The carrion crawler's enormous bulk slithered through a round hole perhaps twelve feet in diameter as its tendrils lashed back and forth hungrily.
"If we don't get the Aghar out of here quickly, they'll stampede!" Instinctively Flint reached for the axe that would normally be at his waist, but found nothing. He cursed the fates that had placed him in this chamber without so much as Happenstance, the rusty dagger, to defend his "kingdom."
Screams and shouts rose through the Big Sky Room, and
Aghar bolted in every direction. Some, by coincidence more than intent, actually headed toward the Thrown
Room — which was the Aghar's new name for Flint's and
Perian's quarters — or the rest of Mudhole. Most darted around blindly, screaming, waving their arms, or huddling on the ground, terrified by the approach of the monster.
"Follow me!" shouted Perian. An officer of the House
Guard was trained to lead by example, not to mention ex pected to be followed. She grabbed a carving knife and started for the footbridge at a run, ready to cross it and con front the monster personally.
"Get to the Thrown Room!" Flint's voice was a thunder ous bellow, but even that sound was washed away in the panic-stricken babble of hundreds of Aghar. A few of his closer subjects started toward the exits, but chaos reigned in the cavern. Flint snagged Fester, the nearest Aghar, by her collar. She held a large, bent roasting fork in her hand.
"Fester, look at me!" commanded Flint. "Tell everyone to get into the Thrown Room. Get everyone to the Thrown
Room!"
The frawl stared at Flint dumbly for a moment, but he held her arms until he saw the fear fade from her eyes, and then she nodded vigorously. He took the fork from her hand and turned her loose, and immediately she began pushing
Aghar toward the exits. One down, thought Flint.
Turning back to the action, Flint saw several Aghar run blindly into the beast, only to be struck and paralyzed by the flailing tentacles. The small forms tumbled to the ground, but thankfully the beast didn't stop to feed on them immediately. Flint hoped it wouldn't get a second chance later on.
But how could they stop it? He sprinted after Perian, see ing her reach the footbridge and start across with Nomscul at her heels. The roasting fork in his hand was a pathetic weapon, but anything was better than his bare hands against the huge, segmented monster.
More Aghar fell before the beast, and it crawled over the motionless forms, intent on the great mass of prey before it.
Almost gleefully, it surged upward, stretching its bloated body a dozen feet in the air, still lashing with its tentacles.
Suddenly Perian stopped on the bridge and screamed.
Nomscul, right behind the queen, ran into her and fell back ward onto the approach to the bridge. Flint saw the hid eous, hunchbacked figure of Pitrick soaring through the air over her head. The derro was flying straight for Perian!
Raising the long fork, undaunted by the incongruity of the gesture, Flint sprang toward the narrow footbridge. He saw the grotesque Theiwar land near Perian and seize her wrist in his right hand. The frawl twisted back, but Pitrick pinned her against the railing on the side of the bridge. The derro settled to the planks beside her and spoke a sharp word, cancelling his flying spell so that he could place his weight on the ground.
Nomscul climbed to his feet and charged forward, only to be kicked aside by one of Pitrick's heavy boots. Desperately, Perian pulled away. Flint charged as fast as he could, push ing his way through the Aghar.
"Your smoke weed will be a little delayed — but no worry.
You will be leaving with me," hissed Pitrick to Perian, the thick odor of mushale heavy on his breath.
Pitrick gripped his amulet with one hand, staring into
Perian's eyes. She twisted in his grasp but could not break away.
"Kan-straithian!" he barked. Instantly the blue light flashed. The savant released Perian and turned to face the charging hill dwarf. Nomscul, climbing to his feet behind
Perian, seemed momentarily forgotten.
Perian tried to run but her feet refused to move, as if they had been cemented to the bridge. She tried to turn, to open her mouth and speak, and found herself paralyzed by magic. Her eyes wild, she struggled against the spell, but Pitrick's magic had her frozen in place.
"Now for you," growled Pitrick, his huge eyes glaring in sanely at Flint. The hunchback's fingers tightened around the amulet, and he raised his hand to point a bony finger at the charging dwarf. Flint knew that he would never reach
Pitrick before the derro cast his spell.
