Heedless of the gnolls, heedless of falling shards, heedless of Vreesar, even heedless of the teetering pine tree wavering dangerously on its half-shattered trunk, Martine crashed through the drifts to the fallen wizard's side. The Harper lay in a broken tangle, his back twisted in a way that was totally unnatural. His clothes were white and frostcoated, his finery brittle. The air smelled of blood and death. Martine didn't bother checking further. She knew there was no point.

"Son of a bitch!" she screamed in the direction of the elemental. Her view of the fiend was blocked by the trees, but that had probably saved her up to this point. Martine quickly scanned the distance to where she thought she saw Vreesar, trying to guess the best route to close on the monster.

Crack! Crack! Crack! All thoughts of attack were cut short by a rapid series of splintering sounds overhead as the cold-blasted pine sheared loose. The shattered _.trunk swung outward, ripping away other branches.as^-it fell. Another tree cracked and groaned as its shallow roots gave way, unable to support the weight of the fallen giant. The forest rang with the echoes of splintering wood. A mass of dark green and snowy white descended into the gap between the two adversaries, driving Martine back from Jazrac's corpse. The two trees crashed to earth in flumes of pine needles and snow. The grit of broken bark stung her eyes.

"Woman!" Vreesar's voice buzzed over the fading roar. "'I'hank you for the stone! I leave you now to get my brotherz!" From far off, she heard Vreesar's buzzing laughter as the elemental faded into the night. 'Tell the little onez I will be back!"

Seventeen

Everything's gone wrong, Martine thought miserably. Jazrac's dead, Vreesar has the key, and I can't do anything about it. I should never have come. I'm not cut out to be a Harper, and now I've killed them all. The gnomes, Jazrac, Vil, mewe're all either dead or as good as dead.

Martine sat in the snow next to her mentor's corpse in silent despair. The pain in her side, the arctic chill, the days without sleep-all added to her feeling of utter hopelessness. All she had to do was sit here among the drifts and slowly let herself sink into death. It would be so easy.

It was the yipping calls of the gnolls that roused her. She and Jazrac had beaten back one wave of them, but already another was forming. Soon they would sweep through, following the trail of the refugees.

This isn't right, a voice within her said. This isn't the way Jazrac died. He died fighting for his beliefs. Get up, woman. Die fighting, like Jazrac. Die like a Harper's supposed to die, the voice urged.

Blindly, automatically, the Harper lurched to her feet. Her hands felt as if they belonged to some other creature, and her side tingled with the cold. Feeling it was her duty, she futilely tried to drag the wizard's body with her, but his chest was wedged beneath a fallen branch. The body wouldn't budge. In her daze, the ranger managed to remember the ring, the one Jazrac had planned to teleport with, but even that was buried beyond her reach. Cold hands scrabbled at the snow, trying to reach the wizard's lifeless hand, but it was to no avail: The gnoll calls were coming closer; Martine couldn't wait any longer.

Sword in hand, the Harper crashed through the thicket, alternately ignoring the thorns that scratched her face, then cursing them when they caught her clothing and slowed her down. Smaller than even Martine, the gnomes had chosen paths that were nearly impossible for her to follow. More than once she dropped to her hands and knees to crawl through a gap in the thick thorns. Her only consolation was that the route would be even more difficult for the gnolls who followed.

When she was finally out of the brambled ravine, it still took the Harper almost an hour to reach Vil's cabin. Snow borne on a stiff night wind helped to cover her tracks, but the same wind froze her blood-dampened clothes stiff.

"Martine! Jazrac!" a voice cried ahead of her and slightly off to the left

"Over here!" the ranger tried to shout back, but the words choked in her cold-parched throat. Even speaking hurt through her chapped wind-cracked lips.

They must have heard her, however, for within moments, tall Vilheim, accompanied by a pair of diminutive gnomes, stormed into sight, weapons held ready for battle. Spotting the Harper wading through the snow, the man rushed to her side while the gnomes fanned out in both directions. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice a mixture of relief and concern. "Where's the wizard?"

"Jazrac's dead," she mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"Scouting."

A wolflike cry echoed through the woods.

One of the two gnomes skied to a stop alongside the humans. "They're coming, Master Vilheim." Fear filled his voice.

"Lean on me, Martine." The warrior pulled the woman's arm over his shoulder, holding it in place with one hand while he wrapped his other arm around her waist. He was still on his skis, and she was surprised he could remain balanced, the way her weight tipped him off center. Nonetheless, Vil managed to half drag her along with him.

When the cabin came into view, a dim glimmer of light in the darkness of the woods, Martine was relieved to see the gnolls had not yet discovered the place. Heads bobbed back in forth in the flicker of torchlight. The woman thought the clearing around the building seemed slightly larger than before, but she couldn't decipher why. As they neared, Martine saw a good deal of activity outside and then realized what had changed. A crude barricade filled the center of the clearing, surrounding the cabin. It was constructed of thin-trunked trees chopped from the clearing's edge and heaved into place. In spots at the edge of the clearing, the concealing underbrush was cut or trampled for several yards into the woods. The gnomes had been industrious in the short time since their arrival.

Panting, the group reached the solid logs of the barricade and began scrambling over it. The howls of pursuit were clear now, and the Harper could catch glimpses of movement through the trees. Outlined by the glow from the cabin windows and the torches, she knew they were easy targets. The hiss and thunk of an arrow into one of the logs confirmed her fears. Two, then three more whistled

out of the night. One of the Vani screamed as an arrow struck him squarely in the shoulder. The little man toppled into the compound.

"Get him!" the Harper croaked to the gnomes guarding the perimeter, pointing to the injured gnome, who sat dazed in the snow at the base of the barricade. "Vil, are there any archers?"

"Not enough." Noticing that the Harper did not carry her bow, the man thrust his wooden longbow into her hands. "Take mine. You're probably a better shot."

The wood was cool and smooth under her fingers. Instinctively Martine field-checked it, sliding the bowstring between her fingers, checking the mounts at top and bottom. The bow was supple, the string a little overstretched, but it would do. Vil stepped behind her and gripped her shoulders in his gnarled hands, guiding her sight toward the trees. "See those shadows over by the bent pine?" he whispered, as if the gnolls would hear. His scratchy cheek pressed against her neck as he sighted down her temple.

Focusing her attention on the area Vil had indicated, Martine finally saw a shadowy shape, tall and feral, then two, then three move out from under the sheltering trees and into the moonlight, stalking. Martine judged the distance and the light.

"I see them."

`Then send them this present. If we kill a few, that should encourage the others to stay out of range." The warrior pressed a slim shaft into her hand. With experienced precision, the ranger nocked the arrow and drew back without looking. As she brought the bowstring to her cheek, she noticed that the leaf-headed tip glowed a silvery blue, radiating its own light. She paused; the tip wavered.