Besides which, Pitrick was the architect of the arrange ment with Sanction. His diplomatic and magical skills could prove the key to all of the Theiwar's future grandeur. The thane considered him indispensable if the nation was to achieve the glory that was its rightful destiny. Thus it was that Realgar had no real difficulty assessing Pitrick's re quest.
"Very well. I shall put Captain Cyprium under your or ders, effective immediately. We will double the guard, for now.
"And as for Hillhome," concluded the thane, "that will re quire some thought. The hill dwarves' ungrateful attitude and perpetual greed are beginning to annoy me."
Pitrick bowed to conceal his smile.
Perian marched purposefully through the second level of the city, preparing to climb to the third level, where she knew she would find Pitrick, the thane's hunchbacked ad viser. In her gut she fought a crawling sensation that threat ened to overwhelm her with disgust.
She had been fending off Pitrick's odious advances for several years a summons that required her to call upon the adviser in his apartments put her at a distinct disadvan tage. Still, the thane had ordered her to see the adviser, and her duty was to obey.
The only child of her generation in a long line of dwarven warriors, Perian had buckled on armor and taken up the sword when it was her turn to follow in the family tradition.
Her father, mother — until Perian's birth — and uncles had all served with merit in the thane's House Guard. That elite le gion, dedicated to the racial supremacy of the derro, com prised the most trusted of the Theiwar troops.
Perian had proven adept both at the physical aspects of combat and at the mental challenges of command, rising quickly through the ranks of the thane's personal body guard. Now she commanded the House Guard, proudly taking her place with the four or five highest ranking offi cers in the thane's service.
Thane Realgar, she knew, was the most powerful king in all Thorbardin, mainly because the magical abilities many
Theiwar possessed gave him an edge. Vicariously, she ought to take some pride in that status. Instead, she admitted only to herself, she felt a slight tinge of guilt and discomfort.
Perhaps it was because, unlike most of the Theiwar dwarves — the inhabitants of Thane Realgar's two cities — she was only half derro. Full derro always found a savage glee in the dark side of things. But the other half of her dwar ven ancestry could be traced to the Hylar dwarves, and Per ian often wondered if that aspect did not dominate her private personality.
She was innately distrustful of magic, and Pitrick was the most powerful savant, or mage, among the Theiwar: gro tesque, malicious, and deceitful. His undeniable magic power was just the surface manifestation of many unpleas ant features. There was also the matter of his leering and rude sexual proposals, stopping just short of brute force.
Unfortunately, she could not afford to be entirely indif ferent to him. She reflected, with her usual frustration, on the tangled hold Pitrick had over her life.
Perian's father and mother had also been loyal, decorated soldiers in the thane's troop of Huscarles, or House Guards.
When Perian was born, her mother retired from active duty and devoted herself to raising her only child. She had been indulgent to Perian, and often wistful around the child. Per ian's father, on the other hand, had been emotionally distant from both of them — a proper dwarf soldier, Perian had al ways thought. Given her family, she had encountered no difficulty joining the House Guard — about ten percent of its troopers were female — or rising quickly to the rank of ser geant. That was when Pitrick, the oily adviser to the thane, had first entered her life.
He had confronted her with evidence of her true origin, in the form of letters from her mother to a Hylar soldier — her mother's secret lover. According to Pitrick, that illicit union had produced Perian. As far as she was aware, no one but her, her mother, and Pitrick knew that she was neither a full blooded derro nor the daughter of the bold warrior whose reputation was known far and wide. It was true that Perian's ruddy skin and auburn hair were slightly unusual for a full blooded derro. It was equally true that the House Guard of the Theiwar required its members to be racially pure. Perian dreaded the day Pitrick would use his information as the ul timate blackmail. Perian had no way to confirm her circum stances of birth. But she had to admit the sample of her mother's handwriting was genuine and, as the rank of cap tain loomed before her, this information had placed her in Pitrick's power. So far, she had always managed to call the adviser's bluff without goading him into action, but he was too unstable and dangerous to be taken for granted.
