Authors: Troy Denning
“Perhaps because of this,” said Morten. The bodyguard held his fingers out for the others to see. They were covered with yellow ichor from the sore on his throat, which had begun to fester again. “I felt the wound swelling as we escaped the Fir Palace. It started to ooze right before he looked down at us.”
“You think he’s tracking us through the bite?” Brianna asked.
Morten nodded. “It explains how he reacted so quickly when we rescued you on the glacier.” The bodyguard fixed his eyes on the ground. “My wound was festering then, too.”
Tavis cursed under his breath. “That explains why he didn’t kill you on Coggin’s Rise,” the scout surmised. “He knew that if anyone came after Brianna, you’d be among them.”
Tears of shame began to roll down Morten’s cheeks. “I should have realized it earlier.”
“Why? None of us did,” Tavis said. He placed a reassuring hand on the bodyguard’s arm. “It’s not your fault.”
“And it’s not going to stop us from escaping,” Avner added, “Goboka and his ogres have a long climb.”
“And we have an even longer one-with them ahead of us,” Morten countered. He looked up at the craggy ridge above. “It won’t be easy to fight our way up that.”
“We don’t need to. Basil will lower a rope, then he’s got something figured that’ll get us up in no time.” Avner pointed across a small field to the base of the cliff, where the mangled bodies of Kol and Rog lay in a heap below the High Gate. “All we have to do is run over there.”
The youth started toward the cliff, trotting across the valley on a course roughly parallel to the trail the ogres were climbing to the base of the timber road. As Tavis and the others followed, the scout glanced up and saw Goboka watching them with a thoughtful expression. The shaman glanced toward the platform outside the High Gate and looked back to them.
Goboka pointed his finger down the trail, to where a rocky slope spilled down from the ridge crest, directly above the small field Tavis and his companions had to cross. The shaman cried out in the guttural language of his race. A deep, pulsing vibration shot through the floor of the valley, then a deafening crack rang off the canyon walls. Huge boulders began to slip free of the scarp face and tumble down the steep hillside.
“He’s trying to cut us off!” Tavis yelled. “Run faster!”
They broke into a sprint, their eyes fixed on the hillside above. The landslide built slowly, for the bedrock ridge did not crumble easily and would not have broken apart at all save for the incredible power of Goboka’s magic. As the boulders went bouncing down the scarp, they occasionally knocked more rocks loose, but the result was nothing like the cascade of loose stone that had nearly killed Tavis in Runolf’s couloir. By the time the small company’s leaders, Avner and Brianna, reached the field’s edge, less than a dozen boulders were tumbling down the slope above them.
Goboka’s voice rang out again, and another tremendous crack rang through the valley. This time, his spell was more successful. Near the crest of the ridge, a curtain of powdered rock shot into the air, then a mountainous slab of granite came free and slid downslope. It began to break apart, producing a tremendous rockslide. The cloud of rock dust rolled down the scarp and spread out over the field like a gray, bitter-smelling fog.
Morten rushed up and took Tavis’s arm, half dragging the scout into the choking haze ahead. “Let me help you along, runt!”
As they rushed across the field, the scout found himself gagging on the billowing dust. He could not see Brianna and Avner-though he hoped they had already cleared the danger. He and Morten veered away from the ridge as much as possible. Even so, dirt and gravel, surging ahead of the main avalanche, pelted their flanks, while boulders came bouncing past their heads with alarming frequency. Above the roar, Tavis heard the arrhythmic beat of Ig’s gait crashing along behind them. Ooo was gliding along with the fomorian, cursing his three mismatched legs and herself for staying at his side.
Tavis heard a dull thud as a small boulder, no larger than a human head, ricocheted off Morten’s shoulder. The bodyguard groaned and stumbled. Without slowing down, the scout leaned into his companion’s flank and propped him up. Together they staggered forward until the dust began to clear and no more stones came bouncing past. A short distance ahead Brianna and Avner stood on a gentle rise, safely beyond the rockslide.
A loud crack sounded behind Tavis. Ig yelled in pain, then there was a crash as the two fomorians fell to the ground. The scout whirled around and saw the dust-blurred shape of the fomorian cook lying on the ground, his hand pressed to a dripping head wound. Ooo was a short distance away, kneeling and stunned. A churning wall of stone was roaring down the slope to swallow them.
