Flint the King p2-2

by Mary Kirchoff

  I'm afraid we lost two score or more." She turned to Flint as

  Tybalt started off to join the defenders at the brewery.

  "That many, maybe a few more, fell on the other side," said Flint, trying to keep his voice level. The picture of

  Garf's surprised look and Bernhard's valiant charge lingered in his mind.

  Perian's soft smile showed that she understood. "And you, with that axe! I could see you clear across the wall, swinging it like you were blazing a trail."

  "Wasn't I?" Flint asked, grimly.

  "Yes. But so many of our own have fallen, too," Perian ob served quietly as most of the rest of their force moved past.

  The last few hill dwarves trotted by. Up the road, Pitrick's marching Theiwar could be heard plainly, still an interval away but resolutely advancing through the defenseless town.

  "Let's get to cover," Flint suggested.

  "Wait," said Perian. "I want to check for more of the

  Wedgies — I saw Fester leading a group into the village."

  "There's no time!" Flint objected, groaning. Yet he knew they could not leave their charges in the village, exposed to the Theiwar attackers, if there was any chance of getting them to safety.

  "I'll just be a minute," Perian said. "Keep the gate open for me."

  Swallowing his further objections, since they would just waste time, Flint said, "Hurry!" Then he watched as she darted between a pair of buildings toward the direction taken by Fester. With an anxious look up the road, he was mildly relieved to see no sign yet of the advancing mountain dwarves. Flint broke into a run, and soon rounded the curve in the road that took him toward the brewery.

  The stone wall of that enclave now loomed ahead, the last battlement of the defenders of Hillhome. But a strong bas tion it might prove to be; only one gate provided access to the courtyard within that wall, which was six to eight feet thick at its base. The brewery consisted of three buildings: a barn, the vat house, and an office and storage building.

  Each of these three structures was placed inside the com pound, against one of the courtyard's four walls.

  At the gate he found Ruberik and Tybalt, together with a dozen armed hill dwarves. This group waited in the street, holding the gate open while they tried to ascertain that all the defenders had passed inside.

  "The vat house windows are blocked," reported Tybalt.

  "There's a hundred of us in there, with swords, spears and pitchforks — and also, the Wedgies. I don't think the derro'll be coming in that way."

  "Is everyone inside now?" asked Flint.

  "This is most of us," said Ruberik as a dozen more hill dwarves, led by Turq Hearthstone, sprinted around a corner and joined the group at the gate.

  "I didn't see anyone back there," Turq gasped. "I think ev eryone's gotten away — at least, everyone who could still walk," he added grimly.

  "I'll stand at the gate," said Flint. "We can hold it open for another minute. At least until we can see them coming."

  Hurry, Perian, he urged silently. "Can you go into the vat house?" Flint asked Tybalt and Ruberik. "See how Basalt and Hildy are faring. We've got to be ready for an attack from behind."

  The two Fireforge brothers nodded at Flint. Each of them clasped one of his hands and for a moment they stood to gether in silence. "You and Basalt have given Hillhome a chance," Ruberik said quietly to Flint. "And whatever the outcome, we're all grateful for that."

  Flint cleared his throat awkwardly and winked. "What do you mean, 'whatever the outcome'?" His brothers smiled at his forced joviality, then turned to pass through the gate.

  Looking up at the high stone wall, Flint thought that his village just might have a chance. True, they would be sur rounded, cut off from escape or food supply. But the moun tain dwarves would have difficulty attacking them. If they could hold the Theiwar off for a while — though how long such a while might be, he had no idea — they might outlast their dark-dwelling foe.

  Then Flint turned and looked up the street. He heard sounds of the enemy approaching, but as yet he could see nothing in the distant darkness.

  Where was Perian?

  Darting around the corner of an old warehouse, Perian looked up and down the side street. When she saw no sign of

  Aghar, she didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.

  Then she heard a sound coming from the open door of a darkened greengrocer's shop. Crouching, she slipped across the street and looked into the store.

