37
GRAWLIG BRAWL
Bardon stood watching as men built sturdy walls out of log poles. Izz glided through the trees. He watched her coming and noted her dress of a yellow hue. The lighter color indicated hope.
“I have a plan,” she said without preamble. “The other kimens and I have been discussing our predicament.”
“I’m willing to listen. This enclosure will hold the grawligs for a short time. If the brutes become frenzied, I’m afraid they’ll be able to break out.”
“Yes. We thought so too.” Izz waved at a group of men who were covering a finished wall with branches, camouflaging the trap. “The ogres will race in, you’ll swing the gate shut, then what will happen?”
“I’ve asked Lady Allerion to work on something that would either sedate them or extinguish this mad desire they have to annihilate all kimens.”
“We want you to leave them to us after you have them trapped.”
Bardon jerked. A sharp pain stabbed his temple, and the ache in his neck and shoulders reminded him he still had a fever. “I’d like to know what you’re planning. I can’t hand over a half dozen wild monsters set on killing you. For some reason, that doesn’t sound like you would come out alive. Please explain to me the part I must be missing.”
“From what I understand,” said Izz, “the grawligs hunt us because of our scent. What do you suppose would happen if we shot them with our arrows? Our arrows would be like small darts to the grawligs, but they smell of us. And we will rub the arrows in our hair to make sure the scent is strong.”
A devious smile lifted the corners of Bardon’s mouth. If they were plotting against the bisonbecks, the plan would not work. But grawligs were known for their lack of intelligence.
“It’s a good plan, Izz. Tell your friends we’re grateful for their help. You realize if something goes wrong, your people will be in the middle of the chaos.”
The truth of that statement settled on the little woman’s face. “Our whole race is in danger.” Her shoulders squared. “We can do this.”
By the time the men finished with the enclosure and tested the swinging gate that would trap the grawligs, Bardon felt like he’d been in battle for a day and spent the night rowing a boat across turbulent waters. Sweat soaked his clothing. His head spun with every step he took.
“Would you bring me a drink, Lo Kyl?”
“Another one, sir? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” He ruined the declaration by succumbing to a coughing fit. The soldier ran to get his drink.
Bardon lay on his cot, thinking that he should send for Kale and Gymn. Not that she would be able to come, even if he did locate her. But Lady Allerion’s herbal tea had done nothing to alleviate his misery. “Or maybe it did.” He groaned. “Maybe I’d be dead if I hadn’t swallowed that awful concoction.”
Sir Dar snored in the cot across the room. Bardon tossed his covers aside and turned over. Cold air hit his feet, and he scrambled to straighten the blankets.
“Sir!” a voice barked outside the door. “We’ve reports that grawligs are closing in on the trap.”
“Good!” Bardon sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. He made the move too quickly. Clutching the side of the bed, he waited a moment for a wave of dizziness to pass.
He managed to get out of the tent right behind Dar. The little doneel scurried toward the dragon field. Both officers mounted their dragons and flew into the star-studded sky.
Greer immediately cross-examined his rider.
Bardon huffed. There’s nothing wrong with me but a sore throat and headache…Yes, I’m fit enough for this mission. Quit nagging me.
Bardon and Dar circled low and saw the small band of grawligs crashing through the woods, headed for their trap. The dragon riders landed in a field on the opposite side of the trees, then jogged to the enclosure and climbed to the lookout platform above. The crude structure had half-walls around the sides except for the entrance at the top of the ladder.
Four kimens stood with their bows ready. The fifth kimen ran in circles within the enclosure. The baying of the grawligs drew nearer. Bardon shook, trying to release the tension all in one shake rather than shiver continuously.
The mountain ogres smashed through the last break the men had constructed. As they entered the trap, the lone kimen on the ground scurried up the wall to safety. Soldiers pushed the gate closed behind the grawligs. The kimens let loose with a barrage of arrows.
The grawligs froze in bewilderment, then spun back and forth, trying to figure out what had happened. Some slapped at the pricks caused by the tiny arrows.
Just as the words formed in Bardon’s mind that their trick was not working, a grawlig growled and attacked one of his comrades.
Izz turned to the back of the platform. “I’m not staying to watch this.” She disappeared over the edge, and the other kimens trailed behind her.
The noise from below reminded Bardon of stray dogs in an alley, fighting over a scrap of meat. Occasionally, he heard an oath, but for the most part there were no words, just animal grunts, snarls, and yelps.
“Go back to headquarters,” said Dar. “You look awful. Take some more of that tea Lady Allerion gave you and sleep.”
Bardon rose from his crouching position, clenching his jaw to hold back a moan. The aches had intensified in the cold treetop. “You wouldn’t call it tea if you’d had a sip.”
Dar, with his face turned away from the savage contest going on below, managed a chuckle. His expression turned somber. “Go home. Sleep. The men and I will clean up after this is over.”
Bardon thought of the climb down the ladder made of tree branches, the tramp through the woods, and the ride back to camp on Greer. He shivered, pulled a wool blanket out of his knapsack, and curled up on the rough floor of the lookout platform.
Sir Dar watched him make his bed. “Well, if you are determined to stay, I’m going.” He pulled a wad out of his carrier. “Here’s my blanket to add to yours.”
Dar gave orders to some men about the procedure he wanted followed. Within minutes Bardon fell into a deep sleep and heard no more.
Something bumped against his leg. “Oh, excuse me,” said a soft, high voice.
Bardon stirred and heard grawligs below. He sat up.
“I’m sorry,” said a kimen. “I tripped over you. They sent word for us to come back.”
Bardon shook the haze from his mind and leaned over to view the mayhem below. A marione lehman passed beneath on the outside of the barricades.
“Soldier, report!”
The man snapped to attention and looked around.
“Up here.”
The soldier lifted his gaze to the lookout platform. “Three more grawligs, sir. We’re having trouble getting them into the pen. They smell the kimen on the dead brutes and are confused.”
Bardon released the man. “About your business, soldier.” He turned to the five kimens waiting with their arrows notched. “Shoot arrows into the trap far away from the door. See if we can lure them in.”
The little warriors shot. The strings pinged, and the arrows swished through the air.
“Five more,” said Bardon.
The kimens complied.
One grawlig stumbled through the opening. He pulled in air through his nose and gave a roar. The other two ogres lurched into the trap. The door swung shut as the kimens drew bead on the milling monsters. Less than a minute after they had delivered the scented arrows, the grawligs turned on one another.
Bardon sank to the floor, his back against the lookout’s wall. “We should set this sort of trap up in other parts of Trese.”
“You’re sick.” Izz place her hand on his forehead. She turned to speak to one of her comrades.
Bardon heard what sounded like birds chirping to one another. Birds wouldn’t be singing in the middle of the night. They certainly wouldn’t be this close to a grawlig brawl.
“Drink this,” a voice commanded.
Bardon sipped.
“Lie down.”
He allowed his body to collapse. Something squirmed beside him.
“Not on me.”
Another voice drifted through the fog of his mind. “What do you think is wrong with him?”
“I think he has stakes.”
“That’s a childhood disease.”
“Not if you get it as an adult.”
“He’s pretty sick, isn’t he?”
“He’s deathly ill.”
Bardon tried to open his mouth. I’ll be fine. Just let me sleep.