Paul Thompson - The Qualinesti

Wounded but not out of the fight, the captain flung herself at her sword where it lay in the dead leaves. As the wounded goblin gathered itself to leap on the kender, Verhanna beheaded it with one two-handed blow. Then the blade fell from her hands and she collapsed.

Just then the goblin that Rufus had knocked out with a pellet stirred noisily in the leaves. The kender quickly dispatched it by cutting its throat, then rushed to Verhanna.

“Captain, can you hear me?” he shouted.

“Of course I can hear you, Wart,” she muttered. “I’m not deaf.”

Indignation spread over the kender’s mobile face. “I thought you were dead!”

“Not yet. Help me up.”

Rufus pulled on her arm until Verhanna was able to sit up. Aside from the bite wound on her right shoulder and a few cuts and bruises, she didn’t seem to be seriously injured.

“Where’s the woman and her baby?” she asked, pushing her tumbled brown hair out of her eyes. Rufus looked toward his horse; there was no sign of the woman. In the confusion of battle, she must have fled. He didn’t blame her. For a moment, it had looked like the goblins were going to get the best of them.

“She skedaddled,” he reported, wiping the noxious goblin blood from his knife blade. “No sign of her or the baby.”

“That’s gratitude for you,” grumbled Verhanna, wobbling to her knees. “Ugh! These goblins are the filthiest creatures I know.”

Studying her shoulder dispassionately, the kender said, “Your wounds should be washed, but we haven’t any water.”

“Never mind. We’ll be at the Astradine soon.”

The captain put a hand on her scout’s shoulder and heaved herself to her feet. The two of them remounted their horses, and Verhanna took one last look at the bloody scene before they moved on. Her shoulder burned as if a glowing coal had been set under the skin. Verhanna held her reins limply in her left hand, favoring her injured side.

“Wait a minute,” said Rufus. “This isn’t the way we came in.”

“Are you sure?”

He scratched his head and looked all around. There was nothing but trees and brush in all directions. “Blind me with beeswax! Which way do we go?” Shielding his eyes with his hands, the kender squinted into the hazy sky. The immobile sun gave no clue which direction they should take.

“Can’t you find the trail?” Verhanna asked hoarsely. “That’s what I pay you for, to be a scout.”

Rufus leapt to the ground. He sniffed the dead leaves and dry moss. He turned his head, straining for any sound. Finally, in desperation, he shouted, “Ho, Kivinellis! Can you hear me? Where are you?” In spite of repeated calls, there was no answer. At last the kender turned to Verhanna and shrugged helplessly.

“Wart,” she said weakly, “you’re fired.”

Verhanna’s eyes rolled up until only the white showed. Without another sound, she toppled from her saddle and landed squarely on the kender.

Mashed flat on his back, with only his head showing under the prostrate warrior maiden, Rufus groaned loudly. “Ow! Feels like a bear fell on me!”

There was no response from his captain. Finally he managed to haul himself out from under her and rolled her over. Verhanna was still breathing, but her face was deathly pale and her skin blazed hotter than the calm, radiant air.

Rufus set to work. He hadn’t lived so long by his own wits without learning a thing or two about sickness. His captain had been poisoned by the filthy goblin’s fangs, and unless he could cool her off, the raging fever would be the death of her.

Among their camp gear was a short-handled spade. The kender used it to rake away the layers of leaves that covered the forest floor. Within seconds, he was down to black soil. Below the dry top layer, he knew the earth would be moist and cool. Disregarding his parched throat and sweat-stung eyes, Rufus dug a shallow hole six feet long, two feet wide, and eight inches deep. It was hard going. The forest soil was a tangle of roots, rocks, and chunks of decayed wood. The captain was his friend though, and Rufus intended to do everything he could to save her. An hour after she’d fallen from her horse, the hole was ready for her.

Dropping his shovel, the kender dragged the much larger half-elf woman to the shallow pit and rolled her in so she lay on her back. Collapsing over her unmoving form, he panted and puffed with the exertion. This was hard work, especially since it was like toiling in a blast furnace. Not, of course, that Rufus had ever toiled in a blast furnace…

After a bit, he set about heaping damp dirt around her and scattering leaves on top of her. Her face he left uncovered. Steam rose from the ground, drawn out either by the hot, dry air or Verhanna’s fever. Finished at last, Rufus sat down near his captain’s head and waited.

He prayed to the Blue Lady to heal Verhanna; to be fair, he also addressed the goddess of healing by her Qualinesti name, Quen. Perhaps if he prayed to both her incarnations, she would be more likely to heal his captain.

Verhanna shifted restlessly under her covering of leaves and moist soil. The kender patted her forehead distractedly and pondered his situation. If Verhanna died, should he return to Qualinost with the news, or go on with the hunt for the Kagonesti slavers? And if she lived, how could they go on? How could anyone find his way cross-country without the sun or moons or stars to guide him?

The kender chewed his lip while his mind raced. Briefly he wished that he was back in the Magnet Mountains. At least there he knew his way around. Of course, life there hadn’t been nearly so exciting. Since meeting his captain, he had fought slave-traders and goblins, met the Speaker of the Sun, and had a chance to investigate the city of Qualinost. Unbidden, his hands explored the multitudinous pockets of his tunic and vest for all the trinkets he’d collected. Instead of rings or beads or writing styluses, Rufus’s nimble fingers brought out a walnut-sized piece of lodestone. Surprise lifted his eyebrows. He’d forgotten he had that.

Something about lodestones made his nose itch. Rufus scratched. No, that wasn’t it. Something about lodestones made his brain itch. Yes, there was something important about the little rock. Lodestones, mountains, and mines. What about mines? He’d once sold some stones to a band of dwarf miners. In Thorbardin, the dwarves had mines that ran for miles under the ground, where the tunnels and shafts and galleries were quite confusing. How did they navigate? They never saw the sun or stars down there.

Now the kender’s ear itched. He swiped at it with one hand; then both ears started itching. It grew unbearable.

Grabbing the wide brim of his blue hat, Rufus yanked it from his head. Two ravelings from the sewn headband were hanging down and tickling his ears. He started to break off the annoying threads.

Threads!

In an instant, he remembered what he’d been trying to remember about lodestones. A dwarf had told him once, “To find your direction underground, hang a sliver of lodestone from a thread. It will always point north and south.” Rufus had scoffed at the dwarf’s tale. After all, how could a dumb piece of rock know directions?

Verhanna moaned loudly, interrupting the kender’s darting thoughts. Recalling again what he had finally remembered before about the lodestone, Rufus brought out his knife and whittled the small stone, trying to get it long and narrow, like a pointer should be. His blade grew dull and several fresh nicks appeared, but before long, he had the stone roughly spindle-shaped.

Carefully he pulled a long raveling from his hatband. The woolen strand was about six inches long. He tied it around the center of the stone and let the black rock dangle from his fingers. The whittled stone turned round and round, then gradually slowed and stopped.