It was sometime around noon when she heard other footsteps on the trail. Not expecting company, the woman drew her sword and waited, ready for the worst. Her vigil ended when a tall, gaunt figure came into view.
'Woman,' said the rasping voice, 'I will go with you.' From the shadows stepped Krote, Word-Maker no more, bow and spear in hand. He still looked as skeletal and haggard as before-more so, perhaps, because of his scarred arms and shredded ears.
Martine paused in surprise. Since the fight on the glacier, she had seen the gnoll only a few times, when he'd come to speak with the gnomes. She understood he wasn't chieftain and that Varka had usurped his role as shaman. The tribe hadn't killed him, as Vreesar had demanded, but every time she saw him, Krote had always been alone.
'Go with me? What about your people?'
'I have no people,' the gnoll answered coldly. 'They have no use for me.'
'Why come with me?' 'I owe you my life.' 'And I you. Why, Krote… really?'
The Word-Maker drew himself up with dignity. 'Because you trust the words of gnolls.'
Martine studied the gnoll, trying to make up her mind. As much as he had been the enemy, she still respected and trusted him in ways not fully explainable. The journey would be long, and a companion would be welcome.
'You have my word I will not harm you,' Krote said simply.
Or any others?'
`That depends, woman.'
It was good enough. Martine shrugged her pack into position once more. 'You may join me, Word-Maker,' she offered.
`That is good, human,' Krote fell in step behind her, and they began the long hike over the pass.
'I can't wait till we get to Mulmaster,' the woman called out cheerily as she disappeared into the woods. 'Mul-massster' the gnoll echoed curiously. 'What is that?'