Many times Perian had wondered whether her father was naturally distant, or whether he had suspected the truth.
She wished her mother had never written those letters, had not been so foolish, just as she often pondered how power ful an emotion love could be, to make someone like her mother risk everything.
Eventually she reached the lift that would take her into the noble's quarters, high in the upper level of the city. Pit rick was no noble by birth, but as adviser to the thane he was considered the second most important dwarf in the Theiwar city. An iron cage descended to meet her now, and she stepped inside. With a steady clanking, the chain-and pulley mechanism carried her up for a hundred feet through a hollow column in the mountain.
When it stopped she stepped onto the terrace of the no ble's plaza. Perian ignored the view over the wall, where much of the underground Theiwar city could be seen in its splendor — the neatly squared streets, high walls, thick columns, houses and shops, blanketing the floor of the ca vern. She strode to the doors and was instantly admitted.
She was greeted by a disfigured, cloaked servant, but his master quickly came into the antechamber and viciously sent the servant scurrying away. As always, the hunch back's stare discomforted her.
"Good news," said Pitrick, clapping his hands delightedly together. "You are assigned to me, now — I am your commander!"
Perian felt a chill of apprehension shiver along her spine.
"In what capacity?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain level.
"We are increasing the guards at the mouth of the wagon tunnel! Come now, don't pretend surprise. You know of its existence. You will be placed in command." Pitrick's sparse beard could not hide his leer. The hump on his back forced him to bend forward, and thus he was always looking up at her.
"I prefer to remain with my old billet, the training of the guard," she objected.
Pitrick leaned closer, his dank breath moist against her face. "I grow tired of your game, my dear. Keep in mind that I could have you ruined with a single word!"
"Then do it!" Perian shot back.
With a sneer, Pitrick stepped away and looked her up and down. "You know me too well, dear girl. Still, perhaps I shall, someday. Perhaps I shall, if you continue baiting me this way," Perian noted, his hand clasping the iron amulet that always hung from his neck. Blue light began seeping be tween his fingers.
"You will do good work for me," the hunchback said softly. Perian's head grew light, and she was surprised at the musical pleasantness of his voice. Perhaps she had mis judged him.
The blue light grew stronger, occluding her vision until only Pitrick's face loomed. She felt his hot breath against her face. Her soldier's training told her, dimly, that she should resist. She felt Pitrick's hand reach around to the back of her mail shirt. His breath, heavy with nut fungus, pressed moist and smelly around her face.
Suddenly her head jerked upward. Her left hand shot for ward, knocking the amulet from Pitrick's grasp, as she wrapped her right hand around the small axe at her waist.
She clenched her teeth as her head cleared.
"Wait," Pitrick urged, his voice still soft.
But the spell was broken. Perian's hateful gaze brought the hunchback up short.
"If you ever try to magic me again, I'll kill you," she growled.
Pitrick looked at her, his moment of surprise quickly turning to amusement. "It's time for you to go down to y
our new post now," he instructed. "Have a look around, estab lish your guards. I'll be down soon to inspect your position.
"If there is any sign of intrusion, or even the hint of a hill dwarf anywhere around there, I want you to tell me person ally. And if you catch any intruders, bring them to me immediately!"
"I will," said Perian, quickly turning on her heel. Only when the lift cage had taken her down a level did she finally draw a breath easily.
Chapter 8
Unexpected Company
The pnominent nostrils twitched, tickled by an un familiar, yet tantalizing odor. One great eye, bloodshot and sunk deep within its socket, opened. The lid, of green, leath ery skin, blinked several times, and then its counterpart opened. Once again the long green nose moved, seeking confirmation of the scent.
The body that slowly rose to a sitting position was hu manoid, though perhaps half again as tall as a man. But its features were hideous in the extreme.
Gangly arms, each as long as a man was tall, hung from the creature's shoulders. Though they were proportionately slender, a wiry cord of muscle showed beneath the mottled green skin, promising great strength. The creature's legs, too, were revealed as long and thin, but they had no diffi culty supporting the monster as it rose to stand.
