Passroad.
The heavy pace of the march served to keep the Aghar warm, however, and the hardy gully dwarves showed a re markable resilience to the cold.
They had crested a low rise, Flint again in the lead, when he heard sounds before him and hastened his steps to reach the summit. In moments he stood atop the low hill and saw a wide, snow-filled valley stretching before him. The brown strip running through the valley was unmistakably the
Passroad. On the far side of the road the valley floor dropped steeply away, a long, descending slope that finally reached Stonehammer Lake, below and perhaps another mile distant. But what Flint saw on the Passroad made him groan audibly.
"We're too late," he mumbled, dazed, then turned to Per ian. "I thought you said they'd stay camped until dark."
The mountain dwarf was standing next to him. She col ored, and her voice was taut with bitterness. "Pitrick must have decided to take advantage of the cover the storm pro vided."
"I'm afraid so." Flint could only look helplessly at the scene in the valley below.
Three colors of plumes — red, black, and gray — waved in martial precision, as the thane's guards moved past them far below, perhaps two miles ahead. The three companies of mountain dwarves maintained distinct formations, but the whole column was a tight, disciplined military grouping.
The gully dwarves would never be able to catch them now, no matter how hard Flint drove them. Admitting de feat was bitter medicine. It took all of Flint's willpower not to collapse dejectedly in the snow. They had come too late and lost a third of their army in the first day. How had he ever been so foolish as to think they could win?
Perian elbowed him. "What's that?" she asked.
"What?" He was barely paying attention.
"Look — something's moving in the snow down there!" she said, pointing in the general direction of the amassed mountain dwarf troops. "Your eyes are better in this light than mine — tell me what that fuzzy blob is that's on this side of the road near the base of the mountain?"
"What?" Flint, despite his dejection, had his interest piqued. He, too, squinted down the distant, snowy fields toward the road. He saw a length of rippling snow, a shim rhering movement. Was that a leg I just saw? he wondered, baffled. Was that a pack of snow-covered animals moving down the slope?
Slowly the mass of movement became visible as many small, individual forms. Flint saw a tightly packed group of creatures, each snowy white on top. The snow, he finally realized, was carried atop each of the creatures upon a shield carried over his head.
"It the Wedgies!" Nomscul shrieked suddenly. Jumping up and down in his excitement, he slipped on the snow and top pled to the ground. "It old trick," he said offhandedly, pick ing himself up. "They hide under shields and creep at enemy!"
"But they'll be slaughtered out there alone and we're too far away to help them quickly!" Flint exclaimed, clenching and unclenching his fists in helpless frustration.
"Wait." Perian put a calming hand on Flint's arm, never taking her eyes from the events below. "The Wedgies have a chance. The derro don't seem to notice them yet, what with the snow covering them and the glare."
Stunned, king and queen looked on from a distance with two-thirds of their troops, as the Creeping Wedgies, now a rippling mass of shield-and snow-covered Aghar, continued to eke slowly forward. The Wedgies reached the Passroad just as the last company of Theiwar marched by, sporting gray plumes, some thirty feet behind the black-plumed rank. Total disorganization suddenly swept through the gray plumes, as the Wedgies infiltrated them.
Fully erupting from the snowy surface like jack-in-the boxes came a multitude of white, diminutive figures. Their appearance in the middle of the Theiwar company had thrown the unit into disarray, but swords rose and fell, and crimson stains appeared on the distant snow.
In confusion, the last company stopped and fell back from the other two regiments, who continued on, unaware of the distraction.
"It's the Silver Swords," observed Perian bitterly, "the thane's light infantry. If they can gather their ranks, the Wedgies will be cut down."
"We've got to try to help them!" Flint cried, though he knew it would be hard to reach them in time. He started to run down the slope toward the distant road. "Come on, gul lies! Charge!"
"We go, too!" A wave of gully dwarves started down the gentle, snowbound slope.
The king kept his eyes glued to the battle as he advanced.
Suddenly he saw a change. The Aghar of the Creeping
Wedgie had turned and bolted from the road, disappearing on the far side of the thoroughfare, over the slope that led down to Stonehammer Lake.
