21. A Gnome In The Hand
"Are you sure you're reading that thing correctly?" Neeshka asked, blowing at a strand of hair that had flopped over into her eyes. "It's not that I doubt you or anything, but I'm sure we passed that very same tree stump four hours back."
"Of course I'm reading it right," said Kail. "Besides, I don't get lost. Not in the wilds, at least. My father trained me too well for that." If you can consider being taken out into the middle of the Mere and told 'find your way back home' "training". Though I'll admit, it was effective. Thank you, Daeghun. Still, these forests and meadows were much different than the Mere... the grass was too tall, for a start.
"Why don't we just get Her Highness to scorch a mark across every tree stump we come across? That way we'll know if we're walking in circles."
"Burning tree stumps is boring," said Qara from behind. The sorceress was not fairing as well as everybody else; unused to travelling, she was exhausted from the near-constant walking. Her hair was even more dishevelled than usual, her robe, which she had foolishly chosen for the journey, was dusty and torn, and she had been almost too tired to complain. Much. "I much prefer to aim for moving targets. If you'd care to run around a bit, I'd be happy to demonstrate."
"Elanee?" The Elf turned her head to Kail at the mention of her name.
"It was not the same tree stump."
"See," Kail said with a small grin of triumph for Neeshka, "I know where I'm going."
"Maybe we should just stop and ask for directions," said Khelgar, and then raised his hands defensively when the women glared at him. "Alright, alright, it was just a suggestion."
"There's nobody else out here but us anyway, moss-breath. All the sane people are back in the city," said Neeshka.
"Now this here is whitethistle. Can give you the runs you know. And I made up a song for it, quite a catchy tune..."
"What in the hells is that?" asked the Tiefling.
"Obviously not a sane person, since he's out here like us," grinned Khelgar.
"Whitethistle, whitethistle, all in a row, in Neverwinter woods, they all grow!"
"That voice..." said Qara with a shudder.
"It sounds almost..." Elanee started.
"Twee?" suggested Kail.
"I was going to suggest 'irritating', 'annoying' or 'hideous', but I suppose it might sound twee to a swamp-farmer," said Qara.
"Perhaps we should investigate the source of these... sounds," said Elanee.
"Yeah, and maybe Khelgar could ask for directions," Neeshka said, sticking her tongue out at the Dwarf, who merely rolled his eyes. Kail nodded, and led her companions forward through the tall grass. When she caught sight of smoke rising from a campfire she headed towards it, and they stepped out into a clearing. In front of them was a small camp, and a very short... man... dancing around a bush, seemingly oblivious to their arrival. She cleared her throat, and the man jumped in surprise, noticing them for the first time.
"Oh, well met!" he said. "Sorry, didn't even see you standing there. Thought you might be a Wendersnaven at first, but I can see you," he giggled to himself, "So I guess that discounts that."
"Wender-what?" she asked.
"Wendersnaven," he enunciated. "It doesn't roll off the tongue too easily, so don't worry. Don't say it too loudly if you're not sure though - they may take offence."
"And I thought Khelgar had problems," muttered Qara.
"What are ye talking about? This Gnome's mad, not me!"
"Thought I might camp out here a bit, play a tune or three, see if I could catch their attention," the Gnome elaborated. "No luck though, but luck's what you make it, so I've been working hard." Kail tried to interrupt, but the little man was talking so fast that she couldn't get a word in edgeways. "Oh, but I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Grobnar Gnomehands. Probably guessing where that last name comes from, though it tends to confuse most people. Quite a collector, and maker, and teller of tales I am. All the Gnomehands are. Except the ones they hanged in Luskan. Working on quite a tale myself you know, and the act of composing, it is a tale in itself."
"Wait a minute. You're a bard?" she managed to interject at last.
"Indeed! I, Grobnar, am a philosopher, a poet, a cataloguer of flora, fauna, and all things wild and all things mechanical. Aaaand, I can give it rhythm."
"Uh..."
"You see, it all starts with a tune. Stay about that bush, or that root, or that cloud, or that boot..." When it was obvious that nothing was going to stop Grobnar, Kail motioned for her companions to sit down and take their morning break. She had been pushing them quite hard for speed. Qara looked ready to drop right then and there. Maybe they could persuade the sorceress to turn back. Smiling, she closed her eyes and listened to Grobnar prattle...
"...and then, after I had welded the spring-mounted mechanical shield to my codpiece, I fired it, only to be thrown back almost thirty yards right into a wall! Stung quite a bit, I'll say that much, but what I learned was..."
Kail opened her eyes. The sun was much further across the sky now, and she guessed it to be mid-afternoon. She yawned as she sat up, and noticed the others in varying stages of wakefulness.
