The Gully Dwarves lh-5

by Dan Parkinson

  The Gully Dwarves

  ( Lost Histories - 5 )

  Dan Parkinson

  Dan Parkinson

  The Gully Dwarves

  Introduction

  It has been said of the Aghar that no such race could exist in a practical world. It has been said that the gods of creation must have been terribly distracted when the Aghar were created … either distracted or crazy. The scholars insist such a race of creatures as the Aghar-commonly referred to as gully dwarves-could not possibly survive for generations among the harsh realities of life. The pathetic little things have nothing on their side.

  In a world of strong races, the gully dwarves of Krynn are surprisingly weak. They are neither fierce nor menacing, neither bold nor especially lucky, neither strong of limb nor fleet of foot. Their only natural defense against enemies is a tendency to inhabit those places no one else wants, thereby going unnoticed most of the time. They lack the stubborn strength of true dwarves, the unpredictability of humans, and the inherent skills and longevity of elves. Compared to any of these races, gully dwarves are hardly more than vermin. They have no defenses, no skills beyond a certain clumsy furtiveness, and certainly no command of magic.

  As for intelligence, the gully dwarves-while more or less human or dwarven in appearance-are barely smart enough to come in out of the rain.

  The continued existence of gully dwarves on Krynn is a puzzle to those who consider such matters. But then, those same scholars might insist that neither bumblebees nor dragons can fly. Yet no matter how avidly the scholars pursue their logic, bumblebees and dragons go right on flying … And gully dwarves continue to survive.

  The little creatures have not only existence, but also a history. Indeed, there are odd legends among various cultures about gully dwarves. Some believe that a gully dwarf clan, long ago, may have had something to do with the destruction of mighty Istar-might have figured somehow in the Cataclysm itself. Odd tales sometimes circulate across the ale boards, linking gully dwarves to unlikely enterprises including a mine that produced wine, claiming they were involved in the ogre massacre of the slavers of Doon, even hinting that gully dwarves may have been the first occupants of ancient Thorbardin, where their descendants are more or less tolerated to this day.

  The most improbable of these tales, yet one of the most persistent, has to do with an unlikely alliance between a gully dwarf tribe and a dragon during the War of the Lance. Among humans, elves and even true dwarves there are those who swear that they actually witnessed the phenomenon-a group of gully dwarves traveling with a green dragon.

  Such accounts suggest a truly notable history. Still, these tales cannot be proven or even verified by the gully dwarves themselves. The people called Aghar have few great skills, but one of them is the ability to promptly forget anything beyond their understanding, and that covers almost everything in the world.

  Thus it is a rare gully dwarf who can clearly recall any event prior to yesterday. Such individuals are as rare as a gully dwarf who can count past two.

  In the befogged history of these bumbling little people, though, there have been a few such rare gully dwarves. The first Grand Notioner of the Tribe of Bulp-an intuitive individual named Hunch who may well have done most of the group’s serious thinking during the long and eventful reign of the Highbulp Gorge III-was one of them. Hunch was burdened with an awareness that there were times further back than yesterday. He was bright enough to deduce from this fact that there might be times beyond tomorrow.

  Another uncommon gully dwarf was old Gandy, Hunch’s successor and heir to the mop handle staff of office. Gandy knew that there were quite a few people in his clan, and that the number-while it varied from day to day-was almost certainly more than two. Lacking either the words or the theory to express such ideas, he usually kept them to himself.

  But his intuition told him that if he perceived something so arcane there might be others capable of perceiving it, too. He suspected one of them might be a young gully dwarf-a mere child at the time of the finding of the Promised Place-whose name was Scrib and who sometimes tried to draw pictures of the world around him.

  Prologue

  Verden’s Egg

  Above a world in shambles, where low, smoke-darkened skies reflected the somber glow of fires burning out of control amidst the darkness of charred battlefields, Verden Leafglow beat upward on mighty wings. Higher and higher she flew, talons cradled close against her scaled body. Her great tail a graceful rudder beneath her, her long neck stretched upward as she reached for altitudes beyond the madness that reigned below.