  "Hi, Queen Furryend! Get food for fort!" 'Fester beamed at her, looking up from her efforts at collecting bacon, pick les, and other provisions. The Aghar's mouth was outlined in white sugar — apparently some of her supplies would be transported internally — but her apron bulged with food.

  Other gully dwarves moved forward from the shadows at the rear of the store, laden with pork, cheese, bread, and melons.

  "Good, Fester — that's great! But you've got to hurry, now! Are there more of you near here?"

  Fester nodded her head. "More get hungry and get food."

  "Good! Now, run to the fort as fast as you can!" Perian barked the command sharply.

  Fester looked momentarily puzzled, but then dashed for the door. The other Aghar, nearly a dozen in all, raced be hind the "weighty lady."

  Perian followed them from the store, looking anxiously up the side street. She heard the tromp of heavy footsteps to the west, though the derro were still some distance away.

  With relief, she saw Fester and her companions disappear in the direction of the brewery.

  Were there any more stragglers? She looked around, her sensitive eyes seeing well in the darkness; she spotted no

  Aghar. The sounds of armored dwarves on the march came closer on Main Street, but still there were no derro on this side avenue.

  Pivoting smoothly, she turned toward the brewery. The structure was visible at the limits of her vision, its tall, fea tureless wall offering protection. The gate lay just around the corner, and there she would find Flint. A quick, low dash, and she would reach the shelter of that fortress before the attacking Theiwar.

  A blue wash of light spilled through the street, and Perian knew that Pitrick was near.

  "Come!" The lone word echoed through the night out of nowhere. She heard the savant's voice as she tried to break into a run, but something in the power of his voice — in the power of his word — held her step.

  Perian whirled to face him, ready to shriek her hatred and revulsion. Instead, she took a step toward him. Gaping in astonishment, she looked down at her feet even as she took another step toward the repulsive hunchback.

  "I knew I'd find you!" he crowed.

  Perian tried to articulate a challenge, or to raise her axe in defense. But her mouth clamped shut, beyond her control, while her arms hung slack at her sides. She felt, but could not stop, her axe slipping from her numb fingers. The weapon dropped to the ground.

  Again that blue light surged, and she saw its reflection in Pitrick's eyes. He leered at her, all but licking his lips, as she stumbled forward another step. Perian thought of the walled fort, of Flint waiting for her at the gate. The knowl edge halted her advance as she resolutely planted her feet, ignoring the compelling power of Pitrick's spell.

  But the derro raised his hand and curtly gestured her for ward. Once again she took a step toward him, fighting the impulse with every ounce of her will, but helpless against the grip of his power. Perian stared at the hideous figure, cocky in his deformed stance, the grotesque hump pressing him into his forward-stooping posture. His huge eyes gleamed at her, glowing like dire beacons in the night.

  Flint! She wanted to cry his name, to fall into his arms, but instead there was only the grinning apparition of Pitrick before her, growing larger with each inevitable footstep.

  The hunchback planted his fists on his hips, sneering confi dently as Perian stumbled closer still. In moments she would be within his reach; he seemed to take a perverse pleasure in bringing her toward him, while he rema
ined immobile, waiting.

  Her attention riveted to that hateful face, Perian felt as though she and Pitrick w, re the only beings in the world — a world that had become very forlorn indeed. Blue light seeped from his amulet, and it was the only light she knew.

  Blindly, helplessly, she stepped toward him again, and once more.

  A few more paces would take her to his side. She strug gled to speak, to cry out, but her mouth remained slack, her arms frozen at her sides. Only her feet moved in that slow, doomful cadence.

  "Come, spiteful wench. Come, and feel the touch of your master! Come, and meet your death!" Pitrick threw back his head and laughed into the night.

  Perian took a final step and then stood before him. Waves of despair tormented her soul. Pitrick reached forward with a clenched, clawlike hand, raising his fingers toward her face.

  He touched her cheek.

  Pain flashed through her skin as he made contact. His ca ress was like a shot of vile sickness, far worse than the clean wound of a steel blade. Sheets of agony wracked her body, bringing hot tears to her eyes.

