He ignored it. Lunitarians toppled off the dirt wall, rolling down to bowl over their fellows on the ground.
There was a terrible tearing sensation in Sturm's right leg.
He looked back and saw a spear embedded in the back of his thigh, blood welling around the already crimson shaft. He swung his sword back, snapping the spear shaft off and leaving the head in his leg. He couldn't see Kitiara at all. He went down, weak from the pain and loss of blood. He slid down the rampart on the side nearest the obelisk. Whoop ing tree-men skidded after him, shouting their version of his name.
Finished, he thought. This is how it ends -
The expected spear points did not descend on his unar mored face and neck. The sounds of battle raged over him, though he fancied that he heard high-pitched cries of delight and triumph. The gnomes? Surely they hadn't ventured forth. They'd be slaughtered!
The hooting of the berserk Lunitarians receded. Sturm lifted his head with great effort and tried to see what was happening. A tree-man stood atop the rampart, waving his sword before him, trying to ward off some unseen foe. A dark object whipped into view and hit the tree-man in the face, thunk! The Lunitarian disappeared over the rampart amid shouts of gnomish laughter.
Someone turned Sturm over. The red dirt was dusted from his eyes. Kitiara.
'Looks like you caught one,' she said in a friendly way.
Her face was scratched and her hands cut up, but she was otherwise unhurt.
'Are you well?' he asked weakly. Kitiara nodded and put the neck of her water bottle to his lips. The trickle of rainwa ter was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.
'Ho, Master Sturm! Mistress Kitiara! We have won!'
Stutts declared. He stuck his thumbs under his suspenders and threw out his chest. 'The Improvised Trouser Flail
Mark I was a success!'
'The what?'
'Never mind,' Kitiara said. 'Let's get you inside.' She scooped him up as easily as Sturm would pick up an infant and carried him into the obelisk.
The gnomes were pounding each other on the back and talking as fast and as loudly as they could. Sturm saw a weird contraption to one side of the passage: an upright col lection of posts and gears, from which dangled three pairs of gnome-sized pants, stuffed tightly with something heavy, probably dirt. Cupelix was on his lowest perch, watching intently. When he saw that Sturm was wounded, he offered to help treat the injury.
'No magic,' Sturm said stubbornly. His whole leg was achingly numb. It was cold, very cold. The dragon's broad brass face swooped down close to his.
'No magic, even if it means your life?' said the polished reptilian voice.
'No magic,' Sturm insisted.
Rainspot turned Sturm's face away and put a bitter tasting root in his mouth. The gnome said, 'Chew, please.'
Confident that he was in the thoroughly non-magical care of the gnomes, Sturm did as he was told. Numbness spread through his body.
He didn't fall asleep. Sturm quite distinctly heard the gnomes consulting over his wound, heard rather than felt the glass spear tip being removed from his flesh, heard the dragon offering advice on how best to close the gaping hole.
Then he was lying on his stomach, the numbness gone.
Sturm's leg throbbed unmercifully. He lifted himself up on his hands.
'If you say 'where am I?' I'll hit you,' said Kitiara genially.
'What happened?' he said.
'You were injured,' said Sighter, who was squatting near
Sturm's head.
'That I recall well. Who repelled the tree-folk?'
'I wish I could say that I did,' Kitiara said.
'We did it,' Stutts declared, coming up behind Sighter.
Cupelix rumbled something that Sturm couldn't make out.
Stutts blanched and said, 'With help from the dragon, that is.'
'We adapted a gnomeflinger design,' Wingover said. He knelt alongside Stutts and peeked over Sighter's shoulder.
'We used Cutwood's pants, filled with dirt, as a test subject for flinging. Birdcall suggested hurling the pants at the Luni tarians, but that would have sufficed for only one shot — '
'So me and Roperig gave up ours,' said Fitter, who squirmed into view. His striped long johns were eloquent proof of the truth of his statement. 'We filled 'em with dirt and tied 'em to the throwing arms — '
'— and used the gear system to pummel the enemy off the wall,' Roperig finished for his apprentice.
'Very clever,' Sturm admitted. 'But why should fiercely angry tree-folk flee when thumped with a few pairs of pants? Why didn't they swarm all over you?'
'That was my doing,' said Cupelix modestly. 'I wove a spell of illusion over the gnomes and their machine. The
Lunitarians saw a huge, flame-breathing red dragon attack ing them, its terrible claws snatching them one by one from the rampart. The physical effect, combined with the vivid illusion, was quite effective. The tree-men have fled.'
'What's to prevent them from recovering their nerve and coming back?' said Kitiara.
'At sunset, I shall send the Micones to harry them back to their village once and for all.'
Their story told, the gnomes dispersed. Sturm called
Stutts back to him.
'Yes?' said the senior gnome.
'Have you inspected the repairs on the Cloudmaster?'
'Not yet.'
'Urge your colleagues forward, my friend. We must be off this world soon,' said Sturm.
Stutts stroked his short, silky beard. 'What's the hurry?
The new engine components ought to be tested first.'
Sturm lowered his voice. 'The dragon may believe the tree-men will not come back, but I don't want to take the chance of being besieged in here again. Besides Cupelix will — ' He closed his mouth when he saw Kitiara coming.
'We'll speak later,' Sturm finished. Stutts nodded and strolled back to the Cloudmaster, his thumbs hooked in his vest pockets. Kitiara paid no attention to his exaggerated nonchalance.
Kitiara dropped down beside Sturm. 'Does it hurt much''
'Only when I dance,' he said uncharacteristically.
She snorted. 'You'll live,' she said. She poked around the bandaged area and added, 'Probably won't even have a limp. What made you charge into those tree-men? You weren't carrying a shield or wearing leg armor.'
'I saw you go down,' he said. 'I was going to help you.'
Kitiara was silent for a moment. 'Thank you.'
Sturm gingerly eased himself onto his good side and sat up. 'That's better! I was getting a headache lying like that.'
'You know what the most unforgivable thing is, don't you? That you and I, two fighters soundly trained in the warrior arts, should fall to a bunch of savages and be saved by a band of nutty gnomes using pants full of dirt as flails!'
Kitiara started to laugh. All the tensions and suspicions sur faced and flew away in her laughter. Tears welled in her eyes, and she couldn't stop.
'Little Fitter's pants,' Sturm said, feeling the guffaws building deep inside. 'Little Fitter's pants disguised as the claws of a red dragon!' Kitiara nodded helplessly, her face contorted with hysterical mirth. Great rolling laughs boomed out of Sturm. His shaking jounced painfully his tightly wrapped wound, but he couldn't stop. When he tried to speak, all he could gasp was 'Trouser Flail!' before erupt ing into fresh gales.
Kitiara leaned against him, forcing herself to breathe in the too-short intervals between new merry
