The cloud cover thinned and the stars poked through, reflecting off the snow and making the landscape breathtakingly beautiful. Gilthanas admired the view, all the while silently cursing the cold and keeping his eye trained on the horizon. Perhaps Ulin had spotted an ogre, Gilthanas speculated, or maybe a Kagonesti bundled in furs—a lone wild elf who hadn’t left when the dragon took over and who didn’t want to approach strangers.
Protected by the bank and shielded from the whistling wind, they could hear each other for the first time since they had set foot in Southern Ergoth. Ulin shook his head, saying that what he had seen was not like any creature he had ever looked upon before, and it certainly wasn’t an elf bundled up. The manlike shape was large and bloated, but too far away to describe in any more detail.
Gilthanas leaned back against the hard-packed snow, closing his eyes. He had suggested leading this small expedition to Huma’s Tomb, and his words had been persuasive enough to put him in charge. His own lanky elven legs were having trouble with the rigors of the trip. He set the lance against the drift behind him. “I hope we won’t need this,” he told Ulin. “Rig’s been itching to use it against a dragon. Even though it was forged to slay them, I doubt it would do much against an overlord.”
Ulin nodded and closed his eyes. He had decided to come to Southern Ergoth of his own accord. Though he admired his father greatly, the opportunity to be out from under Palin Majere’s formidable shadow while doing something important on his own appealed to him. “I’m a grown man who’ll always live in my father’s shadow,” he said to himself, “but not here.”
The Qualinesti drew the furs tighter around himself and scooted closer to Ulin to gain some semblance of warmth. He tried to picture sand and sparkling waters, and tall oak trees in the spring—anything to keep his mind off this cold. But nothing worked.
One week later, they saw two of the manlike creatures, and this time they carried spears or staves. “And not friendly,” the elf observed.
That day they also spotted boot tracks that led in the direction of the tomb. There were nine distinct sets of tracks, and none of them were large enough to be ogres or the bloated creatures that were stalking them.
“I don’t like it,” Gilthanas told Ulin that night. This time they’d found shelter in a small clearing in a grove of pine trees. “For a place as desolate as this, there shouldn’t be any signs of company.”
“But someone is here,” Ulin said, “ahead of us and going in practically the same direction—a straight line to the Tomb of Huma, And those things behind us,” he added as he munched on a strip of dried beef from his rations, “wonder what they are? I guessed they were hostile when I saw their spears, but so far they have stayed away. Perhaps it is they who are afraid of us.”
Groller, oblivious to their words, stood and sniffed the wind. The half-ogre glanced nervously about, smelling something out of place—something that he couldn’t identify. Yet the scent seemed familiar. Fish? The sea? He cocked his head to the side and headed away from his companions.
Fury growled, the hair standing in a frost-covered ridge along his back. The wolf crept forward, slinking between a pair of smaller pines. Groller threw off his hood so he could see better.
Suddenly, the wolf howled and jumped back from a deep drift. Groller saw a spear jab into the wolf’s side. Reaching into the folds of his fur cloak, the half-ogre tugged free his belaying pin and churned forward, the snow spraying Ulin and Gilthanas who were behind him.
Erupting from a drift ahead of him, between a pair of tall pines, were four creatures. They were man-shaped, but the moonlight filtering down through the branches softly illuminated their grotesque features so that the men could finally see them clearly.
They were taller than the half-ogre, each at least eight feet in height, blue-gray, with shoulders a yard or more wide. They were exceedingly muscular, despite the thick folds of blubber that hung about their waists. Appearing to be a cross between men and walruses, they had thick torsos from which sprouted humanlike arms that ended in stubby, webbed claws. Their walruslike heads were set on short, thick necks. Twin tusks nearly two feet long curved down from mouths filled with blunt teeth. Their eyes were small, shiny black and set atop rows of bristles that grew down to their upper lips. And the skins they wore were crude and poorly cured.
They jabbered something, deep and guttural. Groller only saw their mouths move, clouds of vapor steaming from them as the heat of their breath met the chill air. The half-ogre slammed his belaying pin against the chest of the nearest one, but so thick was the creature’s hide, that the blow was virtually ineffectual, bouncing off.
“Get Groller away from the trees!” Ulin called to Gilthanas. The younger Majere crouched in the snow, mouthing the words to an enchantment he’d been discussing with his father, and keeping his eyes on the boughs of the pines. “If this worked against the Knights of Takhisis’s ship, it’ll work against pine trees!”
The half-ogre spotted the other three closing in on him, and he backed up a few steps until he was against the trunk of one of the thicker pines. The creature directly in front lunged forward with the spear, and Groller didn’t sidestep the attack. Instead, his hands shot forward, dropping the belaying pin and closing about the haft. The half-ogre’s muscles tensed, and he just barely managed to keep the spear tip from its target. Then he tugged upward, wrenching the spear away from the walrus-man. The other three closed, and Groller used the spear to parry their weapons, alternately defending himself with it, then striking out
Fury howled behind him, then sprinted across the snow, launching himself against the weaponless creature in front of the half-ogre. The frenzied wolf began tearing at the walrus-man’s folds of blubber. The creature flailed about, trying desperately to dislodge the animal. The wolf, though wounded, nimbly dodged the creature’s tusks as it darted in closer. Blood soaked the snow, looking rosy beneath the pale moon.
“I can’t get Groller’s attention!” Gilthanas cried as he scooped up the dragonlance and started toward the half-ogre.
“Stay back!” Ulin called. “Can you shield him?” Ulin’s hands were glowing faintly red and he was angling his fingers, thumbs touching and pointing toward the tree that Groller stood beneath.
The Qualinesti closed his eyes and shrugged the fur cloak off his shoulders. He felt the wind whip about his body, felt it as if it were a living thing, a lover caressing his skin. He beckoned to the wind, urged it closer, tugging the energy from each gust The energy pulsed through him, not warming him, but giving him magical strength.
He tugged more, and his lips began to tremble from the cold. Gilthanas felt ice forming under his nose, though he continued to coax the energy. His fingers and toes grew numb. He felt himself shivering uncontrollably, but finally the wind was his to control, and he cupped his hand in front of his face, mimicking a shield.
“Finish, Ulin!” the Qualinesti shouted as he tried to hold his concentration. “I can’t keep this up forever!”
As Gilthanas’s words died, Ulin released his spell. Instantly the large pine Groller stood against turned into giant kindling. Its trunk and limbs were suddenly coated with brilliant red-orange tendrils of fire. Flaming needles fell from the branches and coated the creatures. None touched Groller, however, as the wind formed a dome around the surprised half-ogre, effectively insulating him from the magic.
The creatures, unaccustomed to the heat, writhed on the ground as more needles and bits of branches fell on them and caught their fur cloaks on fire. The air was filled with the scent of burning wood and flesh, and the stench from the dying creatures was overpowering. Groller watched in fascination and horror, glancing toward Fury. The wolf was just beyond the circle of destruction and continued to tear at the remaining walrus-man, whose struggles were becoming increasingly feeble.