Winterheim

8

Kerrick shivered under a sense of revulsion so strong that he almost gagged. He had never seen a monster like the beast towering in the Escarpment Pass, never even imagined that such a horror could exist-save, perhaps, in the lightless depths of the ocean, where even the gods never looked. To find such a grotesque creature here, in the shadow of the Icewall, seemed like a defiance of life itself, of every order of natural law.

Thedric Drake, a brave man, and a solid and sensible leader, was gone forever, taken in the first slashing bite of the monster. A dozen more Highlanders lay on the ground where the beast had smashed them, some dead, others writhing in pain, clutching broken limbs or puking up blood and guts from insides wracked by smashing force. Barq One-Tooth, knocked aside like a toy by the monster’s first rush, had struggled to his feet and managed to stumble away.

The creature seemed to barely be getting started. The elf watched as the monster rushed forward again, smashing through the front of the war party’s column, crushing men under its multiple feet, jabbing this way and that with those horrid, slashing jaws. The humans had no recourse. To a man they turned and fled back from the gap in the ridge crest, spreading out, tumbling and falling, crawling on hands and knees in frantic attempts to escape.

Some of them made it, and others didn’t. The monstrous head lunged forward again and again, each time striking some hapless person. Many of these victims disappeared in a single gulp, swallowed by the same fate meted out to Thedric Drake; others were cruelly cut, even bitten in half, until the ground at the mouth of the pass was littered with body parts and gore.

Kerrick spun around, having momentarily forgotten that the horde of thanoi remained in their grim, silent semicircle. He would not have been surprised to see that band rush forward to take advantage of the human’s consternation. Instead, the walrus-men seemed content to watch and to wait. All along they had been waiting.

“Why not?” muttered Bruni, who had apparently taken note of the same thing. “The tusked bastards won’t take any more losses, and what in Chislev’s name can we do against that thing?”

What, indeed? The monster had a segmented body that was fifty feet or more long-indeed, the tail remained out of sight, buried within the cluster of rocks from which it had burst.

“We have to try to attack it!” Moreen declared. “Surely it can be wounded somehow!”

“I agree,” said Kerrick, with another glance at the ominously waiting thanoi.

“Let’s go,” grunted Bruni.

She had dropped her heavy pack on the ground and now drew out the Axe of Gonnas, quickly pulling the leather shroud off of the blade. The metal gleamed in the pale daylight, shining with an internal brightness. The shaft alone was nearly six feet long, and the blade was as big as a barrelhead.

The Arktos woman hefted the weapon in her hands and started toward the notch of the escarpment, Moreen and Kerrick advancing stoutly at her side. Barq One-Tooth, bleeding from several wounds, joined them, and even old Dinekki hobbled behind. Others of the war party maintained the solid rearguard under Mouse’s command, facing the walrus men, banging weapons and chanting, making a show of force that would keep the thanoi away.

More Highlanders joined the small party in the advance, until there were three or four dozen fighters making the charge.

“Kradock curse that thing-it can’t be slain!” grunted Barq. “I landed a sharp blow on those chest plates, and me axe bounced away like I was smitin’ stone!”

“That’s because your blade, solid though it be, is but cold steel,” said Dinekki, who somehow managed to keep up with the striding warriors. “That is a beast of the dark corners of the planes-as such, it must be pierced by metals that have been cast in forges of godly blessing.”

“My blade was made in the ancient elven fires,” Kerrick volunteered grimly. “I will try it against the brute.”

“This axe is a talisman of the immortals-even if it was made in the name of an ogre god,” Bruni declared. “Let those gods turn its edge against the monster.”

Barq looked at the woman and the elf with an expression of grudging respect. “Well, I’ll attack with ye-even if I can’t hurt the thing, I’ll give it worry!”

More and more of the Highlanders had fallen in with them as they approached the mouth of the pass. The monster seemed to be at rest, but those bulging, multi-faceted eyes were alert, shifting and glowing as it inspected the approaching force. Slowly it drew its sinuous foreparts off of the ground, rising to twenty, then thirty feet in the air. The grotesque jaws, gory with blood and bits of clothing and flesh from its victims, gaped.

“Feel that-the beast is hot,” observed the chiefwoman in surprise.

Kerrick, too, sensed the heat against his face, a sensation as though he was approaching a large pile of glowing coals.

“ ’Tis a remorhaz-the polar worm,” said Dinekki, with a low whistle. “A creature of legend it be, and never did I think I’d be looking one in the eyes. Beware those plates on its back-they are hot enough to sear your flesh, should you come close.”

“Aim for the belly, then,” said Kerrick, “and strike hard.”

The attackers, two score or more of them, rushed forward in unison. Again that monstrous head snapped forward and a big Highlander right next to the elf screamed as the gaping jaws descended upon him. The sound was instantly muffled as the elf struck to the side, driving the tip of his blade through the plates armoring the monster’s flanks. Kerrick needed all of his strength to pull the sword out when the creature twisted away.

When the beast reared back the hapless warrior’s boots were left scattered haphazardly on the ground, the elf nearly gagging as he realized that the Highlander’s feet were still in them. He pressed home the attack, lunging in to stab at the exposed belly. Again, he cut through the hard, scaly surface, but the sheer size of the creature insured that he could not strike very deeply. Barq, too, struck a blow, his mundane steel cutting open one of the plates, but neither did he do much apparent damage to the rampaging beast.

