Flint the King p2-2

by Mary Kirchoff

  Turq brought two steaks back within minutes. Flint and

  Perian dug in like starving dwarves, while the bulk of Flint's family looked on, waiting for them to finish. The pair ate with great relish, with much smacking of lips and licking of fingers. The steak, Flint swore, was the best food he had ever eaten. Finally, some time later, Perian pushed back her chair. "I'm stuffed," she admitted. "And one of us had better check on the Aghar." She quickly got up to go.

  "Mmmph," Flint agreed, still shoveling in the tender meat.

  Only after Flint popped the last bite into his mouth did he even stop to notice where he was. Something about the inn felt different than the last time he'd been here.

  "I know what's changed!" he cried, slamming his fist to the bar. "No derro!" Flint nodded his approval. At the same time, he realized how much he missed Moldoon, and his earlier melancholy returned.

  "The ones we caught are still in jail," Basalt explained.

  "Maybe we'll let 'em out after the battle."

  "Yeah," Flint agreed, suddenly serious. The few hours of peace remaining to Hillhome could be counted in the low angle of the sun to the horizon. "Well, I'd better check on

  Perian," he said.

  The others accompanied him from the inn, and they started back toward the earthen wall defending Hillhome.

  From some distance away they heard Perian castigating her charges, and Flint unconsciously picked up his pace.

  "No! Higher! Make the wall higher!" Perian shouted. Her voice came out as more of a pale croak than a command.

  "But look, Queen Furryend! We make nice notch right here!" A dirt-caked Fester protested, indicating with pride the deep cut the gully dwarves had gouged in the earth work. "Pretty soon road go right through, no problem!"

  'Yes, problem — big problem! Road go — damn! Look, if the road goes right through, then the mountain dwarves can go right through. Do you understand?"

  "Sure!" beamed Fester. "No problem!"

  "We don't want the mountain dwarves to go through. We want to stop them here, stop them with the wall that used to cross the road!" Perian felt her temperature rising, and was frustrated that the woeful state of her overworked voice did not allow her more effective vent of her displeasure.

  "Oh," said Fester, crestfallen. For a moment she looked at the pile of dirt they had moved, then turned back to Perian.

  "Why 7"

  The queen had been trying to supervise the gully dwarves while they learned the art of military fortification. In the few short minutes she'd been at it, she had decided that it was an unrewarding pipe dream.

  She was spared the further rigors of instruction by the ar rival of Flint, Hildy, and Basalt. Flint chuckled in sympathy, taking her hand.

  The hill dwarf turned his attention to the growing earth work project. "Looks impressive," he complimented. In deed, the redoubt was now a great, curving wall, shaped roughly like a horseshoe, with western Hillhome protected by its dirt shelter. It aueraged perhaps eight feet high, though of course with gully dwarf craftsmanship there was no excess of precision.

  "We'll have about four hundred hill dwarves and three hundred gully dwarves. At least the thane's troops won't have us outnumbered too badly."

  Flint's heartiness seemed forced. The disciplined ranks of

  Realgar's elite guards, with their metal armor, deadly cross bows, and well-practiced combat formations, were a more formidable force than the rabble of armed, but unarmored, unpracticed, and wholly undisciplined Hillhome folk and gully dwarves.

  "What's the plan?" Mayor Holden called to them as he ap proached from the center of town. They turned to see Turq and the mayor climbing the wall.

  Holden seemed eager to inspect the fortification. Now that the evidence of mountain dwarf treachery was inescap able, Flint reflected sourly, the mayor had become a devout patriot to the cause of Hillhome. Perhaps I'm being unfair,

  Flint chided himself. The mayor only reflected the consen sus of the majority of the hill dwarves. The dwarves of

  Hillhome had simply grown comfortable in their good life.

  Anyone would be reluctant to rashly reject his prosperity when confronted with claims of an unseen, secret enemy.

  And, Flint reminded himself, when the fact of the enemy had been made plain finally, the dwarves of Hillhome had jumped to the defense of their community. The four hun dred harrn and frawl who had taken up arms ranged from young adults to venerable grandfathers, and all were strong and dedicated. And those who were not physically capable of battle had been busy, too.