Its hands and feet each bore three wicked claws, with fin gers partially webbed. Blotchy skin, the color of dark moss, covered its whole body. In places it was smooth, but in oth ers the skin lay wrinkled, a rough, warty surface.
Atop the creature's head was a thicket of black, stiff standing hair. Its mouth opened slightly and revealed upper and lower rows of pointed, needle-sharp teeth. Above its mouth, extending more like a tree limb than a nasal aper ture, was the creature's long, pointed nose.
It was this sensitive proboscis that had caused the mon ster to awaken, and now it probed the air, sniffing and snuf fling for clues. What was that tantalizing scent? Where did it come from?
The creature's lair was a cave, and a slight breeze wafted into the cave mouth from the valley below. The source of the scent, obviously, was outside the lair.
Moving through the dingy cave, the monster passed nu merous scattered, well-gnawed bones of previous meals.
Skulls of deer, bear, hobgoblin, human, and other victims stood along the wall of the cave, making a crude trophy mound. But now the creature ignored all of these memen tos, moving toward the fresh air in search of new food, per haps a new skull.
The creature emerged to discover twilight settling over the high valley. The spoor came more clearly now, and the great beast licked its lips with a black, moist tongue. Its dark eyes, almost hidden in the deep recesses of its black sockets, squinted into the darkness, searching for the source of the tantalizing odor.
An odor, the troll knew, that could only emanate from one of its favorite foods: dwarf.
Flint's destination, the mountain dwarves' kingdom, was twenty or so miles southwest of Hillhome. The wagons' shipments must have come from there, and Garth had also said the derro he saw was a magic-user; it was common knowledge that only one type of dwarf could muster more than simple spells. That was the Theiwar clan of Thor bardin.
Flint suspected his older brother had discovered the secret of the derro, and he was determined to make whoever was responsible for his death pay with his life.
His burning vengeance, he had to admit, was colored by the legacy of bitterness and hatred left by the Dwarfgate Wars, when another Fireforge, the respected dwarven leader Reghar Fireforge, had died at the hands of the moun tain dwarves. Those epic conflicts had opened schisms in the dwarven races that seemed likely never to heal.
Flint had no clear explanation for these arms shipments of the derro, but he knew the reasons must be sinister indeed.
Why else would a race that was known for its pride of craftsmanship not sign its work?
Flint was following the Passroad west. Traveling in day light, he felt fairly secure that he would not encounter any derro. The road hugged the northern shore of Stonehammer
Lake, whose cold water looked dull gray-green on this over cast late-autumn day. Most of the leaves in this distant arm of the Kharolis Mountains, in the corridor between Thor bardin and the Plains of Dergoth, had already turned brown and scattered across the flat lands, leaving only the olive colored firs to cover the spiny mountain ridges.
The terrain grew considerably rougher as the slopes and crests of the southern hillcountry tumbled around Flint. The elevations soared steeply from the valley bottoms, climbing to narrow ridges and fringed with levels of sheer cliffs, bare rock faces, and dark forests of pine. In places, looming knobs of granite overlooked grass-filled valleys, often giv ing Flint the impression of huge, serene faces looking across the hillcountry. The Passroad twisted around like a snake, never running straight for more than a mile or two.
Flint had never been to Thorbardin — they didn't exactly embrace hill dwarves there — but his father had once told him something that was tugging at his mind now. The dwar ven capitol city had two entrances: Northgate and
Southgate. Originally, a wide, walled ledge edged the mountainside at the entrances, but the Cataclysm had de stroyed most of the northern ledge, leaving only a five-foot remnant towering one thousand feet above the valley.
The Passroad seemed to be leading him toward the north ern entrance, and unless his father had been mistaken, that gate into the great city would soar one thousand feet above him. But how could that be? How could the huge, lumber ing freight wagons enter Thorbardin from the north?
Unless the Passroad continued past Northgate and circled the expansive realm to enter at Southgate… If that were the case, Flint had-a long walk ahead of him, since the city stretched more than twenty miles in circumference.
