Darting through a wall of leaves and undergrowth, Theodenes emerged into empty space. He lost his footing, or rather, the ground simply disappeared beneath him, becoming a steep hillside that dropped down into darkness. Theo didn’t have time to catch hold of anything. Luckily for him, neither did the girallon, which at that moment had burst from the trees above and swung down by one arm to snatch at him. All the girallon grabbed in its long claws was air. Theo slid rapidly down the slope and out of sight.
The slope formed one side of a narrow valley or ravine, slick with rainwater and slime. The ravine was sloped from end to end, so no sooner had Theo hit the end of the slide than he was borne immediately to the right and down a natural chute, cracking his head several times on thick roots. He was sore, covered in mud, and still being chased by the girallon when, finally, the ravine dumped him straight into a small lake.
Gnomes are not taught to swim as children, and indeed many gnomes never learn even as adults. Those gnomes who spend their entire lives in Mount Nevermind may never see a body of water larger than a bathtub unless they work in one of the many reservoirs. Even then the efficiency of the gnome city is such that the reservoirs are in well-maintained underground shelters out of harm’s way. Theodenes, however, was a mad gnome, and capable of feats unforgivably alien to his kin. Swimming, or what passed for it, was well within his experience.
Theo broke the surface of the lake, underneath an overhang that sheltered him from any inquisitive four-armed apes lurking above. He continued to hear, at a moderate distance, the sounds of the beast searching for him. The water was very cold, and at some point Theo needed to decide whether he wanted to tread water some more or remain conscious.
In the middle of the lake, which was only about a hundred feet across, was a small island. The island’s only distinctive feature was a totem or statue of what looked like some kind of winged, scaled cat; it was carved out of a single chunk of rock, polished smooth by time or uncanny skill. Theo figured that he could swim to the island without too much effort or noise, and the statue might provide some cover of its own.
Taking a deep breath, the gnome plunged his head below the surface of the lake again and swam toward the island. At the halfway point, he looked up; he could neither see nor hear anything of the girallon, so again he plunged below.
Gnomes are hardy individuals, despite their lean and wiry frames. Scholars claim that is strong evidence of their close relation to kender and dwarves. Theo, a paragon of gnome fitness, was able to reach the island with only the air he held in his lungs from the second time he submerged. Then, swimming around the island to the other side, away from the direction of the ravine, Theo pulled himself up onto the muddy bank and scrambled a few feet to the base of the statue. There was still no sign of the beast. Did girallons swim? The gnome made a mental note to look that up in a book, if he ever saw one again.
He allowed himself the luxury of a few deep breaths and checked himself for any major injuries.
That was when the girallon’s bellowing roar announced its presence. So yes, girallons do swim, thought the gnome, peeking around the statue, which was about as big as an ox. Perched high in the trees was the very same beast, one clawed hand on either side holding onto branches while the other two beat upon its broad chest. Theo could see that those creatures were used to being the dominant predator in their part of the jungle and were far more intelligent than any other monster he’d had to confront. He racked his brain, trying to think of any way he could get out of his mess.
The bellowing suddenly stopped. Theo, who had slumped back behind the statue, felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle alarmingly. Had the girallon moved on? The lake surface was still; the leaves were moving gently from the wind in the jungle, a light breeze carrying the heat of the day and making the lakeside area humid and warm. Theo chanced another look around the corner of the cat statue, peeking from below the large, scaly stone wings.
A pair of massive, prehensile feet appeared before him with a sudden smack of mud and a deep grunt. Theo jerked his head back in shock, then backpedaled around the statue as the girallon clambered over it to reach its long arms around to where Theo had been only seconds before. It roared, so close that Theo put his hands over his ears, realizing his foe was signaling the other girallons.
Theo ran through several scenarios in his head, but all of them ended with him tossed about like a rag doll or torn to bits. He mentally shelved those ideas as interesting but ultimately fatal, and his body acted almost on instinct. He scooted around the statue, just managing to duck out of the way of the creature’s grasping arms. Round and round the statue he and the grasping arms went, a dance that was doomed.
The gnome had nothing on his person to strike at the creature, no weapon or tool that wasn’t already lost in the jungle. Theo halted, the merry-go-round ceased. Then he did what few gnomes would ever do; he did nothing.
Theo closed his eyes and waited. The girallon’s breath was hot on his face. He felt the ape inhale, preparing to strike. He waited.
There was another roar, not at all like that of the girallons, and it sounded across the lake and into the thick jungle, carrying for miles. It was very loud. Theo felt the muddy bank hit him in the back and realized he’d fallen over.
When he opened his eyes, the girallon was gone. In its place, looking down at him from atop the statue, was a huge brass-scaled tiger with wings like that of a dragon and claws as sharp as knives. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the totem it was crouching on.
“Oh,” said Theo. “Hello, kitty.”
CHAPTER TEN
Vanderjack was surrounded by apes.
He was fifty feet up in the trees, his sword and dagger drawn, scratches all over his arms and legs, straddling two branches. His blades flashed about him, a whirling shield of steel that, for the time being, fended off the two mighty girallons. They roared, teeth bared, claws slashing. They had carried him up there, but they couldn’t come near him anymore.
“Gredchen!” Vanderjack shouted. “How’re you doing?”
Two trees away from Vanderjack, Gredchen was trying to wrench the gnome’s polearm from the thick bark of the banyan tree. She had clambered up into the branches to hide, spotted the weapon embedded in the tree, and latched onto it as a means of helping the sellsword fight back. How it had come to be there was not readily apparent. “Still stuck!” she called back.
One of the two girallons attacking Vanderjack lunged suddenly, taking advantage of the sellsword’s distraction. Together, man and ape fell from the branches and twenty feet down, crashing through the leaves and ending in a thick tangled net of vines. The girallon had an advantage over Vanderjack-the sellsword found himself on his back, under the ape’s massive bulk, swinging wildly in the vines. The creature pounded on Vanderjack with its fists, three of them at a time; with each blow, the sellsword felt something break.
Gredchen gave the polearm a final tug and almost lost her footing on the branches she’d been balancing on as the weapon came free. The polearm had a single narrow spearhead at the moment. Looking around for the girallons, she gasped; one of them was heading straight for her.
The ape leaped, a howling thing with teeth bared like foam-covered daggers. The baron’s aide had her weapon ready, however, and as the beast came for her, she raised it, closing her eyes against the sight. She felt the polearm twist in her hands and winced at the shock of the impact. The impossibly heavy mass of the girallon upon the spear jolted her arms and shoulders and forced her back into the tree behind her. When she opened her eyes, however, the creature was impaled through the stomach by the spear.