"Incinerus… Incinetoria…" Pitrick began his spell, sneering at Flint, preparing to envelop him in an inferno of sorcerous fire. He did not notice Nomscul stepping around
Perian's petrified form.
"In-sin-jin-fin-jin yourself!" challenged Nomscul, aping
Pitrick's wizardly pose. He thrust his magic sack before him self and clapped it sharply between his hands, throwing a cloud of fine dust into the air.
Pitrick recoiled from the insidious powder, but too late to keep it from his nose, eyes, and throat. His fingers stabbed at his burning eyes, and then his whole body doubled over.
"Ah… uhhh… CHOO!" Pitrick's sneeze almost blasted Nomscul from the bridge.
"Maggot!" Pitrick hissed, stumbling away from the dust cloud. He delivered a vicious kick to Nomscul. The little shaman crashed through the railing of the bridge and splashed into the pool, gasping and wailing.
Then Flint reached the bridge, racing full-tilt toward the derro, his roasting fork poised above his head. Still strug gling to regain his senses, Pitrick snatched a long, straight dagger from his belt.
Below them, Nomscul popped to the surface of the pool.
"You got my magic stuff all wet!" he whined, paddling to ward the bank.
The two dwarves came together. Flint's momentum car ried Pitrick over backward. Locked together, each strug gling for an advantage, they rolled over and over toward the shore. Each held his own weapon in one hand, his oppo nent's wrist in the other.
As they tumbled onto land, Pitrick thrust out his leg, pin ning Flint below him. He threw all his weight behind his weapon, forcing the blade down toward Flint's unprotected chest. Caught off guard, the hill dwarf strove to straighten his arm, but Pitrick's blade inched closer. Desperately Flint kicked the derro away and rolled to the side. Both combat ants jumped to their feet, stabbing and parrying as they scrambled momentarily to a safe range.
"You thought to escape me, hill dwarf?" cackled Pitrick, breathing heavily. "I admit you surprised me by surviving the Beast Pit."
Pitrick stabbed at him, but Flint skipped out of the way, driving his own long, pronged weapon into the derro's chest. As they jumped apart Flint expected to see blood on his enemy's robe, but instead he saw links of chain mail shining through the ripped fabric. Glancing at his weapon, he saw that the tines of the roasting fork had been bent and twisted — such a feeble weapon would never punch through the derro's armor.
"I'm full of surprises, too," taunted the Theiwar. "Here's another: when I finish with you, your whole town will be next to perish. You've shown me that Hillhome and all your sun-dwelling kin are too dangerous to my plans!"
"You should live so long," growled Flint, feinting toward Pitrick's left side. Nonetheless, the warning sent shivers along the hill dwarf's spine. Pitrick had to be stopped, now!
The evil derro sneered as he evaded the attack. "I shall, with Perian at my side. Together we shall destroy Hillhome and make slaves of its people."
The derro turned and darted along the side of the pool, moving with surprising speed. Flint raced after him. The hill dwarf knew his only hope was to press the derro so closely that he could not cast a spell.
Both figures turned suddenly when they heard Perian shout, "I'm free!" As the last effects of Pitrick's hold spell fi nally wore off, the frawl spun and started toward them. She snatched up a long, sharp cooking knife. Grinning, Flint t
urned back toward Pitrick.
But the savant surprised him. Instead of reaching for his amulet, Pitrick laughed defiantly and touched the ring on his left hand. Instantly the derro disappeared from sight.
Perian's scream drew Flint's attention back over his shoul der. Suddenly Pitrick was standing next to her, and the der ro seized her left arm with both hands.
"I must leave now," he taunted Flint. "But I will be back, once I see that my property gets safely home." He leered at
Perian, and icy daggers drove into Flint's heart.
Snarling, the hill dwarf dashed toward the bridge. He saw
Pitrick reach toward the ring, even while holding tightly to
Perian.
Neither Flint nor Pitrick could have anticipated Perian's next move. Just before the derro touched his ring and tele ported them away, the frawl's right hand came around, still holding the carving knife which she had picked up earlier.
