Chapter 5
Everynne raced through the forest, following Gallen and Veriasse while Maggie and Orick brought up the rear. Everynne found it hard to toil through the thick undergrowth of Coille Sidhe. Everywhere, trees grew in a riot: dark pine brooded over the wrinkled hills and valleys. Tangled vine maple and ironwood climbed high to capture the dappled sunlight, their limbs twisted like snakes. Dense undergrowth covered the forest floor. Everywhere, ancient fallen pine trees lay molding.
Everynne wished she could hear the vanquishers’ calls in the woods, but the pine needles and leaves of lesser trees muffled all sound. If the vanquishers fell upon them, there would be no advance notice.
Veriasse and Gallen ran side by side, Veriasse carrying his incendiary gun in both hands. Gallen kept glancing at it, but did not immediately ask what it was.
Veriasse hung his shoulders as he ran, weary. Everynne herself felt weary to the core of her soul, and she knew she needed more help. She needed a man like Gallen, and she considered taking him for a servant. She studied him as she ran.
After thirty minutes, Gallen reached a hill where a trio of tall stones hid them. Inside this natural fortress, he called a halt. He stood panting and asked Veriasse, “Those vanquishers, will they try to follow our tracks or are there enough of them so that they can beat the brush and force us out of cover?”
Veriasse heaved for air, said, “They will hunt us both by scent and by track. Gallen, we must take great care. If they have already found the gate, they will be guarding it. We will need to sneak up to it. Yet with vanquishers at our heels, we cannot afford to be timid.”
Gallen considered. “You said that the vanquishers can kill from a distance, and they carried rods like the one you have. Is this the weapon they use?”
“It’s called an incendiary rifle,” Veriasse said. “When you discharge the weapon, it fires chemicals that burn very hot.”
“So it’s something like a flaming arrow?” Gallen asked.
“Yes, only far hotter. Where we come from, some creatures can only be killed with such a weapon. It has become our weapon of choice.”
“How does it work?” Gallen asked. Everynne was surprised at how casually he asked it. She imagined that the young man, being a Backward from such a low-tech world, would find such weapons to be somehow shocking. But Gallen asked in a brusque, businesslike manner.
Veriasse held the weapon up for Gallen to examine. “Down here under the guard is a trigger. When I pull it once, the weapon becomes active and a red beam of light shoots from this lens above the barrel.” He pointed the rifle at a stone, and the red dot of a laser shone on the rock. “You will also feel a vibration in the weapon when it’s active. Whatever the red dot shines on, that is what you will hit if you pull the trigger a second time.”
Veriasse flipped the weapon on its side, pointed to a little indicator light. “These lights show how many more shots you can take with the weapon.” His indicator showed ten shots.
“How far can it shoot?” Gallen asked.
“Officially, it can fire about a hundred and fifty yards,” Veriasse answered. “But the flames can carry farther if you aim high. You must never fire at an opponent who is too close—unless you want to burn with him. Once the weapon sits without firing for three minutes, it deactivates.”
Gallen touched the rifle’s stock. “This can kill an ogre?”
“Yes,” Veriasse said.
“How tough are they?” Gallen asked.
“There are three main types of vanquisher,” Veriasse answered. “Orick here killed a tracker last night—a creature with long legs and arms that walks on all fours. The ‘ogre’ that you saw is one of their infantry. They are tough warriors, and I would not advise you to fight them in hand-to-hand combat. They are very strong. Still, their vital organs are much the same as ours.
“In days gone by, my people created these creatures as guardians, to keep the peace on many worlds. But things have changed. The dronon warriors conquered our people and enslaved our guardians. The dronon are the third kind of vanquisher, and the most dangerous.”
“Dronon?” Maggie asked, panting. Her face was pale, frightened.
“You saw one back in town,” Veriasse said. “You called him Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies. He is really a dronon, a Lord Vanquisher from another world. Sixty years ago, his people came among us, and they were wise in the ways of war. At first, we tried to help them. But they envied our technology and sought to take it. They captured many worlds. Now, any guardians who were not slain all serve the dronon vanquishers. On some worlds, even humans serve the dronon’s Golden Queen and her empire.”
Gallen stood up, seeming to have caught his wind. “We’ll need to keep to the trees so that they can’t shoot us, and I’ll lead them on some trails that will be hard to follow. If we can shake them off our track, we won’t have to rush to the gate.”