"Good, they're saving themselves!" Flint cried. "They didn't have a chance of stopping the mountain dwarves, anyway."
"But, look!" pointed Perian. "They're giving chase! Per haps the Wedgies have accomplished something after all."
Before Flint's astonished eyes, the Silver Swords, now far behind the two other ranks of derro who had continued blithely up the road, abruptly started down the slope after the Aghar. None of the mountain dwarves, hampered by their vision, seemed aware of Flint, Perian, and their troops thrashing their way down the snowy slope above.
"Shush!" Flint ordered his giggling, whooping charges in a harsh whisper. The retreating Aghar had disappeared by now down the steeper slope beyond the road, and the pur suing Theiwar had all followed.
After fifteen minutes of frantic plowing, Flint and his fol lowers set foot on the Passroad. Without even stopping for a breath, they rushed across and down the next slope after the Creeping Wedgies and the Silver Swords, unconcerned about detection now.
Their charge gained momentum as they slid down the steep bank toward the remaining Wedgies, who were gath ered now with their backs to the lake. The Theiwar had formed a contracting half-circle around them, and they were tightening it swiftly.
Overconfident, the Theiwar lunged in for the kill, and a number of the Aghar dropped lifeless into the snow. But others of the fleet-footed Aghar managed to dart away and pop up behind the heavily encumbered mountain dwarves.
Fighting dwarves swirled chaotically about the field. Shock ing crimson blotches appeared on the white snow.
Minutes later, when Flint and the rest of his troops reached the lakeshore, the situation had reversed: the mountain dwarves were enclosed in a semicircle of howling, growling gully dwarves.
"Get lompchuters!" Without waiting for a command from
Flint, Nomscul quickly formed his Agharpults. Flint charged forward, suddenly aware of gully dwarves soaring above him, crashing into the Theiwar beyond. Pooter screamed past, knocking three of the enemy into the river before he lost altitude and plunged into the water with a splash.
The rest of the Aghar smashed head-on into the line of Theiwar at the riverbank, ignoring the weaponry and ar mor of their foes in a courageous effort to follow their king into battle. Steel weapons cut cruel wounds into the loyal
Aghar. Flint snapped the neck of a Theiwar captain and he looked around for another target, reaching this time for his magnificent Tharkan Axe.
Suddenly he felt the very ground shift under his feet. Ap parently just an overhanging shelf of snow and ice, it broke off from the shore with a sharp crack under the extreme weight of the combatants. Hill, gully, and mountain dwarves were thrown into the deep, wintry waters of Stone hammer Lake. The ice floe drifted away from shore, break ing into smaller pieces that bobbed in the gentle current.
"Whee!"
"Yippee!"
"Go swimming again!"
The gully dwarves splashed and swam through the icy water like delighted children, dog-paddling toward the bank, then slowly scrambling out.
Not so the Theiwar. Weighted down by their chain shirts, inherently distrustful of water and unable to swim, the der ro struggled in the water, never deigning to call for help, un til each white head sank, one by one.
In moments, all that could be seen of the battle on the shore and lake were soggy
Aghar, climbing from the current and pleading with their king for permission to take another dip.
And a vastness of vacant black steel helmets lapping at the shoreline, gray plume-side down.
Chapter 21
Eye op thle Storm
Only an occasional beam of sunlight filtered through the thick canopy of dark pine boughs. Still, the for est floor seemed an uncomfortably bright place to the dwarves of the Theiwar army. They made camp before full daylight, fortunately finding a dense patch of woods where the pale-skinned, underground-dwelling derro could all but avoid the direct rays of the sun.
The ground lay beneath a blanket of snow, and the sticky, straight trunks of the trees seemed to merge overhead into a solid blanket of needles and snow-covered branches. The dampness and chill of the camp seemed a small price to pay for its chief virtue: that same thick canopy that provided a blessed escape from the light.
Many of the Theiwar veterans now tried to rest, having scraped the snow away from the small patches of ground that served as beds. A damp chill sank into their bones from the still, cold air.
