Protector Of The Grove (Book 2) (26 page)

“I do not do this for that man either,” Deathclaw said, but he stopped his approach. He reached for the bandoleer that crossed his chest and grasped the hilt of a throwing knife. The bandoleer was a gift from Hugh the Shadow. The assassin had told him that the one thing his arsenal lacked was a ranged weapon. Deathclaw had agreed such a thing would be helpful.

Hugh had taught him different throwing techniques until Deathclaw had found the one that suited him best. Unfortunately, though he had practiced a lot the past few months, he wasn’t close to Assassin’s Guild caliber. At this range he was fairly accurate though, and if he missed the worst thing that could happen was the merchant’s death. No great loss.

“Then why did you come? Why kill my men?” the leader asked his wide eyes focused on Gwyrtha’s changing form.

Deathclaw threw the knife, not underhanded like Hugh, or overhand like some of the others, but with a sideways motion that better kept his claws out of the way. With a thunk, the blade pierced the leader’s throat, biting into the wall behind him.

“I do this because it is my mission,” Deathclaw replied.

The raptoid walked up and pulled the knife out of the man’s throat, allowing his twitching body to fall to the ground. He licked off the blade. Like Gwyrtha, he did not prefer the taste of man flesh, but Hugh had taught him to keep his knives clean. He placed the knife back in his bandoleer and glanced at the merchant.

The man’s eyes were not fearful, but filled with a weary acceptance. “So it is you, Khobareth,” he said with the throaty accent of Khalpany. He stank of sweat and perfume. “The hell dancers come for me.”

“Were you not listening? I do not come for you.” Deathclaw said. He also wasn’t a hell dancer, whatever that meant.

Gwyrtha came up and gave the man a reassuring lick. He shuddered and turned away with his eyes closed, preparing for death. Gwyrtha had returned back to her original size and color, a patchwork mix of browns and greens. She nudged Deathclaw.
We ride now
?

“Yes, we ride,” Deathclaw replied. He bent and took the knife from the hand of the dead leader, then cut the ropes binding the merchant. He glanced around at the few moaning wounded and placed the blade into the merchant’s shaking hands. “You may want to make sure these men are dead so that they do not hunt you down.”

Deathclaw leapt up to the saddle on Gwyrtha’s back. He did not sit astride her like a man, something he thought looked foolish. Instead, he dug his rear claws into the leather and crouched, grabbing two handfuls of her mane.

The merchant stood there in amazement, staring at the two of them. The clouds parted momentarily to allow the full moon to line them with a soft glow. Deathclaw cocked his head at the merchant and for a brief moment his eyes reflected the moonlight as if he were possessed by an eerie light. Then he chirped and Gwyrtha ran off into the night. Deathclaw promised her they would not stop again until they reached Justan.

The merchant gripped the knife in his hand even tighter. “It truly is the Khobareth,” he whispered. “They have returned. And they have chosen me.”

The giant was bigger than ever. Tarah could see it all the time now. Whenever she looked southward it was there. Its great shoulders took up the whole horizon, its massive and hungry mouth chewing up long troughs in the ground, consuming everything in its path.

Tarah tracked Esmine as hard as she had tracked anything in her life. Weeks went by. The rogue horse was tantalizingly close. Every once in a while Tarah would catch glimpses of her at the edge of her vision, always just out of reach. Each time Tarah thought she saw her, Esmine was further south, closer to the giant’s maw.

Djeri was ever at Tarah’s side, the stalwart dwarf shining in his new armor, knocking away obstacles in her path. If only her other companions were as useful. After all this time, they were still a disorderly group. Tied to her waist by long chains, they milled about, tripping over each other and yammering, mostly just slowing her down. The little red man that stood on Tarah’s shoulder laughed at their antics.

She had to admit the gnome was funny. Cletus with his long noodle-like arms danced about, messing with the rest of them, tripping up the helmet girl, stealing Lem’s whip, or even sneaking up and sticking his tongue in the dwarf’s ear. Djeri would roar in anger and the gnome would cackle and cartwheel away, always just out of the dwarf’s grasp.

Tarah stopped laughing and frowned. That wasn’t Cletus’ way. He was playful, but not a tease. Something was too odd about the situation.

“Ho-ho! That gnome!” said the little man on her shoulder. He was red all over, his skin, his expensive clothes, even his shoes. “He is so funny. So unpredictable.”

“This is wrong,” Tarah replied.

“Uh-oh!” said the little man, his eyes wide. He pointed behind Tarah and she turned to see that the giant was near. He’d come upon them so fast. His eyes filled the sky. His wide mouth was gobbling up the earth a mile at a time. Standing on his long pointed nose was Esmine, flames pouring from her reptilian mouth.

“Stop!” Tarah demanded. The scene froze. She reached up and plucked the little red man from her shoulder. He was as frozen as the rest of the world, his little face mid-laugh. She blinked as she remembered what was supposed to be going on. “What are you at? You’re Willum’s imp, aren’t you?”