Gallen took off running. He set a path that the vanquishers would be hard-pressed to follow. He zigzagged between growths of jack pine, where the trees grew so close together that their branches formed a nearly impenetrable wall. Twice he made great circles so that his scent would be strong, then led the others over dry logs where no footprints would show, where even their scent would not hold.
When he had done all he could to obscure his trail, Gallen led them to a cave at the base of a mountain. He took the group to the largest opening, then at the black mouth of the cave he hesitated to enter.
“What’s wrong?” Everynne asked.
“This cave,” Gallen said, “has narrow passages and five openings. If we want to lose the vanquishers, we could go in here. But the cave is haunted by wights. We’ll need to light a fire and take torches in to hold them at bay.”
“We shouldn’t go in,” Maggie said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Wights?” Veriasse asked. “What is a wight?”
“A spirit. If someone is too curious and breaks the laws of the Tome, the priests give the person to the wights.”
“Surely you don’t believe in ghosts?” Veriasse said. “There’s no such thing. Have you ever seen such a thing?”
“Not ghosts,” Gallen said. “These are wights. I’ve seen them more than once: there was an old woman in our town, Cally O’Brien, who experimented with herbs. One night the wights came and dragged her off screaming, down the road to An Cochan. No one ever saw her again.”
Neither Veriasse nor Everynne looked as if they believed Gallen. “What he says is true,” Maggie offered. “Wights are real. At night you can see their soulfires glowing blue and green in the forest.”
Everynne and Veriasse looked at each other and spoke simultaneously, “Artefs!”
But Veriasse asked, incredulous, “What would an artef be doing here?”
“Guarding this world,” Everynne said. “Keeping its people in enforced ignorance. That is what their ancestors wanted, a world where their children could hide from the problems of a universe too large to control. I’ll bet the original settlers downloaded their intelligences into artefs.”
“So you’re knowing the wights by another name, are you?” Orick asked. “You have them in the realm of the sidhe?”
“Yes,” Everynne said. “We make them in the realm of the sidhe. They are simply machines that store human thought. We can travel through your cave safely.”
“I’m warning you—the sunlight does not penetrate these caverns,” Gallen said. “Inside, it is as dark as night.”
“Sunlight weakens artefs,” Veriasse said, “because the radio waves cast by your sun confuse them, leave them unable to think. But an artef can’t withstand an incendiary rifle.”
Gallen gulped, obviously still afraid. He led them in through a narrow chasm. He took Everynne’s slim hand and pulled her through the dark. She could feel him trembling. She did not know if he feared this place still, or if he simply trembled at her touch. Often, men reacted that way to her. It was a mistake to let him touch her.
Gallen felt his way along a wall until he bumped his head on a rock outcropping, then took a side tunnel. After several hundred feet, he reached a narrow passage, then took another left where the cavern branched; they began climbing a steep slope filled with rubble. Dripping water smacked loud as it dropped to unseen puddles. Everynne struggled to keep from slipping on wet rock. The air had a faintly metallic smell, and Everynne hurried to get out. In the distance, she thought she saw sunlight shining through an exit, but instead a ghostly green apparition began leaping toward them through a large chamber.
It was an old man with muttonchop sideburns and a bushy mustache. He wore a leine without a greatcloak, and short boots. The wight stood quietly, gazing at them in the dark. Its phosphorescent skin let Everynne see the walls of the cave immediately around them, and she was surprised at the jumbles of stone, the numerous stalactites and stalagmites.
The wight asked cordially, “What are you doing in my cave? Don’t you know that this forest is haunted?”
“Off with you!” Gallen said. “I’ll not have you barring our way!”
“Och, why it’s Gallen O’Day,” the wight said merrily. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you in these woods.” But the wight studied Everynne, looking at the silver net she wore in her hair. It made a tsking noise and shook its head. “You’re in a tight spot, Gallen—consorting with strangers from another world. Didn’t your mother ever warn you against such things? Didn’t she ever tell you what happens to curious boys?”
“Get back!” Gallen hissed. “We only want to pass.”
The wight studied Veriasse’s incendiary rifle. “Oh, I’ll leave for now, Gallen O’Day. But it’s sure that you can’t shake me off so easily.” The wight backed into a side tunnel, and ducked around a corner.
They hurried through the cave, climbing treacherous outcroppings, dropping down into crevices. The wight paced along behind them, crawling through the rocks. Soon another joined, and another, until Everynne counted a dozen of the creatures shadowing them through the cave. For a long way, their dim glow provided the only light for Everynne to see by.
