David Cook - Soldiers of Ice

Vil added his voice to her commands; and under the direction of the two humans, the Vani tumbled madly for the woods. It was barely in time, for the elemental finally compelled the gnolls forward.

“Jouka!” Vil bellowed again. The Vani leader still stood in the center of the camp, trying to drag a wounded gnome with him. Seeing that sense was not going to overcome passion, Vil hurtled back through the camp and grabbed the gnome by the collar and shoved him toward the others. With a manic heave, the man threw the injured gnome over his shoulder and sprinted after Jouka.

A gray-haired gnoll lunged forward from the rest of his pack, closing on the burdened former paladin, but by then Martine had already unslung her bow. A feathered shaft shot through her fingers and pierced the beast’s shoulder. Squealing in pain, it toppled to the ground, giving Vil the time he needed to reach safety. Several gnolls, sprinting forward, hurled their spears. One glanced off the man’s plate armor, but he continued to run. Martine quickly released a volley of ill-aimed shots that, while they caused little harm, slowed the gnoll advance.

Clearing the last drift with wild leaps, Jouka and Vil rejoined the others. Without hesitation, Jouka barked out a quick series of orders.

“You know the way,” Martine shouted to the gnomish commander. “You lead. Vil and I will guard the rear.” Amazingly enough, Jouka did not argue, but let himself be caught up in the arms of Ojakangas, who had managed to recover his skis. Vil declined the set offered him, and Martine did the same. Of those gnomes who had escaped, less than half still had skis. Those that did doubled up, awkwardly balancing another gnome on the boards with them. Vil passed the wounded gnome off to one of them. “Where was your wizard during the fighting?” Jouka demanded angrily as they set out.

Martine said nothing as she floundered through the waist-deep snow, trying to match the speed of the gnomes. Over her rasping breath, the Harper strained to hear sounds of pursuit. She heard the mingled cries of the gnolls, some like wolves on the scent, others barking and quarreling as the creatures fell to looting the dead. Over it all, Martine distinctly heard the shrill voice of Vreesar. The pursuit was on, with only herself and Vil to act as the rear guard.

Martine took position behind a pair of tree trunks that formed a V, a good shelter for her archery. With arrows staked in the snow around her, she waited while Vil stayed close by, his sword at the ready.

The first three gnolls that broke the crest of the ridge received two arrows each. Five of the six were hits, Martine noted, and two of her targets squealed and flopped into the snow. The third gnoll did neither, for the shafts had transfixed him to the trunk of a tree. There he hung, making gurgling noises while his arms swung feebly like a broken puppet.

“On your left!” Vil hissed in her ear.

Another shaft hissed from between her fingers, speeding toward a shadow that darted across a sunlit patch. Martine didn’t see the arrow hit, but a yowl from the woods confirmed the accuracy of her aim.

“Any more?” she demanded, relying on Vil as her spotter.

“Nothing yet,” he whispered.

The pair waited, trying not to start at every shadow. They could hear the gnolls barking crude insults at the gnomes, though no more of the dogmen showed their faces.

“What do you suppose they’re planning to do?” the ranger asked.

“They’re scared. They’ll shout insults for a while, and then theyll rush us.”

Martine nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Good time to move,” she offered.

“Right,” the man said. “Give me some of those arrows.”

Without wondering why, she grabbed a handful from her quiver and passed them to the former paladin. “Cover me.” Vil said. The warrior struggled to his feet and set out toward a fallen log in a doubled-over run. He disappeared behind the log in a frantic, ungraceful dive.

Panic started to rise in Martine, an unreasoning fear that she had been abandoned. When the man didn’t reappear immediately, she shifted about nervously and hissed, “Vil!” Nothing. The shouts of the gnolls were growing fiercer. “Vil!” she repeated, a little louder.

Vil’s black-haired head popped up over the log. “Quiet! Throw me the bow I’ll cover you.”

Unnocking her arrow, the Harper threw the bow like a spear. The throw came up short, and a for a fearful instant, she thought it would end up stranded between the two of them, but the curve of the bow acted like a sleigh’s skid, and it slid across the snow till it was just within Vil’s grasp.

Suddenly the woods rang with Vreesar’s buzzing rage, echoed by a chorus of howls from the gnolls.

Martine waited for the man’s signal, and when it came, she launched herself into a blind sprint. “Quick—this way!” Vil ordered, shoving her farther into the woods almost as soon as she hurtled over the log. Blindly obedient, she sprinted on to fling herself down beside a frozen stream. “Ready!” she panted.

The bow came sailing across the gap. Catching it before it crashed into the brush on the far side, the ranger moved down the bank a bit till she was behind their original position. She saw moving shapes, and without waiting to find out just what they were, she fired off a series of quick shots. A chorus of yelps and confused shouts came from the general direction of the movement. Then the shadows scattered once more into the woods.

Working from cover to cover, the pair finally managed to put some distance between themselves and their pursuers. There was no doubt the gnolls were still on the trail—the sound of their savage voices was evidence enough of that—but the creatures no longer could risk open movement, thanks to the stinging warnings from Vil and Martine.

Both humans were breathing hard and soaked with sweat, while their coats were sticky with pine resin from clinging to the cover of the tree trunks. However, neither was conscious of fatigue, being far too occupied with the chase.

It was Martine’s turn to leapfrog. She darted across a half-shaded clearing, moving from shadow to shadow in an effort to remain unseen. Her efforts almost came to naught when a tall figure moved out from the shadow of a tree trunk directly ahead of her. It was a gnoll, his attention focused just slightly off to her side. Martine froze in the shadow of a rock ledge like a rabbit caught in the open. The creature moved slowly, its canine head hung low as its body hunched over with the unmistakable poise of a hunter. In one paw, it held a cleaverlike sword; in the other, a small shield poised half at the ready.

Outflanked! The ranger instantly reassessed the situation, and indeed a quick scan of what she could see nearby told the Harper the beast was not alone. Dim; hulking shapes crept through the snow-draped woods to either side, barely visible yet close enough to respond to an alarm. Easing farther back into the shadow of the rock, she signaled Vil to stay down. They couldn’t risk a missed shot or a howl of pain that might alert the other gnolls. The dogman before her would have to be taken out by hand. Martine silently drew her sword and waited for the stalker.

The woman breathed only slightly faster than the gnoll stalked, waiting for him to close the gap between them. Not only did she watch him, but she also kept a wary eye on his brothers. When at last he had moved close enough to be jumped in a single sprint, the Harper raised her sword, only to hold back from the final lunge that would close the gap. She wasn’t concerned about losing her advantage over him, only whether she could drop him before an alarm was raised. She had to wait until the moment was right, a moment when the beast could die unnoticed by his companions.