One of the dwarves made no attempt to sleep, however:
Pitrick paced between several large trunks, following the tracks of his previous pacing, where he had worn the snow down to bare ground. His hands were clasped behind him, and the throbbing pain in his foot put him into a foul tem per. Perversely, he would not sit and rest that foot, even though the dwarves would be on the march again as soon as night fell.
"Where are they? Where's Grikk and his party?" he de manded, turning to look at a nearby derro, not expecting an answer. "They should have reported back by now!"
The hunchback peered anxiously between the trunks.
"They've deserted — that's what they've done!" He sneered at the imagined treachery. "I send them to find the Silver
Swords, and instead the miserable cowards have likely fled back to Thorbardin! They'll pay for this! By all that's mighty, I'll see Grikk flayed alive, slow-roasted! I'll see — "
"Excellency'" A sergeant approached him tentatively.
"Eh? What?"
"Grikk's coming, sir. Returned from the search."
"What?" Pitrick blinked, confused by his own tantrum.
"Very well — send him to me at once."
The scout, Grikk, a grizzled veteran with a patch over one eye and a beardless cheek that had been permanently scarred by a Hylar blade, clumped up to the adviser. "We searched the valley along this whole shore of the lake, Excel lency. There is no sign of the Swords — at least, nothing that we could see."
"Then go back and look again!"
"I'm sorry, sir." Grikk drew himself to his full height, his unpatched eye staring into his commander's face. "But we can't. We were blinded out there — I lost one of my scouts in the lake, simply because he couldn't see a drop-off under his feet!"
Pitrick saw that Grikk's exposed eye was puffy and bloodshot. He knew that the sun reflecting off the snow cre ated an impossible brightness. Frustration gnawed at him.
His body shook with tension, and he made little effort to bring himself under control.
"Excellency," Grikk said. "Perhaps we could go back and search tonight. It would only mean delaying the attack on
Hillhome for one day."
Pitrick's thoughts immediately turned to that nest of inso lent hill dwarves, little more than a mile away. His decision was easy.
"No!" he cried. "Tonight we attack Hillhome! Nothing can be allowed to delay our vengeance!" He stared through the woods, in the direction of the village filled with those loathsome enemies, the hill dwarves.
"When the sun rises tomorrow, it must shine upon Hill home's ruined remains."
When they finally crested a low ridge and Hillhome lay before them, Flint and Perian anxiously looked for signs of smoke or massive destruction. To their relief, they found neither. Instead, they saw that a large earthwork had been erected along the south border of the town — right across the
Passroad, Flint noted with satisfaction.
"So that's Hillhome," Perian breathed, picturing a young
Flint in that setting. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "It would appear they're expecting an army."
Flint let his arm fall around her shoulder for a moment, pride making his eyes sparkle. "The young harrn pulled it off. Basalt actually did it. We did it.
"Double time, you bug-eating, belching bunch of Aghar!"
Flint bellowed, using their favorite pet names, and they started down the long ridge.
At the bottom of the slope, the gully dwarves, sensing the importance of the moment, marched in the precise military formation Flint had dubbed the "mob of chaos." Its success could be said to be achieved when the majority of the gully dwarves were moving rather quickly in approximately the same direction.
This was easily accomplished now because the Aghar were universally fascinated by the small community before them. They climbed over each other and pushed one an other in their haste to enter Hillhome.
For all of the Aghar, this was their first experience with a hill dwarf community, or any above-ground community for that matter. As they approached Hillhome, they stared to the right and left, awestruck by the architectural marvels around them.
"What in the name of all the gods is this?" said Mayor
Holden, witnessing the gully dwarf stampede as he stood with a shovel at the outskirts of town. "Oh, it's you, Fire forge," he added, recognizing Flint at the lead. He cast a scornful gaze at the whooping gully dwarves. "What are those slugs doing here, and at a time like this?"
Flint grabbed the mayor, whom he had never really liked, by the lapels. "Nobody calls my troops slugs except me!
