If it wasn’t for their momentum, the wall of sinew and steel would have stopped them dead. As it was, the front line of ogres scattered to avoid being trampled. Horses’ hooves and flashing weapons felled nearly a dozen of the monsters, darkening the grass with blood. Riverwind moved at the fore, guiding his horse on little more than instinct. He sought the weak points in the ogres’ ranks, striking all around him with his sabre, his blade flashing in the sunlight.
Swiftraven’s blade also ran red as he laid about, and to his right Brightdawn fought ferociously, her mace waving wildly as Billee clung to her. Kronn swung his chapak high, cleaving an ogre’s snarling head from its shoulders; swiftly he reversed the blow, and the axe struck a second beast in the gut. The ogre slumped to the ground, clutching at its riven belly.
“Yippee!” Kronn cried.
The ogres tried to fight back, lashing out with their pole-cleavers and massive war hammers, but they were slow, and the Plainsfolk and the kender evaded their blows.
The old Plainsman was the first to make it to the edge of the forest, the others close behind, when one ogre got a clear shot at Catt, thrusting his spear at her. The kender ducked nimbly aside, but the point impaled her pony through the neck. The animal fell with a scream of agony. Catt clutched the horn of her saddle and went down. She regained her wits an instant before the horse crashed to the ground, however, and leapt off its back, throwing herself clear. She fell some twenty feet away and heard a snap as her right arm struck the ground. Then her head struck a tree and her world crashed into darkness.
When Kronn saw his sister fall, he hauled on his reins with all his might. His mount stopped so suddenly, he nearly pitched out of the saddle himself.
“Catt!” he shouted, then wheeled about and rode back toward her senseless, crumpled form.
The ogres stumbled about him in confusion, caught flat-footed by his reversal. He slammed his blade into one monster’s chest, cleaving through its ribs. The ogre stumbled back, blood welling from the deep wound. In an eyeblink Kronn was at his sister’s side. Without hesitation, he leaned sideways in the saddle, gripping his pony with his knees, and snagged the collar of Catt’s shirt. Her head lolled limply against his shoulder as, muscles straining, he hoisted them both astride the pony’s back. Then he started to turn back toward the forest.
Ogres blocked his way, driving back his fear-maddened steed with great, sweeping swings of their weapons. One came too close, and he hacked off its arm with his chapak, but Kronn quickly realized that he was trapped. Glaring at the ogres as they closed in around him, he did what any self-respecting kender would do. He began to taunt them.
“Look out!” he shouted at one. “There’s a great, big leech sucking on your face… oh, wait. That’s your nose.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked another. “Did someone spill a jug of ugly on you when you were a baby?”
“Is that how your breath normally smells, or did a gully dwarf crawl down your throat and die?”
His taunts were too much for the ogres to bear. Howling with rage, they charged. He spun his chapak, laughing as he cut down one after another. They were many, though, and at last one of their reaching hands latched around his elbow. The fingers’ viselike grip numbed his arm, and his chapak fell from nerveless fingers to dangle from a leather thong looped around his wrist. He fumbled at his belt for his knife.
Then the sound of galloping hooves filled the air. The ogres turned to look behind them, then let out a cry of alarm, raising their weapons. They were too late. Swiftraven fell upon them from behind, sabre rising and falling, slashing and stabbing. In moments, the Plainsman cut a path through the mob; the ogre who had grabbed Kronn’s arm died with Swiftraven’s blade in its throat.
Even as Swiftraven urged him to hurry, the kender spurred his horse once more, charging along the path the young warrior had carved through the ogres’ midst. Swiftraven followed, his sword still dancing..
Then they were on the other side of the ogres, riding north through the sparse, light forest. The enemy gave chase, but the kender and Plainsman quickly outpaced them, and by the time they were two leagues north of Kendermore, there was no longer any sign of pursuit. Kronn and Swiftraven reined in.
Immediately, the kender examined his sister. He pressed his fingers against her throat, holding his breath as he felt for a life beat, then closed his eyes and sighed with clear relief.
“How is she?” Swiftraven asked. He wiped streaming sweat from his face. “Is she badly hurt?”
“Judge for yourself,” Kronn returned, gesturing at Catt’s broken arm. Her hair was also sticky with blood from a gash where she’d struck her head. “What happened to Riverwind and Brightdawn?”
Swiftraven glanced around. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “They were ahead of me when I turned around and went back for you. They must be around here somewhere.” He hooked his fingers in his mouth and shrilled a call in whistle-speak.
The woods were silent a moment; then another whistle trilled in reply, echoing among the trees. Swiftraven and Kronn craned their necks, looking around for its source.
“There they are,” Swiftraven said, pointing to the east. Riverwind and Brightdawn were trotting toward them, still on horseback. Bringing their own mounts about, Kronn and Swiftraven rode to meet them.
“Thanks, by the way,” Kronn said, “for coming back for us.” He glanced down at Catt, whose face tightened with pain as the pony jounced up and down.
Swiftraven smiled warmly. “You already did the same for me. I honor my debts.”
The companions rode onward without any clear destination. They continued north, watching behind for signs of pursuit, until they reached a small creek whose clear water carried only the faintest whiff of brimstone. They drank thirstily, washed the blood and grime from their bodies, then set about tending their wounds. Riverwind, who had been struck a glancing blow on his shoulder by an ogre’s axe, winced as Brightdawn rinsed and bound the cut. When she was done, he rose and hobbled over to where Kronn and Swiftraven were splinting Catt’s arm.
“How is she?” he asked.
Swiftraven shrugged. “It’s hard to say. We’ve set her arm, but she took quite a bump on her head, and there isn’t much we can do about it now.”
“She needs a healer,” Kronn declared. “We’ve got to get her to Kendermore.”
“We could take her west, back to Balifor,” Riverwind mused, stroking his chin. “Maybe we can find help for her there.”
Kronn said. “I’m telling you, Kendermore’s her best chance.”
“Kronn,” said Swiftraven sympathetically, “we could never get through the gates.”
The kender’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t saying we should go that way.”
“What are you talking about?” Riverwind asked. “Just because the gate’s blocked, that doesn’t mean we’re stuck out here. There are other ways.”
“Other ways?” Brightdawn echoed.
“Of course,” Kronn said. “Kender always leave a back way in.”
Chapter 15
“It should be around here somewhere,” Kronn said, poking at a thornbush with the head of his chapak.
Swiftraven glanced at Riverwind, who shook his head and shrugged. “It might help if we knew what you were looking for,” the young warrior observed.
“Oh, I agree,” Kronn agreed sincerely, “but every one of these is different.”
“What are you talking about?” Brightdawn asked. “Every one of what is different?”
Kronn’s mind was elsewhere, however; he squinted up at the sun, then glanced to his left. “I’m sure I’m remembering this right. That’s the lightning-forked tree over there.”-he pointed at a dead ashwood that had a scorched crack down its middle. “It should be right here-so where is the blasted thing?”
“What are we looking for?” Swiftraven asked skeptically. “A secret… bush?”
“It doesn’t have to be a bush,” Kronn answered. “It could be a tree stump, or a mushroom ring, or a rock…