But he reminded himself that there was a good cause for his strange behavior, one far too important to forsake.
'Milk's a-curdlin', so speak up, harrn! You look harder used than an old anvil — where have you been drinking all night?' Ruberik demanded.
Basalt pushed words into his throat. 'Ma, Uncle Rubie,
I've got to tell you something,' he began, his voice shaking, his eyes darting from one figure to the other. 'You're not go ing to want to believe any of this, but you've got to! Dad didn't die of a heart attack, he was murdered with derro magic!'
Bertina gasped, then bit her knuckles. Ruberik slapped his thigh angrily. 'Gods curse you, now you're making up hurtful lies to cover your indulgences! I've tried everything, talking to you, yelling at you, shaming you, trying to help however I could, and this is your response?' He stomped over to Basalt and snatched the young dwarf's wrist.
'Maybe a day or two in jail — for running from the scene of a murder — will make you dry out and think about your ways!'
Basalt stood his ground, in spite of his churning stomach and trembling knees, and spoke quickly and intently.
'Please let me explain,' he began again. 'I'm sorry if I star tled you, but the derro are planning to attack Hillhome and we have very little time to prepare.'
Ruberik scowled with impatience. 'Now what nonsense are you jabbering about?'
'Basalt, you're not making any sense, but I've never seen you so earnest,' said Bertina. 'Whatever's got you in this state, you just take your time and explain it.'
Ruberik huffed, 'It's obvious what's got him in this state, and I've humored it as much as I care to. It's time to — '
'Rubie,' cut in Bertina, 'leave it be. Let him talk.'
The nervous hill dwarf smiled gratefully toward his mother. 'I know I haven't been very responsible lately,' he said, ignoring his uncle's snort of agreement, 'but I am not drunk now, nor am I lying.' He took a deep breath.
'Dad was killed because he discovered that the plows the derro are transporting are just a front for massive weapon shipments to some nation in the north.'
'Basalt,' his mother moaned, drawing a handkerchief from her sleeve, 'how do you know this?'
'I've been with Uncle Flint. They tried to kill him for learning the same thing.'
Ruberik slapped his head in understanding. 'There's a trustworthy source. My infrequent older brother, the twi light derro killer!'
Basalt frowned. 'Uncle Rubie, please let me finish. If you still don't believe me when I'm done, I'll cheerfully hand myself over to Uncle Tybalt and go to jail. It won't matter anyway, because if no one believes me we'll all be dead in five or six days,' he said ominously. Even Ruberik felt com pelled to be silent.
'Flint had to kill the derro because he was caught spying in their wagons that night.'
It was Bertina's turn to interrupt now. 'But what does 'your father have to do with any of this?'
Basalt rubbed his face. He was exhausted and flustered.
How would he convince the town if he couldn't make his own family believe? 'Uncle Flint became suspicious and got the idea to look in the wagons when Moldoon told him Fa ther had gone to do the same thing just before he died. Flint sneaked over the wall into the wagon yard and ran into
Garth, who thought Flint was Dad's ghost. Garth was frightened out of his wits because he'd been there the night
Dad was murdered and saw it all happen. I'm sorry, Ma, but
I've got to say this. Garth told Flint how an odd-looking derro had struck down Dad with a bolt of blue smoke…'
'… Perian was a captain of the House Guard under this
Pitrick's command until he pushed her into the Beast Pit for trying to save Uncle Flint. She's absolutely certain that Pit rick will follow through on his threat to wipe out Hillhome…'
With the long story finally told, Basalt leaned back in the chair he'd taken by the hearth and stared into the fire. I've done my best, he thought. At least I tried.
Neither his mother nor Ruberik spoke for a long minute.
'So why doesn't Flint come back to Hillhome himself and tell us?' Ruberik asked at last.
'Oh, I guess I forgot that part,' answered Basalt, draping the crook of his elbow across his eyes. 'The gully dwarves who rescued them have some sort of prophecy that Flint and
Perian fulfilled when they were pushed into the pit. They've been made king and queen of Mudhole, and had to vow on their honor that they wouldn't run away.' Basalt's voice trailed off as he realized that, with all the outrageous events in his story, this last part might well sink his credibility en tirely. He dropped the raised arm back into his lap. 'You don't believe me, do you? If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't be lieve me, either.'
'That's the most sensible admission I've heard yet,' mut tered Ruberik.
But Basalt shot up in the chair and extended his right hand. 'But I've got the ring! You saw me teleport here — ' where else would I get something like this? And once I'd got it, why would I come back here just to tell lies? I could go anywhere I want, anywhere at all! Instead, I came back here to warn everyone. Doesn't that count for anything?'
Ruberik rose to his feet and straightened his jacket before addressing his nephew. 'When you started this tale, you said you'd go see Uncle Tybalt, whether I believed you or no. Are you ready to go?'
Bertina looked sadly at her brother-in-law. 'Would you really turn in my son?' she asked.
'I would if I thought he was lying. But obviously, he's not.
Come on, lad. We've some tough persuading ahead of us if we're going to wake up this town.'
'We have encountered a new problem,' said Pitrick softly.
The thane listened half-interestedly, while his gargoyles leered and flapped their leathery wings behind him. 'Yes?' he finally inquired.
'The dwarves of Hillhome are preparing to rise against us,' the adviser said. Pitrick used the story he had devised on his way back to the city. He had decided that the hill dwarf's warning was too potentially dangerous to ignore.
'Indeed?' Realgar sat forward and fixed Pitrick with an icy gaze. 'What do you intend to do about it?'
'There is but one thing to do,' announced the hunchback, his voice an oily hiss.
'The village must be destroyed.'
'What's the next step?' Ruberik asked Tybalt a little later, after they'd convinced the constable of their story. 'We're all family to start with, and none of us depends on trading with the derro for our livelihood. But what do you think is going to happen when this story starts getting around? A lot of people are going to get real upset, and the rest are just plain not going to believe it.'
'That's certain,' agreed Tybalt. 'There's just no way we're going to talk people out of the easy money the derro have been throwing around.'
The small group of Fireforge harrns and frawls lapsed into silence in Tybalt's sparse office: Basalt, Ruberik, Ber tina, and Tybalt. A stout table took up the middle of the chamber. Tybalt, in his sturdy chair, sat with his feet on the table, pipe in mouth. Basalt and Bertina sat on stools pulled up alongside the table, while Ruberik paced between the door and the opposite wall. Despite the tension in the room,
Basalt felt a new sense of family unity that he found very warming.
Basalt glanced timidly from Ruberik to Tybalt, then spoke up. 'Perhaps if we could get two or three leading citi zens on our side, like the Hammerhand's or Strikesparks, we would carry a lot more influence. People would listen to someone like that even if they wouldn't believe me.'
'The problem with that idea,' responded Ruberik, 'is that the 'leading families' are almost universally the ones who've benefitted the most from the derro's presence. That's why they're the 'leading families.' '
'No, the people who are profiting won't be willing to risk those profits,' stated Tybalt. 'Not unless we can
