Chris Pierson - Spirit of the Wind

“How the monks perished is uncertain,” Elistan had concluded. “In some tellings of this tale, they choked to death on the smoke and ash of Istar’s doom. In others, the desperate peasants broke in at last, murdered the monks, and looted the monastery. And in still others, they took their own lives when they saw the despair their inaction had wrought. In any case, however, they died soon after the Cataclysm, and the ruins of the abbey became known as Blood Watch-both because it overlooks the Blood Sea, and also because of the monks’ belief that it was better to contemplate the suffering of the people than to do anything about it. Some legends even say the monks’ spirits still haunt Blood Watch, doomed forever to look upon the red waters below and never know if they could have done anything to stop the devastation of the world.”

Riverwind became aware that someone was tugging on his arm. He looked down, his gaze still slightly abstracted, and saw Kronn holding his wrist, gazing up at him with concern.

“Riverwind?” the kender asked. “Are you all right?”

The old Plainsman blinked, caught for a moment between memory and reality then nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was thinking.”

“I figured that was it,” Kronn said. “Either that or you were having some kind of fit. What’s the matter?”

Riverwind put a hand to his forehead, feeling tired. “Kronn,” he asked, “do you know the way to Blood Watch?”

The kender nodded, understanding. “I had a feeling you might ask that,” he said. He patted his map pouch. “The tunnels go out that way. I’ve been there once, a while back, to look for the monks’ ghosts. Didn’t find any, which was a pity-and Paxina tells me the ruins are gone now, thanks to Malys. She’s changed the land out there, kind of like she’s doing to the Kenderwood. Built herself a volcano for a lair, from what I hear… hey, where are you going?”

While Kronn was expounding, Riverwind had started to walk, moving down the street with purpose. The kender had to run to catch up.

“Come on,” Riverwind said. “We need to talk to Paxina.”

Riverwind and Kronn were hurrying down Milkweed Avenue, a crooked, tree-lined road that periodically grew so narrow that the Plainsman had to turn sideways to keep from getting stuck between the buildings on either side. All of a sudden it bent sharply to the right, and Kronn and Riverwind came to a sudden stop. Ahead of them, right in the middle of the road, stood a house. It filled the whole street. There wasn’t even enough room between it and the adjacent buildings for Kronn to squeeze through. The kender and the Plainsman stared at it in astonishment.

“Whoa,” Kronn remarked. “That wasn’t here last time I went this way…

“Kronn,” Riverwind rumbled, his voice straining with frustration.

Kronn waved at the house. “This was a perfectly good route until someone put that thing in the way!”

“Damn it!” the old Plainsman exploded. “Kronn, this is important! We can’t be wasting time on this idiocy!”

“I know that!” Kronn snapped back angrily. “But it’s not my fault. Just when I’m starting to know my way around, someone moves a fountain or builds a fence or puts up a whole blessed house. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day I got so lost I never found my way out.” He put a hand on his head. “All right, look. It’s only about six blocks back to Shrubbery Road. We can follow that to Straight Street, and that’ll take us to City Hall. All right?” He turned and started back the way they had gone.

“Wait,” Riverwind said.

Kronn stopped, looking back. The Plainsman’s brow was furrowing as he tried to capture an elusive thought.

“Shhh!” Riverwind hissed. “Say that again.”

“It’s only about six blocks back to Shrubbery Road,” the kender repeated. “We can follow-”

“Not that,” Riverwind interrupted. “Before.”

Kronn frowned. “I was just saying I wouldn’t be surprised if one day I got so lost I never found my way out.”

The old Plainsman nodded, thinking hard. Then suddenly he began to laugh.

Kronn looked at him nervously. “Uh,” he said, “are you feeling all right, Riverwind?”

“By the gods! That’s it!” Riverwind whooped joyfully. “Kronn! I know how to beat the ogres.”

Not long after Riverwind and Kronn left, the door to Baloth’s cell opened again and Giffel Birdwhistle strode in. Seeing him, the hairless ogre cried out. “No!” he shouted. “I told you everything, I swear! No more!”

Giffel looked the ogre up and down, then nodded to someone outside the door. “All right, let’s get him out of here.”

“Out?” Baloth blurted. “You’re letting me go?”

Giffel nodded. “Kronn’s orders. We’re not going to feed you and take care of you, and my people don’t execute their prisoners. You told us what we needed to know, so we’re setting you free.”

Baloth gawked in amazement as the guards came in. There were more than a dozen of them, armed with polpaks-saw-bladed pole arms that they held at his throat as two of their number untied the strong ropes that bound his ankles. Then they used the weapons to prod and herd the ogre out of his cell. With Giffel in the lead, they led him down the tunnel, away from the vault. Baloth stumbled along in a haze, too tired and bewildered to resist.

They followed the passage for what seemed miles and miles, finally stopping at a flight of stairs. Giffel dashed up the steps and opened the secret door at their top. A low, grassy hummock swung aside to let in a shaft of ruddy, evening light.

“Bring him up,” he called.

It took some doing, but the kender guards managed to shove the hulking ogre up the narrow staircase. The earthen walls shuddered and crumbled as he wormed his way out of the tunnel. Then he was out, gazing around in bafflement. He was far from Kendermore. The dead trees of the Kenderwood surrounded him.

The guards encircled him, polpaks ready, as Giffel drew a knife from his belt and came forward. The tall kender went behind Baloth and began to saw at the cords around the ogre’s wrists. “Just so you know,” he said, “your army’s about a league north of here. You can go back to them if you want… but I don’t think you’d better.”

The ropes fell away, and Baloth groaned as blood flowed back into his numb hands. “Why not?” he asked.

“Because,” Giffel said, “you told us when they plan to march-and that bit about Malys, too. I’m no expert on ogres, of course, but from what I gather, if Kurthak figures we let you go, he’ll also figure out you betrayed him. So he’ll kill you-and painfully, too. I can’t even imagine what’ll happen if Malys finds out.

“Anyway, it’s your choice. You can go north and hope they don’t kill you, or you can head south and try to get away.” The tall kender sheathed his dagger and stepped back toward the concealed staircase. The guards fell back with him, polpaks still pointed at the ogre.

“Goodbye, Baloth,” Giffel said as he stepped onto the stairs. He grinned. “It was nice talking to you.”

He headed down the steps, the guards with him. Baloth watched dumbly as the grassy hummock swung back into place, covering the entrance to the tunnels. The ogre glanced around furtively, making sure he was alone. He went over to the hummock and tried to find the button or lever that made it work. After a while, he gave up.

Then he turned and began to lope away through the forest to the south.

Once more, Riverwind found precious little time for rest. He spent much of the night with Kronn, Catt, and Paxina. He told Kronn’s sisters what Baloth had told them, then revealed his idea for defending against the ogres’ attack. Their discussion lasted until nearly dawn.