'But this is the Beast Lord's sword. There's a chance it won't bring the Beast Lord down around our heads.'
And, anyway, Dru didn't plan to be holding onto the sword when it pierced the ward. He envisioned hurling it like a javelin, but such heroic moves demanded years of practice. The sword tumbled after Druhallen threw it. Ghistpok's goblins chuckled at his awkward effort; he should have asked Sheemzher's help, at the very least. The sword struck the warding lengthwise and the resulting flare blinded them all.
'You meant to do that?' Tiep asked when they'd once again adjusted to the dim light of Dru's spell.
'I meant to clear it.'
Dru's voice was shaking and so was his hand as he picked up the sword. The hilt was charred, the steel blade was pitted. The warding had been more potent than he'd imagined.
'Why here?' Rozt'a asked. 'Why here in a spidery tunnel when there was nothing around the egg or the empty pools?'
'Yesterday we were above the Beast Lord. It doesn't worry about attacks from above. Ghistpok's goblins worship it and act as wards-a sentience shield. The enemies it fears-the ones it wards against-come from below.'
'What would that ward have done if you hadn't broken it?'
'Killed the first man foolish enough to touch it.' He fished out a larger bit of beeswax and shaped it around the sword's tip. A basic spell for the detection of magic was enchanted into the wax, not Dru's memory. The spell needed only the warmth of his breath to kindle. 'Come on, Sheemzher. Let's keep moving. We've tripped the Beast Lord's wards. If it's paying any sort of attention, it should send someone to investigate-or come itself.'
With Sheemzher at his side and the wax-tipped sword thrust before them, Dru led the way. The warding got thicker quickly-every ten steps they stopped and Sheemzher threw rocks discarded by long-dead dwarves into the webbing.
'He's hung enough stuff to stop an army,'
Tiep made the comment, but the truth, which Druhallen kept to himself, was that any army-any serious, sentient enemy with a halfwit's understanding of defensive strategy-would be doing exactly what he and his companions were doing: moving slow, tripping the wards before they did any damage, and giving the Beast Lord ample time to track them down. He was almost relieved when the tunnel ahead of them lit up with a burst-ward flare.
'Company's coming,' Rozt'a said. 'Get ready for swordswingers.' She drew her own weapon and tested the range of movement she'd have between the tunnel's walls.
Dru plucked an ember from his sleeve. 'Don't make assumptions-it could be anything, even the Beast Lord itself.'
Rozt'a reminded her partner of an obvious constraint: 'Not unless it chooses to fight from its knees. It was at least a foot taller than me.'
Rozt'a proved prophetic. They faced eight swordswingers, guided by a light spell and armed with a bit of fire magic. The best defense against the swarm of fiery streaks headed their way was a ball of flame Druhallen used to clear the tunnel. It consumed their arrows but was largely spent by the time it reached the swordswingers. There were a few screams, not as many as he'd hoped. The survivors charged, howling as they approached.
Druhallen expected Ghistpok's goblins to turn tail and run. He'd forgotten the antipathy between Sheemzher and Outhzin, and Amarandaris's assertion that the goblins would fight to the death under the right conditions. The insults Sheemzher hurled at Outhzin created those conditions. Ghistpok's goblins howled and surged in front of the humans, meeting the swordswinger charge with their spears.
'Not much of a sentient shield,' Rozt'a shouted from her unaccustomed place in the rear.
'Not much sentience,' Dru shouted back.
He was being unfair. The goblins were as clever as they needed to be, and their thick-shafted thrusting spears were better suited to close-quarter fighting than swords. Rozt'a never raised her blade. He and Tiep never unsheathed theirs.
Ghistpok's goblins were scavenging the swordswinger corpses as Dru, Rozt'a, and Tiep moved unnoticed through them toward Sheemzher, who stood alone and aloof where the swordswinger charge had begun.
'Did you get hurt?' Rozt'a asked.
'Sheemzher not hurt, good woman,' he replied, which seemed true enough where blood was concerned, but the goblin was clearly troubled by something.
'What's wrong?' Dru demanded.
Sheemzher sighed and turned away without answering-a degree of defiance he hadn't displayed before and one that raised alarms in Druhallen's mind. But before he could probe for answers, Ghistpok's goblins erupted with distinctly fearful shouts.
The five were gathered around a single corpse. One of the scavengers clutched his hand to his breast as if it had been burnt. The others were pointing at the corpse which, to Dru's eyes, looked no different than any of the other athanor-hatched swordswingers.
He repeated his unanswered question 'What's wrong?'
'Grouze!' Outhzin answered. 'Grouze!' He thrust his spear at the corpse but was careful not touch it. 'This demon, once Grouze.'
'He recognizes the corpse? Is that what he's saying?' Dru asked Sheemzher and Sheemzher nodded.
Rozt'a indulged her curiosity. She leaned over the corpse-in-question and got four spears shaken in her face for her boldness. Still, she retreated with satisfaction.
'Scars. Old scars along the ribs. He must have had them when he went into the egg and had 'em still when he came out. If they're looking for proof, I think they've found all the proof they need.'
'Is this sufficient, Sheemzher? Will this convince Ghistpok that the Beast Lord's not the god for him?'
Sheemzher hadn't stopped nodding since Druhallen's last question.
'You knew what the Beast Lord was doing, Sheemzher. You knew it yesterday.' Dru raised his voice, hoping to snap the goblin out of his trance. 'You saw it yesterday-a goblin and a mantis go into the athanor, and a swordswinger comes out. There are no demons, Sheemzher, the Beast Lord transmutes living things to make these creatures and the misshapen creatures of the bogs. That's what we've come down here to prove to Ghistpok. I didn't think we still had to prove it to you!'
He chose his words for a wider audience-Ghistpok's goblins, who'd demonstrated that they did, indeed, understand the Heartlands trade dialect. And it was a good thing that he did, because Dru's speech had no effect on Sheemzher. The goblin was locked inside his thoughts until Rozt'a sheathed her sword and knelt before him. 'Elva-That was her name? You're thinking about Elva?'
The rhythm of Sheemzher's nodding changed. Rozt'a had correctly guessed the goblin's fears. He took a tentative step toward another corpse and seemed almost grateful when Rozt'a held him back.
'Don't look,' she advised. 'Tell yourself she died years ago and don't look down now.'
'She probably did die years ago anyway, Sheemz,' Tiep said in a tone that was almost sympathetic.
None of the goblins would touch the swordswinger corpse that had once been Grouze. Druhallen had to hoist the body onto his shoulders and climb the rope last because none of the goblins, including Sheemzher, would touch anything the corpse had touched, including the rope and the walls of the chimney shaft.
'I could remind them that the swordswingers patrol these corridors,' Tiep said nastily when the humans were able to stand up straight again. 'Everywhere they step a demon's stepped there before. That would be fun to watch-'
'You open your mouth,' Dru warned, 'and I'll tie your tongue to your belt. The Beast Lord's done something Ghistpok can't forgive. The whole colony will be up in arms. We get our sentience shield, we get the golden scroll, and we get out of Dekanter no worse off than we are right now. Understand?'
Tiep nodded.
13
7 Eleint, the Year of the Banner (1368 DR) Dekanter