Tavis started to rush back to help, but Morten’s hand restrained him. “There’s no time.”
Realizing the wisdom of the bodyguard’s words, Tavis shouted. “Ooo, get up! Ig needs help!”
The scout’s warning roused both fomorians. Ig pushed himself up enough to prop his shortest leg beneath his body, but seemed unable to rise farther without teetering like a drunken hill giant. Ooo did better, leaping to her feet in a single graceful motion. When she turned toward Ig and saw the wall of stone boiling toward her, her eyes grew as large as moons. There was a good chance that both she and Ig could escape if she helped him, but Ooo simply turned toward Tavis.
She began to run, calling over her shoulder, “Goodbye, Ig.”
Ig raised his head to look at her back. “Goodbye, Ooo.” Then, as the rockslide swallowed him up, he added, “Coward hag!”
Ooo danced past the two firbolgs with no sign of remorse for Ig’s death. “Hurry!” The fomorian pointed toward the ridge above, where the ogres ahead of Goboka had drawn to within a few hundred paces of the timber road. “Not much time.”
After casting a last glance at the talus pile where Ig lay-buried, Tavis started across the last dozen paces to where the giants lay. Basil’s voice echoed down from the High Gate platform.
“Stand clear!”
The scout looked up in time to see a dark circle of cord spinning down from above. At first, he did not understand what Basil was doing, for he had never seen a rope that could reach such a distance. But the spool kept descending, the line growing impossibly long as coil after coil unfurled, until the last loop opened and the end of the rope snapped to a stop just a few paces away.
“That’s some rope,” Morten observed.
“It sure is.” Tavis replied.
“It’s magic,” Avner explained impatiently. “Come on!”
The youth led the way past the jumbled hills of flesh and bone that were the remains of Rog and Kol. He stopped about fifteen paces from the cliff face, where the rope hung with several loops tied into the last twenty feet of the line. When Tavis followed and looked up, it did not seem the cord was dangling from the High Gate so much as ascending straight into the sky.
“You two first,” Tavis said, motioning to Brianna and Avner.
“No,” Avner said. “Basil said the two heaviest people should go up first.”
Ooo did not need a second invitation. She stepped over to the line and grabbed a loop, then quickly pulled herself up to make room for Morten. The bodyguard was more reluctant.
“That rope doesn’t look strong enough to hold Ooo alone,” the firbolg said, eyeing the line suspiciously.
“Don’t worry, Basil’s taken care of everything.” Avner held a loop open for the firbolg’s foot. “Just climb in.”
The bodyguard secured his hand axe beneath the greasy cord serving as his belt, then placed his foot in the noose and climbed into position below Ooo.
“Snap the rope twice,” Avner called. “Hold on tight.”
The fomorian plucked the rope as instructed. The resulting vibration sent a deep, sonorous hum singing across the meadow, then the muted rattle of chains rolled down from the High Gate. Ooo and Morten shot upward, their quivering cries of astonishment trailing after them. A distant tolling, not unlike the knell of an alarm bell, echoed over the valley.
“What’s that?” Brianna asked.
“You’ll see in a second,” Avner said. “But right now, we’d better step back.”
By the time they did as the boy suggested, Tavis could see the source of all the clamor. The High Gate and its chains were sliding down the face of the cliff, trailing a long dark cord. Apparently, Basil had run the other end of the rope through one of the iron hooks set into the cliff above the fault cave, then tied it to the hoisting chains and cut them loose. Now the entire gate assembly was plunging groundward, serving as a counterweight to pull the immense bulk of Ooo and Morten up to the platform.
Realizing what would happen when the immense weight hit the ground, Tavis pulled Avner and Brianna behind a boulder. The gate and chains smashed down a second later. The resulting crash was so loud they didn’t even hear it; their ears simply began to ache with terrible, ringing pain. They were bucked high into the air and came down sprawled atop each other. Sheets of red gore, all that remained of Rog and Kol’s crushed bodies, sprayed over the top of boulder and coated the field for dozens of paces around.
Tavis looked up. Ooo and Morten, so distant that they appeared to be nothing more than blobby shadows with arms and legs, were scrambling over the edge of the platform. At the other end of the hanging road, the first ogre was just setting foot onto the timbers and starting up toward the fault cave.