The group reached the sunlight, and Gallen fell down to the forest floor, gasping. His face was pale, and Everynne realized that entering the cave must have been a great ordeal for the man, being a Backward who believed the wights to be invincible spirits. Soon Orick and Maggie rushed out behind them. Maggie’s eyes were wide. Gallen looked up at Maggie, and he burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Maggie asked.
“Nothing is funny,” Gallen said. “I just feel good.”
Gallen got up and led them south a half mile to a steep slope that descended into a valley. A fire had recently burned the ridge, and large boulders dotted the ground. The soil around the stones had eroded away so that often the slightest touch could send a boulder tumbling downhill, and Everynne saw that Gallen was thinking ahead. A vanquisher, with its enormous feet, would be tempted to step on the boulders, and she imagined how it would go tumbling down in the resulting landslide.
At the bottom of the ravine, Gallen headed west, marching his followers down the channel of a rocky creek. Mosquitoes buzzed around their faces, and often mallards would fly up from the water. In one place where the channel narrowed and the water deepened, Gallen pulled up a small tree, sharpened it into a stake, and pushed it down into the mud where no one could see. It took only a moment. So far, they had traveled a little over five miles in eight hours. Everynne hoped that his tactics would give them more time in the long run.
They reached the shelter of the forest again at the valley floor, and there they rested for a few moments. Maggie was gasping, sweat pouring from her brow. They were all dirty and thoroughly worn. They had to rest.
From the mountain above them nearly half a mile back, a deep voice boomed: “Vanquishers, to me!”
The vanquishers had already found their exit from the caves. Gallen cursed under his breath and looked helplessly to Veriasse.
Veriasse studied Gallen’s face. “You’ve done well,” he said at last, and Gallen furrowed his brow, as if struggling to understand Veriasse’s accent. “You’ve set as difficult a trail for the vanquishers as they could possibly hope to follow, but we must run now. We cannot afford more delays.”
Up on the mountain, there was a rumbling roar and a scream as a vanquisher learned just how treacherous the trail was. Gallen stepped into a clearing where a tree had fallen. Everynne followed and looked up the mountain. Two humanoid infantrymen were helping a tracker to his feet.
“Veriasse,” Gallen asked, “may I try your weapon?”
Veriasse handed Gallen the incendiary rifle. Gallen raised it. The barrel bounced a bit until he held his breath, relaxed his muscles, pulled the trigger. He frowned a second, obviously having expected the gun to discharge, then raised the gun a second time. Everynne could not see the red dot from the laser scope, but up on the hill, the ogres must have seen it. They suddenly released the tracker and leapt aside. Gallen pulled the trigger. A plume of white-hot chemical fire soared through the air, splashed over the tracker. The creature screamed briefly and burst into flame, then dropped in a pile of melting bones.
Gallen handed the rifle back to Veriasse. “That might keep them off our trail for a bit.”
Gallen raced northwest. He led them on a clear path through deep woods, yet Everynne knew that the vanquishers would be able to run here just as easily. With their long legs, they would run even faster.
At last he reached a grove of pine-houses. Centuries before, perhaps, a town had nestled in this river valley, but it had been abandoned. Seeds from pine-houses had dropped to the ground, and a veritable city of hollow trees grew so close to one another that their trunks had fused.
No one could hope to walk through this section of wood. It was virtually impenetrable.
“We’ll go through here,” Gallen said.
“We’ll never make it through that mess,” Veriasse objected.
“I used to play here when I was a child,” Gallen answered. “There are paths through the trees, if you’re willing to climb a bit. This grove is eight miles long and two or three miles wide in most places, but up here a ways, it’s only a quarter of a mile across. We’ll go through there.”
Like all homes grown from pine-house seeds, the houses naturally formed holes for doors. Always the seeds grew at least one door at the front of the house, and one at the back. In addition, at odd spots on each side, various openings grew for windows.
Everynne knew that the vanquishers would not be able to follow. Gallen skirted the trees till he reached a steep canyon, then walked to that impenetrable wall and entered a door hole.
They moved through the grove of pine-houses with great effort, grunting and struggling from window to window, often climbing up and down.
Perhaps as a child, Gallen had played here as a game, but windows he had squeezed through as a boy were now too narrow to permit an adult, much less a bear like Orick with his winter fat. Everynne was perspiring heavily. When they were halfway through the grove, Gallen suddenly halted, looking at a narrow window. Obviously, they could not squeeze through it, and Gallen furrowed his brow, deep in thought.
