Mudhole, Pitrick assumed, was one of the pathetic gully dwarf lairs on the fringes of Thorbardin. His outrage grew at the thought of some Aghar sow enjoying his smoke…
But why? Why would a gully dwarf, who dined on worms and garbage, be concerned about the quality of her smoke weed?
"Tell me about this new queen of Mudhole," prompted Pitrick smoothly. "After all, I represent the thane — the king of the Theiwar. Perhaps he would be interested in meeting your queen."
"No, no. Queen already have king. But thane could visit!
We throw big party for Queen Furryend and King Flunk and thane!"
"Have Furryend and Flunk been your rulers for a long time?"
"Oh, yes! Two days! Maybe more! King and queen, they descend from mud, just like in property! They come down to Mudhole two days ago!" The Aghar spoke freely now, happy to pour out his knowledge for these Theiwar who knew so little.
"Tell me what Queen Furryend looks like," Pitrick snapped. His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "Is she enormously fat, or covered with warts?"
"Oh, no, queen beautiful. She big pretty, with right size nose and red hair like iron rust." Too-thee looked up, hoping the explanation pleased the grotesque derro.
Pitrick turned away, his eyes bulging, his mind inflamed.
The derro guards stepped back, frightened by the look on his face. The pieces of this puzzle were falling together.
Queen Furryend — Perian it must be — descended to them two days ago, complete with a king — Flint — red hair, and a taste for North Warren Blue. She obviously thought it would be funny to steal his private stock, as if that would make a fool of him. Indeed, he understood why his wish spell had failed. His wording had been perfect. But he'd asked for Perian to be returned-to life, and she'd never died!
How they had survived he could not fathom, but he was certain that it was Perian who was queen to these gully dwarves.
Flecks of spittle trickled from the hunchback derro's twitching lips. He thought how that red-haired halfbreed wench must be laughing at his failure, and his rage became supreme. Pitrick turned back slowly, his unblinking eyes locked on the Aghar. Too-thee twisted and squirmed back ward as the savant crept closer.
"I will kill you first," he hissed. "But you are just the begin ning. Your entire thieving, conniving clan will be wiped out.
I'll kill every one of them, one at a time, with my own hands if I must. But I will have her! I will have your queen, and she will suffer!"
Pitrick sprang forward, his powerful hands locking around the throat of the squirming Aghar. The derro guards nervously watched as the berserk savant vented his rage against the hapless prisoner.
Pitrick shook the Aghar like a rag doll, and then threw the wailing dwarf aside. His hand grasped the medallion at his chest, his other rose to point an accusing finger at the gully dwarf.
A bolt of magical energy crackled from Pitrick's finger. It sparked through the air and struck the gully dwarf in the chest. The Aghar screamed and flopped over backward.
Again and again, the magic hissed, sending forth crackling missiles that struck the little body with brute force. By the third missile, the Aghar was well and truly dead, its body smoking. Still Pitrick sent two more bolts into the pathetic corpse.
Appearing slightly calmer, Pitrick stepped back from his victim. "I have important matters to tend to," he snapped, compelling the attention of the assembled derro of the
House Guard. They stood in a nervous circle, listening very carefully indeed. "This incident is not to be reported to any one. I shall be monitoring this situation personally, and I guarantee that if even the slightest word of this leaks out, I will see to it that all of you — all of you — will pay for that slip of the tongue."
"You can count on our discretion, Excellency!" exclaimed the duty officer. "No one will know — no one at all!"
"Very good. Return to your posts, and forget today's event."
Pitrick touched the steel ring on his finger, as he pictured in his mind the chasm where he had last seen Perian and Flint. With the slightest blink, the ring performed its magic, and the hunchbacked derro disappeared from the North Warrens.
In the same instant, he materialized at the lip of the Beast
Pit. His eyes narrowed as he gazed into the deep, dark chasm. Was it possible that both victims had actually sur vived their plummet into this dank hole? He tended to be lieve the tale of the dead Aghar. The new king and queen of the gully dwarves had to be the harrn and frawl that Pitrick had presumed dead.
If so, their new lease on life is about to expire, he thought with some measure of humor.