Show some respect to the Aghar who are willing to give up their lives protecting your town!"
"Uncle Flint!" cried Basalt from nearby, throwing down his shovel and racing toward his uncle. Flint released the mayor, who muttered some sort of apology as he skulked back to his digging.
"You really came through," said Flint. "I'm proud of you, pup." He gestured at the wide earthwork, the bustling dwarves extending it to either side.
"We've gathered some weapons, too," said Basalt, his pride obvious in his voice. "A couple hundred, anyway — enough for half the town."
"You mean four hundred hill dwarves are willing to fight for this old town?" Flint said, honestly surprised.
"Yup!" Basalt was clearly proud of his kinsmen, and Flint enjoyed the change in his nephew. "And even the ones who can't fight are busy sewing leather right now. They're mak ing padded leather breastplates for as many of us as they can."
"Excellent," Flint pronounced. "But what'll they do when the fighting starts?"
"We've got provisions stored in some caves, up in the hills. At first sign of the mountain dwarves, the old folks and youngsters will head out of town," Basalt explained.
Tybalt, Ruberik, and Bertina joined them, together with an attractive young dwarf maid whom Flint recognized as
Hildy, the daughter of the town's brewer. They greeted him warmly, and even Ruberik unbent his spine — just a little, for a brief moment — to nod his respect toward his brother.
Flint, in turn, introduced them to Perian, who stood at his side. Bertina gave her a scrutinizing glance, but was satisfied enough with the mountain dwarf to give her a cheerful hello.
"What about the mountain dwarves?" asked Tybalt. "Ba salt told us that they're on the move already. How far have they gotten?"
Flint looked to Basalt in surprise and the young harrn held up his hand, showing the steel-banded ring on his finger. "It was easy, with this," he explained. "I teleported down the road until I saw 'em marching toward the shore of Stone hammer Lake. That was early last night. I was afraid they'd attack this morning, before you could get here."
"Hey — cut that out!" At the sound of the irate voice, Flint looked around to see another young dwarf chasing a pair of
Aghar who had snatched his shovel while he rested from the rigors of e
xcavation. "Give that back to me, you little runts, or I'll rip yer ears off!"
Somehow, Flint wasn't surprised to find gully dwarves at the other end of the rebuke. If the Aghar were ever going to work with the hill dwarves, some ground rules had to be established.
"Limper! Wet-nose! Stop that right now!" Flint bellowed.
Each of the gully dwarves actually stopped to look at him before they went on to make insulting gestures at their pur suer with their feet.
Groaning, Flint turned back to his comrades. "The moun tain dwarves, yes. We lost sight of them before dawn. For all
I know they could be coming around the bend of the valley in ten minutes."
"I don't think so," Perian disagreed. "I'm sure they won't be moving during the day. We have till at least sunset to pre pare, but I'll be surprised if we don't see them right around then."
"Well, that's something, anyway — a few hours," said
Flint, pleased both at Hillhome's farsightedness and the fact that his Aghar had marched considerably faster, over rougher country, than had the dwarves of Pitrick's army.
Basalt took the arms of both Flint and Perian. "Why are we talking in this dusty street? We'll be here by need soon enough. Let's go to Moldoon's — Turq Hearthstone is run ning it now — to discuss the details."
Everyone agreed. Admonishing Nomscul to behave and make sure his fellow Aghar did the same, Flint and the rest set out through the village and past the brewery to the north edge of town, where Moldoon's Inn beckoned invitingly.
For a moment the dwarf almost believed that his old com panion would come to the door of his inn to greet them. The truth brought a thick lump to his throat, and he made a si lent vow to avenge Moldoon's death tenfold.
It was early afternoon, and Flint and Perian were fam ished. Turq brought them heaping plates of fresh, buttered bread and stew. The innkeeper noted their noses wrinkled in distaste.
"The bread's great, Turq, but have you something other than stew?" At the dwarf's puzzled expression, Flint held up a hand and shook his head ruefully. "Don't ask; it's too com plicated and not worth the bother to explain. But some meat would be most welcome, if you have it."
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