"Where is the second one?" Gellor hissed.

Chert, wiping his axe clean on the ragged cape worn by one of the gnolls, shrugged. "He should be near to your location – that's where he fell when my broad arrow took him," the barbarian replied in a low voice as he jerked the arrow free from the corpse at his feet. Then the giant hillman dashed across the hard-packed trail and joined his comrade in the brush on the other side of the pathway.

"This looks like a splash of blood," the bard said as Chert came up. "He must be heading toward the lads!"

"Hurry! We can – " and a snarling cry interrupted the barbarian in mid-sentence. Chert and Gellor ran toward the sound as fast as they could. Shrill shouts answered the initial cry. Then there was a terrible sound, an ascending laugh consisting of barking coughs, suddenly halted midway in its rise toward the high-pitched whining giggle typical of gnoll war-cries. Both men were certain of what they'd find, and Chert regretted ever having allowed the poor boys to accompany them into the Vesve on this deadly quest.

"I'll flay that mangy hide off the dog-faced bastard while he yet breathes!" Chert vowed as they came to the place where Shad and Thatch were to remain after showing themselves briefly to the gnolls.

Gellor was ashen-faced. "It's my fault. I should never have used boys to do men's work!"

"What do you mean, boys?" a shrill voice challenged. "Thatch and I are warriors!"

There beside the path stood the two lads. Shadow seemed to be nursing a broken arm, and he looked pale, while his bigger comrade was bleeding from a long gash across his chest. At their feet was the wounded gnoll, a bastard sword still clutched in his dead hand, and two boar-spears buried in abdomen and neck,

"Damned if you aren't warriors!" exclaimed Chert proudly.

"Let me see those wounds," the bard said more practically and with real concern. "There's going to be a lot more happening very soon, and you two are going to have to be in shape to run as fast as you can!"

"No," Shadow said sternly, if weakly. "Thatch and I aren't running from enemies ever again!"

The young barbarian laughed at this assertion. "Let me-tell you one thing, boys – warriors. You'll run plenty after this, and often enough too, unless I don't know anything about battle. I've done it many a time in the past, and I expect to do it soon again – who wants to die uselessly?"

Thatch and Shad looked surprised at that. "You've run from enemies?" Thatch asked with disbelief and scorn.

"Yes!" Gellor interjected. "So have I, so has every soldier who was faced with a situation where dying would do no good for his cause. It has been called retreat, or a retrograde movement, but in truth it is running away to be able to fight another day. Now hold still while Chert and I tend those injuries. We have only a few minutes!"

The one-eyed bard employed arts of druidical healing to set and mend the broken arm, for Shad's forearm had been fractured by a chance hit from the gnoll just before he died. Luckily the flat of the blade had been involved; otherwise, Gellor had told the groaning lad sternly, his arm would have been severed. Shad was less eager to be a warrior after that.

"You're going to be well soon enough, although I can't get that broken bone mended as quickly as I'd like," Gellor told the lad when he had finished his ministrations. "Keep that sling on, and don't move your arm. Even with my spells of healing, it will take a few days for the bones to knit together and all the internal damage to be set right. Don't fret, though," he added hastily as he noted the worried expression on Shadow's thin face. "You'll be right as rain soon enough."

Chert, meanwhile, had cleaned up the long cut that crossed the upper part of Thatch's boyish chest. The barbarian had made a compress of herbs that stung, for Thatch had let out a cry of pain when the stuff was placed there. "Silence, warrior!" Chert had ordered with a stony face. "In my clan, such an outcry would bring disgrace until a brave deed expunged the shame of making noises at such little hurts as that!"

Thatch was still shamefaced when Gellor came over and examined the wound. The cut wasn't very deep, and Chert had cleaned and cared for it well. Without druidical art, the next step the barbarian would have taken was to sew the wound closed with bone needle and sinew. Fortunately for the lad, the bard was able to bring the parted flesh and skin together in a reddish seam without benefit of such painful process. Chert pretended to shake his head in scorn, calling such means of healing "soft." Thatch did not complain at all.

"Almost as good as new," Gellor told him quietly after touching the wound one last time. "In later years girls will admire the scar, and you'll undoubtedly tell them awful lies about how you gained such a warrior's badge, but let that be as it may…"

He spoke to both of the lads then. "Up and on your way, both of you fledgling warriors. As veterans of battle, you both know that neither of you can help Chert and me now, for worrying about wounded comrades is a hindrance! Thatch, help Shad by carrying part of his gear – he'll want that spear of his in hand, but he mustn’t tote anything more along, for his wound is more severe than yours. Head back to the south as fast as you can. Stay off the path, keep together, and be quiet. Understand?"

When both of the boys nodded solemnly, Gellor added, "Fine. When you've gone not less than a league, find a safe place to hide out. We will come back for you as soon as we can – and we will be back, remember that! Off with you now, lads, and luck be with you."

Thatch and Shadow bobbed their heads and left without a word. Gellor smiled at that, and Chert gave a small chuckle. The two were certainly growing into men, and veteran fighters too, from all this. The massive hillman looked at his friend and asked, "What can I do in this next part?"

"Stay close to me, and keep any enemy at a distance. My spell should do the rest."

Both men were carefully concealed within a few minutes of the boys' departure. The bard had little piles of oak leaves, mistletoe, and holly berries before him. Chert had his great longbow strung and a full quiver of arrows on his hip, while a half-dozen extras were thrust into the ground ready for easy seizure and nocking. They didn't have long to wait.

The hunting pack of humanoids came through the trees with terrible rapidity. They were nearly silent as they trotted along, with only occasional shrill yapping sounds that served for both command and force alignment. A dozen of the gnolls went along the path, while a score flanked them to either hand. Nearly half carried bows, while the remainder had a motley assortment of arms, but all these weapons were terrible – two-handed swords, huge morning stars, glaive-guisarmes, and similar pole arms. Many also had heavy throwing spears in addition to their other weapons, while those carrying the seven-foot bows had axes or broadswords for close combat thrust into their belts.

"At least their master armed them well enough before throwing them to their fate," Chert whispered to the bard when he saw the weapons.

Gellor replied, "That'll do them no good, you'll see. Lively, now! Loose those shafts of yours!"

Chert began drawing and releasing as rapidly and with as much care as the situation allowed. His thickly muscled arms tensed, and the mighty longbow bent into a near half-circle as he drew the arrow back until the broad, razor-edged head touched the hornwood stave and the fletched feathers tickled his cheek. A sharp twang, and forty inches of death flew unerringly toward its target. This all occurred in a single, smooth motion – nocking of arrow, draw, and three-fingered release. Each shaft sunk so that only its feathered tail showed that another gnoll bore the mark of the barbarian's archery. Never had Chert shot faster, and his fingertips, calloused as they were, burned from the exercise.