But that didn't make sense either. The heart of the Kharo lis Mountains stood between here and there, and no wagon could cross that tumultuous landscape. It was a puzzle to him.
Flint had walked nearly a full day before his keen dwar ven senses raised the hair on the back of his neck; someone or something was following him. He wasn't terribly sur prised, since he had expected to be pursued. Still whomever it was seemed in no hurry to catch him, nor even to be con cerned about being detected. Once he even caught sight of a distant figure trudging through the grassy vale which Flint had passed through a short time earlier.
Flint continued to look behind him at regular intervals, but never again spotted the figure. Could it have been some hill farmer, going about his business? Flint had been too far away to distinguish if the figure was a human or a dwarf.
Still, his trail sense nagged him, warning him to stay on guard.
His second afternoon out of Hillhome was damp and cold. Flint stopped to rest at the crest of a rocky ridge, and to eat the last of the cold meat sandwiches, rock cheese, and dried apples Bertina had slipped into his hands as he'd left the family house. Shoulders of bare granite loomed around him, and several caves dotted the side of this steep slope. He had discovered a makeshift trail in the base of a narrow ra vine and veered off the Passroad to lose his pursuer. Now, at the crest, he looked behind and saw for the second time the stalwart figure on his trail.
There was just a flash of movement before his pursuer dis appeared into a wide belt of pines fringing the base of the ridge. But the glimpse had been enough to convince the crusty dwarf that his suspicions had been well-founded.
Flint resolved to wait for whomever followed him, forcing a confrontation on his own terms.
Flint crept back into the narrow ravine, retracing his steps for a dozen yards down the side of the ridge. He wiped his sleeve across his sweaty brow as he found a sheltered ledge with a fine view of the ravine below. There he sprawled.
Withdrawing his axe from his belt, he laid the weapon be side him on the rock.
His elevation, coupled with the steepness of the ridge, gave him a significant vantage. He gathered an assortment of rocks, some as big as his head, so that he could lob them using both hands, and some fist-si
zed stones that he could easily pitch with one hand. Finally, he settled down to wait.
Long minutes passed with no sign of movement from be low, but this did not surprise the dwarf. The belt of forest below the ridge was wide and tangled, and it would take even the fastest of pursuers the better part of an hour to climb the slope.
Suddenly he tensed, seeing movement below, and very close to him. He grasped his axe, then swallowed a gasp.
There was neither human nor dwarf below him, but some thing ten times worse, for, creeping into the ravine was a mottled-green, wart-covered, large-as-an-ogre troll. He had never fought one before, never even seen one, but he recog nized it nonetheless. And he knew their malevolent, raven ous reputation.
He was momentarily relieved but surprised to see that the troll's attention was not directed up at him. Indeed, the monster as well, seemed to be staring down the ravine, from a position one hundred feet below Flint. The creature moved its long limbs in a deliberately rigid gait that re minded Flint of a crab — a giant, vicious crab, to be sure.
The wind, soaring up the ravine, brought the pungent, vaguely fishlike odor of the beast clearly to Flint's nose. The troll's wicked claws, on hands and feet alike, grasped out crops of rock as it held itself against an expanse of cliff, leer ing outward with those black, emotionless eyes.
Then Flint almost laughed out loud as he realized the crea ture's intent. It was laying an ambush for something that crept up the ravine below them — perhaps the same pursuer that Flint had intended to confront!
Now that's what I call fair, he thought to himself. Some one follows me through the hills for a few days, and then gets eaten by a troll. -
Still, the nearness of the monster gave Flint some cause for alarm. He resolved to wait, quietly and patiently, for the little drama below to run its course. Then, when the troll was absorbed with its victim, Flint would make a fast and easy escape.
A clatter of rocks abruptly drew the dwarf's attention far ther down the steep ravine. He could see no movement, but something was obviously charging upward. Whoever's fol lowing me moves with no mind for caution, Flint mused as his pursuer scrambled and scratched up the ridge.
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