  And, finally, the pain broke the thrall of his magic. With a groan, Perian crumpled to her knees, clasping a hand to the cheek he had touched. She twisted away from Pitrick. She was free.

  "You disgust me!" she spat, leaping back to her feet.

  Pitrick stepped backward in momentary surprise. At the same time, blue magic erupted from his amulet, but the light diffused through the night, out of its master's control.

  "Stop!" he cried, groping for his axe.

  But Perian, too, was beyond his control now. She felt for her own weapon, remembering that her axe had fallen from her hands. The march of the advancing derro sounded around her, and she knew that the Theiwar would soon come to their commander's rescue.

  Desperately, her fingers reached toward her belt and closed about the hilt of the small knife — her only weapon.

  She raised it and slashed wildly, feeling a grim satisfaction as the blade drove into Pitrick's hastily raised forearm. He screamed and slumped backward, tearing the blade from her grip.

  Perian jerked away and saw the charging forms of black armored mountain dwarves in the darkness beyond Pitrick.

  Some animal instinct in her wanted to stay, to keep striking him until he was dead, but her rational side told her there wasn't time.

  She turned and sprinted toward the brewery, hearing the savant's hysterical shrieks of hatred. She did not see him reach for his amulet, though the blue light flared before she could dart around the corner. Lightning crackled through the night.

  "Hurry!" Flint cried, overcome with relief as Perian stum bled toward him. The Theiwar troops advanced down the road behind her, but he swept her into his arms and together they tumbled through the gate. Other hill dwarves slammed the heavy portals shut and dropped the bars to lock them.

  "You made it!" he grinned, gasping for breath and rolling over to look at Perian. "I was so worried!"

  She smiled weakly and took his hand in hers. He was sur prised to see that it was covered with blood. Then his eyes widened in horror as he saw the deep wounds, blistered by hot magic, in her back and along her left side.

  "Perian!" he cried in disbelief.

  Her smile slowly faded.

  Chapter 24

  When Gods Collide

  "She's — they're getting away!" Pitnick's voice ex ploded in a shrill screech of outrage. "Incompetent fools!

  You're letting them escape!"

  Watching Perian slip away, the hunchback limped into the main street, his hand clasped over the wound in his arm.

  His hatred of Perian and all that she stood for flared to new heights, causing him to tremble beyond control. Flecks of spit drooled, unnoticed, from his lips as he raved. Her es cape only served to inflame him further. Through the smoke of the lightning bolt he'd cast, he had seen that she was mightily wounded. Despite this knowledge, Pitrick could think only of total, mindless destruction.

  "Excellency, please!" pleaded one of his battle-weary ser geants. The leader of the derro looked up at him, smoke and grime smeared across the white skin of his face. His bristling beard and hair had many scorched patches, singed during the battle.

  "The hill dwarves have gathered in one large building — they have not gotten away!" The warrior spoke quickly, fearful of his commander's wrath. "They are trapped there, waiting for us to draw tight the noose!"

  Pitrick dropped his fist, a thin smile creasing his gro tesque face. "Trapped? All of them?"

  "All that we could see, sir. It's a stout building, with a heavy gate. But I think we can bash it down."

  "Good. Very good." The hunchback abruptly sat down on the street, thinking. His face lightened still further as an idea occurred to him.

  "Let the hill dwarf scum sit and watch while we burn their village!" Pitrick ordered, springing to his feet. "Put the torch to every building, every barn, every pile of hay in

  Hillhome!" He imagined the conflagration consuming the town around him, and the thought gave him much pleasure.

  "Excellency, I have a suggestion," said the sergeant, with unusual courage.

  Pitrick looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then gestured for the derro to speak.

  "It will be dawn soon — no more than an hour to first light, and in another hour the sun will drive us under cover.

  I urge that we attack the hill dwarves immediately, destroy them now, while darkness still surrounds us. Then we can destroy their town at our leisure.

