in the chest. The Aghar screamed and flopped over backward.
Again and again, the magic hissed, sending forth crackling missiles that struck the little body with brute force. By the third missile, the Aghar was well and truly dead, its body smoking. Still Pitrick sent two more bolts into the pathetic corpse.
Appearing slightly calmer, Pitrick stepped back from his victim. 'I have important matters to tend to,' he snapped, compelling the attention of the assembled derro of the
House Guard. They stood in a nervous circle, listening very carefully indeed. 'This incident is not to be reported to any one. I shall be monitoring this situation personally, and I guarantee that if even the slightest word of this leaks out, I will see to it that all of you — all of you — will pay for that slip of the tongue.'
'You can count on our discretion, Excellency!' exclaimed the duty officer. 'No one will know — no one at all!'
'Very good. Return to your posts, and forget today's event.'
Pitrick touched the steel ring on his finger, as he pictured in his mind the chasm where he had last seen Perian and Flint. With the slightest blink, the ring performed its magic, and the hunchbacked derro disappeared from the North Warrens.
In the same instant, he materialized at the lip of the Beast
Pit. His eyes narrowed as he gazed into the deep, dark chasm. Was it possible that both victims had actually sur vived their plummet into this dank hole? He tended to be lieve the tale of the dead Aghar. The new king and queen of the gully dwarves had to be the harrn and frawl that Pitrick had presumed dead.
If so, their new lease on life is about to expire, he thought with some measure of humor.
Pitrick studied the pit from above. Obviously there must be a connection or passage of some sort that allowed them to escape to 'Mudhole.' Pitrick grinned at the name. Per haps Perian would show him gratitude for being rescued from such a place! As for the hill dwarf, any number of spells would see to his permanent disposal.
But first, Pitrick needed to find the passage that had led them to temporary safety, and that meant exploring the
Beast Pit. His teleportation ring, while perfectly suited for moving about Thorbardin and even carrying him to distant places such as Sanction, was of no use here. It could only take him to places that he had already seen. If he tried to teleport into Mudhole without knowing its exact location, he could materialize in the midst of the mountain some where, or worse. For this task he needed some other channel of movement.
And his spells could provide it. Pitrick reached into his belt pouch and withdrew a small feather. He twisted it be tween his fingers as he mouthed the words to a simple spell.
Then, he stepped into the chasm.
Spreading his arms, Pitrick thrilled to the motion and power of' his spell of flying. He swooped down, then darted back up, turning again to dive into the depths of the pit. Be low him he saw a black cesspool of mud and slime. Some thing stirred there, and he knew it was the lair of the beast.
Curving away, Pitrick darted through the air, along the twisting channel that was the floor of the pit. Somewhere in this cavern was the passage to the gully dwarves' lair. Pit rick swore he would not rest until he found it.
A soft, unfamiliar sound came from behind him, and Pit rick paused, hovering for a moment as he looked back to ward the mouth of the pit. He saw movement in the depths, and for a moment his heart froze as he got his first good look at the monstrous size of the beast.
It oozed toward him, pushing part of its segmented form forward, then trailing its other half after. Like a gigantic slug, reaching ahead of itself with those long, lashing tenta cles, the beast came on.
If it were chasing me, I would run this way, Pitrick rea soned. If Perian and Flint found an exit, it should be here, near the furthest extent of the cavern, since this is where they would have had the time to examine the walls. But the flying savant saw nothing.
Then an idea struck him. His enemies weren't flying, they were on the ground. Their perspective was different. Pitrick settled to the cavern floor. And there, directly ahead of him, was a crack of light. It was nearly concealed by an over hanging boulder. Approaching it more closely, he could see that it led somewhere. He could even hear, faintly, sounds from the other side.
This is how they escaped me! he crowed to himself. Lean ing closer to listen, the Theiwar could distinguish sounds of cheering and clapping.
'I'll give them something to shout about,' he chuckled, flying upward twenty or thirty feet and hovering while he thought. Which of his spells would be most effective? Fore most, he wanted to snatch Perian away, and after that make sure that the hill dwarf, Fireforge, never bothered anyone again. He considered changing Flint into a snail, or blasting him to pieces with a lightning bolt. The more he thought about it, the more he laughed, and as he laughed, the beast crept closer. By the time the bloblike form was beneath him,
Pitrick positively howled with glee.
He would not attack Mudhole alone, when help was so readily at hand.
The beast's tentacles lashed upward, and Pitrick shrieked as one dragged across his foot. Quickly darting higher, he examined the cave wall of the Beast Pit. Somewhere beyond that wall, he knew, lay Mudhole and his quarry. The tiny tunnel was the only connecting conduit between the Beast
Pit and Mudhole now, but Pitrick could easily expand that.
Below him the beast lurched again. Its tentacles flailed blindly. Some groped upward while others searched through the tunnel.
'Allow me,' hissed the deformed dwarf, still hovering.
His right hand closed around the amulet at his neck while his eyes stared at the great wall of rock, the wall that divided the beast from the gully dwarves.
'Gro-ath goe Kratsch-yill!' He barked the magic spell, his voice suddenly firm. The familiar blue glow surged from the amulet, seeping between his fingers.
Pitrick raised his left hand, gesturing to the wall. The force of his magic reached out, penetrating the stone sur face, altering and kneading that stone with the power of its enchantment.
Beads of moisture gathered on the rock and trickled down its quivering slope. Slowly the rock bulged and grew soft.
Suddenly it gave way, splitting open like a tomato. Pitrick cackled as a torrent of mud and stone poured into this ca vern and the one beyond. Then the beast, sensing dozens of vulnerable prey, rushed through the gurgling ooze into Mudhole.
Chapter 15
'More fungus? — inquired Nomscul, shoving a plat. ter of the aromatic if chewy shapes under the noses of his newly crowned monarchs.
'I'm stuffed,' Flint replied, holding up both hands and set tling back on the soft cushion of moss. 'What.little room I have left I'm saving for those ribs you're cooking.'
'Nomscul sorry about meat,' the Aghar apologized, star ing at his toes.
Across the great cavern, a huge steel spear rested over a low fire. Large ribs of pork were spitted on the spear, drip ping juices into the fire with an appetizing sizzle, barely au dible above the raucous noise of the great crownation festival. In his new, official, and royally appointed capacity as Mudhole's Best Cook and Chief Shaman (the longest, and therefore most important title in Mudhole) Nomscul had sorely neglected his duty when he forgot to light the cooking fire until the feast was well underway, a fact which had slowed the cooking of the meat significantly. It had also made him almost obnoxiously solicitous toward Flint and Perian.
At the moment, however, Flint didn't notice the absence of the meat — indeed, he couldn't have eaten another bite.
All the food served during the ceremony had been quite good and, what's more, plentiful. Having lived above
