demon strate a clear danger. Then, perhaps, they will admit that dealing with the derro was a bad idea.'
Bertina picked up the train of thought. 'But as far as I can see, the only way to demonstrate that there really is danger is to get everyone together and have a look inside one of the wagons. When they see that it's full of weapons, how could anyone deny that it's a threat?'
'Precisely,' said Tybalt.
'That's just fine and dandy,' Ruherik interjected, 'but you'll never get anyone to look inside the wagons. They'll all be afraid that we might be wrong. If a mass of townspeo ple marches up and arrests the drivers and searches their wagons and finds nothing but plows and farming tools, we'll have caused an enormous incident with Thorbardin that could jeopardize the whole trade arrangement.
'No,' he concluded, 'this town will need to be handed proof — not just evidence — on a silver platter.'
Suddenly Basalt grew so excited he nearly tumbled off his stool. 'That's the answer, Uncle Ruberik! Let's hand them the proof. They can't stop us from searching the wagons.
'If the four of us got into the wagon yard, we could cap ture the derro inside, search the wagons, and then call in the rest of the town and show them what we found. If we find nothing, then the whole affront is our fault and the town can blame it on a tiny group of troublemakers.'
Silence reigned once again as everyone considered Ba salt's proposal. Finally, Tybalt leaned forward and said,
'Here's what we'll need…'
Hillhome was already bustling as the four Fireforges made their way to the wagon yard. They stopped a short way down the street and eyed the open gate.
'Do they ever post a guard?' asked Ruberik.
'One or two of them stay inside, but they don't come out in the sun,' Tybalt replied. 'Anyone can come or go as they please. But the derro keep a pretty close eye on the entrance because they don't want people who have no reason going inside anyway.'
'So we could just walk in?' Basalt proposed.
'Not without attracting a lot of attention,' explained Ty balt. 'That's where your ring comes in. Remember the plan and what we talked about in my office. Just keep your wits about you and you'll be fine. We'll all be fine. Now, when ever you're ready.'
Basalt nodded his head. He peered intently down the street and through the wagon yard gate, concentrating on the forge area. Just beyond the forge was the shop area where tools were kept and the derro slept. To the right of the shop were the stables. Basalt focused mentally on a spot just a few feet from the forge. With his stomach churning slightly, he touched Pitrick's ring and then, with a slight pop in his ears, he was standing beside the forge. I'm really get ting the hang of this, he thought with satisfaction.
Guttoral laughter from inside the shop building reminded Basalt of his dangerous mission. He glanced back over his shoulder to see his mother and two uncles standing beneath the trees where he had been only moments earlier, giving him reassuring waves.
Glancing around, Basalt saw the two heavy freight wag ons parked to his right, in front of the stables. He spotted a pair of legs moving between the wagons. Quickly he turned back to the door of the forge and flung it open. His keen dwarven eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. He sighted three derro, bolting from their beds in reaction to the sud den crash and light streaming through the door.
'Wake up, you big-eyed, moss-chewing, parasites. I've brought you some eggs to suck for breakfast!' shouted the nervous hill dwarf. Immediately he turned and ran as the three enraged derro charged after him. The fourth derro raced around the end of the nearer wagon and joined in the pursuit.
As Basalt ran, he picked out a spot along the wall of the wagon yard, directly off to his right. He slowed down, let ting the derro nearly catch up to him, before touching the ring and popping across the open ground to reappear twenty yards away, alongside the wall.
The startled derro skidded to a stop, casting searching glances this way and that for the mysterious dwarf. Basalt waited a few moments, then waved his arm and hollered,
'Hey, over here, you stinking sewer rats! Are you blind?'
Furious, the derro tore after Basalt again, drawing dag gers from their belts as they ran. Basalt watched them come on, at the same time eyeing the top of a barrel standing near the stables. As the derro closed to within a few yards, he touched the ring and instantly vanished, reappearing again atop the barrel.
The derro crashed into the wall where Basalt had been standing, falling over each other and swearing in their harsh language. Within moments they were back on their feet, choking with rage and scanning the yard for their prey.
With a yell, one of them spotted him and the pack was on the attack again.
But this time, as they reached the halfway point to Ba salt's position, one of them paused momentarily. A dagger flashed in his hand and then, with a ringing 'thunk,' embed ded itself in the stable wall inches from Basalt's left shoulder.
Immediately the others followed suit, and another dagger and two hatchets flew toward the hapless hill dwarf. A split second later they pierced the wooden wall, dead on target, but their target was not there. Seeing the danger, Basalt had grasped the ring and teleported himself next to the forge, back to where he had first landed in the wagon yard.
Basalt realized he was shaking and paused a moment to catch his breath before turning and sprinting toward the wagons. He had taken only a few steps when the derro, bloodlust showing in their oversized eyes, careened around both sides of the stable. Basalt raced scant yards ahead of them directly between the wagons. As he broke past the back ends of the vehicles, Tybalt, who was standing behind one wagon, tossed a gleaming sword to his nephew. Basalt turned in time to see the derro charge straight into the Fire forge's trap; two sturdy spear shafts shot out, knee high, from either side of the passage. Tybalt held one, with his shoulder braced against the wagon's open tailgate, and Ru berik held the other. The derro tumbled headlong over the unexpected hurdles, sliding to a stop in the damp earth.
Seconds later, Tybalt, Ruberik, Basalt, and even Bertina stood over the prone and cursing derro, holding contraband weapons to their throats. 'You were right about the weap ons and the wagons, lad,' puffed Ruberik.
Bertina's face was flushed from the excitement and exer tion as she beamed at her son. Tybalt shook his spear at one of the derro, commanding, 'Bertina, you run and fetch the mayor and anyone else from the council you can find.
Meanwhile, let's get this sorry lot tied up. I've a feeling the truly nasty part of this job's just beginning.'
Hill dwarves from throughout the town quickly gathered as the news of the derro's betrayal spread. Some, such as the pompous merchant Micah, at first objected to the attacks against their partners in trade. Others, including Hildy, the militia captain, and finally even Mayor Holden, recognized the seriousness of their situation.
'It doesn't matter what you think, Micah. This council has made its decision.' The speaker, Mayor Holden, stood atop a barrel in the wagon yard, surrounded by the four other members of the council, the village militia master, Axel Broadblade, and a throng of townsfolk. 'It's obvious that the Theiwar lied to us and are using our town to pre pare for a war. We've all seen the weapons concealed in the wagons and we've heard the testimony from these derro prisoners. The council's vote has gone against you, Micah, and that's the end of that. If you could pry your nose out of all that Theiwar steel you've been collecting, you would see that this is the only decent course of action.
'Now, let's hear from the master of militia what sort of action we can take.' Mayor Holden clambered down from the barrel and several other dwarves helped Broadblade, a stocky veteran of many ancient campaigns, up. The militia master was considered the epitome of the military dwarf by the citizens of Hillhome. He always dressed in a clean, green overcoat; a ribbed helmet with hinged earflaps; and thigh high, hard leather boots with the tops turned down. He also carried a long dagger in a scabbard that hung from his belt in the manner of a human cavalry officer. Cavalry was al most nonexistent in dwarven armies, but the scabbard added a certain panache to the uniform. Broadblade cleared his throat, folded his hands behind his back, and addressed the crowd.
'As those of you who are members of the Hillhome
