Chris Pierson - Spirit of the Wind

Feeling his footing give way beneath him, Baloth dropped his war axe and made a wild leap for the wall. He landed on top of a merlon, fought momentarily for balance as the ladder fell away, then sprang forward, toward Riverwind. The old Plainsmen jumped aside, swinging the bill hook. The butt of the weapon’s long handle cracked against the underside of Baloth’s chin, and the ogre reeled back.

Riverwind didn’t hesitate for an instant. He jabbed with the pole arm again, striking the hairless ogre between the eyes. Blood erupted from Baloth’s face as he dropped senseless to the catwalk.

At once, several kender surged forward, raising their weapons to finish the hairless ogre, but Riverwind held out his hand. “Stop!” he shouted. “Don’t kill him.” He pointed at Baloth’s intricate bone and tooth necklace, draped in a tangle across his comatose form. “That must mean he’s a leader of some sort. This one is of more use to us alive than dead.”

Nodding their understanding, the kender ran, shouting for strong ropes to bind the unconscious ogre leader. Riverwind, meanwhile, whirled back toward the battle, relieved to see that it was all but over.

“They’re retreating!” Brightdawn announced, looking out over the battlements. “They’re running away! We beat them!”

The surviving kender atop the wall cheered heartily at this, lifting their weapons high above their heads. Riverwind and Kronn did not share their joy, however. They looked gravely at each other, sharing the same thought. Brave Brimble Redfeather and hundreds of kender were dead, they had nearly lost the battle, and they had only faced two thousand of Kurthak’s troops.

There were some ten thousand ogres still out there, waiting for the real assault to begin.

When the sun’s light touched Kendermore’s rooftops once more, it found the courtyards beneath the town’s east wall littered with the wounded and the dead.

The surviving kender had found no rest after the ogres’ retreat. Some had spent the night heaving dead ogres off the battlements onto the bloody field outside the city, while the rest lifted those of their fellows who had fallen to the onslaught and laid them out in rows upon the ground. Now, as the sky paled with morning light, there was scarcely room to walk for bodies. Healers-including Arlie Longfinger and Moonsong of Que-Shu-moved among the fallen, helping those who could be saved and comforting those who could not. Many other kender picked their way through the aftermath too, searching for parents, siblings, children, and friends. The usual tumult of noise that hung over Kendermore had changed. Rather than shouts and laughter, the air rang with weeping and groans of pain.

Riverwind stood wearily above it all, looking down upon the casualties from atop the wall. Brightdawn and all three of the Thistleknots stood with of him.

“We can’t do it,” the old Plainsman said at length, putting a hand to his head. He was shaking with fatigue, and cramps wracked his old muscles.

The others looked at him sharply. “Father?” Brightdawn gasped.

“What do you mean, ‘can’t?’ ” Paxina asked.

Helplessly, Riverwind gestured at the carnage below. “I mean that,” he snapped. “One-fifth of Kurthak’s army did that-and we were fortunate. When the rest of the army attacks, we will certainly lose. I can’t lie to you, or to myself. There’s no way we can hold the walls against that horde. It’s simply a matter of numbers-we’d still be hard-pressed if our forces were doubled.

“And,” he added, seeing Paxina open her mouth to object, “even though we drove them back, the ogres won the battle last night. They accomplished what they set out to do-they have learned our weaknesses. Now they know how to beat us.”

Riverwind hesitated a moment, frowning. “There’s something else working against us. We nearly lost the wall last night because, I hate to say it, our warriors are acting afraid.”

“What?” Kronn asked, offended. “Riverwind, you know kender aren’t capable of fear.”

“Aren’t you?” the old Plainsman shot back, turning his hard gaze on Kronn. “You saw little Billee Juniper when we found her, Kronn-and you were there with me last night. Didn’t you see how the kender behaved when the ogres started to take the wall? They hung back-and Brimble died because of their hesitation. Why would they do that?”

Scowling angrily, Kronn opened his mouth to answer. Before he could speak, however, Paxina interrupted.

“It began a few months ago,” she said, “when the Kenderwood began to wither.”

“Nettles and thorns,” Kronn gasped. “Pax, you can’t be serious.”

She looked up at him, her eyes flashing. “Look at me, Kronn. I’m telling the truth. Malystryx’s magic isn’t just corrupting the Kenderwood; it’s corrupting us. Fear, hopelessness, despair-some of us are feeling all of these emotions for the first time. You don’t notice it, Kronn, because you’ve been away. And you, Catt. But the first time you wake up in the middle of the night, scared half to death by your first nightmare, you’ll believe me.”

“Nightmares!” Catt scoffed.

“All the kender?” asked Kronn solemnly.

“No, thankfully,” said Paxina. “But many… too many.” She turned to the old Plainsman. “Riverwind, I should have told you, but I was too ashamed.”

It was a long time before anyone spoke. Then Catt sighed softly and looked up at the old Plainsman.

“You should leave, Riverwind,” she said solemnly. “You still have a chance to get away before the final attack-all of you.” She glanced at Brightdawn. “We shouldn’t have dragged you into this in the first place.”

“I’m not leaving,” Brightdawn said.

Smiling, Riverwind reached out to his daughter and took her hand. “Neither am I,” he stated. “I, too, am afraid. But there must be a way to defeat the ogres-and the dragon. In this situation; fear or no fear, my friend Tasslehoff wouldn’t have given up and neither will I. There must be a way.”

“How?” Paxina asked.

“I don’t know yet,” the old Plainsman said. “Kronn, let’s talk….”

It had been a long, woeful day but now it was evening at last. Kronn and an exhausted Riverwind walked together through the maze of Kendermore’s streets, bound for the Plainsman’s house.

“Well, the answer seems pretty obvious to me,” Kronn was saying. “My father used to say, ‘The best solution to a problem’s usually the one right under your nose.’ Only this one’s a bit farther down. It’s under our feet.”

Riverwind bowed his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as his head throbbed. “The tunnels?” he asked, skeptically.

“Of course!” Kronn declared proudly. He stopped for a moment and stomped his foot on the cobblestone street. “Right down there! We’ve got a ready-made escape-and the tunnels lead all the way to Flotsam, if we want to go that far.”

The old Plainsman shuffled wearily to a halt, his face clouding with thought. “True,” he mused. “But there are thousands of your people in Kendermore, Kronn. It would take days, maybe weeks. Don’t you think the ogres would notice?”

“So we don’t do it all at once,” the kender answered. “We can send a bunch at a time. With all the entrances to the tunnels there are in town, I figure we can get about two hundred people out every hour. Which means maybe five thousand a day, give or take.”

“If we keep it up all day and night,” Riverwind argued.

“And it means abandoning Kendermore.”

“Yes,” said Kronn. “I hate to do that, just handing it over to the ogres. But you were right earlier: we can’t keep the ogres from taking the city. That doesn’t leave us much choice but to evacuate. Let’s say three thousand people a day. Sound better to you?”