  "Splendid, splendid!" crowed the mayor unnecessarily, looking around the graceful curve of the earthen wall.

  "Now, what is our strategy?"

  Flint, Perian, Basalt, Hildy, and Turq looked at one an other over the stupidity of the question, as if they were di viding up for a game of luggerball. But the mayor had inad vertently revealed one thing: they had not officially appointed a commander over their force.

  "I suggest that Flint Fireforge be given the task of assign ing the plan of defense," proposed Turq Hearthstone quietly.

  "Aye," echoed Basalt and Hildy.

  "Yes," piped up Perian.

  Flint looked around at his companions. He tried ration ally to consider the alternatives. Basalt and Hildy were too young. Mayor Holden was not a harrn of action. Perian was an outsider — a mountain dwarf, to boot — though it did not matter to him in the least. She would fight loyally for the town's cause, but she was not the choice to be its champion.

  Tybalt, Ruberik — his brothers — he now sensed, looked to him for leadership.

  "We'll meet them here," Flint began, indicating the wall.

  He looked self-consciously at the others to gauge their reac tions, but when he saw that they listened unquestioningly, his confidence rose, and so did the strength of his voice.

  "I'll manage the Sludge Bombers right in the middle," he decided. "That should break the cohesion of their attack.

  Then, we'll try to hold them… where?" He looked at the line, evaluating the ground and finding what he desired.

  "There." He pointed at the right side of the horseshoe, where it curved almost to the bank of the river.

  "Basalt, you'll command a small company of hill dwarves over there, enough to stop them when they try to climb the redoubt. Perian can back you up with the Wedgies."

  His followers listened attentively. He and Perian had al ready explained the gully dwarf formations, and indeed the

  Aghar had demonstrated the creeping wedge and the

  Aghazpult. They had come dangerously close also to ac quainting the hill dwarves with the dread sludge bomb, but fortunately Perian had come upon the bombers in the nick of time.

  "Then, over here," Flint continued, turning to the left, where the wing of the earthwork extended into a field be yond the Passroad. Perhaps a hundred feet beyond the end of the barrier began the tree line, but there was no time to carry the redoubt that much farther. "Tybalt and Hildy will take the rest of the hill dwarves and the Agharpults."

  He surveyed the expanse of the line, satisfied. "Then, when the enemy line is broken by the bombs and half of them are occupied over here, Tybalt and Hildy, you charge forward and attack with your company of dwarves. With luck — and lots of that — we can carry half of the thane's forces away before sweeping around to catch the others in the rear. With those trees blocking them from too wide of a movement, we might have the chance to hit 'em hard, cause them some real confusion.

  "Now, Ruberik," he said, turning to his brother. "Are you still a dead shot with that crossbow?"

  "I've been keeping my hand in," the farmer admitted.

  "Good. I have a job for you." Briefly he explained another idea he had, and Ruberik gave his hearty approval. Flint's brother headed into town, seeking the two large, clay jars he needed to put the plan into operation.

  "Now, we'll need some bonfires out there in the field.

  That'll at least give us a picture of where they are when they'r
e advancing." He stopped to think while Tybalt and

  Hildy organized a score of hill dwarves. The group gathered dry wood and quickly started to form several large piles in the field before the redoubt. These bonfires would be lit as soon as the derro came into view, providing the hill dwarves some view of their advancing enemy.

  Soon Flint turned to the others. "Now, how are we fixed for straw? Can we get fifty bales? A hundred would be even better."

  Tybalt nodded.

  "Good. And lamp oil? How many kegs do you have in your store?" he asked Mayor Holden.

  "Well, there's not, that is, it's my most expensive item! I can't…"

  Conscious of the stares of all the other hill dwarves, the mayor stopped speaking and flushed with embarrassment.

  "Well, I guess I've got a couple of kegs. But what on Krynn do you need them for?"

  Flint explained his plans, assigning dwarves to gather the necessary ingredients and make the required preparations.

  Slowly, the various elements of Hillhome's defense came to gether.

