Hillhome, and how enamored the villagers were of the reve nue generated by the derro. As Flint pictured himself trying to talk to the hill dwarves, he absently fingered Pitrick's ring. His hand began to tingle strangely, and the uncomfor table sensation spread quickly up his arm to his chest and the rest of his body. He saw Perian wavering before his face, then was distantly aware of her snatching the ring from his finger. 'What were you thinking about?' she demanded. 'I could see from your face that you were activating the teleport ring!'
Flint shook away the remnants of the tingling sensation.
'You mean someone other than Pitrick can use that thing?' he gasped.
'Of course.' She shrugged. 'It's just like any other magical item. Pitrick used it constantly because of his clubbed foot.
He explained it to me once when he was trying to frighten me. He said all he had to do was grasp the ring and picture as clearly as possible the place where he wanted to go.'
Anyplace he wanted… Flint remembered his thoughts of Hillhome, moments earlier, and had an idea. He turned to
Basalt. 'I can't leave the gully dwarves.' He looked squarely into his nephew's face. 'But you can. You could use the ring to teleport back to Hillhome and give them a couple of extra days to prepare for the derro attack, or at least gather some weapons. They'll believe you, Basalt.' Flint took the ring from Perian's hand and thrust it forward. 'I know Moldoon will, anyway, and you can start by telling him. He'll rally the rest of 'em.'
Basalt recoiled from the magical band as if struck. 'You don't understand! I can't tell anyone, least of all Moldoon!' the young dwarf cried, his face wracked with grief. He turned away in shame. 'He's dead, and it's my fault!'
Flint shook his head uncomprehendingly. 'Moldoon dead? What are you talking about?' Flint clasped Basalt's shoulder and spun his nephew around. 'Speak up, harrn!'
Now it was Basalt's turn to explain. Hiccupping with sobs, he recounted the events of the previous evening, just before the gully dwarves had kidnapped him.
'… then Moldoon stepped between us to stop the fight, and the derro stabbed him, just like that!' Basalt dropped his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook.
Flint was stunned and grieved by the news of the old hu man's death. He saw the pain in Basalt's face, pictured the casual cruelty of the derro guard. His hatred of the Theiwar burned hotter than ever. It had become a fire that could only be doused with blood.
'Basalt,' Perian said, chewing a nail, 'it sounds as if this Moldoon was only doing what he felt he had to do. You can't be blamed because he came between you and the der ro.'
'Don't you see?' Basalt looked up, bleary-eyed. 'Every one has been right about me — I'm nothing but a worthless drunk who can't defend himself! I didn't tell you about the derro patrol that found me outside of Thorbardin after you left. They chased me off like a scared rabbit — didn't even think enough of me to kill me! Gods,' he cried, looking up ward and shaking his fists, 'I wish they had!'
'Stop it' Flint slapped him hard across the face. He saw Perian flinch at what she must have thought needless cru elty. Stunned, Basalt stared at his uncle, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. Flint waited for him to com pose himself.
'Now you've grieved,' his uncle said at last, his expres sion determined. 'For your father. For Moldoon. For your self. Put it past you, because there's something more important at stake here.'
The lines in Flint's face softened, and he grasped Basalt by the shoulders. 'Prove everybody wrong, Basalt. Starting today, prove everybody wrong by mustering every bit of courage and grit you have to persuade them to believe something they won't want to hear,' He shook him, hard.
'Do it, Basalt. You must, because it's the only real chance
Hillhome has.'
'Do you really think I can persuade them?' he whispered.
Flint smiled at him encouragingly. 'I know you can.'
Basalt looked at the ring in Flint's palm. It was made of two incomplete bands of steel woven together and split at the top, so that the two jagged ends protruded outward. He took it and slipped it tentatively onto the middle finger of his left hand. An unfamiliar sense of energy surged through him, though it came not from the ring, but from the glint of faith and respect in his uncle's eyes. He stood straighter, more sure.
'Go to the family first,' Flint advised him. 'Under the greed and the pompous protestations, they are Fireforges; show them how you've changed, and they'll give you a chance. You'll see.'
'Picture the destination in your mind, Basalt,' Perian added, her face a mask of concern for what the naive young hill dwarf was about to undertake.
Basalt nodded wordlessly and began to concentrate on the main room in the family home.
'Tell them everything we've revealed to you, and that we'll be there in three days, four at the latest. We're count ing on you to make them believe.'
His face scrunched up in concentration, Basalt's image shimmered.
'You can do it, Basalt!' Flint called out as the last traces of his nephew disappeared before their eyes.
Flint and Perian stood alone in the beauty of the grotto, enveloped by the rhythmic pounding of the waterfall.
Chapter 17
Flint threw a cracked wooden shield to the side in disgust. 'We aren't going to find enough decent weapons here to equip us, let alone three hundred defenseless gully dwarves,' he complained bitterly to Perian from atop a six foot-high garbage mound in the Big Sky Room, across the stream and opposite the Thrown Room tunnel.
They were anxious to begin preparations for the march to
Hillhome, and since the first item on Perian's list was collect ing weapons, they had made their way back to the Big Sky
Room shortly after Basalt had teleported away from the grotto. Across the stream and to their left, the gully dwarves continued to work away at filling the hole that Pitrick's spell and the beast had left in the wall.
As for the beast itself, the Aghar had finished chopping the front half up into little bits. After a stern lecture from their disgusted king about their new game of 'beast toss,' a number of them had been dispatched to carry wooden crates of the beast out through the crackingrotto, while the rest were now hard at work on the rear.
Up to her hips in odd shoes, discarded pots, leftover food, and other 'treasures' on the far side of the mound, Perian was gazing intently at an old axe she'd found.
'Finding anything interesting?' Flint called.
Perian looked up guiltily and, without really thinking, slid the axe into her belt loop, the haft hidden within the folds of her tunic. 'What was that? I'm sorry, I wasn't listen ing.'
Flint shook his gray head, climbed off the mound, came around to her side, and stood with his arms crossed deject edly. 'Where are we going to find enough weapons? Are we going to send the Aghar off to war with sharpened dinner forks?' he spat.
Perian slid down the heap to clap him on the shoulder en couragingly. 'Don't worry, Nomscul says there are lots more garbage heaps where we may find useful items. Be sides, the Agharpults don't really need weapons.'
Flint snorted in derision. 'Great, then we only need two hundred Agharpults.' He picked up a brown wooden but ton, the size of his palm, and shuffled it between his hands idly. 'We don't stand much of a chance armed against the derro, let alone weaponless.'
Perian jammed her hands on her hips in irritation. 'Flint Fireforge, if you're not even going to try to be optimistic, then — then,' she sputtered in exasperation, 'then — oh, I don't know why I bother with you! You're the crabbiest hill dwarf I've ever met!'
'And how many hill dwarves have you met?' he teased, his eyes twinkling. He enjoyed getting her dander up.
