The Gates of Thorbardin

Chapter 23

When Chestal Thicketsway went looking for more goblins, it didn't take him long to find them. Unfortunately, he had momentarily overlooked the fact that he was glowing bright green.

By the time the kender saw the double platoon of armed hostiles coming at him across a field, they had already seen him. All he could do was run.

Rain danced and sizzled around him as he fled, every step taking him farther from his friends and deeper into enemy territory. He tried dodging into a hedgerow, and realized there was nowhere for him to hide. In the thickening blackness of the rainy night, he shone like a green beacon.

Even shielded by the pouring rain, which increased steadily as he fled from a growing pursuit, his light gave him away.

Sure evidence of that was the sheer number of metal bolts that whisked and sang around him, coming from various directions.

The goblins couldn't see him well enough to aim carefully, Chess realized — at lease if he kept moving and managed to evade dose contact with any of them. But the bolts kept coming, and he had to admit that simple luck would guide some of them his direction.

"This may not have been a very good idea," he told himself, diving into a wash half-filled with dark, racing water. A pair of bronze bolts slapped water into the kender's face, and he ducked. Soon Chess was fighting an increasing current. It carried him one hundred yards downstream before he made it to the far bank.

His glow preceded him, and as he clambered out of the wash a grinning goblin charged into the light, brandishing a sword. Chess braced his hoopak, thumped the butt end of it into the creature's face, then brought it around full-circle. The shaft struck the goblin across the back of the neck and laid it out.

Chess grabbed up the creature's sword, and his nostrils twitched at the smell of goblin. He changed his mind and flung the sword from him, point-first. In the darkness somewhere close, a goblin gurgled and fell, pierced between breastplate and buckler. Chess didn't wait to see what would happen next. He turned and ran, following the course of the filling wash.

All about him was storm — pouring rain and driving winds, sheet lightning and rumbling thunder. Chess ran, and something hung with him, something that was part of the storm. It- seemed to expand, to flex invisible muscles. A voice that was no voice said, "Ah!"

"Ah?" Chess panted. "What do you mean, ah? Do you have something to do with this… aha! You do! Well, nice going, Zap. Just keep it up, will you?"

"More," something seemed to demand. "Much more."

"Just behave yourself!" The kender dodged through a small wooded lot, where trees exploded into fiery kindling as great bolts of lightning struck them. The thunder was deafening. Goblin feet pounded behind Chess, pursuing the globe of bright green light. A bronze bolt zipped past the kender's ear and buried itself in a tree trunk.

As Chess dodged past a clump of brush, lightning revealed a wedge of goblin-warriors coming at the kender from ahead, only yards away.

Crossbows went up, and Chess went down, diving flat onto a sheet of water inches deep. Bolts sang over him and found targets among the goblins pursuing. Chess rolled aside and set off at right angles, cursing the bright green glow that shone about him. "Invisibility," he hissed. "That's some wizard we found!"

Hazy boles of trees danced past the kender, reflecting his own green light through the pouring rain, then he was in a cleared field and someone was just ahead. Chess skidded to a halt, soupy mud sheeting from his feet.

More goblins… and something else. A creature taller than goblins, wearing dark armor with intricate designs and a grotesque barbed helmet with a hideous mask. The creature raised a sword, beckoned, and the goblins around it charged.

"If you have any more tricks, Zap," Chess breathed,

"now's the time."

"Much more," something silent said.

Lightning crashed and crescendoed, huge brilliant bolts striking all around. The kender's long hair fell from around his neck, unraveled itself, and seemed to stand straight out from his head, a huge crown of dark bristle. Bolt after bolt of lightning cracked and seared, before

Chess and behind, and in the flashes he saw goblins tumbling through the air, falling here and there; goblins thrown aloft; goblins that smoked and sizzled and fried. A wind smacked Chess aside. The kender's racing feet barely touched the ground as he flew.

"Wow," he whispered, nearly blinded by his own streaming hair.

Somewhere behind, he heard a voice — authoritative and furious — shouting orders. She sounds cross, he told himself. Better keep going.

Driven by a howling wind that seemed to try to lift him from the ground, lashed by huge drops of rain that stung his back as they flew in almost horizontal sheets, blinded by his streaming hair and deafened by thunders, the kender gripped his hoopak and leaped high over a tapering rock ledge.

Through the tunnel of his hair he saw trees ahead, lit by stuttering flashes and his own green glow. He bounded down a sloping bank toward heavy growth and tried to slow himself, without much success. Then directly ahead, something huge and ugly raised itself and spread wide arms, bracing itself against the screaming wind. An ogre. Chess even recognized the huge, grimacing features.

Loam.