  It was all over. A mighty war had been fought-a game of gods in which good and evil had met head-on, regardless of the carnage on the field of play. Takhisis the Dark Queen, goddess of all that was evil, had played her game for control of the world Krynn, but in the final hours she had lost.

  To Verden Leaf glow, it was inconceivable that Takhisis could have failed. Intent upon rule or ruin, the dark goddess had unleashed her mightiest forces upon the world, uncaring of the chaos in her wake, aloof to the suffering of mortal beings caught up in the maelstrom. Darkest of the gods, lover of dominance and mistress of betrayal, Takhisis had thrown her dice with the certainty of victory … and then had lost!

  Now, like a vengeful child, Takhisis the spiteful goddess turned her back on the agonies created in her name and left the world of Krynn to recover as it could-or to rot if it would. Now madness ran rampant beneath the triad moons.

  Yet, even in turning away, the Dark Queen was vengeful. To those who had defeated her ambitions, she bequeathed her legacy of ruin. For those of her followers who had failed her-in any slightest manner-far worse was in store. The dark goddess was venomous in her spite, and she demanded satisfaction even in defeat.

  On emerald wings, Verden Leafglow sought the sky and soared high above the madness below. Beneath her, the plains of death fell away to remote distance as she beat upward, escaping the carnage far below.

  She had seen much in these past days. In fields of havoc she had seen draconian footmen, those darkling spawn of the betrayal of the mighty by the mighty, dying by the thousands at the hands of their own kind and of those who had been their allies.

  She had seen fabrics of black sorcery collapse upon themselves, and upon the dark-robed ones who were their weavers. And the worst of the manic fury was among the dragons-those who had been Takhisis’s mightiest allies. In a matter of days, Verden had seen dragon turn from foe and attack ally, and even her own keen instinct for betrayal had barely saved her.

  She had seen the mightiest of all the dragons of evil-the magnificent and deadly Venge Scarlet-pluck his rider from his back, tear his head from his shoulders and cast the pieces earthward like so much debris. She had seen the cunning, malicious Ebon Nightshadow turn on a goblin force that had come to aid him in defense of the Token Portal. He drenched them with acid breath, and watched with contempt as they writhed and screamed, melting to sludge.

  These were things that Verden Leafglow herself might have done, had she had a human rider or a goblin troop. But she had been afield when the end came with nothing more than some puny human mages working their spells to create a secret way into the remote Dominion Garrison of Sablethwon.

  In her mind the knowledge had come-it was over, the Dark Queen had turned away. With a disdainful blast, Verden had parted company with her allied mages. Two of them, two who had angered her especially, she left sundered, literally torn to shreds. Their companions choked about them, strangling on their own tongues, blind and dying from her parting gift-a cloud of thick chlorine vapor. A few of them had escaped her fury, but only a few. Among them was a cowering little magic-thief with an ivory fang totem, the two had become so interlinke
d by their magic that neither could function without the other. There were maybe one or two more survivors. But they did not matter.

  She had gone then, heading for the mountains to the west. It was the last place she had known Flame Searclaw to be. If the Dark Queen’s business was at an end, then Verden Leaf glow had business of her own, unfinished business that she had not forgotten. She had a revenge of her own to be taken now, and she spread great emerald wings and went hunting.

  Flame Searclaw! Verden spread her keen senses, searching. Great eyes glittered with hatred as she remembered the day she had paved the way for the destruction of the human city of Chaldis. She remembered the injury she had sustained there and the cold humor in the voice of Flame Searclaw when he sensed her there, sorely wounded and buried beneath the rubble of a ravaged city. He had known that she was there, had told her so. He had known she needed help, but her plight amused him. He passed her by.

  Verden Leafglow had not forgotten. She had been betrayed and abandoned. There was a score to settle.

  With all of her senses at peak pitch, she climbed the sky and beat westward, where the mighty peaks of the Kharolis Mountains etched the horizon. Flame Searclaw was out there, somewhere.

