at the musical pleasantness of his voice. Perhaps she had mis judged him.
The blue light grew stronger, occluding her vision until only Pitrick's face loomed. She felt his hot breath against her face. Her soldier's training told her, dimly, that she should resist. She felt Pitrick's hand reach around to the back of her mail shirt. His breath, heavy with nut fungus, pressed moist and smelly around her face.
Suddenly her head jerked upward. Her left hand shot for ward, knocking the amulet from Pitrick's grasp, as she wrapped her right hand around the small axe at her waist.
She clenched her teeth as her head cleared.
'Wait,' Pitrick urged, his voice still soft.
But the spell was broken. Perian's hateful gaze brought the hunchback up short.
'If you ever try to magic me again, I'll kill you,' she growled.
Pitrick looked at her, his moment of surprise quickly turning to amusement. 'It's time for you to go down to your new post now,' he instructed. 'Have a look around, estab lish your guards. I'll be down soon to inspect your position.
'If there is any sign of intrusion, or even the hint of a hill dwarf anywhere around there, I want you to tell me person ally. And if you catch any intruders, bring them to me immediately!'
'I will,' said Perian, quickly turning on her heel. Only when the lift cage had taken her down a level did she finally draw a breath easily.
Chapter 8
The pnominent nostrils twitched, tickled by an un familiar, yet tantalizing odor. One great eye, bloodshot and sunk deep within its socket, opened. The lid, of green, leath ery skin, blinked several times, and then its counterpart opened. Once again the long green nose moved, seeking confirmation of the scent.
The body that slowly rose to a sitting position was hu manoid, though perhaps half again as tall as a man. But its features were hideous in the extreme.
Gangly arms, each as long as a man was tall, hung from the creature's shoulders. Though they were proportionately slender, a wiry cord of muscle showed beneath the mottled green skin, promising great strength. The creature's legs, too, were revealed as long and thin, but they had no diffi culty supporting the monster as it rose to stand.
Its hands and feet each bore three wicked claws, with fin gers partially webbed. Blotchy skin, the color of dark moss, covered its whole body. In places it was smooth, but in oth ers the skin lay wrinkled, a rough, warty surface.
Atop the creature's head was a thicket of black, stiff standing hair. Its mouth opened slightly and revealed upper and lower rows of pointed, needle-sharp teeth. Above its mouth, extending more like a tree limb than a nasal aper ture, was the creature's long, pointed nose.
It was this sensitive proboscis that had caused the mon ster to awaken, and now it probed the air, sniffing and snuf fling for clues. What was that tantalizing scent? Where did it come from?
The creature's lair was a cave, and a slight breeze wafted into the cave mouth from the valley below. The source of the scent, obviously, was outside the lair.
Moving through the dingy cave, the monster passed nu merous scattered, well-gnawed bones of previous meals.
Skulls of deer, bear, hobgoblin, human, and other victims stood along the wall of the cave, making a crude trophy mound. But now the creature ignored all of these memen tos, moving toward the fresh air in search of new food, per haps a new skull.
The creature emerged to discover twilight settling over the high valley. The spoor came more clearly now, and the great beast licked its lips with a black, moist tongue. Its dark eyes, almost hidden in the deep recesses of its black sockets, squinted into the darkness, searching for the source of the tantalizing odor.
An odor, the troll knew, that could only emanate from one of its favorite foods: dwarf.
Flint's destination, the mountain dwarves' kingdom, was twenty or so miles southwest of Hillhome. The wagons' shipments must have come from there, and Garth had also said the derro he saw was a magic-user; it was common knowledge that only one type of dwarf could muster more than simple spells. That was the Theiwar clan of Thor bardin.
Flint suspected his older brother had discovered the secret of the derro, and he was determined to make whoever was responsible for his death pay with his life.
His burning vengeance, he had to admit, was colored by the legacy of bitterness and hatred left by the Dwarfgate Wars, when another Fireforge, the respected dwarven leader Reghar Fireforge, had died at the hands of the moun tain dwarves. Those epic conflicts had opened schisms in the dwarven races that seemed likely never to heal.
Flint had no clear explanation for these arms shipments of the derro, but he knew the reasons must be sinister indeed.
Why else would a race that was known for its pride of craftsmanship not sign its work?
Flint was following the Passroad west. Traveling in day light, he felt fairly secure that he would not encounter any derro. The road hugged the northern shore of Stonehammer
Lake, whose cold water looked dull gray-green on this over cast late-autumn day. Most of the leaves in this distant arm of the Kharolis Mountains, in the corridor between Thor bardin and the Plains of Dergoth, had already turned brown and scattered across the flat lands, leaving only the olive colored firs to cover the spiny mountain ridges.
The terrain grew considerably rougher as the slopes and crests of the southern hillcountry tumbled around Flint. The elevations soared steeply from the valley bottoms, climbing to narrow ridges and fringed with levels of sheer cliffs, bare rock faces, and dark forests of pine. In places, looming knobs of granite overlooked grass-filled valleys, often giv ing Flint the impression of huge, serene faces looking across the hillcountry. The Passroad twisted around like a snake, never running straight for more than a mile or two.
Flint had never been to Thorbardin — they didn't exactly embrace hill dwarves there — but his father had once told him something that was tugging at his mind now. The dwar ven capitol city had two entrances: Northgate and
Southgate. Originally, a wide, walled ledge edged the mountainside at the entrances, but the Cataclysm had de stroyed most of the northern ledge, leaving only a five-foot remnant towering one thousand feet above the valley.
The Passroad seemed to be leading him toward the north ern entrance, and unless his father had been mistaken, that gate into the great city would soar one thousand feet above him. But how could that be? How could the huge, lumber ing freight wagons enter Thorbardin from the north?
Unless the Passroad continued past Northgate and circled the expansive realm to enter at Southgate… If that were the case, Flint had-a long walk ahead of him, since the city stretched more than twenty miles in circumference.
But that didn't make sense either. The heart of the Kharo lis Mountains stood between here and there, and no wagon could cross that tumultuous landscape. It was a puzzle to him.
Flint had walked nearly a full day before his keen dwar ven senses raised the hair on the back of his neck; someone or something was following him. He wasn't terribly sur prised, since he had expected to be pursued. Still whomever it was seemed in no hurry to catch him, nor even to be con cerned about being detected. Once he even caught sight of a distant figure trudging through the grassy vale which Flint had passed through a short time earlier.
Flint continued to look behind him at regular intervals, but never again spotted the figure. Could it have been some hill farmer, going about his business? Flint had been too far away to distinguish if the figure was a human or a dwarf.