The little man kept pretending to be frozen. Tarah threw him down on the ground and stomped on him. “Knock it off!”

“Ow! Gah!” The little red man hopped up on one leg. The other one was bent crooked. “That hurt! Don’t do that kind of thing to someone who is visiting your mind. Ho! You could do real damage.”

“Why are you invading my dream?” Tarah demanded, pointing her staff at him threateningly. When Willum had given her the axe before she went to sleep that night, he’d told her a little about the imp’s ways, but he’d said nothing about this. “Willum said you just wanted to talk.”

“I was talking. I was talking!” the little man insisted. He tried to raise one arm to point but it was broken at the elbow and hung loosely. “Wait just a moment. This form is too ridiculous.”

A swirl of smoke poured out of the little red man’s mouth. It grew and grew until it became a torrent of smoke that swirled around like a man-sized tornado. Then the smoke dissipated and, standing where the little red man had been was the imp.

Theodore was portly and stood perhaps a foot shorter than Tarah. He had white skin and red eyes and on the tips of his long fingered hands were little black claws. A pair of spectacles sat on his pointy nose and he wore some ridiculous finery, a poofy white blouse with a velvet vest and pants. From a hole in the back of his pants sprouted a long white tail with a forked end.

“Ho-Ho! There, that’s better. Proper introductions are perhaps in order. I am Theodore and, yes, I am the imp that is bound to Willum’s axe.” He gave her a curt bow. “You, on the other hand, are Terri Woodblade and this is your dream.” He indicated the frozen scene with a broad sweep of his arm.

“It’s Tarah,” she corrected.

“Now what does this all mean?” asked the imp, walking through the frozen environment. “Human dreams are interesting things, I’ve found. Your little subconscious minds are whirring all day, processing things and when night comes, they spew their knowledge all over the place. The way you see everyone is quite humorous.”

He walked over to Helmet Jan, who was really more of an exaggerated version of herself, with the helmet way too large for her head. “What is going on with her head, hmm? What is this? Ha! A handle?” Indeed there was a handle at the back of her helmet almost as if it were an upside down kettle. The imp grasped the handle. “You know, I’ve always wondered what she looked like underneath this thing. Shall we find out?”

The imp began to tug, but the helmet was stubborn. Tarah had to admit that she was curious too. With a pop, the helmet came off and the imp stumbled back with it in his hands. Tarah laughed despite herself. Jan’s face was a caricature, with a nose squished up like a pig and one eye bigger than the other. She looked like a child with its face pushed up against the glass window of a pastry shop.

Theodore laughed along with her. “Ho-ho! Marvelous. See your subconscious mind at work? You don’t know what she looks like under the thing and this is what you come up with. Ha!” The imp turned the helmet around and plopped it back on Jan’s head backwards.

“Wait,” Tarah said suspiciously. “Not all of this came from me.” She pointed at Cletus. The gnome warrior was frozen mid-run, his mouth wide and laughing with his tongue lolling out like a dog’s. His long limbs were curved as if they didn’t have joints. “He doesn’t usually look like this in my dreams. Also he was acting strange. That’s what tipped me off that something was wrong.”

“Alright, fine,” said the imp with a roll of his eyes. “I did that bit, but the rest of this was you. I haven’t even gotten to the most interesting part. I mean, ho! Look at this!”

He spread his arms wide, taking in the immense giant. “This is something I didn’t do.”

“No,” said Tarah, suppressing a shiver. “He has been in my dreams for a long time, though he’s much bigger now.”

“A long time, you say?” The imp walked closer to the giant, rubbing his little pointed chin. He turned back to face her. “How long?”

“Months,” Tarah said. It was horrible. She didn’t like looking at it. She was afraid that it would start moving again. As if in response to her thoughts, its huge eyes swung down to focus on the imp.

Theodore’s back was to it and he didn’t notice. “Would you like to know what is even more interesting than a normal human’s dreams? Ha! The dreams of you humans with spirit magic. Ho-ho! What gems to be found in those dreams. Bits of foretelling all over the place.”

“Foretelling?” she said, taking a step back. The giant’s enormous eyes blinked.

“Yes. It’s fascinating, really. You saw this thing coming long before you knew there was a threat,” he said. The giant edged forward silently in the still world. His lower jaw churned beneath the ground, the house-sized teeth of his upper jaw rising above the imp’s head.

“Get out of the way!” Tarah grabbed the imp and yanked him back just before the giant’s mouth closed, snapping shut behind the imp and barely missing his tail. The giant’s teeth made no sound, but the rush of air from the shutting of its lips shoved Tarah and the imp backwards.

Theodore looked at the giant’s head in consternation. “Be careful, Terri. Don’t let it move. This is your dream, remember?”

“I don’t know that I can control the giant,” she said. It opened its mouth. If it lunged forward again, Tarah wouldn’t be able to get away. None of them would. Everyone, even her frozen friends, would be consumed.

