Full morning lay on the valley by the time Chane and the kender rounded a bluff on the mountain's long slope and saw people ahead. Where a stream came down from the heights, two rough camps had been established, a few hundred yards apart. The larger camp, and farthest from the rising mountain, was of dwarves. The nearer, smaller camp – no more than a few cookfires and bits of bedding where injured people rested – held a few dozen humans.
As the dwarf and the kender neared, those humans capable of holding weapons came out part way and formed a defensive line, watching the newcomers carefully. In the dwarf camp beyond, people scurried here and there; twenty or thirty dwarves soon came at a run to join the human fighters.
When they were near enough, Chane cupped his hands at his cheeks and called, "Hello there! Can we join you? We're peaceful!"
There was hesitation, then a burly human with a full beard stepped out of the line and called, "Who are you?"
"I'm Chane Feldstone," the dwarf returned. "That's Chestal Thicketsway.
We were on our way up the mountain when you passed us. I want to talk to you."
"There were ogres and goblins behind us," the man said, shading his eyes against the morning sun. "If you came from there, how did you get past them?"
"We only saw one ogre," Chane called, "and no goblins, though there may have been some higher up."
"How did you get past the ogre you saw?"
Chestal Thicketsway danced forward, past Chane. "Chane Feldstone is a famous warrior," he shouted. "He dumped rocks on your ogre and buried him."
"I'm not famous," Chane hissed at the beaming kender. He turned his attention to the people ahead. Closer now, he could see them clearly. Many of them had fresh, bound wounds, and those huddling in the two camps beyond were in a sorry shape. "Who are you people?" he called. "Where have you come from?"
The humans and dwarves – and women among them, Chane noted, of both races – relaxed visibly as the two strangers came near and they saw that they weren't goblins. The burly man lowered his pike and tapped himself on the chest with a grimy thumb. "I'm Camber Meld. That's Fleece Ironhill over there." He pointed toward a gray-bearded hill dwarf standing just ahead of a phalanx of armed soldiers. "We're chiefs of our people. We have
– er, had – villages a mile apart in the Vale of Respite. That's the next valley over. His people are herders. Mine are growers. Or were." He looked around, blankeyed. "I guess what you see is all that are left."
Chane stopped just a few paces from the leaders, looking from one to the other. "What happened?"
"They fell on us just at daybreak," the dwarven chief said. "An army of goblins and several ogres. First my village, then Camber's. We didn't have a chance."
"We fought," the man corrected. "For three days, we fought, first in the villages, then retreating up the slopes. But there were too many of them, and we weren't prepared for defense. There haven't ever been goblins around here, and not many ogres."
"But there are now," Fleece growled.
Chane stared at them bewildered. "What did they want? Why did they attack you?"
"Base for the Commander," the dwarven chief said.
"One of my herders hid in a ravine and heard some of them talking.
That's what they said. 'The Vale of Respite would serve as a base for the
Commander.' And they were taking slaves."
"Is that why they followed you over the ridge?" Chane asked.
"Ogres followed," the dwarven chief muttered. "Two of them, at least, though one may have stopped to torture a few of our people who fell behind. The other one was right behind us."
"Why do ogres follow anyone?" the human leader snarled at Chane. "To torture, to mutilate, to kill." He looked at Chane curiously. "But you got him, huh?"
"I didn't kill him," Chane said. "I tried to, but all I managed was to bury him under some rock."
"We irritated him, though," Chess said helpfully.
The dwarven chief also was gazing at Chane, studying him. 'You don't look like a hill dwarf," he said.
"I'm not. I'm from Thorbardin."
The hill dwarf sucked in his breath, his eyes narrowing to slits. He half-raised the axe he carried, then shrugged and let it down. "Mountain dwarf," he rumbled. "But I guess that war was over a long time ago."
Chane thought abruptly of the ice-field – only a few miles away – where two kinds of dwarves remained frozen in bloody, ancient conflict. "I hope so," he said.
Chapter 17
The dwarf and the kender rested that nigtt in the humans' camp. Despite
Fleece Ironhill's concession, a mountain dwarf still was more welcome among humans than among hill dwarves. What remained in their packs – a few pounds of dried cat, some rolls of goose, and a piece of flatbread – they shared. The humans in turn shared some of the meager provisions they had carried in their retreat from the goblin marauders. It was a sad and sorry camp, as was the dwarf camp just beyond. Everywhere, there were injured people. And everywhere there was grief. Chane sat apart for a time, talking with the human chief, Camber Meld. Then he curled up and went to sleep, wondering how he was to follow the path of the old warrior,
Grallen, if that path led right into a fresh nest of armed goblins and bloodthirsty ogres.
Chestal Thicketsway, still wide awake and excited by the rate at which new adventures were coming along, roamed about the two camps for a time, then climbed a hill and sat on top of it, watching the moons creep across the sky.
In the distance, he could see the hooded fires of the refugee camps, where Chane Feldstone slept. The kender felt at his side and frowned. He didn't have his pouch with him. He had left it with his pack, back there at the camp. And he had his hoopak, but no pebbles. Immediately Chess scouted around and found several good pebbles. He then felt much more comfortable.
It was oddly quiet, he noticed. Not so much as a whimper from Zap.
Chess's eyes widened, and he whirled to look again at the distant fires, abruptly realizing that he was a long way from Spellbinder. 'Whoops," he muttered. Turning full circle, slowly, speaking distinctly, he said, "Now, listen, Zap, I think we ought to talk about this. I'm sure we can find a civilized way to… Zap? Are you listening? I'd really just as soon you behave yourself for a while longer. There's no reason to go off half…
Zap? Zap! Where are you, anyway?"
Nothing responded. There was not the slightest hint of the old spell's presence.
"Zap, are you hiding from me?" The kender peered all about even though he knew that there would be nothing to see. "Look, if you're tired of following me around, that's all right with me. No problem at all. I never could figure out why you were tagging after me in the first place." He paused and listened again. "If you want to just head out on your own, I certainly won't hold a grudge. In fact, that might be the best thing you could do. Just go along by yourself – the farther the better, of course, and do your destiny, whatever that is. You might get a real bang out of that, don't you think?" The kender frowned at the absolute lack of response. "Zap! I know you're around somewhere. Where are you?"
Still there was no answer. The kender sat on a rock, deep in thought.
Maybe the spell had come up with a new tactic, he reasoned. Maybe it would try to convince him that it was gone, to lull him into taking it to where it could explode. On the other hand, maybe this was already far enough away for it to explode.
Then again, maybe it wasn't here at all. But if not, where was it? It had been attached to him since the day on the old battlefield where he had first met it. How could it be unattached now? Unless…