To her further surprise, the guardsman did not go into the barn; rather, he moved to the gutter along one corner and began to scale it. He was halfway up the tall structure before the man on the horse took serious note of him, and Danica thought his reaction - wide-eyed and pale - a curious thing.
"What in the Nine Hells is going on?" the young woman whispered quietly. She looked about the yard to see if Ivan or Pikel had slipped out of the barn, to try to discern if anyone inside had any idea about the strange events in the yard.
The guardsman made the edge of the roof. Danica looked up to see him, and she pulled her cowl tighter, fearing that the man had climbed only to give him a better view of her position, a better view of her.
He paid her little heed, though. He wore mismatched gloves and stood on the edge, looking down at his companion, who, by this time, was off the horse.
"You have outlived your usefulness," the guardsman explained. He laughed wildly, clapped his hands, and dove headlong off the roof.
His laughter turned to a shriek, then a groan as he hit, then silence.
Danica breathed hard, not beginning to understand what had just occurred. She looked down to the man standing beside the dead guard, saw that it was he who now wore the strange gloves. He looked up to her, shrugged his shoulders, and bolted for the barn door. By the time he got there, the gloves were gone.
"You resisted my call," Ghost said to Vander. "Ws have discussed this matter before."
"This loll is . . . ugly," Vander stammered in reply, obviously nervous in facing the man who had been his tormentor for so long. The firbolg gnawed his thick lips under his bushy red beard, wishing that his newfound allies would rush out and end this taunting nightmare.
"I am not speaking of young Cadderly!" Ghost retorted. "He will be dealt with in time, do not doubt. I have come here to speak only with you, the one who dared to resist my call!"
"I did not. . ."
"Silence!" Ghost commanded. "You know that to resist is to be punished. I cannot complete my task with an unwilling associate out here, safely from the town."
Unwilling vessel, Vander corrected, but he wisely held the thought to himself.
Ghost took a few steps across the barn floor, peering out through a crack in the side boards. "Do you remember your brother?" he teased, referring to the firbolg he had killed when Vander had run away from him, had run all the way back to the distant Spine of the \\brld Mountains.
The wicked little assassin turned about, smiling even more widely when he noticed Vender's great hands clenched in helpless rage at the giant's side.
Ivan peeked through a crack in the stall's wall, then looked back, concerned, to Cadderly and Pikel.
The young priest, intent on his telepathic connection with the firbolg, did not notice the dwarf at all. He felt Van-der's mounting rage, a blocking emotion that diminished their bond. Things had gone pretty much as Cadderly had expected, but he was no longer certain of how he should react. Even across the miles from Carradoon, Ghost's intrusion had been difficult to fend off. How would he and Vander fare now, with the sneaky assassin standing just a few feet in front of the firbolg?
Calm, he imparted to the firbolg. You must remain calm.
"Punishment," Ghost purred, putting one finger to his pursed lips. He fingered something in his other hand, something round and gold, though Vander could not discern exactly what it might be.
"I never told you this before," the assassin went on, smoothly, "but I did more to your son, poor boy, than take his arm."
Vander's eyes widened. His great hands twitched, trembled, and his roar shook the walls of the wooden barn.
"Time to go?" Ivan dared to ask aloud under the cover of that prolonged growl.
Cadderly's mind was filled with a wall of red, the manifestation of Finder's uncontrollable rage. The young priest was out of contact with the firbolg, he knew, and he knew, too, that by the time he managed to contact his ally once more, the disaster might well be complete. He uncoiled his legs beneath him and accepted Pikel's arm to hoist him to his feet. Neither his spindle-disks nor his enchanted walking stick offered him much hope in defeating a giant, so he clenched his hand, the hand with the enchanted ring, and reached inside his cloak for the wand.
"No!" he cried out, leading the dwarves into the main area of the barn. Cadderly calmed immediately, though, as did Ivan and Pikel behind him, when he regarded the scene, a scene that Vander apparently had well in control.
The firbolg, panting and growling, held the puny assassin in the air by the throat, shaking him hard, though the man was obviously already dead.
"Vander," Cadderly said quietly to calm the giant's rage.
The firbolg paid him no heed. With another roar of outrage, he folded the assassin in half, backward, and hurled him against the barn wall.
"He will return!" the giant wailed. "Always, he comes back for me! There can be no escape!"
"Like a damned troll," Ivan remarked from beside the firbolg, his voice reflecting sympathy for the beleaguered giant.
"Troll?" Cadderly whispered, the word inspiring an idea. The young priest held his clenched fist out before him, barked the word, "Fete!" and sent a line of fire at the corpse.
He kept his concentration firm, determined to burn whatever regenerative powers he could from the wretch, determined that Vander would at last be free. He glanced sidelong at the firbolg, took note of Vander's satisfied expression, then noticed, curiously, that Vander was wearing a golden ring.