Pitrick studied the pit from above. Obviously there must be a connection or passage of some sort that allowed them to escape to "Mudhole." Pitrick grinned at the name. Per haps Perian would show him gratitude for being rescued from such a place! As for the hill dwarf, any number of spells would see to his permanent disposal.
But first, Pitrick needed to find the passage that had led them to temporary safety, and that meant exploring the
Beast Pit. His teleportation ring, while perfectly suited for moving about Thorbardin and even carrying him to distant places such as Sanction, was of no use here. It could only take him to places that he had already seen. If he tried to teleport into Mudhole without knowing its exact location, he could materialize in the midst of the mountain some where, or worse. For this task he needed some other channel of movement.
And his spells could provide it. Pitrick reached into his belt pouch and withdrew a small feather. He twisted it be tween his fingers as he mouthed the words to a simple spell.
Then, he stepped into the chasm.
Spreading his arms, Pitrick thrilled to the motion and power of' his spell of flying. He swooped down, then darted back up, turning again to dive into the depths of the pit. Be low him he saw a black cesspool of mud and slime. Some thing stirred there, and he knew it was the lair of the beast.
Curving away, Pitrick darted through the air, along the twisting channel that was the floor of the pit. Somewhere in this cavern was the passage to the gully dwarves' lair. Pit rick swore he would not rest until he found it.
A soft, unfamiliar sound came from behind him, and Pit rick paused, hovering for a moment as he looked back to ward the mouth of the pit. He saw movement in the depths, and for a moment his heart froze as he got his first good look at the monstrous size of the beast.
It oozed toward him, pushing part of its segmented form forward, then trailing its other half after. Like a gigantic slug, reaching ahead of itself with those long, lashing tenta cles, the beast came on.
If it were chasing me, I would run this way, Pitrick rea soned. If Perian and Flint found an exit, it should be here, near the furthest extent of the cavern, since this is where they would have had the time to examine the walls. But the flying savant saw nothing.
Then an idea struck him. His enemies weren't flying, they were on the ground. Their perspective was different. Pitrick settled to the cavern floor. And there, directly ahead of him, was a crack of light. It was nearly concealed by an over hanging boulder. Approaching it more closely, he could see that it led somewhere. He could even hear, faintly, sounds from the other side.
This is how they escaped me! he crowed to himself. Lean ing closer to listen, the Theiwar could distinguish sounds of cheering and clapping.
"I'll give them something to shout about," he chuckled, flying upward twenty or thirty feet and hovering while he thought. Which of his spells would be most effective? Fore most, he wanted to snatch Perian away, and after that make sure that the hill dwarf, Fireforge, never bothered anyone again. He considered changing Flint into a snail, or blasting him to pieces with a lightning bolt. The more he thought about it, the more he laughed, and as he laughed, the beast crept closer. By the time the bloblike form was beneath him,
Pitrick positively howled with glee.
He would not attack Mudhole alone, when help was so readily at hand.
The bea
st's tentacles lashed upward, and Pitrick shrieked as one dragged across his foot. Quickly darting higher, he examined the cave wall of the Beast Pit. Somewhere beyond that wall, he knew, lay Mudhole and his quarry. The tiny tunnel was the only connecting conduit between the Beast
Pit and Mudhole now, but Pitrick could easily expand that.
Below him the beast lurched again. Its tentacles flailed blindly. Some groped upward while others searched through the tunnel.
"Allow me," hissed the deformed dwarf, still hovering.
His right hand closed around the amulet at his neck while his eyes stared at the great wall of rock, the wall that divided the beast from the gully dwarves.
"Gro-ath goe Kratsch-yill!" He barked the magic spell, his voice suddenly firm. The familiar blue glow surged from the amulet, seeping between his fingers.
Pitrick raised his left hand, gesturing to the wall. The force of his magic reached out, penetrating the stone sur face, altering and kneading that stone with the power of its enchantment.
Beads of moisture gathered on the rock and trickled down its quivering slope. Slowly the rock bulged and grew soft.
