The Gates of Thorbardin

Chapter 29

The stone bridge across the gorge, at its narrowest point near the foot of Sky's End, was old. Not truly ancient, in the sense that Gargath's monolith and such constructs as Pax Tharkas and the ruins of Zhaman were ancient, but it was old. Obviously, it had been built since the Cataclysm, because prior to that there was no gorge between the mountain peaks and the Plains of Dergoth.

Andobviously,it was of dwarven construction. A high-arched bridge, it was built entirely of stone — huge blocks of cut and shaped granite rising a hundred feet or more in its center as it spanned three hundred yards of abyss. Its floor was a precise nine feet in width. That was the same width as the cable-cart tunnels in Thorbardin.

As he approached the structure, Wingover studied it intently. "I hope you know what you're doing," he told Chane. "Once we cross the gorge, we're going away from Thorbardin, not toward it. And there are some very unfriendly goblins over there somewhere."

"At least I know where to look for Pathfinder," the dwarf noted. -It s just at the edge of the plains, on a hillside. Probably not more than three miles from here."

"When you have it, it will lead you back toward Thorbardin," Wingover noted. "The bridge will be between us and the city, then. I can't think of a better place for those goblins to trap us."

"What's why I'm going on alone, after we cross the bridge," Chane said.

"The rest of you can wait at the other abutment, to make sure we can come back."

"I'll do no such thing, Chane Feldstone," Jilian snapped. "If you go out there, then I'm going too."

"I don't have much choice about it," Chestal Thicketsway pointed out.

"I'm with you, Chane. At least until I do something about Zap."

"I'll leave Spellbinder here," the dwarf said. "Wingover can hold it for me. That way you can stay here, too, Chess. 1 don't know, you might be handy to have around if Chane has to hold the bridge. I've seen you use that hoopak."

"Yeah, I'm pretty good with it, don't you think?"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"No. You said you'd seen me use it."

"You're good with it, so stay here."

"I don't have much choice, if Spellbinder's here. Unless… I don't suppose you'd want me to hang on to Spellbinder until you get back. That way I could — "

"No-o-o!" something that wasn't exactly a voice seemed to wail.

"Oh, yeah," the kender remembered. "I don't want to have to listen to that again. Of course, I could leave my pouch, but then what would I use to carry hoopak pebbles?"

"Stay!" Chane growled. "All the rest of you, too. I know where I'm going, and I'll go faster alone."

But Wingover was ignoring the dwarf. Quickly, the man stripped the packs from his horse, down to just saddle and gear. As he swung aboard, he snugged his flinthide shield to his left forearm in riding mode. Wingover then pulled his sword around, ready to hand, and looked down at the glowering dwarf. "When it comes to traveling fast, you're about the worst choice we have at the moment. So it's up to me. Where is that hillside?"

Chane glared up at him. "How do I know you'll come back?"

"How do you know you would?" the man bristled.

"Do you want my help or not?"

"I never asked for your help," Chane grumbled. "Jilian did."

Wingover leaned down to match the dwarf's pugnacious glare with one of his own. "I believe you could aggravate the horns off a minotaur, dwarf, but I don't think you're stupid. Tell me where to find that helm of yours, or I'll go search for it anyway." Jilian tugged the sleeve of Chane's black fur coat. "Tell him, Chane. He'll bring it back."

"How do you know he…?" Chane looked around and paused. "Oh. Well, I suppose you're right. It's just that humans are so hard to trust."

"Well?" Wingover asked.

"Beyond the bridge is a broken slope, with a trail winding down through rock outcrop for about half a mile. The trail is easy to see… or it used to be, anyway, when I…I mean when Grallen saw it. After you get out of the breaks, you'll see a few low hills ahead, and the trail will fork around the first one. Take the left fork. The right leads to the bog." He paused, and Wingover nodded.

"Past that hill you'll see two more a mile or so away — little hills that look alike, with a gap between and the sundered plains beyond. The right-hand hill is where Grallen's helm is, with Pathfinder. The hillside faces Skullcap, and the helm's near the foot of the hill. There's rubble there, so I guess you'll just have to search through it."

"What if it's buried or something?"

"It isn't buried. But it's in a dark place with a tall, tilted opening

— like a crack. Jagged, kind of. And where it is, it can't see

Thorbardin."

"How do you know that?" Wingover asked. Chane shrugged. "Because it wants to, and it can't. I don't know. The Irda said the two gems are god-things, left over from something a god did. Maybe they are interested in whatever that god is concerned about."

