Twelve

The rumble of heavy feet sounded through the thick, earth-banked walls of the warren as the Vani hurried to carry out their priest's commands. Farmers and hunters alike sprang to their new duties.

"Harper, wait," Sumalo called, using the same tone of command he used with the gnomes. Martine, Vil, and jazrac slowed until the priest, with Jouka close behind, joined them.

"What was that all about, Harper? What is this stone the creature wants?" The normally understanding priest looked at her sternly, rather like her father the blacksmith had when he caught her playing with the swords he made.

Feeling she was caught in yet another web, the huntress explained. "It's the key to the rift the one I closed. If that creature got possession of it, it could break the seal and reopen the gap it came through."

"And do you have the stone?"

With Jazrac there, Martine could hardly avoid the truth.

If she were to deny existence of the stone, the wizard would surely contradict her. "Yes. I lied to Vreesar."

Sumalo's face clenched with anger. "You have the stone it wants? Didn't you hear the creature? It will kill the Vani for your stone, yet you refuse to give it up? You have no right to condemn us, human. Give me this stone, and I will put an end to this thing."

"No… she can't do that," Jazrac said as he stepped forward to support his fellow Harper. He adjusted his cape and planted himself firmly at her side. "If this creature opens the rift, do you think he will go home and leave you alone? No. Instead, more will come, and then what will you do? Can you defeat ten, twenty, a hundred of his kind?"

"So you say we must fight?"

"You already chose that last night," Martine snapped, Sumalo's face reddened and he chose to ignore the illogic of his arguments. "We chose, not you. You are not Vani. You do not have the right to choose for us!"

"Elder Sumalo," Martine snapped back, her patience almost at an end. "You heard the creature talk of its brothers. If it gets the stone, that will be the death of the Vani. As long as we have the stone, the creature fights alone."

"Not alone with the gnolls," Jouka growled.

The woman wheeled on the other gnome. "You're a hunter, Master Jouka. Which way are your odds better? Against one bear or three?"

The gnome swore under his breath. "One," he said reluctantly.

Vil spoke up for the first time. "The Harpers are right." His voice was even and calm, in marked contrast to the growing passions on both sides. "'They have acted badly, but they are right. Now is not the time to argue among ourselves. We must act as one or we will all lose."

Standing as straight as the low hall ceiling allowed him to, Vil stepped between the two groups. "Jouka," the former paladin said in a way that neither cajoled nor dictated, -"we must act now together. What do you recommend?" "Organize a raid," Jouka said, glowering. "Attack them first, before they attack us." Beside him, Sumalo nodded in agreement.

"But your strength is your warren," protested Jazrac. The Vani do not hide in their homes!"

"What do you say, Elder Sumalo?" Vil interrupted before passions once more got out of hand.

"I agree with Jourka. We must attack!" "Martine?"

"I also agree. Let's hit them before they attack us and put a quick end to it."

'Men I think we're in agreement," Vil said, placing his hands on Jouka's and Martine's shoulders. "We will help you in this, Master Jouka, if you will have us."

"Meet us at the east gate, then," Jouka said, his voice somewhat surly. "We'll pick up their trail from there." With the course of action decided, the two groups split. Sumalo and Jouka went to organize their people while the three humans headed for their room. All the way there, Jazrac argued against the wisdom of the raid and his part in it. He wasn't prepared, he didn't have the right spells, they needed more information, he didn't have fighting gear… the litany went on and on until Martine was sure Jazrac was looking for some excuse to back out.

At their room, the wizard, who had nothing to prepare, waited outside while the other two made ready for battle. Working quickly, the pair struggled into what armor each had brought from Vil's cabin. Martine wore a resilient tunic of chain mail, intricately woven by elves under the light of the full moon or so the merchant who had sold it to her claimed. Whatever the circumstances of its creation, the suit had served her well for many years, helped by careful patching and a fine sheen of oil. As she pulled it on, the

metal felt bone cold even through the clothing she wore beneath it Her open helm fit tightly over her fur cap, so she finally opted to set the helmet aside. She missed the light touch of her sword, the one she'd christened Sea Dog, but the weapon she'd borrowed from Vid was solid enough. She still had her bow and quiver, which she slung over her shoulder. "Ready?" she asked finally.

"You can help me with this clasp." Vil grunted. The warrior was almost finished buckling on his battered old breastplate, the final piece of his armor, an unmatched collection of leather, chain, and metal plates. It was an old suit and well matched to the wearer, the armor shaping itself to his body over the years. The big man moved easily in it, and without the sometimes annoying squeaks and creaks of poorly made plate mail. Sword and hanger in arm, he nodded he was ready to go.

In the hall, Jazrac waited. Borrowing one of the old quilts, he had bundled it around himself till his face barely peeked through a small gap at the top. "I still think we need more information," the wizard complained even as they started down the hall.

Just as the three neared the east gate, a fantastic figure, encrusted from head to toe in a suit of iron and jutting spikes, ambled around the corner and almost walked into Martine. The Harper could barely recognize the grim Jouka beneath the bizarre armor. The gnome's black beard was bound with ribbons and tucked around his neck so it didn't snag on the spikes bristling across his breastplate. His armor consisted of three pieces of black iron, jointed at his chest to follow the curvature of his muscles. Shaped iron covered his arms, thighs, and calves.

That alone would have made the armor more than serviceable for war, but Jouka's plates were studded with thick, rusting iron spikes that almost looked as if they had been driven through from the underside so that the sharp points wavered dangerously with every movement of the wearer. The suit was complete nail studded gauntlets, tack-covered arms, even a metal helm, a full skull mask of hammered iron, gingerly tucked under one arm. The helm sported features of smooth anonymity, with barely the trace of a mouth, nose, and chin. The whole thing was marked by the needle-sharp points that projected to an even length about the skull, like some strange cultist's mask.

"What is that?" The question, full of disbelief, exploded unconsciously from Martine's lips.

"This, human, is my badger fighting suit," Jouka said proudly, almost thumping a thorny fist against his spiky chest.

"A what?" She knelt to have a better look.

"My badger fighting suit," came the fierce reply. "Sometimes badgers dig into the warren and we have to kill them."

"In that?"

"It is an old Vani tradition, Martine," Vil answered, coming up behind the pair. "'The Vani corner the badger or wolverine, usually by penning it inside a room.Then one of the warriors goes in and tries to kill it. By custom, the lucky fighter is armed with just a knife and that outfit." The man nodded toward Jouka's armor.

"Lucky?"

"It is a great honor to kill a badger," Jouka huffed. "I have killed two badgers already"

"It's how their men become true warriors," Vil pointed out.