The imp snapped his fingers in front of her face, causing Tarah to blink her eyes in irritation. “Pay attention. The only things here that are real are you and me. This is no giant.”

“This may be a dream, but that’s a giant,” Tarah replied.

“It’s not!” Theodore insisted. “Look at the droopy ears, the long pointed nose. That, dear Terri, is a gnome.”

Tarah frowned, forgetting to be frightened for a moment as she really looked at the nightmarishly huge features. The imp was right. It really was an enormous gnome. She focused her attention and the giant stopped moving.

“You see?” said the imp, smiling at the look of understanding that came over her face. “Months ago, you started dreaming about an oncoming gnome of destruction. Now the threat is bigger than ever because we’re rushing toward him. Ho-ho! Human spirit magic in action.”

“You’re saying that my magic has been showing me the future in my dreams?” Tarah replied. “But my magic only shows me glimpses of the past.”

“Hmm. I don’t know about the future, Terri. Some people can do that, but it sounds to me like your dreams are showing you the present. This is the present we’re seeing right here; the lot of us running right into the mouth of the enemy.” He spread his arms out wide and spun. “Your magic is gathering information from out there in the ether of the World of Dreams. Ho! Then it brings it together and shows it to you in your sleep.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked. “Do you think there’s something in my dreams that could help us?”

“Could be. Could be. If we could interpret it correctly,” the imp said. He rubbed at his chin again. “Most of it we know at this point. You’re tracking the rogue horse. It’s coming closer to the gnome threat. Cletus has noodle arms and Swen has a wooden face.”

Tarah looked at Swen’s frozen figure and was surprised to see that the imp was right. His face was carved of wood in her dream. But was that her doing or the imps?

“Ho. There is something else, however, that could be of importance. Your gnome here is a much bigger threat than we think. He’s not just a rogue horse killer. Look at the destruction he’s causing.” He gestured at the trail the giant left behind. It was an enormous and far reaching mile wide furrow through the ground and it passed through the center of cities and villages. “There is more to this gnome. Ho-ho, it gets my senses tingling. This is precisely the sort of menace we imps were created to fight!”

He rubbed his hands together and there was longing in his eyes. “Oh to have a body and be alive at this time. I’ll bet every imp female in the known lands is pregnant right now.”

“You might be right about the gnome, but there is something that bothers me even more. It’s something new,” Tarah replied. She pointed up to the top of the giant gnome’s nose, where Esmine stood facing them, her mouth frozen in a soundless roar. “In my other dreams, the giant always consumes her. This time Esmine is on his side.”

The imp looked concerned for a moment. Then he brushed it off. “Bah! It likely means nothing. Ho! Dream interpretation is a silly hobby anyway. Most people read them all wrong.” He walked back to Tarah and draped his arm across her waist. “I didn’t want to see you for your dreams, Terri.”

“It’s Tarah,” she said in irritation. “You’ve been saying it wrong the whole time.”

“The reason I wanted to speak with you is because of your staff,” he said.

“My staff?” she replied. It appeared suddenly in her hands, seven-feet-long and blood red with multiple series of runes etched into the wood.

“Indeed. Ho, but let’s not discuss it here,” said the imp. “I tire of this place.”

Theodore waved his hand absently and smoke began to bubble up from the ground in front of him. It rose into a column and spread out, curving to form the shape of a doorway. He guided her up to it and bowed, gesturing her through.

Tarah gave him a slight frown, but gripped her staff and walked into the smoke. After a few steps, she came through the other side and found herself standing in a long rectangular room. The floor, walls, and ceiling were made up of the same kind of smoke as the doorway. Bolts of electricity flashed occasionally through the ceiling like lightning through clouds, but it made no sound. She breathed in, thinking she would smell the smoke, but the air had a pleasant scent. It made her think of cinnamon in spiced wine.

 At the far end of the room was a tall marble fireplace with a roaring fire. Two plush chairs stood before it and a small mahogany table rested between them. The imp was already sitting in one of the chairs, his bare feet propped up on the table. He held a large wine snifter in one hand. It was filled about a quarter of the way by a thick red wine that swirled in the bottom of the glass as he gestured her in. When he spoke to her, his voice was different. It was the same tone and inflection, but now she could hear it inside her mind as well as in her ears.

“
Welcome to my domain,
” he said.
“
Please have a seat. Ho! It’s nice and warm, unlike the weather where your body is sleeping
.”

He was right about that. It was pleasantly warm in the room, a nice feeling after three weeks of traveling through the snow. She took a few hesitant steps into the room and when she was sure that the cloudy floor was in fact solid, she walked confidently up to the seat and plopped down into it. She put her boots up onto the table across from his and laid her staff across her lap.

“So what do you want to say about my staff?” she asked.

“
Your boots are muddy
,” he remarked. “
It shows a confrontational attitude
.”

She shrugged. “Clean them up then. It’s your ‘domain’, not mine.”