“He has a god of his clan, you know, just as you do, lass,” the shaman suggested. “Zivilyn Greentree and Chislev Wilder are in many ways cut from the same cloth, both true gods and wise. They will help those who have faith and who are willing to work to help themselves.”
“It looks like they have all the warqat collected. Let us hope, Grandmother, that our faith is true and that our gods are with us.”
It was Barq One-Tooth who came up with the idea of the Warqat Man. This was a structure made from a framework of spear shafts, designed in the approximate shape of a human, at least insofar as it had two arms, two legs, a torso, and a place for a head. It was not an image that would have fooled anyone who cared to look closely, but Kerrick had hopes that the polar worm lacked that kind of discretionary ability. In any event, it seemed like the best idea they had.
To this framework the humans attached as many of their warqat containers as they could, draping them several layers thick over the chest and limbs, bundling three of them to make a crude approximation of the head. When the first effort collapsed from an excess of weight, they made a second, using double lengths of spear shafts for support, as well as a third, anchoring a leg that would extend off the back of the thing and form a tripod mount that would hold it erect. All this time they kept the Warqat Man out of sight of the polar worm.
To distract the monster, other warriors ventured closer to the remorhaz. Some of them shot arrows at the creature, which didn’t even seem to notice the missiles, while others simply pitched rocks. One bold Highlander started to climbed the cliff flanking the pass, intending to drop boulders down onto the monster. Unfortunately, the creature-after apparently ignoring the climber’s efforts as he scaled fifty or sixty feet up the nearly sheer cliff-abruptly shot up to its full height, lunging upward with those deadly pincers snapping together. The mandibles closed around the desperately kicking climber’s foot and plucked the man from the wall. The remorhaz released its bite, and the hapless fellow plunged down, tumbling over the jagged rocks to come to a rest near the monster’s serpentine body. He lay there, groaning piteously for several minutes, until the beast placed one of its segmented legs on his chest and pressed down slowly with life-crushing force.
It was a grim group of warriors who at last prepared the Warqat Man for his sacrificial task. Kerrick, Barq, Mouse, and Bruni formed a tight screen in front of the figure, while another half dozen Highlanders took the limbs and hoisted it just off the ground. A score or more of warriors spread out to each side so the group could advance in numbers that might make the decoy easier to conceal.
Moreen insisted upon coming along, though Barq was just as adamant that she remain behind. “Who’ll take over this motley lot if we fail?” he growled. “You are the one they follow, the one who must survive! You can watch from back here!”
“My place is with the rest of you who are risking your lives!” she retorted. “I will not accept orders to the contrary!”
Recognizing the stubborn clench of her jaw, Kerrick leaned in and spoke to her quietly. “No one is giving you orders,” he said reasonably, with a stern glance at the glowering Barq, “but it only makes sense that you stay back, at least for this attempt. After all, if we fail, someone is going to have to lead the next try, and that will have to be you.”
She glared at him, her dark eyes ice cold with fury, her mouth opening as she prepared her retort. The elf was surprised when, with visible effort, she clenched her jaws together and didn’t argue.
“Very well,” she said finally. “Good luck-and may all the gods watch over you.”
“Thank you-I think that they are watching,” was Kerrick’s reply. He saw that she was terribly afraid for them and felt a surprising-and very un-elf-like-lump in his throat. “Say a prayer,” he whispered, leaning forward to give her a kiss on the cheek.
The warriors then turned to the worm, which had taken no visible interest in their preparations. Fanning out across a wide front, with the Warqat Man being carried along in the middle of the group, they started forward. When they came to the swath of ground that had melted under Dinekki’s spell, Kerrick was surprised to see that it had hardened again into stone-though it retained the smooth surface into which the mud had flowed.
Moving across this, each warrior held a weapon ready and stepped carefully, ready to fight or flee as the situation demanded. Closer and closer they crept, and still the monster didn’t react. Kerrick vividly remembered the creature’s lightning quickness, however, and feared that, at any moment, it would spring to the attack.
Finally they halted, no more than one hundred feet away from the remorhaz. The elf heard activity behind him, knew that the Highlanders were setting up the Warqat Man. “Ready!” one of them whispered, finally.
Kerrick raised his sword and took a step forward. The others did the same, waving their weapons, shouting insults and curses at the monster. Several of them reached down to pick up stones, and these they hurled in an irregular barrage. At last the monster seemed to stir, lifting its ghastly head, glaring with those pale eyes. The elf watched and saw the many legs curl underneath the segmented body, perceived the growing tension in the rigid limbs. The wave of heat was palpable, as the internal fires of the remorhaz raged into life.
The jaws parted slightly, and he knew it was time.
“Now!” he cried, turning away from the monster, glancing around to see that the rest of the advance party wasted no time in heeding his cue. All of them, Arktos and Highlanders, sprinted away, every one running back toward the mass of the war party.
All of them, that is, except for the Warqat Man. The decoy figure remained standing where the warriors had left it, a lone challenge to the suddenly enraged monster.
The polar worm reared upward, hissing in fury. Kerrick glanced back, saw those widespread jaws looming as wide as a cave mouth, the serpentine body uncoiling like a spear shot from a bow. With one chomping bite the creature bit down on the figure of sticks and water skins, again rearing back and raising its head as it swallowed the bait.
For an interminable time-at least two heartbeats-nothing seemed to happen, then the elf felt the impact of a powerful, albeit muffled, explosion. The monstrous mouth gaped open, emitting a huge rush of blue flame, and the polar worm swelled, suddenly growing much fatter. The remorhaz thrashed violently, the lashing tail breaking loose chunks of the enclosing cliffs, and a howl of unspeakable fury and pain emerged from that great form. More blue flame jetted from between the chinks in its chitonous plates, and a billowing cloud of filthy smoke roiled in the pass.
In the next instant, the monster lay still, motionless except for the acrid smoke that continued to belch from both ends of the body as well as from several huge gashes along its segmented flanks.
The remorhaz was dead.
9
It gleamed in her mind like the sun, shining and golden, limned in fire. It was more glorious, more precious even than the life-giving orb in the sky, for it was the talisman of her master, the image of his power and the symbol of his omnipotent will. She could discern every detail, each carved symbol and immaculate, perfect facet. Once it had been hers, to hold and cherish, but she had failed her master, her god.
The Axe of Gonnas remained just out of reach, but Stariz tried-she tried desperately-to seize that magical haft once again. Her blunt fingers strained, but they were too short for the task. Her arm was inadequate, her great weight held her down like an anchor, and the glowing object seemed to be getting farther and farther away with each panting breath. Her feet were mired in clutching mud, and a strong brute-her husband, Grimwar Bane himself-held the ogress by her shoulders, bearing her down, holding her back from that which she so desperately desired.