  Would mindcall still function, now that the war of conquest was ended? Verden didn’t know. The distance-calling was a magical power, granted by the Dark Queen to some of her agents, to serve her purposes. Pitching her mind as she had learned, she pulsed a message into the distance. “Flame Searclaw! I know you are there! Once I needed your aid and you deserted me! Once I called out to you, and you responded with torment! You even taunted me, commanded me to come to you when you knew I could not. Well, I am coming now, Flame Searclaw! I am coming for you, and I will find you!”

  Moments passed, and then an answer grew in her mind, tiny with distance, but clear. He had perceived the challenge. Cruel laughter echoed in the soundless response. Green snake! It is you! I am here, green snake. You dare to challenge me, pathetic thing? How wonderful! I am ready for you! Don’t worry about finding me, green snake, I will make it easy for you. I will find you! And when I do, I will-

  Abruptly the voice in her mind was stilled, along with all other perceptions. As though a cold, impenetrable curtain were drawn around her, Verden Leafglow’s world went silent, and into the silence came a vision-an image clear and brilliant, shutting everything else out of her mind. In eerie silence she saw a small green globe, and knew what it was.

  Her egg! Her own, single egg, hidden away long ago in a place only she knew … Yet now she saw it in her mind, and it was not where it should be. Something was very wrong.

  She concentrated on her egg, turned toward its distant hiding place, and wavered in confusion. Always, wherever she was, she could sense her egg. But now she could find no sense of it. The curtain of mind silence parted slightly, and she could see-with distant vision-the place where it should be. But there was no sense of her egg in that place. It was not there.

  And now, deep in her mind, a different voice grew, an immense, resonating, vengeful voice. It was a voice that was far more than a voice, and echoed in every fiber of her.

  Your egg? The voice seemed to sneer. You want your egg?

  “Goddess queen,” Verden responded, shaken. “You speak to me.”

  You failed me, Verden Leafglow. The huge, quiet voice rippled and pulsed within her, dominating her. There was a moment when I needed you, and you were not there. When you should have been within the mountains, you were elsewhere. You were dawdling, Verden Leafglow. Dawdling with the least of the least. You failed me.

  Verden remembered, the memory brilliant and tormenting in her mind. There had been a time-only once-when she was distracted. Because of Flame Searclaw’s betrayal, she had found herself hostage to those despicable little creatures, the Aghar. Wounded and weak, and with her self-stone lodged within the body of one of the creatures, she had been forced to guide them to Xak Tsaroth-to their Promised Place.

  Aghar. Gully dwarves! The least of the least. The humiliating memory burned within her, haunting her.

  “Goddess, I had no choice,” she protested. “I was saving myself from death.”

  Your loyalties belonged to me, the voice of Takhisis thundered within.

  “I would have died without my self-stone,” she tried to explain.

  You were answerable to me, Verden Leafglow. Not to them, to me!

  “I could not help-”

  You failed me, the voice rasped. Now you must pay for your failure.

  In her mind again came a vision of her egg, her own single egg, deep within some shadowy, cavernous place where small things moved in the shadows.

  Your egg, the voice said. You want your egg, Verden Leafglow? So it shall be, though not in this life. Your life-this life-is forfeit. But you shall live again. See your egg, Verden Leafglow. This egg’s hatchling will be you. You shall die and be reborn through your own egg.

  “Reborn …”

  Reborn. You shall be your own hatchling, Verden Leafglow. It will be a new life for you, but not a free life. You shall serve those who bring you forth from your egg. You shall be their chattel. Serve them, Verden Leafglow, and be powerless against them. Be completely at their mercy! This geas I give to you, Verden Leafglow.

  This is your damnation! Once you kept your word to gully dwarves. To them, but not to me! Therefore I reject you. You are no longer mine. You will be theirs, Verden Leafglow. Let them do with you as they will.

  “Them?” in her mind she screamed it. “Them? They are nothing. Only gully dwarves. Detestable, unspeakable beings.”

