Shivering, he sat up and took a look around. Almost immediately he spotted an opening in the side of the water cavern. It was a corridor leading away from there! The ceiling was just high enough for Gus to step along without stooping, and the passageway was wide enough for him to stretch out his arms and just barely touch the- thankfully dry! — walls to either side.
He strolled along jauntily, rather pleased to have survived such an adventure. He recalled Slooshy with a pang but knew she must be dead by then. And he was still alive! Though sodden and chilly, he could walk, and he even allowed himself a glimmer of enthusiasm as he wondered if he might not discover some food somewhere along the dark pathway. Things were indeed looking up! In fact, although it might have been his imagination, he grew cheerful at the vague sense that the air around him was getting warmer.
Gus wandered along the dark corridor, not sure if he was climbing or descending, for at least two minutes. He realized he had been right about one thing: it was definitely getting warmer! His sodden garments gradually dried, and he no longer squished and splashed with every step. The narrow escape from a watery tomb and the loss of his companion left no lingering trauma, forgetfulness being one of the finely tuned coping mechanisms of the Aghar race. Indeed, he pursed his lips and whistled a merry tune as he trekked along, feeling as though suddenly he didn’t have a care in all Krynn.
Then he remembered Slooshy again with a sudden hollow feeling in his middle. The sound of her voice calling “Help!” left a weird echo in his head, and though he tried to knock it out, all of his beating against his temples only seemed to make his head hurt more. And there was that continuing strange pain in his belly every time he recalled her, remembering the feeling of her arms around him, her hand clutched in his.
Thinking of the pain in his belly, he realized he was pretty hungry. He didn’t know if he was walking in the right direction toward food or any place safe, but he wasn’t about to go back and jump in the river, so he was doing the only thing he could think to do which was to keep walking along the underground passage.
If he had taken a little more time to inspect his surroundings, he might have noticed that the corridor was straight and level with stone arches at regular intervals. That was clear proof that he wasn’t in a natural cave, but rather was following a route carved by dwarves at some point in the unknown past. Gus’s nose was paying more attention than his brain, sniffing at the air, seeking low and high, right and left, for any morsel of food.
A cave grub, exuding the characteristic musty stink of its species, could not elude his notice. He dug the plump creature out of a narrow crevice in the cavern wall and popped it into his mouth, smacking his lips delightedly as he savored the gooey juice and chewy membrane. Recalling his thrilling ride down the subterranean flume and finding that surprising delicacy, Gus beamed. It was looking like his lucky day!
As a result, the pudgy Aghar had a certain spring in his step as he continued along his way. He almost swaggered as he savored the last creamy swallow of slug. His big eyes, attuned to perfect darkness, took in the smooth walls, the perfectly level floor, the arrow-straight course of the passage before him, and he felt as though he could walk that nice path across the whole of Thorbardin. There was nothing to stop him.
As was his wont, his mind wandered. What would it be like to be highbulp of all the Aghar, master of the under-dwellers, a gully dwarf so important that he held a great seat at the council of thanes? But why stop there, at mere highbulp? What if he, Gus, were to become high king of all the dwarves? Now that was a dream worth imagining!
What would his house be like? Splendid, of course. What would he wear? Why, anything he wanted. He’d have a full closet of at least two nice outfits. What would he-he gasped at the possibilities-what would he eat? The question was full of such boundless appeal, such unlimited possibility, that it took his breath away. What, indeed, would he eat, if he had all the power of the high kingship? Well, he would probably start with fish eggs, the roe of the cave salmon that he had sampled once or twice, when he had dared to root through the garbage outside of an upscale Theiwar inn. After that, he would have… well, why not have two more salmon eggs? Why, as high king, he could live on salmon eggs, and nobody could tell him otherwise!
But a king needed a queen, didn’t he? He sniffled suddenly, remembering Slooshy again. Too bad she wasn’t alive. He would have kind of liked the chance to offer her a seat on the throne of the dwarves… and also a dish of salmon eggs, all her own to eat.