“What’s wrong?” Veriasse asked.
“We’re stuck here,” Gallen said. “I used to fit through that hole nicely, and there is a narrow path ahead that we could follow, but we can’t make it through here. There’s no way to go forward.”
“What will we do?” Maggie asked.
“I’ll have to go out and scout another way.”
“Do you need help?” Veriasse asked, yet obviously the older man was worn through.
“I’ll find a way,” Gallen said, and he went out the door. Everynne could hear him scrabbling around outside, climbing up a branch. The pine-house was dusty, full of needles and cones, the leavings of squirrels. A soft afternoon breeze blew through the little valley, stirring the treetops, even though down here on the ground it felt hot, sultry.
For the first few minutes, Everynne was glad of the chance to rest. Veriasse reached into his pack, pulled out a small flask and gave it to her to drink. She was terribly hungry—had gone all day without food—but they had nothing left to eat in the packs.
When Gallen had been gone for nearly an hour, Maggie said, “I think I’d better go look for Gallen. Maybe he’s lost us.”
She headed outside through a window and scuffled about in the tree, climbing limbs. The sunlight filtering through the open doorway had grown dimmer. Night was coming on, and Everynne could hear pigeons cooing from their roosts. It was very quiet, and Everynne began to feel nervous. They had been sitting for a long time, and the vanquishers could not be far behind. She began to wonder if one of the vanquishers might have already killed the young man, but dared not say it. The bear snuffled, looked out a window.
“Do you think Gallen could be lost?” Everynne asked Veriasse.
Veriasse shook his head. “No. As he’s said, he played here as a child. I suspect he knows exactly where we are. I’ve been impressed by his competence. For a Backward, he seems to have grasped our predicament well, and he’s led the vanquishers on a marvelous chase. He’ll come back soon.”
Veriasse said it with such certainty, that Everynne suddenly felt more at ease. Yet the older man also seemed to need to fill up the silence. “As a warrior, I find him … intriguing.”
“In what way?” Everynne asked.
Veriasse smiled, contemplating. “He carries himself with a deadly grace. If I had seen him on any planet, I would have known he was a killer. He moves with caution, a type of confident wariness that one learns to spot quickly. Yet he is different from warriors on most worlds. Our ancestors relied heavily upon armor until the incendiary guns made it useless. Now, we rely upon our guns and upon tactics downloaded from personal intelligences. We fight battles at long distances and seldom look into the faces of our victims. Even more seldom do we purposely expose ourselves to risk. We have, in effect, become chess masters who’ve memorized too many classic moves. But this young man relies on quick wits for his survival, and his weapon of choice is the knife. It seems an odd choice.”
In the corner of the room, the bear stirred in the shadows under the window. “Oh, Gallen would love a sword,” the bear said, “but they’re so expensive. You have to pay taxes on the damned things every time you travel through a new county.”
Veriasse smiled at the bear, his eyes glittering. “So, even on your backward world,” he said, “you practice arms control?”
The bear shrugged.
Veriasse sighed. “I feel fortunate. I have not met a man like him in many thousands of years.” He stared at Everynne as if to say, “We need him. You could make him follow you.” And a chill went through her. She remembered how Gallen had quivered when he touched her hand in the cave, the way he laughed off his fear of the wights. She, too, found herself intrigued.
“He is taking an awfully long time …” Everynne said.
The bear was watching them intently, and he cleared his throat. “Is there anything you can do to help us find our way out of this wood? Do you know some magic?”
Everynne laughed. “We aren’t magic, Orick, any more than you are magic.”
“Oh,” the bear said, disappointed.
A vanquisher bellowed in frustration. It sounded quite close. The creature had made it partway through the woods. Veriasse stood up, fingering his incendiary rifle, listening.
Ten seconds later, there was a swishing sound as someone leapt down through some upper branches of the tree.
Gallen’s shadow darkened the doorway. “Come on. I found a new trail.”
“What about Maggie?” Everynne asked.
“She’s up ahead, waiting for us.”
Gallen climbed up the tree, leading them through limbs with the grace of a marten. Yet the trail was very difficult.
Soon, Veriasse called for a halt and stood in the shadows under a limb. The sun was setting. He rubbed the backs of his hands against his shirt. “Stop a moment, stop,” he said. He raised his hands. “I smell fire. The vanquishers have set these woods aflame. How much farther?”
“Not far,” Gallen panted. “Not more than fifty yards.”
