regretted being forced to push Perian into the pit and out of his life.
The responsibility lay entirely with the odious hill dwarf, and with Perian herself for going too far and being foolish enough to defend him. The look of admiration she'd given the other dwarf, when she'd never viewed Pitrick with any thing but thinly disguised loathing, had driven the savant to the brink of insanity. Surely it was all her fault. But for once blame seemed less important to Pitrick than the fact that
Perian was dead, beyond his sphere of domination. He would never possess her, never see her shivering at his feet as Legaer did. And never was a long, long time.
Just then the servant stole into the room with another mug of spirits. The disfigured dwarf treasured these times of meditation, strove to lengthen them with drink, because only then did the persecution of logic cease. Afterward… the old pleasures always returned with vigor.
Legaer quickly placed the mug under his master's hand, careful not to disturb the trance nor to signal his activity in any way.
But Pitrick did sense his loathsome harrnservant's pres ence, and it gave him an idea. A brilliantly heinous idea. His hand flew out to grab the petrified servant by the throat.
Mushale heightened Pitrick's strength, and he easily lifted the dwarf off the ground, as easily as if he were a bug.
'Perhaps there is still a way to get Perian back. Yes! I have the solution. And she could be my servant. Of course, that position is already filled.'
Legaer's eyes bulged from his head in terror. Pitrick smiled as he twisted the dwarf's neck until it snapped and the eyes rolled closed.
'But now it's vacant.'
The savant casually dropped the dead dwarf onto the pol ished floor, stood, and stepped around the body. He picked up the filled mug, then set it back on the table again; any more ale and he might have difficulty concentrating on a spell to raise Perian from the dead.
Nomscul took the bag from his belt and slapped it in Flint's face, sending a cloud of dust up the hill dwarf's nose.
Flint coughed and sputtered and cursed. 'What are you try ing to do, you darn fool, choke me with dirt?'
Mudhole's shaman looked surprised. 'That not dirt, that magic! Why you not be spellstruck like Aghar?' He thought about that for a moment. 'I know, that prove you king!
Nomscul no can magic king!'
Flint considered Nomscul's stubbornly resolved expres sion with exasperation. 'You can't force someone to be your king!' He strained futilely against his bonds.
But the gully dwarf's square jaw remained set. 'It not I. It property. It fate. You must give in.'
'But it's not my fate,' Flint insisted, 'because your proph ecy is not my concern!'
Nomscul suddenly looked crestfallen. 'You mean you no want to be our king? It great honor. We wait long time for you to come — since before Nomscul be Nomscul!'
Lower lip quivering, Nomscul pulled the rusted blade from a hiltless dagger and a mold-encrusted pendant from the pockets inside his furry vest and held them toward Flint.
'If you not king, who get treasures Aghar save since Kitty clawsem? Who be our saver?' The room erupted into a sym phony of wailing, moaning, sobbing, and shrieking gully dwarves, who threw themselves to their knees and pounded the ground in despair.
'Oh, for crying out loud, stop that infernal screeching!'
Flint yelled. The room fell instantly quiet, and all eyes turned to him.
Including Perian's. Flint had all but forgot her in his des peration to escape. Suddenly the hill dwarf saw himself as she must see him, strapped to the chair, and he felt more foolish than angry. Enough was enough.
Flint regarded Nomscul, who was tapping his chin. 'I have an idea. It's so much fun to be your king, that I've de cided I'd like you to have the fun, too. I'm going to make you king for a day.'
But instead of whooping with joy, the gully dwarf looked insulted. 'Property no work that way,' he said solemnly. 'I no drop from mud chute with queen.'
Flint would have rubbed his own face in frustration if he could have reached it. He considered his options. He could stay tied to the chair and try to outlast their attention spans.
However, these Aghar seemed a tenacious lot, and patience was not one of his virtues. Why can't I be their king for just a while? he asked himself. He had no burning commitments, except to avenge Aylmar's death. It would take some plan ning to infiltrate Thorbardin and reach Pitrick; maybe these insufferable Aghar could be some help.
Was it truly fate that he and Perian had fulfilled the Aghar's prophecy? It was certainly one weird coincidence.
'Let me loose,' he growled suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. 'I'll be your king.'
'Huh?' said Nomscul, blinking in surprise.
'I said, I'll be your king,' Flint repeated more loudly.
Nomscul looked suspicious. 'You promise? You won't run away?'
Flint rolled his eyes. 'I promise on my honor as a Fire forge that I will be your king and not run away.'
Nomscul squinted in concentration. 'For how long?'
Flint sighed. 'A promise is a promise! For as long as you need me.'
'And I'll be your queen,' Perian said, stepping forward, smiling at Flint with a twinkle in her eye. He gave her a wink.
A cheer went up in the room and spread to the rest of the Aghar waiting in the hall.
'Get crown! Get crown!' Flint saw the crowd passing something forward, until the object was placed in Nom scul's hands. The gully dwarf shaman held forth a jagged metal crown and placed it proudly on Flint's sweat- soaked gray hair. The cold metal ring immediately slipped over the hill dwarf's eyes, forward off of his face, and fell with a
'tink!' to the dirt floor. Nomscul quickly replaced it, and just as quickly it slid down Flint's head again, bounced off the arm of the chair, and flew through the air.
'Gee, a game! Crowntoss!' Nomscul giggled into Flint's face. 'You one fun king!' He jammed the crown back on his king's head.
Flint screamed. 'Not points down, you moron!' Nomscul hastily yanked it off and righted it.
Not a bad fit. Looked okay too, Flint decided. 'Now, un tie me!' The room was a flurry of gully dwarves trying to comply with Flint's wishes, some pulling on the ropes, a fair number trying to gnaw through them with their teeth. At last the bonds fell away and Flint stood up, rubbing his wrists and legs.
The Aghar were in a delirious frenzy; their 'saver' had ar rived. Nomscul whistled for attention. 'Shudduuuuub!' he screamed, but no one was listening. Frowning in irritation, the shaman snatched the red bag from his belt and clapped it hard, sending a cloud of dust over the gully dwarves, who fell silent, as if under a spell. 'See,' he said, giving Flint a smug look. 'I told you it magic.'
He turned back to the gathering. 'We plan crownation party for — ' His eyes shifted from left to right as he searched his mind. 'What your names?' he whispered to Flint and
Perian. They quickly told him. 'Party someday soon in Big Sky Room for King Flunk II, and Queen Furryend! I cook big food and everyone dance!' Most of the gully dwarves streamed like lemmings from the room to begin the prepara tions for the upcoming festivities.
Though even Perian had to laugh at Nomscul's mangling of her name, her face fell at the mention of his cooking. She quickly pulled Flint to the side. 'Let's tell him to send Aghar up to the north warrens for some decent food, not the gar bage pile they usually raid. I can tell them exactly what to get and where to get it.' Her face brightened further. 'Say, they could even get some mossweed, couldn't they?'
'Isn't a raid into Thorbardin risky?' asked Flint.
'The Aghar do it all the time,' replied Perian. 'I'll just tell them to be a bit more selective.'
Flint decided her suggestion was a good one and had Nomscul dispatch two gully dwarves to the warrens with Perian's specific instructions in hand.
It was such a good idea, in fact, that Flint decided to send two more Aghar out, this time through the 'big
