warriors.
Barq One-Tooth, his expression furious, kicked at the charred and sooty object, tipped it over to reveal a concave shape. “That is Thedric Drake’s helm,” he growled. “Half melted by that infernal heat-and now all that is left of a brave thane.” His knuckles whitened around the haft of his axe as he glared at the monster, and Kerrick wondered if his rage would compel him to make a suicidal charge, but the big warrior, with a visible effort, gained control of his emotions.
“The tuskers are still keeping their distance,” Mouse reported, climbing up to where Kerrick and Moreen were studying their monstrous foe.
“I’m not surprised,” Kerrick replied
“So now they just wait here for us to starve,” asked Moreen bitterly, “or does anyone have any better ideas?”
Something was rattling around in Kerrick’s mind, an idea that maddeningly eluded his attempts to articulate it. What had Coraltop Netfisher said in their brief conversation atop Brackenrock’s tower? They would need strong drink to get over the escarpment … but how could that …?
In a flash, he understood.
“The fireplace!” he blurted, suddenly, to looks of consternation from his companions.
“What?” snapped Moreen in irritation.
“Warqat-we have lots of canteens of it along with us, right?”
The chiefwoman shrugged her drinking skin off of her shoulder. “Here, if yours is empty, take a drink of mine, if that will cheer you up.”
Dinekki’s eyes were glowing excitedly. “The fireplace, you said?” she repeated.
“Yes. Remember, the banquet … the glasses thrown into the fire?”
“And the warqat puffing up into blue flame!” the shaman added.
“Look at this charred helmet. The inside of that worm is hotter than any coals. If we can get it to swallow a bunch of warqat …”
Kerrick turned back to the monster, which continued to gaze at them from its position astride the entrance to the Escarpment Pass. The many wounds inflicted by the warriors at the cost of a score or more of lives were mere scratches on the armored surface. It was hard to imagine doing any more damage than that, no matter how many men and women were willing to sacrifice their lives.
“Well,” he was pleased to hear Moreen say, “it’s worth a try.”
The polar worm drew back into the confines of its narrow pass and curled itself around the pile of boulders. The beast lay still and silent, but those bulging eyes never closed or blinked Moreen could feel them seemingly focused directly on her even when her back was turned. At least the monster seemed content to remain in place, as did the thanoi that closed the war party off from retreat.
All of them were exhausted, following the interrupted rest of the previous night and the day of constant battle and march. Reasoning that their next attack stood a better chance if the warriors were refreshed, Moreen and Barq ordered a bivouac on the mountainside. They posted pickets to watch the tuskers and others to keep an eye on the remorhaz, while a detachment of Arktos and Highlanders went around and gathered all the canteens and skins of warqat. Naturally, Slyce volunteered for this task, but his services were politely rejected. Instead, the gully dwarf sat and watched sadly as the containers of the potent liquor were collected into an ever-growing pile from which he was kept a safe distance.
The chiefwoman stood nearby and watched the monster, thinking of the brave men who had been swallowed whole during the frantic battle and of the many others who had been grievously injured or killed by the crushing mandibles, flailing tail, and slashing claws. Did she even stand a chance of defeating it? She murmured a soft prayer to Chislev Wilder and tried to convince herself that she did.
“That elf-he can be a clever one,” Dinekki remarked, breaking into Moreen’s reverie.
The shaman had come up behind her unnoticed, and now she reached up to take the chiefwoman’s chin in her thin, but startlingly strong, fingers. Her eyes, of ice blue, stared into the younger woman’s, and the elderly priestess clucked worriedly.
“Don’t take all of this to heart, lass,” she said kindly. “We lost good friends today, brave and true folks, but they were doing what they chose … the burden of their lives does not lie on your shoulders.”
“Not on mine alone, perhaps,” Moreen said, “but I can’t help remembering that they came here because I elected to come.”
“So did they-choose to come, I mean. If you carry on with those thoughts, you’ll give yourself a burden too heavy for one person, man, woman or even elf, to carry along.”
At the mention of Kerrick, she turned to look at him. He was supervising the gathering of the warqat, giving directions as the canteens were arrayed on the ground.
“Do you think his idea might work?” Moreen asked.
She was distressed when Dinekki shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. “Who knows? At least he was thinking, and came up with a plan. Almost like he had the notion whispered into his ear.”
“Yes …” The chiefwoman wasn’t sure what to think.
“He has a god of his clan, you know, just as you do, lass,” the shaman suggested. “Zivilyn Greentree and Chislev Wilder are in many ways cut from the same cloth, both true gods and wise. They will help those who have faith and who are willing to work to help themselves.”
“It looks like they have all the warqat collected. Let us hope, Grandmother, that our faith is true and that our gods are with us.”
It was Barq One-Tooth who came up with the idea of the Warqat Man. This was a structure made from a framework of spear shafts, designed in the approximate shape of a human, at least insofar as it had two arms, two legs, a torso, and a place for a head. It was not an image that would have fooled anyone who cared to look closely, but Kerrick had hopes that the polar worm lacked that kind of discretionary ability. In any event, it seemed like the best idea they had.
To this framework the humans attached as many of their warqat containers as they could, draping them several layers thick over the chest and limbs, bundling three of them to make a crude approximation of the head. When the first effort collapsed from an excess of weight, they made a second, using double lengths of spear shafts for support, as well as a third, anchoring a leg that would extend off the back of the thing and form a tripod mount that would hold it erect. All this time they kept the Warqat Man out of sight of the polar worm.
To distract the monster, other warriors ventured closer to the remorhaz. Some of them shot arrows at the creature, which didn’t even seem to notice the missiles, while others simply pitched rocks. One bold Highlander started to climbed the cliff flanking the pass, intending to drop boulders down onto the monster. Unfortunately, the creature-after apparently ignoring the climber’s efforts as he scaled fifty or sixty feet up the nearly sheer cliff- abruptly shot up to its full height, lunging upward with those deadly pincers snapping together. The mandibles closed around the desperately kicking climber’s foot and plucked the man from the wall. The remorhaz released its bite, and the hapless fellow plunged down, tumbling over the jagged rocks to come to a rest near the monster’s serpentine body. He lay there, groaning piteously for several minutes, until the beast placed one of its segmented legs on his chest and pressed down slowly with life-crushing force.
It was a grim group of warriors who at last prepared the Warqat Man for his sacrificial task. Kerrick, Barq, Mouse, and Bruni formed a tight screen in front of the figure, while another half dozen Highlanders took the limbs and hoisted it just off the ground. A score or more of warriors spread out to each side so the group could advance in numbers that might make the decoy easier to conceal.
Moreen insisted upon coming along, though Barq was just as adamant that she remain behind. “Who’ll take over this motley lot if we fail?” he growled. “You are the one they follow, the one who must survive! You can watch from back here!”
“My place is with the rest of you who are risking your lives!” she retorted. “I will not accept orders to the contrary!”
Recognizing the stubborn clench of her jaw, Kerrick leaned in and spoke to her quietly. “No one is giving you orders,” he said reasonably, with a stern glance at the glowering Barq, “but it only makes sense that you stay back, at least for this attempt. After all, if we fail, someone is going to have to lead the next try, and that will have to be