Curious indeed, Cadderly thought as he turned back to the charred body, for he was just thinking of looking for such an item on Ghost's blackened form.
Cadderly searched his memory in an instant; Vander had worn no rings.
Aurora.
"Ivan!" Cadderly cried, ending his flames and spinning about. The giant moved as well, whipping out his huge sword, with Ivan standing unsuspecting right beside it.
Cadderly proved the quicker. "Mas fllul" he screamed as he drew the wand. A burst of colors exploded in the fir-bolg's face. Blinded, the giant continued his swing, aiming for where Ivan had been.
The dwarf, warned and then blinded by the blast, fell back. He heard the tremendous rush of air as the sword passed, taking off his helmet and clipping him enough to send him into a roll.
"I knew I'd get me chance!" the stubborn dwarf growled when he at last righted himself. Never shying from a fight, Ivan took up his axe and charged back in.
Danica slipped into the barn, discerned immediately what was going on, and fired a quarrel into the firbolg's belly.
The giant howled in pain but was not deterred from parrying Pikel's powerful charge, deflecting the overbalanced dwarf to the side, where he collided with a beam.
The giant feigned a sword thrust, then kicked out instead, sweeping Ivan aside once more.
Another quarrel caught him, this time in the shoulder, but again he seemed to hardly take note of it.
Danica was back at the door, Ivan and Pikel off to the sides, leaving Cadderly as the closest target. The young priest's first instincts told him to use his ring, to drive the beast back with a line of flame until his friends could regroup.
He realized the grim consequences for Vander, though, for the poor, proud firbolg who had been trapped in the weakling body and tossed aside like so much garbage. The magical ring had no power to restore burned flesh, and if this body was charred, like the assassin's corpse across the room, the firbolg would never reclaim it.
The giant lurched, popped in the back of the knee by Pikel's rebounding charge. With a grunt, the beast reached around and grabbed the green-bearded dwarf, hoisting him up into the air.
Pikel stared into the outraged giant's bloodshot eyes, then promptly stuffed his foot up the beast's flaring nostril and waggled his gnarly and smelly dwarf toes.
Half-sneezing, half-coughing, the disgusted giant hurled Pikel into the far wall and wiped his arm across his face. When he looked back at Cadderly, he found himself staring down the end of that slender wand. Thinking another attack forthcoming, Ghost snapped his eyes shut.
"fflu," Cadderly said calmly, and the whole barn lit up with the brightness of a midday sun in an open field. Cadderly's aim had been perfect, though, and soon the glow of his wand's magic restricted itself to the firbolg's face, particularly to the giant's eyes.
Whiteness? When Ghost opened his eyes, he saw only whiteness, glaring and blinding. The whole damned world had gone white! Or perhaps, Ghost wondered, more curious than afraid, he had been transported to some other place.
Another stinging crossbow bolt dove into his belly, driving that notion away.
The roar shook the walls once more, and the light-blind giant charged ahead, toward the unseen bowman, flailing his sword wildly. He slammed into the edge of the open barn door, dislodged the thing, and continued out.
Danica danced quickly away, determining her role in this fight. Another quarrel sliced into the giant, hired him ahead.
Ghost felt a club slam the back of his knee again, this tune slipping through his great legs and tripping him as he tried to spin and react. Down the giant sprawled, shattering a water trough with his face and arms.
Something heavy and sharp, an axe, perhaps, sliced into his ankle; a crossbow quarrel entered hk shoulder, clicking off his huge collarbone.
Somehow the stubborn wretch managed to stand and stagger forward. His already wounded ankle took a hit from the heavy club.
He turned about, sword leading, but the dwarf was already out of reach and the mighty weapon smacked hard against a small tree, uprooting it. Growling with rage, Ghost heard scuffling feet as the enemy continued to flank him, to encircle him.
He tried to call for the Gfeearu/u, even though he knew his own body was inaccessible, and knew that, even if he managed to hold enough concentration to summon the thing, Cadderly would somehow follow his spirit's movements. He couldn't get to it anyway; the hits were coming too fast, from every direction.
He jerked about, one way and then another, leading with his low-cutting sword each time. Fury became his only defense, and he was confident that he was swift enough to keep his enemies at bay. Only weariness would slow him, and he hoped he could continue the blind assault until the infernal whiteness left his eyes.
Another quarrel whistled in, taking the giant in the lung this time, and Ghost heard the wheeze of his life's-breath spurting out through a bloody hole.
He swung again, and again, frantic and dizzy. He overbalanced, roaring and wheezing. He tried to step forward, but his badly gashed ankle would no longer support him, and he lurched ahead, bending low.
Right in line for the waiting Ivan.