His thoughts meandered through a menu of other treats as he swung along the corridor. His imagination was so active, he could practically smell the delicate salmon eggs, feel them bursting on his tongue, taste the salty nectar within. Thus it was he didn’t notice the dark figures lurking in the corridor until he almost walked right into then.
Then he had to notice. He froze, one foot in the air in the middle of a step. There were three of them, big and burly dwarves, dressed in black cloaks that masked their facial features and concealed their limbs and torsos. They stood side by side, blocking the corridor completely, motionless and silent as they regarded the approaching gully dwarf.
Immediately, a lifetime of survival instincts took over Gus’s mind and body. He gulped loudly even as he spun around on his planted foot. The mysterious figures had offered no ominous sound, no gestures indicating menace, but any Aghar who lasted to adulthood did so by not taking chances. Any nongully dwarf encountered anywhere in Thorbardin, at any time, under any circumstances, as likely as not possessed murderous intentions. At least, that’s what the survival-minded Aghar was forced to assume.
Before Gus had even completed his gulp of alarm, he was sprinting in the opposite direction at full speed. His heart pounded against his ribs as loudly as his boots drummed along the stone floor. The walls to either side passed in a blur as the terrified gully dwarf heard swords unsheathe and the footsteps of pursuers echo in his mind, his thoughts a cacophony of fear. His eyes blurred, tearing from the frantic speed of his flight, and he vividly imagined cold, steel blades or mailed hands reaching for his vulnerable back.
He ran headlong into a net that had somehow deployed across the corridor, blocking the path he had just traversed. The coils of webbing closed around him, cocooning him, hoisting him from the floor to dangle helplessly, swinging through a slow spiral.
Eyes bugging, he stared helplessly as he swung around toward the direction of the shadowy pursuers. He saw with astonishment that the trio of dark figures remained exactly where he had first glimpsed them. Slowly they shimmered then faded from view.
Magic! Gus gulped again, the maneuver complicated by the fact he was hanging upside down. Coughing and sputtering, he shivered in terror as he continued to pivot until he faced the direction in which he had been fleeing.
Two dwarves were strolling lazily toward him. One of them was coiling a long rope that led through a hook in the ceiling down to the net where Gus was imprisoned. He noted their milky, pale eyes and their bristling beards and recognized the pair as Theiwar.
“Well, we caught us a prize, eh?” said the one holding the rope. He released his grip, dropping Gus head-first onto the floor.
“Aye. The master will be pleased,” said the other. He reached down and grabbed a corner of the net. When he pulled, the gully dwarf-still stunned from the head blow-tumbled free of the webbing to lie shivering on the floor.
“Up, you,” said the first Theiwar. He prodded Gus none too gently in the thigh with a short sword. “You’re coming with us.”
Still trembling, the Aghar climbed to his feet. He glanced once more at the empty corridor ahead, where the apparition of a threat had propelled him into their real trap.
“A bit of the master’s magic, that,” chuckled the sword-bearing Theiwar. “We likes to catch youz without havin’ to break a sweat.”
His head throbbing, Gus could only shuffle along, guarded by the watchful captors. He didn’t know who the “master” was, but he guessed he would soon find out.
The powder of the amanita mushroom, as deadly a toxin as existed in the world, was fine-grained and completely dry. Willim carefully stoppered the vial containing the poisonous stuff; his spell of true-seeing allowed him to determine the cork had no imperfections and fit so tightly that no air could enter or leave the container. Carefully setting the glass onto a metal ring, he touched the stone underneath the ring and muttered a word of magic.
Immediately, that stone surface began to glow, radiating a warmth the Theiwar mage could feel against the skin of his face. Satisfied, he turned to another process, using a black steel knife to stir a bowl containing a viscous mix of carrion-crawler ichor and a sludge of oily mud. He counted a hundred spirals of the blade, his mind relishing