"...was..."
"What happened?" she asked the Gnome.
"Oh. You were listening so intently that you closed your eyes and lay down for a bit. Made some funny laughing noises at the right times too. Almost thought you were snoring." Grobnar's face held such innocent hope that she couldn't bring herself to crush it.
"Ah, right. Is this the path to Old Owl Well?" she asked before he could start again.
"Well I don't really know. And by that I mean yes. I just didn't have my head on travelling, so it'll take me a few moments to remember where I am, and where the... well of owls is. It would probably be faster for me to show you than to tell you. Do you think I could maybe... come with you? For a while?" She quickly closed her eyes so that she wouldn't have to see his pleading, puppy-dog expression.
"I don't know, Grobnar. We lead pretty dangerous lives. Are you any good in a fight?" she asked.
"Any good in a fight?! I've chronicled everything from nobleman duels to battalions marching through the Plains of the Dead! And through it all, no-one told the tale better than I, Grobnar Gnomehands, chronicler of the doomed!"
"Doomed? I think we fit that description," she said wryly. "I'll personally introduce you to Qara." If she ever wakes up.
"Excellent!" Grobnar cheered. "Oh, you won't regret this! I mean, too many times."
o - o - o - o - o
Qara stared at the Greycloak soldiers. Half of them were boys, younger even than her. The rest were old men who looked like they would keel over with heart-attacks if somebody jumped out at them and shouted 'boo'. In fact, she was half tempted to try it.
Not far ahead, at the front of their small precession, Kail was talking quietly with Grobnar. The two bards had been nattering like old women ever since the Gnome had joined their group. She didn't see why Kail bothered letting the Gnome tag along. His singing was terrible, and everything he cooked tasted like ground-up beetles. It was probably some sort of Gnomish delicacy, but it made her want to vomit.
A wolf-whistle came from one of the Greycloaks, and another shouted "Hey red!". She glared around at the men, trying to discern the identity of the caller or whistler, but they were all seemingly intent on their tasks. It wasn't fair! Kail didn't have to put up with this! The bloody bard just walked into a room or a camp full of soldiers and somehow managed to get a small measure of respect without even doing anything. Nobody treated her like a piece of property to be man-handled. Nobody pinched her behind in the Flagon. And yet she, Qara, a sorceress able to wield more power than all of the mages of the academy combined, had to put up with implications that she was a tavern whore!
And worse -- it was the little things, the other things, that really got her angry. The little acts of petty, malicious spite that made her want to burn the entire tavern to the ground. She was sure that the bloody ranger was telling his mangy wolf to go walking through mud before coming into the Flagon. She couldn't count the times she'd had to scrub at muddy pawprints on the floorboards like some common washer-woman, while he and his damn wolf sat there watching her with smug, self-satisfying smiles. She wished, so desperately, that she could just wipe that smile off Bishop's face... but she knew that she had the disadvantage.
Kail, in Qara's position, would probably just have smacked the ranger. Hard. Qara could do that, of course, but... she would be the first to admit that she wasn't exactly the most physically robust of women. If she smacked Bishop, she had no doubts that he would smack her right back. Of course, she could stop him from doing that... by incinerating him. But she couldn't do that without burning down the Flagon, possibly with herself still inside. And if she killed him, or anybody else, Duncan would make sure the Watch knew who was to blame. So, for now, she had to grin and bear the insults. But one day she would make him account for every muddy pawprint, every kicked-over bucket of water, every disgusting leer...
She walked into the back of Elanee and glared at the Elf before noticing that everybody had stopped walking. Kail, with that stupid crow perched on her arm, was approaching a Dwarf -- probably the one in charge here, as he seemed to be the only one who didn't look dejected or confused -- and Qara moved in closer so she could hear the conversation. She wasn't the only one.
"I want those walls up by evening, no excuses. The orcs aren't going to stop attacking just because we need to catch our breath," said the Dwarf.
"But Sir! The men are having a hard time finding the materials we need," said a Greycloak.
"You're telling me they can't find any stones?! We're in the middle of the blasted mountains! Unless you'd like to report to Nasher that we're overrun because we couldn't find rocks, I suggest you drive some sense into your men and get that wall built."
"Yessir, I'll see to it Sir." The man turned away, marching stiffly to a group of other 'Cloaks.
"I tell you, I've lost years off my life trying to get this rabble fit for service," the Dwarf ranted at the skies. Then his eyes fell on Kail. "And who in the hells are you supposed to be? I wasn't expecting reinforcements."