Bruni had a little more success-the Axe of Gonnas blazed fire as she drove against the monster’s other side, and with a powerful blow sliced off one of the spidery legs. The creature shrieked and whirled toward her, but she fended off the jaws by waving the sacred axe back and forth. Kerrick and the others then attacked frantically, stabbing, chopping, even shouting invective, and finally the monster turned away from the big woman to snap at another victim. This time it was a courageous Arktos warrior who vanished into that insatiable maw.

When the worm reared back again, the elf and humans had to yield to the inevitable, retreating in a scramble to get out of the mouth of the pass. The remorhaz lunged but came up short. This time it clawed its way fully out of its rock pile, twisting the serpentine body and sending huge boulders tumbling this way and that. Kerrick felt a stab of panic as the creature came on in a startling rush, undulating the body as its many legs clawed across the ground.

Moreen sprinted next to the elf, and he held back, giving her the edge to get away. A Highlander tumbled and fell, then screamed horribly as those mandibles stabbed down and ripped him apart. A quick glance showed the creature gathering for another lunge, and Kerrick ran desperately, passing Dinekki. He stopped in shock as he realized that the slight, elderly shaman was standing firm and alone in the face of the monster.

She held up a skinny hand and barked out the words to a spell, a casting that Kerrick had seen her use once before.

“Chislev Wilder, born of flood-render bedrock into mud!”

The remorhaz roared forward, and at the same time the swath of mountainside in its path began to darken and sag. Kerrick saw an outcrop of rock melt like butter under a hot sun, oozing down. The monster’s front end reached the soft terrain, and it fell in, sinking with a splat, throwing mud up in the air as it thrashed and fought. Slowed by the mire, it pulled backward and lifted its forequarters high into the air, shaking free of the muck, regarding the humans and elf with cold, baleful eyes.

Instead of resuming its pursuit, however, the polar worm roared a shrill sound of triumph, spewing a cloud of sulfurous smoke. Several grisly objects, charred and unrecognizable, belched from those horrific jaws to bounce and roll across the rocks. Each of these was blackened and charred, still smoking. A couple bore ghastly resemblance to burned human skulls, while one bounced and clanged metallically, rolling all the way down to the surviving 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 you.”

She glared at him, her dark eyes ice cold with fury, her mouth opening as she prepared her retort. The elf was surprised when, with visible effort, she clenched her jaws together and didn’t argue.

“Very well,” she said finally. “Good luck-and may all the gods watch over you.”

“Thank you-I think that they are watching,” was Kerrick’s reply. He saw that she was terribly afraid for them and felt a surprising-and very un-elf-like-lump in his throat. “Say a prayer,” he whispered, leaning forward to give her a kiss on the cheek.

The warriors then turned to the worm, which had taken no visible interest in their preparations. Fanning out across a wide front, with the Warqat Man being carried along in the middle of the group, they started forward. When they came to the swath of ground that had melted under Dinekki’s spell, Kerrick was surprised to see that it had hardened again into stone-though it retained the smooth surface into which the mud had flowed.

Moving across this, each warrior held a weapon ready and stepped carefully, ready to fight or flee as the situation demanded. Closer and closer they crept, and still the monster didn’t react. Kerrick vividly remembered the creature’s lightning quickness, however, and feared that, at any moment, it would spring to the attack.

Finally they halted, no more than one hundred feet away from the remorhaz. The elf heard activity behind him, knew that the Highlanders were setting up the Warqat Man. “Ready!” one of them whispered, finally.

Kerrick raised his sword and took a step forward. The others did the same, waving their weapons, shouting insults and curses at the monster. Several of them reached down to pick up stones, and these they hurled in an irregular barrage. At last the monster seemed to stir, lifting its ghastly head, glaring with those pale eyes. The elf watched and saw the many legs curl underneath the segmented body, perceived the growing tension in the rigid limbs. The wave of heat was palpable, as the internal fires of the remorhaz raged into life.

The jaws parted slightly, and he knew it was time.

“Now!” he cried, turning away from the monster, glancing around to see that the rest of the advance party wasted no time in heeding his cue. All of them, Arktos and Highlanders, sprinted away, every one running back toward the mass of the war party.

All of them, that is, except for the Warqat Man. The decoy figure remained standing where the warriors had left it, a lone challenge to the suddenly enraged monster.

The polar worm reared upward, hissing in fury. Kerrick glanced back, saw those widespread jaws looming as wide as a cave mouth, the serpentine body uncoiling like a spear shot from a bow. With one chomping bite the creature bit down on the figure of sticks and water skins, again rearing back and raising its head as it swallowed the bait.

For an interminable time-at least two heartbeats-nothing seemed to happen, then the elf felt the impact of a powerful, albeit muffled, explosion. The monstrous mouth gaped open, emitting a huge rush of blue flame, and the polar worm swelled, suddenly growing much fatter. The remorhaz thrashed violently, the lashing tail breaking loose chunks of the enclosing cliffs, and a howl of unspeakable fury and pain emerged from that great form. More blue flame jetted from between the chinks in its chitonous plates, and a billowing cloud of filthy smoke roiled in the pass.

In the next instant, the monster lay still, motionless except for the acrid smoke that continued to belch from both ends of the body as well as from several huge gashes along its segmented flanks.

The remorhaz was dead.