  The defensive strategy sounds good, Flint realized with satisfaction.

  Even as they were speaking Flint noticed that it grew steadily darker. The sun dipped beyond the western hills, and twilight settled over the town and its valley. They've got to be coming soon now, he told himself.

  "If they break the line here, everyone fall back through the town," he added, developing a contingency plan. "We'll make a final stand in the brewery, if it comes to that." Hildy had already offered the building — the largest structure in

  Hillhome — for that purpose.

  "Look!" cried Perian suddenly, turning toward the south.

  The others squinted into the distance. The movement along the Passroad was painfully obvious to them all, even in the fading light. A long column snaked its way through the mud.

  The armored mountain dwarf troops of Pitrick's legion.

  "They must have started right at sunset," Basalt guessed.

  "And they're coming fast."

  "They'll be here in an hour," Flint judged, "maybe sooner if they hurry. That doesn't give us a lot of time. Everybody spread out!" Flint ordered. "Pass the word through the town — every dwarf with a weapon should get down here.

  The rest should take shelter in the hills if they're not gone al ready!

  "Basalt, Hildy — get your crews out there and light those fires. I want them blazing high by the time the Theiwar get down to the field. And then hurry back — remember, the battle's to be fought here, not out there!"

  Basalt grinned as he trotted off with the fire brigade. The others, too, turned toward the stations for the imminent battle.

  Perian turned to leave, and Flint caught her by the shoul ders. "Not you," he whispered hoarsely. "Not yet." Flint clasped her to him, and tucked her face into his throat be neath his beard.

  He smelled of salty perspiration and soap, an honest, good scent. Flint's scent. She nuzzled him for the first time since they had left Mudhole.

  "Don't tease me, you heartless wench!" he growled, gath ering her up tightly. He pulled back abruptly, taking her face in his thick, callused hands. "I've grown quite fond of you," he grumbled. "For Reorx's sake be careful!"

  Perian tilted her head back slightly and gave him a linger ing, bittersweet kiss that was salty with tears. "I'll be careful — but only if you promise that you will, too." He nodded somberly, and she kissed him on the nose this time, reluctantly wiggling out of his arms.

  Perian gave him a playful pat and a smile. "Mind you re member that promise." Then she was gone to her assigned post.

  Flint watched her go, and then got caught up in the frenzy of activity that swirled across Hillhome. Dusk settled over the town. Looking to the field, Flint saw one fire, then an other, then several more spark to life.

  And the Theiwar troops marched onward to Hillhome.

  Twilight faded to night as Basalt, Hildy, and the other hill dwarves kindled the bonfires laid in the field before the re doubt. These blazes crackled quickly upward as the dry wood ignited, sending pillars of sparks into the dark sky.

  These dwarves scurried back to the safety of their com panions as Pitrick's forces neared the town. The bright yel low firelight soon reflected off of rank upon rank of black-armored, steel-tipped death.

  Darkness grew as the mountain dwarf wave started for ward again, marching inexorably toward the confrontation with their dwarven kin on the dirt embankment.

  In the next instant, as if from a single throat, Pitrick's le gion raised a hoarse cry. With a clash of their arms against their shields, they surged forward into a charge.

  Chapter 22

  Fire in Theit Eyes

  The din of the Thiewar charge crested over the de fenders in a wave of sound. The mountain dwarves voiced hoarse challenges; they beat their swords and axes against their shields; and they pounded the ground with their heavy, rhythmic tread.

  The sound rolled forward from the darkness, though the bonfires spotted throughout the field gave Flint and the oth ers a rough idea of the derro's location. Flint saw the flames glinting from steel axeblades, and dark, shiny shields. Even at this distance, the horrid eyes of the derro seemed to catch and reflect the light. Flint thought, incongruously, of fire flies glimpsed across a summer meadow.

  For a moment he wondered if the volume of sound alone would be enough to sweep the defenders from the breast work, but a quick look around showed him that the hill dwarves were ready to stand firm. The gully dwarves actu ally contributed to the din, most of them sticking their tongues out or shrieking insults.