  Theirs, Verden Leafglow. And at their mercy, for as long as they want you.

  “No! Dark Queen, oh mightiest, I plead-”

  Theirs, the voice said, as though relishing the word.

  Horror grew in Verden’s mind. “Goddess, have mercy! I beg-”

  You are mine no longer. The voice seemed to turn away, cold and indifferent. If you want mercy, ask it of them. Die, Verden Leafglow. Die now, and seek mercy in rebirth from the gully dwarves who will own you.

  The voice faded and only the vision was left in her mind: the egg. Her own egg was deep within a dark place, unguarded and vulnerable. Beating powerful wings, Verden Leafglow turned in the direction of the vision and sped toward it.…

  Sped toward it, and began to die.

  Ahead, mountains rose to meet her, and beyond the mountains was a dimness that grew by the moment. There-just beyond there, yet so far away-was the place. She knew it then. She recognized the place, knew where it was, and fresh horror rose in her dimming mind. Xak Tsaroth. The Pitt.

  Aghar and vermin. Gully dwarves and rats.

  The mountains rose before her, and her sight dimmed to darkness. Her wings faltered, flapped erratically and failed. The mountains were below her now and they rose to meet her, great jagged peaks reaching for her as she spiraled downward, unseeing. In her last moment of life only one thing remained for her to see-a vision of her egg, lost in a place of shadows where small things moved.

  PART 1

  Legacy of the Least

  Chapter 1

  A Throne for Glitch

  A great many things had happened in the seasons since the wandering tribe of Bulp came to This Place. There were a great many things that no one really understood, things that were mostly unpleasant and invariably confusing.

  Other Aghar had been in this place then, but as slaves, tormented and abused by horrible creatures beyond anyone’s understanding. Misery and death had lurked everywhere in the Promised Place, and the newly-arrived followers of the Highbulp Glitch I, Lord Protector of Anyplace He Happened to Be, had spent a long and miserable time hiding in holes and cracks that even the other gully dwarves of This Place had not found.

  It was a time of torment, and of fear, and some had been lost. Then other kinds of people had come and gone. There had been several kinds of humans, whom the Aghar thought of as “Talls,” and various other large animals, creatures and unthinkab
les. The stink of magic and the clamor of battle had filled This Place and always there were the ugly things that had lizard faces, dry, crackly voices and seemed determined to do harm to every creature they encountered.

  People and things had come to the place some called Xak Tsaroth. They had come, they had fought, and then they had gone away, and the Aghar-the wandering tribe of Bulp and many others who had happened to join them-had suffered through it all the only way they knew how. They hid, cringed and lurked in the darkest places. They fled in panic when they could, and groveled when all else failed, and waited for the turmoil of war to recede from This Place.

  Some other clans-those that had already been there when the Highbulp Glitch I led his people in tumultuous descent into the place long seasons before-had fled the Pitt entirely. Many of those who fled eventually returned, though fewer in number and more confused by what was going on outside of Xak Tsaroth than by what was going on inside.

  Things happened everywhere that defied Aghar understanding.

  Whatever it had all been about, though, it seemed to be over now. Some parts of the Pitt were still littered with fallen weapons, mummifying corpses of various kinds and the odd heaps of dust that had once been the ugly lizard-things. With the return of some normalcy, Glitch I had taken it upon himself-since nobody else seemed to care one way or another-to declare himself Highbulp of all survivors, ruler and lord protector of all the miscellaneous clans.

  It didn’t matter much to anyone else. Any High-whatsit was of little practical use to the Aghar-whom others called gully dwarves-and was generally a nuisance. But somebody had to be the High-whatever, and as long as somebody was willing to be it, everybody else was satisfied.

  How long had it been since the invasions and the fighting had ended? No one knew for sure, except that it was before yesterday, which put it into the distant past along with other things not worth remembering. So most of them had put it out of their minds and gone back to the pressing tasks of today-foraging, scrounging, keeping the stew pot going and now and then considering ways to keep the Highbulp from becoming grumpy.