Driven by a howling wind that seemed to try to lift him from the ground, lashed by huge drops of rain that stung his back as they flew in almost horizontal sheets, blinded by his streaming hair and deafened by thunders, the kender gripped his hoopak and leaped high over a tapering rock ledge.
Through the tunnel of his hair he saw trees ahead, lit by stuttering flashes and his own green glow. He bounded down a sloping bank toward heavy growth and tried to slow himself, without much success. Then directly ahead, something huge and ugly raised itself and spread wide arms, bracing itself against the screaming wind. An ogre. Chess even recognized the huge, grimacing features.
Loam.
At gale speed the kender closed on the brute, his eyes wide. At the last instant, he thrust out his hoopak, dropped its butt, and vaulted. A tumbling leap carried him up and past the creature's crushing hands, almost high enough to clear its head. Almost, but not quite. Instead, the kender's feet smacked the ogre's jutting brow. Chess's free hand caught a tangle of Loam's hair, and the kender completed his flip upright, standing on top of the ogre's head.
"I can't wait to tell them about this at Hylo," he muttered. "Of course, they're never going to believe it." Before the ogre could react, wind hit them like a fist and Chess was thrown tumbling, into a grove of trees. He got his feet under him and dodged among the trees, downslope. Behind him he heard a crash and an angry roar. Loam had run into a tree.
Among the trees, the wind was diffused a little, and the kender slowed a bit. But then he was in the open again, on a broad, shoaling bank with raging floodwaters beyond. Wind swept down on him, caught him, and threw him head over heels into the churning maelstrom.
Tumbling and fighting, the kender bobbed away downstream. Above him a voice that was not there seemed to moan, "No-o-o! Other way-y-y!"
Four brightly shining figures and one dark one fled across storm-blown fields in a murk lighted only by staccato flares from above. Sheets of rain hissed around them, and thunder reverberated. The ground was a flowing morass of runoff.
Chane Feldstone led now, holding to the slim green trace that was their only means of direction in the turbulent darkness. The dwarf was a blackness against the dark, staggering sometimes from weakness. He was supported by the rosy-glowing Jilian, who refused to leave his side. The golden brightness of Wingover, leading a glowing gray horse, and the ruby-red Glenshadow, struggled along after the dark dwarven shape.
The worst of the storm seemed to be to the south, a few miles away at most. The curtained darkness in that direction was broken by a constant blaze of lightning, and the gale winds swirling from there carried the sharp, sweet breath of ozone.
They had tried to persuade the dwarf to ride, but he would have none of it. Wingover suspected that Chane, like many of his race, simply disliked horses. Some dwarves were excellent riders, but not all.
Since leaving the gully, they had seen no goblins – or any other living thing. Possibly the kender, going off alone as he had, had led the main forces away. If so, Wingover thought, then the gods help the little creature. He would never stand a chance out there alone.
Two miles of travel brought them to a descending slope with forest beyond, and beyond that the sound of a torrent raging. The valley's stream would be out of its banks by now, a rushing beast that no one could cross.
While Chane rested, with the attentive Jilian chattering at his side,
Wingover scouted. When he returned, he had news. Upstream a half-mile was a well-worn path going east. If there was a bridge, it should be there.
"And if the alert went out, that's where the goblins on the other side will be waiting," the wizard pointed out. Chane got to his feet. "We'll weld that joint when we find it," he said gruffly.
Wingover shrugged. 'Then lead on, Grallen-kin," he said.
Again, then, they were on the move. The path Wingover had found veered eastward, downslope and into forest, beyond which the torrent raged. The little stream that Camber Meld had called Respite River was, in normal conditions, a tame and pretty brook. Now, though, it was rushing, whitecapped black water nearly a hundred yards across – but spanned yet by a raised footbridge wide enough to allow carts to pass from one side to the other.
Beyond the stream was rainy darkness.
"I'll go first." Chane took a deep breath, drawing himself up. "I'm the only one who might get a look at the other side before he's spotted."
Without waiting for argument, the dwarf trotted down the streaming bank, waded through knee-deep water to the bridge's ramp, and disappeared in pouring darkness. He was back a short time later, appearing out of the darkness like a black-furred shadow with a glinting hammer in its hand.
"The bridge is sound," he told them. "There have been goblins on the path beyond, but they aren't there now. I took a good look around. Maybe the rain drove them to shelter."
"I've heard that goblins have no love of clean water," Wingover noted.
With Chane leading, pale but clear-eyed, they started across. The bridge shivered with the force of the torrent below it, and creaked and groaned when the horse was led onto it, but it seemed secure. The searchers were halfway across when they noticed that the wind had died and the pouring rain was letting up. The storm was dissolving as quickly as it had begun, and through clouds above, the visible moons could be seen in crescent.
"Our shine is outlasting our shield," Wingover growled, not looking at the wizard. In a way, he felt the blame had to be shared. The mage had at least tried to give them cover.
Jilian stopped and raised a hand, pointing upstream.
"Look," she said.
Far up the stream, a greenness glowed – a widening point of light that sparkled the torrent's surface and glimmered along both banks. Even as they watched, the green glow grew, coming toward them rapidly.
"The kender?" Chane wondered.
"Oh, rust," Jilian said. "I hope it isn't the poor little thing's corpse."
"He's still shining," Wingover reassured her.
As Wingover made that hopeful statement, the approaching green light winked out and there was only darkness on the stream. Jilian gasped. And gasped again as her own rosy glow dimmed and failed.
"We're losing our glow," Jilian said.
Wingover's gold radiance held for a moment more, then blinked off abruptly. Now they were only huddled shadows on a dark bridge, highlighted by a glowing horse and a radiant red wizard. The horse's light dimmed, lingered for a moment, and was gone.
The dark torrent raged beneath the footbridge, and now there were specks of light upstream. A blaze of torches was coming along the bank, on the side they had left. Wingover pointed. "They were following the kender."
"I think it would be a good idea if you doused yourself," Jilian
Firestoke told Glenshadow. Still the wizard shone with a bright ruby glow.
"Come on," Chane urged. "Let's get across. They're coming."
"How about somebody giving me a hand?" The voice that came from below the bridge was highpitched and excited. Chane and Wingover hurried to the edge and peered down into dark, rushing water. They quickly stepped across to the other side. Just below, barely visible, Chestal Thicketsway clung to a hoopak jammed between bridge pilings.
"Give us some light here," Wingover ordered, pulling Glenshadow to the edge of the bridge. Ruby glow lit rushing dark waters and the childlike face, grinning up at them. Chane Feldstone started to crouch above the kender, then winced as his wounded arm took his weight.
"Get back," Wingover snapped, pushing the dwarf aside. "I'll get him."
Kneeling, clinging to a bridge support, the man reached down and lifted the drenched kender, hoopak and all, to set him on his feet on the structure. The others stared at Chess. His hair falling around him, the kender looked like nothing more than a dark mushroom with a forked stick.