"I'm looking for the leader of this expedition," said Kail, in what Qara thought of as her 'I don't need to be answering your questions, but I'll do so anyway just because I feel like it' voice.
"I am in charge of this... army." The Dwarf almost spat the word. "My name is Callum. Commander Callum, to you.
"My name is Kail. We're with the city Watch. Captain Brelaina sent us to escort the Waterdeep emissary back to Neverwinter."
"Issani?" asked Callum. "He's not here. My best scouts are out there right now, trying to find any sign of him. As soon was I hear something, you'll be the first to know." The bard nodded as he spoke.
"The emissary had no idea he'd be entering a battleground, did he?"
"That couldn't be helped. This campaign has been planned for months, and to be honest, we weren't expecting to be needing a new Waterdeep emissary right now," Callum replied hotly.
"Why is this place so important?" Qara smiled at Kail's question. At least she wasn't the only one who thought this place was just a worthless pile of stones out in the middle of nowhere.
"Not much of a history student, are you?" Kail narrowed her eyes at Callum. She didn't like the implication that she was ignorant. "This well is the only source of water for three days in either direction, and it is of strategic importance as a trade route. The orcs have held it for the past decade, and now we're taking it back from them."
"And were just supposed to wait here until..."
"The orcs are attacking! Sound the alarm!" cried someone from atop one of the small defence towers.
"Oh, not again," sighed Callum. Then he turned to the soldiers around them and drew his weapon. "Greycloaks to arms! For Neverwinter!" he shouted. Then he rushed forward, with Khelgar and Kail on his heels.
The attack was pathetic, barely even testing her abilities. She smiled in satisfaction every time one of the orcs fell to her spells, and even managed to lightly singe a Greycloak who was a little slow in getting out of her way. That would teach them to whistle at her!
"I wish I knew who was out there keeping the orcs occupied," said Callum as he finished off the last of the invaders.
"Someone else is attacking the orcs?" Kail asked as she recovered her knives from orc corpses. Qara smiled at that. At least she didn't have to go around picking at dead bodies and getting covered with revolting blood. And that the bard preferred to fight with knives than to use the power inside her -- the power that Qara knew almost rivalled her own -- merely showed how weak-willed she was.
"Yes, and it's giving us time to rebuild our defences. I don't know who it is, but the orcs call him 'Katalmach'," Callum explained.
"Someone who doesn't play the odds doesn't last very long in my experience," said Neeshka. "Well, except me."
"It is odd that even orc trackers couldn't find him. Or that he would risk stirring up so many tribes in this region," Elanee added.
"Maybe this Kettle-head person simply lacks basic maths skills," said Grobnar. He held up his fingers in front of him. "You see, if we were to face three hundred orcs, the odds, well if you carry the two... might be..."
"That isn't a name that orcs give lightly!" said Khelgar, in apparent awe. She sniffed derisively. Who cared about what name orcs gave to someone?
"And it won't be his name for much longer if he keeps it up. It's only a matter of time before the orcs unite and hunt him down. And if that happens before our defences are built up, we may be overrun too."
"Scout returning!" called a voice from above. Everybody turned their attention to a young man who was approaching from the west.
"Pathfinder Willam reporting, Sir!" he said after he had saluted Callum. The Dwarf nodded for him to continue. "Sir, I've found the remains of Issani's escort. It looks like it was hit hard by orcs, but the trail has been cleared away."
"Well, there you have it," said Callum, turning to Kail. "As much as I would like a few extra seasoned hands around here, you had best go and start searching for the emissary. Hmm, if I were you, I'd start at the Bonegnasher lair."
"Bonegnashers? They're still around?" asked Khelgar. "They're hard to kill."
"Sounds like a well-mannered fellow. Judging from the name," Neeshka said wryly.
"My, Bonegnasher is an interesting name. I wonder what he would've done to earn it," Grobnar mused.
"Yes. They're not the largest clan, but their chief, Yaisog, is one of the oldest. And he's clever, for an orc. If you can back him into a corner, he may talk," said Callum.
"Which is the largest clan?" Kail asked.
"That would be the Eyegougers, but I don't know where their lair is. That's a shame, because Logram, their chief, has been organising the assaults on our camp. If I knew where he was, I could send somebody to stop him."
"We'll keep an eye out," said Kail, rolling her shoulders.
"One other thing. If you can find the madman who's been attacking the orcs out there, let him know that I'd like to have a little chat with him." Kail grinned, gave Callum a low bow, and led the way out of the Greycloak camp. As they left, Qara heard another whistle. She spun around, glaring at the soldiers, but they all appeared engrossed with their work. She narrowed her eyes at them and followed the rest of her 'friends'. One day she would make them all regret their treatment of her.