The scout felt Avner tugging on his arm. When he looked down, he saw the boy’s lips moving but heard nothing. The ringing in his ears was so loud he could hardly hear his own thoughts, much less someone’s words. The youth gave up trying to talk and ran toward the gate, which lay smashed into a dozen pieces. Avner climbed up a hoisting chain to where the rope had been connected to the gate and began to untie it. Just above the knot he was working on, there was a series of loops similar to those in which Morten and Ooo had ridden up to the platform.
Tavis climbed up the hoisting chain before Brianna, taking the highest position on the rope himself. It appeared that Basil and the others would have to pull them up to the platform by hand. The scout didn’t know how long that would take, but feared the ogres would be waiting at the top. He certainly did not want the princess to be the first one they plucked off the rope.
Once Avner and Brianna had secured themselves beneath him. Tavis jerked the line as Ooo had done earlier. The trio did not shoot into the sky as the fomorian and Morten had, but rose rapidly and steadily. At first, the ascent was rather painful, for the rope dragged them along the cliff face, scraping their skin raw. They soon learned to work together to keep the soles of their feet pressed against the stone, so that they found themselves more or less running up the granite wall.
Tavis spent most of the trip craning his neck in an effort to see what Goboka and his ogres were doing. He quickly lost sight of the warriors as the last one started up the timber road, but the shaman himself was simply standing on the ridge watching them. The scout would have preferred to see the brute waddling up the trail as fast as his stubby legs would carry him. If Goboka was not worried, then Tavis was.
As the underside of the platform grew larger, the ringing in the scout’s ears grew fainter. By the time he glimpsed flashes of Basil’s hands pulling the rope up through the chain slots, Tavis could hear-not quite normally, but well enough to communicate.
“Where are the ogres?” he yelled.
“Close, but we have time,” came the response.
“Not enough,” Tavis growled. “Without the gate, they’ll catch us in the cave.”
“No, they won’t.” Avner said proudly. “Once we’re up, just start running. Leave the rest to Basil and me.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll have Bear Driller ready,” Tavis replied.
The scout pulled his bow off his shoulder. As Basil raised him through the chain slot, he jumped onto the platform, already nocking a black shaft. He slipped past his three panting companions and took aim down the road. The ogres were less than fifty paces away, easily within arrow range, but their bows remained slung over their backs and they were carrying hand axes or warhammers instead. Tavis quickly realized the reason for their choice of weaponry. If they shot the people hauling the rope up, they would send Brianna plunging to her death-and that was the last thing Goboka wanted.
Tavis had no such concerns about the welfare of the ogres. He loosed his first shaft and dropped the leader of the pack. The others leaped over him and continued charging. As the scout nocked his second shaft, he heard Avner scrambling onto the platform. Taking his own advice, the youth rushed straight into the fault cave.
Tavis fired again, dropping another ogre. The next two brutes kept coming, their purple eyes gleaming with bloodlust.
Brianna jumped onto the platform and rushed into the cave after Avner, yelling. “I’ll make us a light!”
Tavis nocked another arrow. The ogres were less than thirty steps away.
Before the scout could fire. Basil brushed past him. “You may as well save your arrow!”
The verbeeg kneeled at the edge of the platform where it joined the hanging road, then pulled his dagger and began to carve. Tavis peered over Basil’s shoulder and saw that the runecaster had already cut an elaborate symbol into the wood and was just etching the last line.
“Go!” Basil urged.
Tavis started to back toward the cave, then thought better of it and glanced toward Goboka. The shaman remained where he had been standing all along, but was now stretching one arm toward the platform.
Morten started to scream, but the cry quickly changed to a choking gurgle. Tavis swung around to see an ogre’s gnarled fingers shooting from the sore on the bodyguard’s throat. An eerie blue aura of magical energy was dancing over the digits, crackling and snapping like lightning. In the next instant, the shaman’s entire hand appeared, its black talons straining for Basil’s back. Morten began to stumble forward against his will, as though Goboka were pulling him toward the runecaster.
The bodyguard dropped to his knees behind Basil. In words so garbled Tavis could barely understand them, he gurgled, “Throw me over!”