he’d had his weapon with him.
For Theodenes’ multifunction polearm was missing. He knew he’d had it on him at the time he was taken, but in the rapid treetop transit that ensued, it had slipped out of his hands and tumbled into the darkness below. That presented the gnome with a problem of titanic proportions. He was going to have to deal with his girallon captor without the aid of any martial tool, and given the nature of his lifequest, that was quite a substantial setback.
The girallon swung and leaped and ducked and threw itself from branch to branch, all of its limbs in feverish use other than the one firmly grasping Theodenes. Every so often that limb would toss Theo ahead to free up the arm for complicated maneuvering as the girallon ducked under a low branch; then the limb caught the gnome on the other side.
After four such hair-raising toss-and-catch episodes, Theodenes resolved to make the best of an awkward situation and use the next instance to break free of the creature. He hadn’t seen any other girallons, so it was possible the beast was alone. If it had friends, perhaps they were at that moment dealing with Vanderjack and Gredchen. Anyway, Theo was alone, so was the girallon, and it was time to act.
Dusk was swiftly approaching, so Theo was grateful that the next time the girallon threw him ahead through the trees came sooner than later. The creature swung Theo around and hurled him in a high arc across a wide gap between trees. That was the opportunity he was waiting for.
Spinning end over end, he gained his bearings, reached out for a hanging vine, and grasped onto it successfully before the curve of the arc headed downward. The force of the arrested movement almost tore his arm out of its socket, but he found himself whipping about and flung to the side, away from where the girallon was headed and into a thick mass of creepers and fronds.
Theodenes heard the raging bellow of the girallon as it landed on the far side of the space between the trees only to discover that the gnome was missing. Theo hurtled on the vine toward a broad expanse of tree trunk. At the last second, he let go of the vine and slammed into the tree, holding on for dear life. His ears rang and his vision blurred, but for the moment he was safe.
The sounds of the girallon’s heavy weight landing on branches and crashing through leaves spurred Theodenes into action. He could see nothing around him but green and brown, but looking down, he spotted an opening in the jungle canopy and possibly a way to reach the ground without breaking his neck. With a grunt, the little gnome pushed away from the trunk, dropped about ten feet through the gap, and grabbed hold of a thick, ropy cluster of tendrils that had enveloped the banyan midway up.
He needed to clamber down the tree, keeping out of sight. That proved easy enough to do, with all of the foliage blocking him off from above. He finally set down on the jungle floor with only a few cuts and scrapes. He knew he’d evaded the girallon for the time being. The frustrated roaring of the creature up above was proof of that.
Theodenes tried to get a sense of where he was in relation to the road; he was at least a mile or more away from where he had been grabbed. Curse the woman for keeping all the maps! In his mind’s eye, he conjured forth a vision of the map, with the symbols and markings he’d remembered. He thought to check the side of a tree for moss, but it was entirely the wrong sort of climate, for moss was all over it.
He had to take his chances. The best plan would be to strike out in a chosen direction and look for some kind of landmark. Picking a path completely at random, he hustled off, staying near trees and bushes, using the large leaves as cover.
Just when he thought he’d escaped the girallon completely, he heard more crashing and bellowing far above. He cursed his ignorance. The beasts lived in the jungle and must hunt small game all the time. The noise he had been making, if not his scent, had drawn the beast.
Darting through a wall of leaves and undergrowth, Theodenes emerged into empty space. He lost his footing, or rather, the ground simply disappeared beneath him, becoming a steep hillside that dropped down into darkness. Theo didn’t have time to catch hold of anything. Luckily for him, neither did the girallon, which at that moment had burst from the trees above and swung down by one arm to snatch at him. All the girallon grabbed in its long claws was air. Theo slid rapidly down the slope and out of sight.
The slope formed one side of a narrow valley or ravine, slick with rainwater and slime. The ravine was sloped from end to end, so no sooner had Theo hit the end of the slide than he was borne immediately to the right and down a natural chute, cracking his head several times on thick roots. He was sore, covered in mud, and still being chased by the girallon when, finally, the ravine dumped him straight into a small lake.
Gnomes are not taught to swim as children, and indeed many gnomes never learn even as adults. Those gnomes who spend their entire lives in Mount Nevermind may never see a body of water larger than a bathtub unless they work in one of the many reservoirs. Even then the efficiency of the gnome city is such that the reservoirs are in well-maintained underground shelters out of harm’s way. Theodenes, however, was a mad gnome, and capable of feats unforgivably alien to his kin. Swimming, or what passed for it, was well within his experience.
Theo broke the surface of the lake, underneath an overhang that sheltered him from any inquisitive four- armed apes lurking above. He continued to hear, at a moderate distance, the sounds of the beast searching for him. The water was very cold, and at some point Theo needed to decide whether he wanted to tread water some more or remain conscious.
In the middle of the lake, which was only about a hundred feet across, was a small island. The island’s only distinctive feature was a totem or statue of what looked like some kind of winged, scaled cat; it was carved out of a single chunk of rock, polished smooth by time or uncanny skill. Theo figured that he could swim to the island without too much effort or noise, and the statue might provide some cover of its own.
Taking a deep breath, the gnome plunged his head below the surface of the lake again and swam toward the island. At the halfway point, he looked up; he could neither see nor hear anything of the girallon, so again he plunged below.
Gnomes are hardy individuals, despite their lean and wiry frames. Scholars claim that is strong evidence of their close relation to kender and dwarves. Theo, a paragon of gnome fitness, was able to reach the island with only the air he held in his lungs from the second time he submerged. Then, swimming around the island to the other side, away from the direction of the ravine, Theo pulled himself up onto the muddy bank and scrambled a few feet to the base of the statue. There was still no sign of the beast. Did girallons swim? The gnome made a mental note to look that up in a book, if he ever saw one again.
He allowed himself the luxury of a few deep breaths and checked himself for any major injuries.
That was when the girallon’s bellowing roar announced its presence. So yes, girallons do swim, thought the gnome, peeking around the statue, which was about as big as an ox. Perched high in the trees was the very same beast, one clawed hand on either side holding onto branches while the other two beat upon its broad chest. Theo could see that those creatures were used to being the dominant predator in their part of the jungle and were far more intelligent than any other monster he’d had to confront. He racked his brain, trying to think of any way he could get out of his mess.
The bellowing suddenly stopped. Theo, who had slumped back behind the statue, felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle alarmingly. Had the girallon moved on? The lake surface was still; the leaves were moving gently from the wind in the jungle, a light breeze carrying the heat of the day and making the lakeside area humid and warm. Theo chanced another look around the corner of the cat statue, peeking from below the large, scaly stone wings.
A pair of massive, prehensile feet appeared before him with a sudden smack of mud and a deep grunt. Theo jerked his head back in shock, then backpedaled around the statue as the girallon clambered over it to reach its long arms around to where Theo had been only seconds before. It roared, so close that Theo put his hands over his ears, realizing his foe was signaling the other girallons.
Theo ran through several scenarios in his head, but all of them ended with him tossed about like a rag doll or torn to bits. He mentally shelved those ideas as interesting but ultimately fatal, and his body acted almost on instinct. He scooted around the statue, just managing to duck out of the way of the creature’s grasping arms. Round and round the statue he and the grasping arms went, a dance that was doomed.
The gnome had nothing on his person to strike at the creature, no weapon or tool that wasn’t already lost in the jungle. Theo halted, the merry-go-round ceased. Then he did what few gnomes would ever do; he did nothing.