Everynne was nearly senseless with exhaustion. They climbed ahead, and she found herself blindly grasping for limbs. Smoke crept through the forest like a thin fog. Just before they left the grove, Gallen pulled off his sweaty, soiled greatcoat and threw it into a crevice between two trees. Veriasse watched him and did likewise, and Everynne realized the value of leaving behind something strong of scent. She pulled off her own blue cloak, tossed it back. Everynne looked down, caught Gallen staring at her as she perched on a branch. He did not look away guiltily as some men might have. Instead, he just seemed to admire her. She wondered what he saw—a woman in a blue tunic, perched in a tree, silver ringlets in her dark hair. She realized that she was sitting in the last rays of the dying sun, and perhaps so lit, she looked resplendent. She had been bred to look that way to common humans.
She leapt to the ground and raced into the forest, under the tall pines. Night was falling. Gallen seemed bone weary and had no more tricks in him. Now it was only a race to the gate, and the young man led them over the shortest route.
They reached an old forest at the fork of a canyon just at sunset. Behind them in the distance, Everynne heard an exultant howl. The vanquishers must have picked up their trail. In moments they would be here.
Everynne rushed to the gate and opened her harp case, throwing it to the ground. Gallen stood panting beside Maggie and the bear while Veriasse stepped up behind them. Everynne pulled out her key, a crystal shaped like a horseshoe, then held it up and thumbed a switch that transmitted an electronic code to power up the gate. Her crystal began glowing as the gate transmitted its acceptance signal.
The gate on this world was perhaps the oldest Everynne had ever seen. It was a small thing—taller than a man and two yards wide. It looked like a simple arch made of polished gray stone. On the posts of the arch were carved designs—flowers and vines, images that Everynne could not decipher.
As Everynne held her crystal aloft, the air under the arch began to glow pale lavender.
“My lady,” Gallen said, “will you be safe in this next world?”
Everynne looked at him. Gallen obviously wanted to follow, and Everynne had to decide whether to take him. But the vanquishers were coming. The young man would need to guard Maggie and Orick. If Everynne let him follow, the others might die.
“I’ll be safe enough for the moment,” Everynne answered. “I have the only key to the gate. The vanquishers will have to hunt me in their sky ships. I should get a good lead on them. But for now, you and your friends need to leave here at once. The vanquishers want only me.”
Everynne took one last look at this world—tasted the scent of the pine trees, the freshness of the air under the dark forest. On the first part of her journey here, she had seen the clean brooks full of trout, slept under stars where no one worried about dronon. She doubted that Gallen and Maggie understood what they had here, and she hoped that by leaving, the vanquishers would follow. Perhaps in ten years, people here would forget that vanquishers had once passed through a town. And in a hundred years, the account of Everynne’s race through these woods would only become a fairy tale, the story of the time that the sidhe were seen walking alive.
Everynne looked at Gallen over her shoulder. The young man was tense, and Everynne could read his intent simply by looking into his eyes. He planned to leap through the gate when she did. She said quickly, “Eternal life, if I reach my destination. I promise. Gallen, will you pick up my harp case for me?”
Gallen bent over, and before he could react, she grabbed Veriasse’s arm and pulled him through the gate.
Gallen had not known what to expect. He planned to wait until Everynne was ready to leave, then jump through the gate with her, but he’d wanted to say good-bye to Maggie and Orick first.
Instead, Everynne had taken Veriasse’s arm and leapt forward. There was a flash of white, and suddenly the lights under the arch snuffed out like a candle. A freezing chill hit the air. The arch itself turned white with frost, and Gallen walked under it, stood a moment looking up at the ancient runes of flowers and animals carved into the stone. As a child he had brought a hammer and chisel to the gate, but had not been able to chip off any of that stone. Instead, his chisel got blunted and bent, and finally the handle to his hammer splintered. It was like no stone in the world. He looked at Maggie, took her hand.
Gallen felt as if his heart had been pulled from him, and he just stood, staring. He heard a shout from the forest behind, and Maggie tugged on his hand, urging, “Come away from here. Take your legs into your shoes. Run!”
Gallen found that he was shaking, and he ducked beneath the arch, felt a thrill of cold air, but nothing more. For him, the gate led nowhere. It had closed.
“Come!” Orick growled. The bear stood up, sniffed the air nervously.
They ran up a small hill. Gallen stopped near the crest and took cover behind a fallen log. Maggie and Orick lay down beside him. There was shouting below in the glen, and Gallen peeked over the log, the rotting black bark pungent under his nose.
