Pitrick's arm was drawn back for another blow when Flint was surprised to hear Perian's voice.
She had stepped between them. It was evident in her tone that she knew the danger she was risking. 'Adviser, this is my prisoner,' she said stiffly. 'He was brought here for ques tioning, not to be murdered!'
Pitrick's face distorted monstrously with the fury that consumed him. His pale eyes nearly popped from his skull as he shifted his attention from one to the other. He didn't strike Perian, however. The insane rage melted slowly from the adviser's face, to be replaced by a cruel, cunning smile.
'Yes, the questions.' He turned back to the prisoner, who was sprawled half against the wall, half on the floor at the derro's feet. Flint's eyelids were puffed up, and blood ran from a dozen cuts on his forehead, cheeks, and lips.
'You are an interesting case, and vaguely familiar,' mused
Pitrick. 'Such a ferocious assault had to be triggered by something more than the death of one gully dwarf. Who are you? Have we met before?'
Flint spat through his swollen lips, then croaked, 'You killed my brother, you maggot meat.'
'Your brother…' mused Pitrick. 'But I'm sure I've killed so many brothers — and sisters, too. Can't you be more spe cific?' Pitrick asked.
'Given your busy schedule, how many hill dwarf smiths have you struck down with magic lately?' Flint growled bit terly.
'The smith!' Pitrick's face spread in an evil grin of recog nition. 'How delightful! Yes, I can see your resemblance to that smith now. But you must understand, the hill dwarf was a spy. He poked into places where he didn't belong. I did the only thing I could. And I was quite pleased with the effect — you should be happy to hear that he became very colorful toward the end, though the smell was unpleasant.'
'Murdering animal!' choked Flint, twisting helplessly be tween two guards. Gradually his wits were returning, though he still had trouble seeing. He found he could force his eyelids up with a manageable amount of pain.
'So are you here purely on a mission of vengeance, or are you a spy, too?' Pitrick allowed that question to linger for a moment, then cut it off. 'That needs no answer — of course you are. No one but a spy could have penetrated our de fenses. Are you a murderer as well?'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Flint growled.
'Oh, please.' Pitrick sounded mildly amused. 'I'm certain it was you who knifed one of my wagon drivers in Hillhome just days ago. Or if it wasn't you, you certainly know who it was.' Pitrick bent close to Flint's ear and whispered, 'Give me the murderer's name, and I shall be merciful. I can be, you know.'
'I've seen your mercy,' sputtered Flint.
Pitrick struck him across the face again, grinning. 'Not the full extent of it, dear harrn. And isn't it fortunate for me that whatever tidbits of knowledge you have about our ex ports will die with you?'
'You just keep believing that,' Flint croaked. 'You really think I kept such knowledge to myself? By now, half of
Hillhome knows that you're exporting weapons, not plows.' Flint watched with satisfaction as the hunchback's eyes widened in alarm at his lie. 'The Hylar will know about it soon, and then all of Thorbardin!'
'Liar!' shrieked Pitrick. 'You will die for this!'
The mad derro grabbed Flint by his jerkin and began dragging him toward the pit. Flint lunged toward Pitrick's throat, but immediately two guards pinned his arms and helped bring him to the ledge. Pitrick quickly jumped away, out of range of Flint's burly arms.
'Throw him in!'
'Stop!' Perian's order froze the guards to their spots; they held Flint poised on the lip of the pit.
'Throw him in!' screamed Pitrick. 'I command you to throw him in, now!'
'You are under my command, you take your orders from me,' Perian noted coldly.
The guards looked from Perian to Pitrick, unsure who to obey and afraid to take sides.
With a hiss, Pitrick clutched his amulet. Blue light lanced out between his fingers. In a low voice, he snarled, 'Your of ficer is a traitor. Throw her in with the hill dwarf. Throw them both in!'
Under the influence of the savant's charm spell, the guards did not hesitate to comply with the command. The one holding Flint gave him a terrific shove that he could not counter. Dragging his feet along the gravelly ledge, Flint sailed, head first, over the edge. An astonished Perian was hurled over the side, immediately after him.
The sound of laughter echoed from the walls of the cave.
Chapter 10
It was late afternoon, anb Basalt continued to crouch in the shadow of the great mountain, waiting for his
Uncle Flint. That is all he had been doing for the last two days. Every once in a while he would stretch his limbs and peer down the stream toward the tunnel mouth that was ob scured by branches, five hundred paces away, hoping for a glimpse of the older dwarf. Each night he had seen one heavy wagon lumber out of the cave shortly after sunset and continue up the road to Hillhome. Before dawn, an other one would pass by on its way into the opening.
Afternoon stretched into another cold evening. Bored as he was, Basalt dared not leave the niche to explore the sur rounding area. Nor could he risk lighting a fire when night in the Kharolis Mountains descended around him. At least he had some food left in the sack Flint had passed to him. He opened the sack now, finding one ripe red apple, a dry but ter sandwich, and a roasted goose drumstick. He gnawed on the succulent leg while he pondered what to do.
Shivering, Basalt wondered when his uncle might emerge. The moon rose, and still there was no sign. The sky above him was velvet black and starry, and the air bitterly cold. The mountains rose so steeply that he could not even look forward to daylight warming this place. The young Fireforge clapped his hands to his arms and trotted in place to keep his blood moving.
Basalt knew he should have left for Hillhome before dark, for he had passed the two-day limit his uncle had set. If I wait just one more hour, he kept telling himself, maybe Flint will return. But Basalt grew more anxious by the minute.
Again he looked down the stream at the tunnel mouth.
From it he thought he heard the sound of a wagon approaching — it was about time for one to leave for
Hillhome — but the noise grew louder and unfamiliar. Puz zled, Basalt cocked his head to listen closely. It was not the steady rolling rhythm of the wheels, but more like clomping feet. Many feet.
A chill of terror ran up his spine as from the mouth of the tunnel marched no less than one hundred mountain dwarves in full regalia. Each wore a steel breastplate, a hel met topped with a bright red plume, and sharp axes and daggers at their waists. After a word from the leader at their head, the mountain dwarves fanned out in all directions.
Basalt watched as a detachment of twenty armed dwarves approached, wading through the two-foot stream, right in his direction!
Petrified, the young dwarf threw himself to the ground and curled into a small ball. What should I do? he groaned to himself. Should I run? Should I hide? Is this just a routine patrol, or are they looking for something? Or someone?
Maybe they found and tortured Uncle Flint until he told them an accomplice was waiting outside! Even in his frantic state, Basalt knew that that was ridiculous. But with so many dwarves, they were sure to find him. Will they kill me like they did my father? Uncle Flint! Where are you?
Basalt bit at his knuckles, feeling like he was about to jump out of his skin. He couldn't just sit there and wait for them to stumble on him. He turned and scrambled quickly up the narrow gully at the back of his hiding place. A few rocks tumbled down behind him, but he bit his lip and prayed to Reorx that the mountain dwarves would not