  "But, if we stop to burn now," the sergeant continued, knowing he risked his life by daring to suggest a plan counter to the idea of his temperamental commander, "the sun will rise before the battle is concluded, and we will have given the hill dwarves another day of life."

  Without pause, the sergeant rushed on. "The hill dwarves have already proven resourceful and treacherous. Who knows what they will do while the sun shines and we are at the disadvantage. Excellency, we are on the verge of a great victory! I urge you to finish the fight now, while this victory is within our grasp!"

  Pitrick grew suddenly, ominously calm. Then he spoke.

  "Very well. We will destroy the enemy first. Now, where is this building that shelters them?"

  The derro sergeant, concealing a sigh of relief, described the brewery to the adviser as they walked up Hillhome's de serted Main Street. Pitrick knew that his savants had ex pended their most potent spells against the earthwork, and would be of little use in the next battle. They would need to spend many hours studying their spellbooks before they could again cast the volleys of magic missiles or storm of hail that had proven so decisive on the wall.

  And Pitrick, too, had employed most of his spells al ready. One or two might prove useful in breaking into the fortress, and then there were several he saved for his antici pated confrontation with Perian and the insolent Flint Fire forge.

  Unconsciously, Pitrick fingered the dark battle-axe at his side. He had not yet used it, but he looked forward with cruel anticipation to the chance to drive it into a hill dwarf body. Perhaps even Flint Fireforge would find himself tast ing the bitter steel of that Theiwar blade.

  They came to the brewery, and Pitrick quickly took in the formidable nature of the position. The gate was the obvious vulnerable point, but he would also send his forces against the walls, using makeshift ladders, poles, and whatever else they could find. He had no doubt that they would quickly break into the last-ditch fortress.

  His subcommanders gathered around, waiting for his or ders. "We will take them here. Attack from all sides.

  "And as for the gate," Pitrick said to his sergeant. "Make a battering ram."

  The derro hurled themselves at the stone-walled brewery, assaulting it from every side. They scrambled up the steep wall, they bashed against the gate, and they pressed hard to break through the barricaded windows along the back wall.

  Everywhere the defenders stood firm.

  Some of the Theiwar laid long poles against the top of
the wall, and slowly inched up these crude ramps in an attempt to force their way over the barrier. Others found ladders in nearby barns and shops and used them to climb the walls more directly.

  But the top was several feet wide, and this made a good platform for the defenders. In several places, mud-slick piles of earth from inside the compound had been used to bolster the walls. The sloping surfaces of these served as easy routes to the top, allowing many hill and gully dwarves to scram ble up.

  The defenders fought resolutely. The Aghar of the Creep ing Wedgie, organized by Nomscul and Fester, found a new use for their shields, conking the derro on the head as the en emy reached the top of the wall. The hill dwarves, inspired by Fidelia Fireforge and Turq Hearthstone, used pitchforks, shovels, and spears to strike at the derro climbing the lad ders. They learned to knock the poles aside and drive the ladders toppling to the ground.

  To the rear of the compound, more Theiwar hurled them selves with savage abandon against the barricaded win dows. They hacked the wooden barriers to pieces, flinging themselves through the narrow openings this created. But, within the vat-house, Basalt and Hildy directed an equally savage defense. Each attacking derro no sooner squirmed through the entrance than was impaled by the weapons of a half-dozen hill dwarves. Soon the bodies of the attackers piled up, creating an additional obstacle to the Theiwar.

  The gate was the weakest point of the defense, though be hind it stood a sturdy company of hill dwarf fighters. Tybalt

  Fireforge stood with these, watching the creaking gates. The portals swung farther with each crash of the ram, and the cracking of the beams became more and more visible as dawn's light diffused through the courtyard.

  Then, creaking and splintering, the gates began to collapse.

  Flint barely noticed the heavy pounding at the gate. He held Perian's limp form in his arms. She was unconscious, her breathing shallow and weak.

  He had enlisted Fidelia's and Ruberik's help to carry her into the storeroom, where he tried to make her comfortable on a bed of hay and blankets.