"And what god is that?" Wingover said with a frown.

"Assuming, of course, that there really are gods. I'm not sure I believe any of that."

"I don't know if I do, either," the dwarf admitted. "But the Irda did.

And Reorx is the highest of the gods… if there are any."

"Reorx? Wingover scoffed. What about Gilean? And Paladine, and

Kiri-Jolith? Reorx isn't any higher than them!"

"Who?"

"Gilean."

The dwarf nodded. "He's all right, I suppose. I meant Reorx was greater than those other two you named. I've never even heard of them."

"You never heard of Paladine? He's the highestranking of — "

"He means Thak and Kijo," Chess butted in, grinning.

"A lot of people call them Paladine and Kiri-Jolith." They both looked at the kender. Chane frowned and snapped, "What are you grinning about?"

"Oh, I was just thinking, for two people who don't believe there are gods, you both certainly have your favorites."

"And how do you know so much about it?"

"I listen a lot."

"Pure superstition, anyway," Wingover snorted, straightening in his saddle. He looked at the rising stone bridge ahead and lifted his reins.

"I'll be back," he said. "Just hold the bridge for me if trouble comes."

He touched heels to the horse and trotted it to the foot of the stone bridge. The horse abruptly turned tail and tried to throw him off. He clung, cursing, and finally got the animal under control.

"Maybe he's afraid of the bridge," Chane suggested.

"Geekay has never been afraid of a bridge in his life!" Wingover shouted. "Or a goblin, either! He's just full of vinegar from not being exercised."

"Geekay? Is that his name? What does it mean?"

"He named himself. It's Goblin Killer." Wingover hauled the reins. The horse spun, dug in haunchesdown, and hit the bridge at a full gallop.

Wingover's diminishing voice came back to them: "Blast it, horse! Not so fast!"

In seconds the thundering horse had topped out at the crown of the high-curved span and was out of sight. A moment later the ring of hooves on stone faded to a distant clatter, beyond the gorge.

"Well, the bridge is still there," Chestal Thicketsway decided. "I guess it's safe to cross."

"Of course it's safe," Chane growled. "It's dwarven work." Picking up his pack, he started up the bridge, the others following after him.

"If a gnome can fly," the kender muttered, "then I guess a dwarf might miscalculate rocks and things from time to time."

By the time Wingover got the bridge-spooked horse under tight rein, they were through the breaks and into rolling, open country. Holding Geekay to a steady trot, the wilderness man scanned the lands ahead. A few low hills lay ahead, about a half-mile away, just as Chane had said. Wingover eased the reins and headed for them, looking for signs of a trail.

At first there was none, then in a low place that might once have been a mudflat he saw tracks. They were old tracks, but still clear — at least three horses, and the short, wide.prints of dwarven boots. The trail disappeared short of the hill, but Wingover made left and circled around it, his eyes roving the landscape. Sometimes he raised his shield to eye-level and peered over the top edge of it. An old trick, it was a way to see distinct movement that might otherwise lose itself in mirage. So far he had seen nothing, but vagrant breezes carried the stink of goblins.

Wingover knew they were out there somewhere.

As much as he watched the land around him, he watched the ears of his horse. The animal smelled goblins, too, and was wary. Its ears swiveled this way and that, pausing sometimes. When they did, Wingover scanned in their direction.

The hill was a smooth mound, and as Wingover passed it he saw two more, just as the dwarf had described. They lay about a mile ahead, with some draws and gullys lacing the lower ground between.

Geekay's ears turned, fixed on a direction ahead and to the left, and a tremor ran along his mane. Wingover lifted his shield, peering over its edge. Atop a narrow draw, barely a hundred yards away, something moved. It looked like a twig twitching in the wind… except that twigs twitch rhythmically, and this one didn't. It moved, disappeared below the rim of the draw, and reappeared a few yards away. Its direction was toward the point where his own path would cross the draw.

So they're waiting for me there, he decided. But how many?

Wingover reined a little to the left, holding hard against the bit, then let Geekay have his head. The horse had never been trained as a warhorse — not as some he had seen, great steeds in armor, ridden by men in armor, silent men who had come down from Solamnia once many years before in search of a fugitive — but Wingover and Geekay had traveled far together and had been in some scrapes.