Vanquishers rushed under the dark trees. Two ogres. They were battered, dirty. One ogre cursed and kicked at the arch. “They made it through,” he said.
The ogre looked up while the other threw himself to the ground to rest. He spoke to the air. “Lord Hitkani, we’ve found the gate, but Everynne and her escorts have escaped.” He listened for a moment, then answered, “Yes, we’ll wait.”
Gallen sat watching them for several minutes and heard a rumbling noise over the trees. A black creature with enormous wings dove below the treetops, settled on the ground beside the gate. It walked in circles around the gate, touching it with long feelers beneath its mouth. Gallen watched the dronon and could only name it to himself silently—Beelzebub.
The dronon reached into a pouch at its side, pulled out a crystal shaped like a horseshoe. It held the crystal in the air, watching it change colors to a soft lavender. In an odd, guttural voice it said, “They have gone to Fale. When the others arrive, we will renew the chase. You there,” he said to one ogre, “see if you can get this key working.”
The dronon sat on a thick carpet of pine needles, beating his wings softly, while one vanquisher fumbled with the key. The shadows under the trees were thickening. Gallen wanted nothing more than a bath and something to put in his shrinking belly. This seemed to have been the longest day of his life. He had not slept in over thirty-six hours. Yet he dared not move for fear of making some noise that would alert the vanquishers, and he dared not sleep.
Beside him, Orick and Maggie quietly watched the vanquisher work as the shadows deepened under the trees. An evening wind began blowing in from the sea, hissing through the treetops, making limbs creak.
Orick stuck his muzzle into Gallen’s ribs, then looked off behind them to the north. Gallen followed the bear’s eyes. In the woods, flitting through the trees, was a pale blue light.
It was said that a man’s best defense against a wight was to lie low, hide. Yet Gallen knew the wights would be searching for him this night.
His mouth suddenly felt dry; he licked his lips. He spotted other lights flickering in the forest, pale blues and greens flowing between the trees as fluidly as a deer leaping a fence. By staying where he was, Gallen risked that the wights would catch him. Yet if he tried to make it out of Coille Sidhe now, the vanquishers would take him.
“Got it,” the vanquisher muttered, a weary note of triumph in his voice. Gallen turned, saw that the arch glowed brighter. The ogre set the flaming crystal back into its pouch, then sat with the others a couple yards away.
The wind hissed through the trees, and a woodpecker began tapping above them. Gallen toyed with the idea of rushing the giants, grabbing the key and leaping through to another world. Everynne had seemed secure in the knowledge that she had the only key to the gate. She would not expect the vanquishers to follow her so quickly. But Gallen suspected that if he tried to attack, his little knives would hardly trouble the vanquishers.
Gallen put an arm around Maggie’s shoulder and whispered, “Lie low and make your way home in the morning,” then tapped Orick on the muzzle, stood up and leapt over the log quietly and began running downhill on the soft humus, letting the pine needles cushion the sound. Orick leapt over the log and ran beside him, glancing at Gallen fearfully. Gallen poured on the speed, thinking, by God, they won’t see my heels for the dust.
But at that moment, the dronon lifted its head and hissed, making some spitting noise. Gallen had been running up behind the creature, but now he saw that it had a clump of eyes on the back of its head. The dronon pulled out its incendiary gun, but Gallen was too close for the creature to use it.
Gallen whipped out his knives, screaming, “Hold or you die!” and the ogres were so stricken with surprise that they scuttled backward a step.
Gallen was almost to the arch, and he snatched the pouch in one smooth move.
Fast as a striking serpent, one of the ogres grabbed Gallen’s wrist, spinning him around. Gallen concentrated on holding onto the key as he slashed the giant’s corded wrist. Huge gobbets of blood shot out, drenching Gallen’s hand, but the giant held on. Gallen slashed again, jerked backward, and fell to the ground, still holding the key.
He looked up. All three vanquishers had recovered from their surprise. In unison they lunged.
A piercing shriek rose behind them. They halted for half a second, and Maggie rushed between one ogre’s legs. Gallen felt Orick’s teeth biting into his collar as the bear tried to drag him under the arch.
Gallen scrabbled to his feet enough to kick backward a step, faintly aware of the ghostly lavender light radiating from the arch.
Orick roared in fear and Gallen kicked again and Maggie was with them, dragging Gallen backward. He saw the giants’ faces twist in rage, yet suddenly Gallen was swept away through a cold, brilliant light.