Bruni had a little more success-the Axe of Gonnas blazed fire as she drove against the monster’s other side, and with a powerful blow sliced off one of the spidery legs. The creature shrieked and whirled toward her, but she fended off the jaws by waving the sacred axe back and forth. Kerrick and the others then attacked frantically, stabbing, chopping, even shouting invective, and finally the monster turned away from the big woman to snap at another victim. This time it was a courageous Arktos warrior who vanished into that insatiable maw.
When the worm reared back again, the elf and humans had to yield to the inevitable, retreating in a scramble to get out of the mouth of the pass. The remorhaz lunged but came up short. This time it clawed its way fully out of its rock pile, twisting the serpentine body and sending huge boulders tumbling this way and that. Kerrick felt a stab of panic as the creature came on in a startling rush, undulating the body as its many legs clawed across the ground.
Moreen sprinted next to the elf, and he held back, giving her the edge to get away. A Highlander tumbled and fell, then screamed horribly as those mandibles stabbed down and ripped him apart. A quick glance showed the creature gathering for another lunge, and Kerrick ran desperately, passing Dinekki. He stopped in shock as he realized that the slight, elderly shaman was standing firm and alone in the face of the monster.
She held up a skinny hand and barked out the words to a spell, a casting that Kerrick had seen her use once before.
“Chislev Wilder, born of flood-render bedrock into mud!”
The remorhaz roared forward, and at the same time the swath of mountainside in its path began to darken and sag. Kerrick saw an outcrop of rock melt like butter under a hot sun, oozing down. The monster’s front end reached the soft terrain, and it fell in, sinking with a splat, throwing mud up in the air as it thrashed and fought. Slowed by the mire, it pulled backward and lifted its forequarters high into the air, shaking free of the muck, regarding the humans and elf with cold, baleful eyes.
Instead of resuming its pursuit, however, the polar worm roared a shrill sound of triumph, spewing a cloud of sulfurous smoke. Several grisly objects, charred and unrecognizable, belched from those horrific jaws to bounce and roll across the rocks. Each of these was blackened and charred, still smoking. A couple bore ghastly resemblance to burned human skulls, while one bounced and clanged metallically, rolling all the way down to the surviving warriors.
Barq One-Tooth, his expression furious, kicked at the charred and sooty object, tipped it over to reveal a concave shape. “That is Thedric Drake’s helm,” he growled. “Half melted by that infernal heat-and now all that is left of a brave thane.” His knuckles whitened around the haft of his axe as he glared at the monster, and Kerrick wondered if his rage would compel him to make a suicidal charge, but the big warrior, with a visible effort, gained control of his emotions.
“The tuskers are still keeping their distance,” Mouse reported, climbing up to where Kerrick and Moreen were studying their monstrous foe.
“I’m not surprised,” Kerrick replied
“So now they just wait here for us to starve,” asked Moreen bitterly, “or does anyone have any better ideas?”
Something was rattling around in Kerrick’s mind, an idea that maddeningly eluded his attempts to articulate it. What had Coraltop Netfisher said in their brief conversation atop Brackenrock’s tower? They would need strong drink to get over the escarpment … but how could that …?
In a flash, he understood.
“The fireplace!” he blurted, suddenly, to looks of consternation from his companions.
“What?” snapped Moreen in irritation.
“Warqat-we have lots of canteens of it along with us, right?”
The chiefwoman shrugged her drinking skin off of her shoulder. “Here, if yours is empty, take a drink of mine, if that will cheer you up.”
Dinekki’s eyes were glowing excitedly. “The fireplace, you said?” she repeated.
“Yes. Remember, the banquet … the glasses thrown into the fire?”
“And the warqat puffing up into blue flame!” the shaman added.
“Look at this charred helmet. The inside of that worm is hotter than any coals. If we can get it to swallow a bunch of warqat …”
Kerrick turned back to the monster, which continued to gaze at them from its position astride the entrance to the Escarpment Pass. The many wounds inflicted by the warriors at the cost of a score or more of lives were mere scratches on the armored surface. It was hard to imagine doing any more damage than that, no matter how many men and women were willing to sacrifice their lives.
“Well,” he was pleased to hear Moreen say, “it’s worth a try.”
The polar worm drew back into the confines of its narrow pass and curled itself around the pile of boulders. The beast lay still and silent, but those bulging eyes never closed or blinked Moreen could feel them seemingly focused directly on her even when her back was turned. At least the monster seemed content to remain in place, as did the thanoi that closed the war party off from retreat.
All of them were exhausted, following the interrupted rest of the previous night and the day of constant battle and march. Reasoning that their next attack stood a better chance if the warriors were refreshed, Moreen and Barq ordered a bivouac on the mountainside. They posted pickets to watch the tuskers and others to keep an eye on the remorhaz, while a detachment of Arktos and Highlanders went around and gathered all the canteens and skins of warqat. Naturally, Slyce volunteered for this task, but his services were politely rejected. Instead, the gully dwarf sat and watched sadly as the containers of the potent liquor were collected into an ever-growing pile from which he was kept a safe distance.
The chiefwoman stood nearby and watched the monster, thinking of the brave men who had been swallowed whole during the frantic battle and of the many others who had been grievously injured or killed by the crushing mandibles, flailing tail, and slashing claws. Did she even stand a chance of defeating it? She murmured a soft prayer to Chislev Wilder and tried to convince herself that she did.
“That elf-he can be a clever one,” Dinekki remarked, breaking into Moreen’s reverie.
The shaman had come up behind her unnoticed, and now she reached up to take the chiefwoman’s chin in her thin, but startlingly strong, fingers. Her eyes, of ice blue, stared into the younger woman’s, and the elderly priestess clucked worriedly.
“Don’t take all of this to heart, lass,” she said kindly. “We lost good friends today, brave and true folks, but they were doing what they chose … the burden of their lives does not lie on your shoulders.”
“Not on mine alone, perhaps,” Moreen said, “but I can’t help remembering that they came here because I elected to come.”
“So did they-choose to come, I mean. If you carry on with those thoughts, you’ll give yourself a burden too heavy for one person, man, woman or even elf, to carry along.”
At the mention of Kerrick, she turned to look at him. He was supervising the gathering of the warqat, giving directions as the canteens were arrayed on the ground.
“Do you think his idea might work?” Moreen asked.
She was distressed when Dinekki shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. “Who knows? At least he was thinking, and came up with a plan. Almost like he had the notion whispered into his ear.”
“Yes …” The chiefwoman wasn’t sure what to think.