At gale speed the kender closed on the brute, his eyes wide. At the last instant, he thrust out his hoopak, dropped its butt, and vaulted. A tumbling leap carried him up and past the creature's crushing hands, almost high enough to clear its head. Almost, but not quite. Instead, the kender's feet smacked the ogre's jutting brow. Chess's free hand caught a tangle of Loam's hair, and the kender completed his flip upright, standing on top of the ogre's head.

"I can't wait to tell them about this at Hylo," he muttered. "Of course, they're never going to believe it." Before the ogre could react, wind hit them like a fist and Chess was thrown tumbling, into a grove of trees. He got his feet under him and dodged among the trees, downslope. Behind him he heard a crash and an angry roar. Loam had run into a tree.

Among the trees, the wind was diffused a little, and the kender slowed a bit. But then he was in the open again, on a broad, shoaling bank with raging floodwaters beyond. Wind swept down on him, caught him, and threw him head over heels into the churning maelstrom.

Tumbling and fighting, the kender bobbed away downstream. Above him a voice that was not there seemed to moan, "No-o-o! Other way-y-y!"

Four brightly shining figures and one dark one fled across storm-blown fields in a murk lighted only by staccato flares from above. Sheets of rain hissed around them, and thunder reverberated. The ground was a flowing morass of runoff.

Chane Feldstone led now, holding to the slim green trace that was their only means of direction in the turbulent darkness. The dwarf was a blackness against the dark, staggering sometimes from weakness. He was supported by the rosy-glowing Jilian, who refused to leave his side. The golden brightness of Wingover, leading a glowing gray horse, and the ruby-red Glenshadow, struggled along after the dark dwarven shape.

The worst of the storm seemed to be to the south, a few miles away at most. The curtained darkness in that direction was broken by a constant blaze of lightning, and the gale winds swirling from there carried the sharp, sweet breath of ozone.

They had tried to persuade the dwarf to ride, but he would have none of it. Wingover suspected that Chane, like many of his race, simply disliked horses. Some dwarves were excellent riders, but not all.

Since leaving the gully, they had seen no goblins — or any other living thing. Possibly the kender, going off alone as he had, had led the main forces away. If so, Wingover thought, then the gods help the little creature. He would never stand a chance out there alone.

Two miles of travel brought them to a descending slope with forest beyond, and beyond that the sound of a torrent raging. The valley's stream would be out of its banks by now, a rushing beast that no one could cross.

While Chane rested, with the attentive Jilian chattering at his side,

Wingover scouted. When he returned, he had news. Upstream a half-mile was a well-worn path going east. If there was a bridge, it should be there.

"And if the alert went out, that's where the goblins on the other side will be waiting," the wizard pointed out. Chane got to his feet. "We'll weld that joint when we find it," he said gruffly.

Wingover shrugged. 'Then lead on, Grallen-kin," he said.

Again, then, they were on the move. The path Wingover had found veered eastward, downslope and into forest, beyond which the torrent raged. The little stream that Camber Meld had called Respite River was, in normal conditions, a tame and pretty brook. Now, though, it was rushing, whitecapped black water nearly a hundred yards across — but spanned yet by a raised footbridge wide enough to allow carts to pass from one side to the other.

Beyond the stream was rainy darkness.

"I'll go first." Chane took a deep breath, drawing himself up. "I'm the only one who might get a look at the other side before he's spotted."

Without waiting for argument, the dwarf trotted down the streaming bank, waded through knee-deep water to the bridge's ramp, and disappeared in pouring darkness. He was back a short time later, appearing out of the darkness like a black-furred shadow with a glinting hammer in its hand.

"The bridge is sound," he told them. "There have been goblins on the path beyond, but they aren't there now. I took a good look around. Maybe the rain drove them to shelter."

"I've heard that goblins have no love of clean water," Wingover noted.

With Chane leading, pale but clear-eyed, they started across. The bridge shivered with the force of the torrent below it, and creaked and groaned when the horse was led onto it, but it seemed secure. The searchers were halfway across when they noticed that the wind had died and the pouring rain was letting up. The storm was dissolving as quickly as it had begun, and through clouds above, the visible moons could be seen in crescent.

"Our shine is outlasting our shield," Wingover growled, not looking at the wizard. In a way, he felt the blame had to be shared. The mage had at least tried to give them cover.

Jilian stopped and raised a hand, pointing upstream.

"Look," she said.

Far up the stream, a greenness glowed — a widening point of light that sparkled the torrent's surface and glimmered along both banks. Even as they watched, the green glow grew, coming toward them rapidly.

"The kender?" Chane wondered.

"Oh, rust," Jilian said. "I hope it isn't the poor little thing's corpse."

"He's still shining," Wingover reassured her.