With the bit eased and the scent of goblins in his nostrils, and with the tug to the left from his rider, Geekay took the lead. As the horse gathered himself, Wingover jumped to the ground and headed for the draw at a crouching run, angling to the right. Behind him, Geekay whinnied shrilly and galloped away to the left. Fifty yards… one hundred… then he turned and headed for the draw.

In the ravine, four goblin scouts paused, puzzled at the sudden change in approaching sounds. One started to raise his head and another swatted him down. "Don' look," he growled. "Get us seen. Listen!"

"Runnin' away," another said, pointing back the way they had come. "That way."

The goblins turned to follow the hoofbeats, but a blood-freezing howl erupted just behind them. The rearmost goblin didn't even have time to turn. Wingover's sword flashed across his back from shoulder to waist, and dark blood spurted. The second turned, tried to raise his dart-bow, and had it knocked from his hand. With his sword, the goblin barely countered the human's following thrust with a low, chopping swing at his legs. Metal rang on metal.

The third goblin had his blade out, but the fourth caught his arm. "Back up," he hissed. "Get room. Use darts."

They scrambled back, setting darts to their crossbows. The first dart ricocheted off Wingover's flinthide shield. The second buried itself in the back of a goblin flung from the point of a sword. The last two set darts again, then their eyes widened as the sound of thunder bore down on them from behind. One turned, screamed, and bounced off the other as the flashing hooves of a horse named Goblin Killer descended upon him. The remaining goblin was still scrambling to his feet when Geekay swapped ends and kicked. Crushed like a turtle in its shell, the goblin flew over

Wingover's head and rebounded off a wall of the gully.

"Not bad," Wingover breathed, catching up the reins of the excited, wild-eyed horse. "Now let's move. It stinks here."

He scrambled into his saddle. Geekay cleared the rim at a bound and headed for the right-hand hill ahead, Wingover wondered where the rest of the goblins were. He knew there were at least a hundred more, and among them possibly ogres — as well as a woman in a hideous armor mask that hid a face that should have been beautiful.

Atop the hill was a bright green statue of a wizard, both arms extended to their full length, a motionless staff in one hand. Wingover blinked at it, then headed for it. Even from the foot of the hill, he recognized

Glenshadow the Wanderer… even though he was bright green and motionless.

The wilderness man reined in beside the wizard, gaping at him. Even his clothing and his hair were bright green. Leaning from his saddle, he asked, 'What happened to you?"

"Take… it," the wizard gasped.

"Take what?" He looked the mage over and noticed that one hand was balled into a tight fist. Wingover pried it open. In the wizard's hand was a crystal, the twin of Spellbinder, except for its color. As red as

Spellbinder was, so was Pathfinder green.

Wingover took the crystal, and the green color faded from the mage.

Glenshadow slumped, trembling. "I–I shouldn't have touched it," he rasped. "Should have known. Spellbinder binds magic, turns it against itself. Pathfinder freezes it, holds it in stasis. It was how Gargath held and controlled the graystone."

Wingover flipped the crystal over in his hand. "Very pretty," he said.

"All right, they're waiting for us at the bridge. Can you ride?"

"Can't get through," the wizard said, still trembling.

"The goblins… they're behind you, heading for the bridge. I saw them from up here. With Pathfinder, I couldn't move. But I could see… everything. The dwarf was right. Thorbardin is breached. Here."

Glenshadow stooped and picked up something Wingover had not noticed until then — an old dwarven helmet, not elaborate but of fine craft. It was a horned and spired helm of burnished metal with skirts and a carven nosepiece. Above the noseguard was a setting.

"The gem belongs here," Glenshadow said. "Please put it back in place."

Wingover took the helmet and turned it, wonder in his eyes. Grallen's helm. There was no doubt of it. The dwarven prince of old had been here.

He had been inside the fortress of Zhaman, and only this helm had survived to tell of it. And it had called out to Chane Feldstone in dreams.

Carefully Wingover reset Pathfinder in the helm's setting. His hard, but gentle fingers refit the brass prongs that had held it, and for a moment

Wingover was tempted to put it on his head. It would fit, and it might speak to him… then he changed his mind. This is Chane's to do with as he must, he told himself. And if there is one lesson I can learn from this wizard here, it is not to fiddle with things that are beyond me.

Wingover bound the old helmet with thongs and hung it from his saddle, then reached a hand to Glenshadow. "Come up," he said. "The horse can carry double. We've got to get back to the bridge."