Suddenly it gave way, splitting open like a tomato. Pitrick cackled as a torrent of mud and stone poured into this ca vern and the one beyond. Then the beast, sensing dozens of vulnerable prey, rushed through the gurgling ooze into Mudhole.
Chapter 15
The "Crownation"
"More fungus? — inquired Nomscul, shoving a plat. ter of the aromatic if chewy shapes under the noses of his newly crowned monarchs.
"I'm stuffed," Flint replied, holding up both hands and set tling back on the soft cushion of moss. "What.little room I have left I'm saving for those ribs you're cooking."
"Nomscul sorry about meat," the Aghar apologized, star ing at his toes.
Across the great cavern, a huge steel spear rested over a low fire. Large ribs of pork were spitted on the spear, drip ping juices into the fire with an appetizing sizzle, barely au dible above the raucous noise of the great crownation festival. In his new, official, and royally appointed capacity as Mudhole's Best Cook and Chief Shaman (the longest, and therefore most important title in Mudhole) Nomscul had sorely neglected his duty when he forgot to light the cooking fire until the feast was well underway, a fact which had slowed the cooking of the meat significantly. It had also made him almost obnoxiously solicitous toward Flint and Perian.
At the moment, however, Flint didn't notice the absence of the meat — indeed, he couldn't have eaten another bite.
All the food served during the ceremony had been quite good and, what's more, plentiful. Having lived above ground for all of his life, Flint never knew just how much va riety there could be in subterranean dining. The food and drink had thus far included spiced mushrooms, raw and cooked fish, potatoes, and lichen leaves.
"This is the best I've felt since we got here," admitted the king of the gully dwarves, with a frank look at his queen.
"It was all right," Perian admitted. "I'm used to better, but most of this came from the Theiwar warrens anyway. Still,
I'm surprised Nomscul did such a good job with it.
"I just wish Too-thee would get back with my mossweed. I wonder what's keeping him."
"He could still be here by the end of the meal," replied Flint, with a glance at the still raw pork ribs. "That gives him plenty of time."
Across the room they saw the low fire, with its sizzling rack of ribs impaled on a great, steel-shafted spear. Every few minutes Nomscul skipped over to the fire and rotated the pig slightly. His procedure was apparently mostly guess work, but the meat sent a delightful aroma whispering around the assembled multitudes.
All of the approximately four hundred Aghar of Mudhole had assembled in the Big Sky Room for the great feast and celebration. By this point in the feast the chamber was pretty well ravaged, blanketed with litter, food and clothing scraps, and sleeping Aghar.
The cavern was divided by the shallow stream that flowed through so much of the gully dwarf lair. Here in the cavern the stream collected into a series of three deep, clear pools. Dozens of young Aghar splashed playfully in the chilly waters of these pools. Unlike virtually every other type of dwarf known to Flint and Perian, the gully dwarves of Mudhole actually liked the water. All of them seemed to be darned good swimmers. This fact amazed Flint, who didn't know a hill or mountain dwarf that knew how to keep his head above water.
Flint, Perian, and a dozen Aghar — their "court," which in cluded Nomscul, Ooz, and Fester — sat on one side of the stream. A small, rugged stone footbridge crossed the water way between two of the pools, connecting up with the larger portion of the cave where the rest of the gully dwarves were gathered.
Fester and Nomscul had been taking turns saluting and toasting their new rulers. Fester had become Perian's chief handmaiden and lady-in-waiting — or "weighty lady," as the gully dwarf referred to herself. Nomscul, in addition to his roles as healer, and Best Cook and Chief Shaman, had vowed to become the king's primary aide.
"You a real kingly king," said Nomscul, sloshing slightly as he offered yet another salute to his new monarch.
After Nomscul's toast, the air was filled with mushrooms, lichens, and fishheads flying back and forth. Several near misses splashed into the water just feet from the king and queen, but a withering look from Nomscul, coupled with a menacing reach toward his magic bag, moved the game to a more comfortable distance.
"Say," commented Flint, "do you folks play any games down here: Kickball, stick-and-hoop, anything like that?"
Nomscul looked at him quizzically. "Stuck in hoop?"