The hunchback twisted his arm upward, blocking only a blow to his face. He realized too late that was not Perian's target.
Instead the knife slashed into Pitrick's hand, slicing through skin and bone. The Theiwar shaman screamed and pulled away, with blood streaming down his arm. Two fin gers, sliced cleanly off, splashed into the water.
On one of them gleamed a small circlet of twisted wire.
Gagging and shrieking, Pitrick stumbled backward, cra dling his mangled hand. Perian looked in shock at the blood streaking her robe.
The din in the cavern echoed around them. Some Aghar fled from the carrion crawler, while others attacked it with utensils. Their courage was worse than useless against the creature since the beast's tough hide turned aside their at tacks. Its sticky tendrils lashed across the gully dwarves' skin, dropping them to the ground, helpless and paralyzed.
"Finish him!" shouted Flint, sprinting back onto the bridge, charging the howling derro.
Now Pitrick looked up with real fear in his eyes. He saw Flint charging, saw the murderous rage in the hill dwarf's eyes, and he staggered off the opposite side of the bridge, desperately fishing in his pouch for something.
Flint didn't slow down as he saw the Theiwar pull out a small, clear bottle. Pitrick raised the flask to his lips and swallowed the contents in one gulp, just as Flint launched himself toward him.
The hill dwarf plowed into Pitrick, driving him to the ground. Flint raised the fork, ready to plunge it into the squirming mage's neck.
But suddenly that neck was gone. As Flint watched in dis belief, Pitrick's entire body dissipated into a pale cloud of vapor. Flint slashed at it futilely with his makeshift weapon.
But the cloud drifted away from him, and then passed through the hole in the cavern wall. In moments it disap peared from view entirely.
"Damnation!" hollered Flint, watching the gaseous form of his enemy slip away.
"We still have troubles," Perian barked urgently. "Look!"
Flint turned to see that the massive carrion crawler had reached the exit to the Thrown Room. He could trace the creature's path across the cavern by counting the fallen bodies of Aghar. Dozens lay in a twisted line across the ca vern floor.
He heard Nomscul's voice, issuing orders.
"Hey, Agharpulters! Do it do it do it! Agharpult! Stomp that big ugly thing! Pult pult pult!"
Teams of gully dwarves were gathering before the beast.
The Aghar formed their pyramids and launched themselves at the carrion crawler, heedless of the danger, What they hoped to accomplish was unclear. But the carrion crawler was clearly distracted by the spectacle of their bodies flying over its head and crashing into the walls behind.
Flint ran through the cavern, frantically encouraging the Agharpulters. If they could distract the beast long enough, he could…
What could he do? He looked at the roasting fork in his hand, and then at the looming carrion crawler, and tossed the fork aside. At the same time, his eyes passed over the roasting meat, still sizzling on its steel-shafted spear.
Flint hesitated only for a moment. By Reorx, those ribs smelled good. And they were just about done, too. His mouth watered as he hoisted the red hot spear off the fire, then dropped it from his burning hands. He peeled off his robe and wound it round his hands, then grasped the spear again. Several dozen ribs weighted down the shaft, but pull ing the meat off would take too many precious minutes.
"Jump! Faster!" He heard Perian commanding the gully dwarves, directing the erratic Agharpults toward their tar get. More and more of their subjects flew through the air with better aim this time, crashing into the rearing monster.
They didn't harm the beast, but they fully occupied its at tention.
Seeing Flint laboring with the heavy weapon, Perian raced to his side. The two of them lifted the spear between them and cautiously moved around to the monster's side.
The thing's wormlike head remained fixed upon the shriek ing, flying Aghar.
"Now!" Flint barked. The two of them rushed forward, holding the meat-laden spear at shoulder height. The steel tip struck the carrion crawler between two of its segments, a few feet back from its head.
Instantly it whirled, but the two dwarves, working smoothly, turned in the same direction, just avoiding those paralyzing tendrils.
"Push!" grunted Perian, and they shoved the spear deep into the monster's vile insides. Blue pus oozed from the wound, coating the meat that backed up along the shaft as the spear drove deeper and deeper into the monster.
