jazrac's dead,' she said finally. 'Vreesar killed him.'
'What about Vreesar?'
'It's gone-off to get the stone. Jaz hurt it, badly I think, before he died.'
'Praise Torm for small favors,' Vil breathed. 'At least we won't be fighting Vreesar tonight'
'It's corning back, Vil, with more creatures like it! I've got to stop him. Its my duty,' she mumbled.
Vil put a firm hand on her shoulder and pulled her gently toward the cabin door. 'Right now you need some rest. Get yourself inside and find a place to bed down if you can. It's pretty crowded. I'll get some shifts set up out here and join you in a little while.'
The cabin was more than a little crowded, Martine saw immediately. There was barely sufficient space for all the refugees from the warren. The storeroom entryway was filled with the handful of Vani men who remained. Despite their small numbers, they were packed into the tiny area so tightly that there was only space to sleep sitting up leaning against each other. Most either slept or sat round a smoky pine fire built in the center of the floor. Wives came to sit with their husbands before returning to the task of comforting the new widows. Others tended to the walking injured among them, bandaging their wounds with embroidered scarves and once-precious lacework. Krote sat in the coldest corner, bound hand and foot. He watched Martine with yellow eyes as she stepped through the crowded group.
The main room of the cabin was filled to bursting, with mothers, their babies and other children, and older Vani. Nearly all of Vil's scant furniture had been piled outside onto the barricade. Only the bed remained, and it was loaded with infants. The rest of the floor was covered with makeshift beds of blankets and mats. There was barely space to step across the room. Steam from the tightly packed bodies condensed in the doorway when the outer door was opened.
Vil's treasured bath was no better. Peeking inside, Martine saw that the small space was filled with about eight wounded Vani, being tended by the womenfolk. The ranger noted with relief that most of the injured didn't seem to be seriously hurt. If necessary, they could be put back on the line. Most of their wounds were cuts or gashes from splinters of wood and ice received in the initial assault on the warren. The bad news was that one of the few who were hurt was Elder Sumalo. The old priest was sleeping fitfully on a hard wooden pallet, a blood- encrusted bandage wrapped round his bare chest. Without him, without the gifts of the Great Crafter, there was no healing for the others.
It was clear from the cramped conditions that Martine and Vil could not stay there. The only space that seemed possible was in the crowded entry, with the Vani warriors. Returning there, the Harper, with much shifting and squeezing, cleared a space for herself and Vil. With her knees tucked up under her chin, she claimed a blanket and almost immediately dozed off.
The rattling of the door roused the Harper, and she opened her eyes just in time to see Vil and a few others slip inside the room. There was a brief flurry of movement as the next shift of guards stepped over everyone to get outside. The cold from outside caught them in its frigid embrace, as if welcoming the heat it would leech from their bodies. After the door was closed, trapping a fresh glitter of
frost within, Martine could hear the cabin groan while the timbers redistributed their heat.
Vil settled next to Martine and huddled close so the small blanket could cover them both. The other gnomes wormed in among their companions-except for Jouka. Still wearing his spiked badger suit, he couldn't very well squeeze into the tight spaces next to the others. His only choice was to join Krote in his cold corner near the outside door. The gnome glared up at his bound enemy, and Martine swore the gnoll bared his fangs.
'I do not like this, Master Vilheim. We should have more guards posted. How do you know the gnolls will not attack?' Jouka grumbled, all the time staring balefully at the prisoner next to him.
Vil sighed. 'The gnolls won't attack tonight. Think it through. Right now they're probably looting your homes. With any luck, they're getting drunk and maybe even fighting among themselves. Second, they're not that desperate. They've got food and shelter, so I don't think they see any need to hurry. Third, the moon's just past full. The gnolls are too smart to rush this place on a bright, moonlit night: The only thing that could get them to change their minds is Vreesar, and he's gone.' He shifted his long legs, trying to find a comfortable position. 'I've fought plenty of gnolls over the years, so you'll just have to trust me. What do you think, Martine?'
'That sounds reasonable.'
'Why ask her? It was her mission, her plan that got us into this mess.' His black beard bristling, Jouka puffed up his chest, ready to argue. His fellow gnomes were silent, many watching him with interest. 'This is all the fault of interfering humans,' he growled, glaring at Martine. 'She came here and caused this trouble. If we had been left alone, none of this would have happened. Now she hides here with that.' The gnome pointed toward Krote, sitting
beside him. The gnoll snapped at Jouka's finger, but the gnome pulled it back quickly.
'And she brought Vreesar here, too, seeking her magical stone. First she risks all our lives by hiding it, and now we're all in danger because she gave Vreesar the stone as part of some plan of hers.' Martine shifted uneasily. Jouka's grumblings were starting to get nasty, and the other gnomes were listening to him.
'Such a good plan it was… now we no longer have a home; he ended sarcastically. The other Vani said nothing, their expressions wrapped in thoughtful concentration. With no one else speaking in her favor, Martine prepared to defend herself. Just then Vil's firm hand steadied the Harper.
'Let him rage,' the former paladin advised. 'He's lost a great deal.'
Martine bit her lip and nodded. Even though she knew Vil was right, it was difficult to accept the man's wisdom this time. Seeing that she would not rise to the bait, the sullen gnome slowly let his accusations fade into a murmur of discontent. Someone poked up the fire and laid on more wood, stirring up a cloud of sparks. The weary Vani murmured among themselves, softly debating the wisdom of Jouka's words.
'Is he right?' Martine whispered to Vil. Vil leaned his face close to hers. 'No.'