  Flint looked nervously over his shoulder into Hillhome, now sheltered behind this semicircular barrier of earth. The darkened town seemed lifeless under the overcast night sky, especially in contrast to the fires scattered about the field.

  The town, in fact, was virtually abandoned. Some three hundred and fifty of its citizens stood with Flint, Perian, and the Aghar along the redoubt. The others, almost one hun dred and sixty hill dwarves — the very old, very young, and otherwise infirm — had retreated to caves in the hills, wait ing fearfully for the outcome of the battle.

  "Ready the sludge bombs!" cried the king, turning back to the charging Theiwar. The Aghar in the center reluctantly ceased their rude noises and took up the small, glass and ce ramic vessels that contained their weapons.

  "The torches, too," Flint added. "Light them now!" Sev eral dozen hill dwarves touched matches to the oil-soaked torches they had prepared. "We'll give the little grubs a sur prise when they get close enough," he remarked to his brother Ruberik as the farmer came up to him. Ruberik nod ded grimly as they stood silently for a moment, peering into the darkness.

  The thane's ranks swept closer. The charge, begun at sev eral hundred yards distance, swiftly closed the gap. Now, in the glaring light of the bonfires, Flint could discern individ ual derro. He saw faces distorted by battlelust, eyes squint ing murderously, seeking victims. Most of the derro advanced at an easy trot, their shields on their left arms while their right hands held axes or short swords.

  Some of the fires vanished from sight, trampled by the dark line in its implacable advance, but closer pyres now il luminated the army. Flint wished for a rank of longbow men, or a catapult — any kind of missile with long range.

  The sludge bombs, unfortunately, would only carry the dis tance of an Aghar toss — anywhere from one to fifty feet — and he wouldn't risk the gully dwarves in the Agharpult un til he was ready to attack.

  "Stand firm, there!" Flint bellowed at a nearby pair of young hill dwarves who had started looking anxiously over their shoulders.

  He heard Perian shout similar encouragements on the right flank, where she stood with Basalt and a small com pany of hill dwarves, supported by a reserve of Creeping

  Wedgies.

  Flint cast a quick glance to the left, where Tybalt stood with the majority of the hill dwarves, concealed behind the wall. Somewhere in that group, Flint knew, were Hildy, his brother B
ernhard, and his sister Fidelia. He thought briefly of Bertina and Glynnis, who were both persuaded over their loud objections to help supervise the young dwarves who had been sent to safety in the hills.

  Tybalt gave him a casual wave, and Flint chuckled at the constable's cool and easy demeanor. It surprised him to no tice the warm feeling he got from having his family near dur ing these hours of crisis. They're a good bunch, he told himself with not a little pride.

  "How soon?" Flint turned as Ruberik asked the question.

  The farmer was still standing beside him atop the wall of earth.

  "Close," Flint replied. He looked at the large crossbow in his brother's hands. The weapon's hilt, of weatherbeaten oak, was smoothed by long usage. Its steel crossbar did not shine, but nevertheless tensed with unconcealed strength. It had once been their father's weapon. "You ready?"

  In answer, Ruberik raised the heavy weapon and held it firm, drawing a bead on his target in the field — a target that was not the charging derro, but instead a large clay jar in the

  Theiwars' path.

  "Can you see well enough?" inquired Flint, dubiously peering into the darkness. Flashes of yellow light rippled across the ground, but quickly died back to shadows. "This seemed like a better idea in the daylight."

  "No need to worry," grunted Ruberik, squinting in con centration. "I did manage to learn a little of what Father thought most important — weaponry." The farmer crouched, as immobile as a rock, and waited for his broth er's command.

  "Another few seconds," Flint said, his voice taut. He saw the target, standing motionless in the path of the charge.

  The derro swept closer. "Wait a minute… wait…"

  Now, shoot!

  With a sharp crack, the crossbow released its steel-headed shaft. The missile flashed into the night, then was lost in the darkness.

  But in the next instant a sharply defined cloud — a billow of smoke that was so dark it showed clearly against the moderate blackness of the night — erupted from the clay jar.