The carrion crawler shivered and twitched, flopping to the ground as its legs collapsed. Its struggles grew weaker as
Perian and Flint twisted and probed with the weapon, try ing to strike a vital organ. Finally, with one last spasm, it ceased to move.
All around them lay gully dwarves paralyzed by the car rion crawler or stunned by their launch from an Agharpult.
Flint was covered by scrapes and bruises from his fight with
Pitrick, and by meat juices from the cooking spear. Perian's hands and robe were splotched red with Pitrick's blood. Ex hausted, they stared at each other for a long moment.
"I was scared… when Pitrick grabbed you, I was scared he'd take you away, and I wouldn't be able to stop him."
Flint glanced at the ground, then looked back into Perian's face. "I'm so glad…" He reached out and pulled her into his arms, crushed her to his chest.
"I'm glad, too," she whispered, pulling his face to hers and kissing him. Flint's heart thumped harder than it had when
Pitrick threatened his life.
And then Flint peeled Perian's arms loose and stepped away. "We can't do this," he growled. "We're different, in side and out, and there's no hope for a match like ours."
"You can't know that," she cried, reaching after him.
But he stepped back again. "I know it."
Chapter 16
Misguided Mission
"Do you really think he'd do it?" Flint asked Perian.
He paced about the small Thrown Room several hours after the magical battle with the derro savant during the "crowna tion" party. "He'd destroy a whole village of innocent hill dwarves simply for revenge against me?"
Flint and Perian had helped the gully dwarves begin the cleanup of the Big Sky Room, entombing the casualties of
Pitrick's magic in temporary vaults in the wall of a secluded mine shaft. Fortunately only nine of the Aghar had suc cumbed to the assault. Those brave Aghar who had been paralyzed by the carrion crawler's tentacles were slowly re covering in a makeshift infirmary under Shaman Nomscul's care.
Next Flint had ordered the rebuilding of the hole in the wall to discourage any further attacks by Pitrick, piling rocks of all sizes before it. Another crew was assigned the grim task of dismembering the beast, since it was far too large to remove intact from Mudhole's narrow egress.
After he'd initiated these programs, Flint had returned, exhausted, to the Thrown Room, where Perian put salve and a bandage over a magic-inflicted burn on Flint's arm.
They were bot
h too wound up to sleep.
Sitting on the edge of the moss bed now, hunched over a small table, quill in hand, Perian nodded her copper head emphatically in answer to Flint's question. "Pitrick is the most insanely cruel and powerful dwarf I've ever known.
Why, once I saw him — never mind," she amended, shaking away the story when she noted Flint's preoccupied look.
The hill dwarf smote his open palm angrily. "Blast my wicked temper! I never should have told him Hillhome knew anything about the weapons or Aylmar. It was a lie anyway!" He kicked the wall with the toe of his boot.
Perian shook her head. "You can't blame yourself for Pit rick's villainy! He's always hated hill dwarves — it was inevi table that his hatred would someday be turned against Hillhome."
Flint snorted and threw up his hands. "But now I've given
Hillhome less of a chance! I only hope I get back before it's too late."
She glanced up from the notes she was making on an old scrap of parchment and shook her head. "But they wouldn't have had any chance otherwise, because they wouldn't have known an attack was coming. When you think about it that way, you've done them a favor!" She propped her head up with a hand on her cheek.
Flint frowned. "Thanks for saying that, but this is still my fault."
Perian pushed the curls on her forehead from her eyes and pursed her lips. "Pitrick's obsession with me hasn't helped matters." She shook her head fiercely. "I can't help but think that this would not have happened if I'd confronted him sooner, or even told the thane I thought he was crazy. Per haps I should have just given him what he wanted!" She shuddered.
Flint shuddered, too. He had no difficulty imagining what
Pitrick had desired from the frawl. He found himself look ing beneath Perian's warm hazel eyes to her soft, fuzzy cheeks. He remembered the vision of her in Pitrick's grasp just a few hours ago, and his blood boiled. 'You could not have given him that. It would have been worse than death."
Perian looked straight ahead without blinking. "No, I couldn't have done that."
Flint looked brightly at the paper beneath her hand on the rickety table. "What are you doing?"
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