"You know, sports," Flint persisted. "Athletic games. You get a bunch of — "
"Two," corrected Perian.
"… two fellows on one side and two on the other, and they both try to hook a leather hoop over the others' post — that sort of thing. Or anything to watch that's more orga nized than this free-for-all."
"Agharpult!" yelped Nomscul, jumping up and down.
"King wants en… entert… you watch this!"
The excited Aghar turned toward the crowd and shouted,
"Agharpulters, get over here! Hurry, hurry, hurry!" Imme diately the crowd turned into a shoving, pushing mass as gully dwarves from every corner of the room tried to con verge in front of the bridge.
"You like this," beamed Nomscul. "We learn by watching Theiwar practice war."
Teams of gully dwarves suddenly began to form pyramids with rows of kneeling bodies, ten dwarves forming a four tier pile. Other Aghar stood behind, squatting and prepar ing to charge the pyramids formed by their comrades.
At Nomscul's command, these others dashed forward, vaulting to the tops of the pyramids, whereupon all of the piled gully dwarves flung themselves face forward toward the floor. The momentum of the fall hurtled the topmost gully dwarf, at significant speed, across the room, eventu ally to crash into a crowd of gathered spectators.
Flint roared with laughter as the hapless gully dwarves tumbled over one another and sailed through the air, arms and legs flailing, usually screeching at the top of their lungs.
"Someone is going to get hurt doing ' this," muttered Perian.
"Oh, lighten up," retorted Flint. "These little guys have skulls thicker than the thane's best armor."
Indeed they must, concluded Perian as she watched a pair of them smack violently into the cavern wall, fall to the ground, and jump up beaming.
Between guffaws, Flint asked Nomscul, "Where did you say you learned this sport?"
Nomscul puffed out his chest. "We sneak teeny-tiny quiet into Big-Big Room and see Theiwar cracking walls with cattle-pult machines. It stupid name, since they fling rocks, not cattle. But it look like fun, so we do Agharpult."
"He's talking about the catapult range," Perian explained, amazed. "The thane's army trains with some of the heavy siege equipment in an enormous cavern on the second level.
They practice hitting targets painted on the walls. I'm sur prised any
gully dwarf has ever seen it, though. That room is quite a distance from here." Flint thought he saw a glim mer of admiration in Perian's eyes as she studied Nomscul, who just grinned back at her ridiculously.
With tears of laughter rolling down his cheeks, Flint watched the beefiest Aghar he'd seen yet, launch off the top of an Agharpult and try to do a somersault in midair. In stead of tucking under, however, he wound up sailing across the room spread-eagled and upside-down, finally splashing against the far wall and sliding down into a pool of muck.
Splashing?
Suddenly alert, Flint peered at the opposite wall, squint ing to make out details. Nudging Perian, he pointed and asked, "What's happening over there? The wall looks… squishy."
Perian followed his gesture and gasped. She saw the rock wall of the cave suddenly turned to mud and ooze slowly downward. The narrow tunnel to the Beast Pit gaped wider as its framework of rock melted away.
"It's collapsing!" She was instantly on her feet, shouting,
"We've got to get everyone out of here now!"
The gully dwarves blithely continued Agharpulting around the room, oblivious to the danger.
Flint, too, sprang to his feet, and grabbed Perian's elbow, staring in disbelief. "That's no cave-in!" he growled. "The wall's turning to mud."
"The chamber connecting to the Beast Pit is behind that wall," whispered Perian. Her worried glance told Flint that they both were thinking the same, terrifying thought.
They watched, horror-struck, as the rock oozed onto the cave floor. Soon the narrow tunnel gaped wide, and they both knew that nothing blocked the carrion crawler's pas sage into Mudhole.
Then they saw white, flailing tentacles beyond the open ing.
"Here it comes!" cried Perian. "These Aghar are helpless.
We've got to clear the chamber and barricade this thing out of the rest of Mudhole!"
"Hey! Beast go home!" shouted Nomscul, leaping to his feet and scolding the horrifying creature from across the huge cave.
Other Aghar turned and shouted in annoyance, fear, or confusion, as the beast crept forward.
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