children share laughter and play.
So
sleep till the dirk fades away.
Sometime, while he was singing, Riverwind’s daughter died.
He held Brightdawn tight, stroking her golden hair. Kronn walked a short distance down the dark tunnel, partly to leave the Plainsman in peace, partly so he could cry alone. When he returned, Riverwind was still holding her. The Plainsman seemed very old and frail.
“Riverwind,” Kronn said.
“It should have been me,” Riverwind whispered. “First Swiftraven, now…” He bowed his head, shuddering.
The Plainsman removed Brightdawn’s mace from her belt and tied it to his own. Then he dug in his pack and took out a woven blanket. His hands trembling, he folded it about his daughter’s motionless form, then rose and lifted her in his arms. He walked to rim of the ledge and paused there.
“When you return to your people, Kronn,” he said, “tell them how she died. Tell Moonsong.”
The kender nodded sadly. “I will.”
Riverwind kissed Brightdawn’s forehead, then dropped her from the ledge. Her body spun slowly through the air, then vanished into the magma.
They turned and walked away, deeper into the mountain.
Chapter 25
Moonsong groaned loudly and stumbled, nearly falling, as she dashed down Tornado Alley. Stagheart, running beside her, caught her arm. She doubled over, gasping desperately for breath that wouldn’t come. Her face grew deathly pale, seeming to age before Stagheart’s eyes. Kender surged all around them, fleeing from the toppled walls toward the center of Kendermore.
Nervously, Stagheart looked over his shoulder. The ogres’ bloodthirsty shouts were growing louder all around as they swarmed into the city He tightened his grip on Moonsong’s wrist. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Brightdawn…” Moonsong sobbed, her shoulders heaving. She looked up at him, her blue eyes brimming with anguish. “Stagheart, she’s dead. My sister’s dead.”
He swayed on his feet, his chest tightening, then forced himself to swallow the acid taste in his mouth. “You’re sure?” he asked gently.
“I know!” she cried. “Stagheart. She’s gone.”
The roars of the ogres were very near now; the mobs of running kender were thinning.
“And your father?” Stagheart pressed urgently.
Moonsong shook her head. “I don’t know. Oh, goddess. What if they’ve failed?” She sucked a shuddering breath through her teeth, shivering convulsively.
Stagheart could see the ogres now, at the far end of the broad, straight street. They were moving swiftly, chasing a mob of shouting kender. He drew his sabre and pulled her away. “Come on,” he told her. “We have to keep moving. Paxina’s waiting for us.”
The sharpness of his voice reached her. Swallowing her grief, she started to run.
The Black-Gazer’s horde spread into the streets of Kendermore, pursuing the retreating kender. Their quarry led them on, running hard to gain ground, then waiting for the ogres to catch up, always keeping maddeningly just out of reach. Each time they stopped, the kender turned around to mock their foes, pointing and laughing, their voices rising in a chorus of sweet-sounding derision.
“Do the lice ever complain about how bad you smell?” they shouted gleefully.
“What are you, nine feet tall?” asked others. “I didn’t know they piled dung that high!”
“Do ogre women really like men whose teeth look like smutty corn cobs?”
“Say, you’ve got a great big boil right-oh, sorry that’s your face.”
“Wow! A five-hundred-pound walking wart!”
“Hey, liver-brain! I’ve seen things living under rocks that could outwit you!”
“So, when did you find out your sister and your grandmother were the same person?”
“Great Reorx, you’re ugly. One look at you would make Lord Soth cry for his mother! What are you, part troll or something?”
“Scumlickers!”
“Pigspawn!”
“Overgrown, dimwitted, bandy-legged, slack-jawed, dirt-sucking heaps of rotten goblin excrement!”
Already enraged by the deaths of their comrades, the ogres went utterly berserk. Howling with mindless fury, they charged blindly down the streets after the jeering kender. The kender ran onward, shouting a constant stream of insults as they led the ogres through the confusion of Kendermore’s streets.
Gradually, deliberately, the kender broke up the horde. They split at each fork or intersection, drawing their pursuers in every direction. The ogres surged along the tangled avenues, running as fast as their tree-trunk legs would carry them.
The kender knew where the trip wires were. They saw them as they ran, and hurdled nimbly over them. The ogres, however, could see little but their own crimson rage. They hit the wires, stumbling and falling headlong onto the cobblestones. All over Kendermore, the same thing happened. Hundreds of ogres died, their bodies crushed by the weight of those who came after them.
Many of the trip wires did no more than that; others, however, set off all sorts of booby traps. On Tallowwax Way, a tall rowhouse collapsed, crashing down on the charging ogres and choking the street with broken stone. Across town, on Applebloom Trail, countless caltrops poured from roofs and rainspouts, clattering onto the street like barbed hailstones and crippling anyone who stepped on them. On Tornado Alley, in Moonsong and Stagheart’s wake, a series of wires caused the strings of two hundred carefully arranged crossbows to thrum. Scores of ogres collapsed, their bodies riddled with quarrels. All across the town, pits and snares and rockfalls slaughtered Kendermore’s attackers without mercy.
On Greentwig Avenue, the ogres swarmed over their comrades’ trampled corpses as they continued to chase the kender. They ran with all the speed they could muster, and even caught some of their quarry seizing several unlucky kender and tearing them apart in mindless rage. Still the surviving kender ran, their taunts growing more vicious. As the street twisted and turned, they ducked down alleys or into narrow doorways, their numbers diminishing until only eight remained, pursued by a hundred raging ogres.
Two lagged behind, and the ogres caught them, snapping their necks with their bare hands.
Then, suddenly, they rounded a corner and reached the dead end. A brand-new, twenty-foot stone wall blocked the road, stretching between two four-storey rowhouses.
The remaining six kender didn’t stop, however; in front of them, less than a dozen yards before the wall, were several catapults. They sprinted to the devices and leapt onto their arms. As the ogres rounded the corner behind them, the kender released the catapults’ catches.
The machines’ arms sprung, launching the kender aloft. Behind and below them, the ogres skidded to a halt, staring in astonishment as their quarry flew high into the air, vaulting up and over the wall.
On the wall’s far side, Greentwig Avenue was heaped with loose straw. The kender landed in it, rolled, then leapt up and ran onward, laughing with reckless glee. Back in the dead end, the ogres gawked at the abandoned catapults. Their prey suddenly out of reach, they snarled savagely, shaking their weapons in angry impotence.
When the low, whirring sound first began, the ogres’ eyes narrowed, and they peered about in confusion. The noise seemed to come from all around them, an irritating drone that slowly grew into a loud, high-pitched scream-the shriek of dozens of hoopaks, swinging in unison.
Then the ogres’ confusion gave way to panic as slingstones began to rain down on them from above. Kender appeared on the rooftops of the tall row houses, flinging rocks down into the street. The ogres dropped in waves, filling the air with cries of pain. Those who didn’t fall at first tried to flee, scrambling back away from the wall in a desperate attempt to escape the ambush. More ogres kept coming around the corner from the other direction, however, trapping their fellows and leaving them exposed to the hail of stones. When the last handful of surviving ogres finally broke and ran, they left more than a hundred of their comrades’ battered bodies behind.