As Wingover made that hopeful statement, the approaching green light winked out and there was only darkness on the stream. Jilian gasped. And gasped again as her own rosy glow dimmed and failed.

"We're losing our glow," Jilian said.

Wingover's gold radiance held for a moment more, then blinked off abruptly. Now they were only huddled shadows on a dark bridge, highlighted by a glowing horse and a radiant red wizard. The horse's light dimmed, lingered for a moment, and was gone.

The dark torrent raged beneath the footbridge, and now there were specks of light upstream. A blaze of torches was coming along the bank, on the side they had left. Wingover pointed. "They were following the kender."

"I think it would be a good idea if you doused yourself," Jilian

Firestoke told Glenshadow. Still the wizard shone with a bright ruby glow.

"Come on," Chane urged. "Let's get across. They're coming."

"How about somebody giving me a hand?" The voice that came from below the bridge was highpitched and excited. Chane and Wingover hurried to the edge and peered down into dark, rushing water. They quickly stepped across to the other side. Just below, barely visible, Chestal Thicketsway clung to a hoopak jammed between bridge pilings.

"Give us some light here," Wingover ordered, pulling Glenshadow to the edge of the bridge. Ruby glow lit rushing dark waters and the childlike face, grinning up at them. Chane Feldstone started to crouch above the kender, then winced as his wounded arm took his weight.

"Get back," Wingover snapped, pushing the dwarf aside. "I'll get him."

Kneeling, clinging to a bridge support, the man reached down and lifted the drenched kender, hoopak and all, to set him on his feet on the structure. The others stared at Chess. His hair falling around him, the kender looked like nothing more than a dark mushroom with a forked stick.

He pulled back long, soggy hair, shook it aside, and grinned at them.

"Hello," he said cheerfully, water cascading from him. "Did you know there are just a heck of a lot of goblins out there I I'm glad we stopped shining." He looked at the wizard critically. "If you intend to go on doing that, maybe you should go somewhere else."

After watching the torches come closer for a moment, Chane and his allies could see goblins… and creatures that were taller. Dragging the glowing wizard with them, trying to keep him shielded behind the horse, the searchers scurried for the far end of the bridge and the darkness beyond. When they were clear, Wingover waved the rest ahead, except for

Glenshadow. "Your phosphors gave me an idea," he told the wizard. "I think it's time to try it." Wingover dug into one of his packs and brought out a pair of hand-length cylinders that glowed silvery in the faint, murky moonlight. "Phosphor flares," he explained. "I got them from a Qualinesti traveler, Garon Wendesthalas." He dug deeper into the pack. "I still can't find my oil striker. Can you light these with that phosphor thing?"

"I can try. What do I light?"

"This thing here, on each one. It's a fuse." Wingover hurried to the foot of the bridge and placed a flare on each side, at the main supports.

"Hurry," he said.

The wizard knelt at first one and then the other of the flares, preparing the wicks. His glow was dimming slightly, and he squinted in the gloom.

"Will this help?" It was Chess, coming back to see what they were doing.

The kender held a small metal object, which he manipulated with his thumb.

A merry little fire appeared above his hand. But the wizard set the flares then. Harsh, bright sparks spewed forth, and Wingover said. "All right, get back!"

They retreated a dozen paces, then several more as bronze bolts sang past them from beyond the stream. Suddenly the flares erupted in furious blinding brilliance, beyond which a flood of armed goblins were running up the far ramp, onto the bridge.

Another bronze dart flew past, and Wingover snapped, "Put out that light." Then he turned to the kender as the little flame went out. "Where did you get that?"

Chess shrugged. "I don't know. Found it somewhere. What is it?"

"It's my oil striker!" Wingover growled.

"Is that what it is? Why do I have it, then?"

"I don't know why you have it. Give it back!"

Chess handed the thing over. "You must have dropped it along the way.

Lucky I found it for you. Looks a lot handier than flint and steel."

"It is flint and steel. With a wick. And oil. I — " Wingover stopped and stared. The flares on the bridge had done their job. The bridge blazed merrily now, a wall of fire from edge to edge, barring passage from the other side. A few wooden planks were even falling away to hiss in the dark waters below. But on the other side, a person had pushed through the clamoring crowd of goblins — a taller person, wearing gleaming black, ornamented armor and a horned helmet with a beaten mask. As Wingover, and now the others, stared across the fire, the person removed the mask. The wilderness man caught his breath. For the first time, he saw the face of

Kolanda Darkmoor. The hideous mask across the bridge was lowered, and the woman behind it was — no, might have been — stunningly beautiful. But she was something else instead. Wingover sensed absolute evil there. She only glanced at him, though, for her gaze swiftly locked on Chane Feldstone.

She put her hand to her throat and lifted something from her breastplate.