Conscious of the stares of all the other hill dwarves, the mayor stopped speaking and flushed with embarrassment.
'Well, I guess I've got a couple of kegs. But what on Krynn do you need them for?'
Flint explained his plans, assigning dwarves to gather the necessary ingredients and make the required preparations.
Slowly, the various elements of Hillhome's defense came to gether.
The defensive strategy sounds good, Flint realized with satisfaction.
Even as they were speaking Flint noticed that it grew steadily darker. The sun dipped beyond the western hills, and twilight settled over the town and its valley. They've got to be coming soon now, he told himself.
'If they break the line here, everyone fall back through the town,' he added, developing a contingency plan. 'We'll make a final stand in the brewery, if it comes to that.' Hildy had already offered the building — the largest structure in
Hillhome — for that purpose.
'Look!' cried Perian suddenly, turning toward the south.
The others squinted into the distance. The movement along the Passroad was painfully obvious to them all, even in the fading light. A long column snaked its way through the mud.
The armored mountain dwarf troops of Pitrick's legion.
'They must have started right at sunset,' Basalt guessed.
'And they're coming fast.'
'They'll be here in an hour,' Flint judged, 'maybe sooner if they hurry. That doesn't give us a lot of time. Everybody spread out!' Flint ordered. 'Pass the word through the town — every dwarf with a weapon should get down here.
The rest should take shelter in the hills if they're not gone al ready!
'Basalt, Hildy — get your crews out there and light those fires. I want them blazing high by the time the Theiwar get down to the field. And then hurry back — remember, the battle's to be fought here, not out there!'
Basalt grinned as he trotted off with the fire brigade. The others, too, turned toward the stations for the imminent battle.
Perian turned to leave, and Flint caught her by the shoul ders. 'Not you,' he whispered hoarsely. 'Not yet.' Flint clasped her to him, and tucked her face into his throat be neath his beard.
He smelled of salty perspiration and soap, an honest, good scent. Flint's scent. She nuzzled him for the first time since they had left Mudhole.
'Don't tease me, you heartless wench!' he growled, gath ering her up tightly. He pulled back abruptly, taking her face in his thick, callused hands. 'I've grown quite fond of you,' he grumbled. 'For Reorx's sake be careful!'
Perian tilted her head back slightly and gave him a linger ing, bittersweet kiss that was salty with tears. 'I'll be careful — but only if you promise that you will, too.' He nodded somberly, and she kissed him on the nose this time, reluctantly wiggling out of his arms.
Perian gave him a playful pat and a smile. 'Mind you re member that promise.' Then she was gone to her assigned post.
Flint watched her go, and then got caught up in the frenzy of activity that swirled across Hillhome. Dusk settled over the town. Looking to the field, Flint saw one fire, then an other, then several more spark to life.
And the Theiwar troops marched onward to Hillhome.
Twilight faded to night as Basalt, Hildy, and the other hill dwarves kindled the bonfires laid in the field before the re doubt. These blazes crackled quickly upward as the dry wood ignited, sending pillars of sparks into the dark sky.
These dwarves scurried back to the safety of their com panions as Pitrick's forces neared the town. The bright yel low firelight soon reflected off of rank upon rank of black-armored, steel-tipped death.
Darkness grew as the mountain dwarf wave started for ward again, marching inexorably toward the confrontation with their dwarven kin on the dirt embankment.
In the next instant, as if from a single throat, Pitrick's le gion raised a hoarse cry. With a clash of their arms against their shields, they surged forward into a charge.
Chapter 22
The din of the Thiewar charge crested over the de fenders in a wave of sound. The mountain dwarves voiced hoarse challenges; they beat their swords and axes against their shields; and they pounded the ground with their heavy, rhythmic tread.
The sound rolled forward from the darkness, though the bonfires spotted throughout the field gave Flint and the oth ers a rough idea of the derro's location. Flint saw the flames glinting from steel axeblades, and dark, shiny shields. Even at this distance, the horrid eyes of the derro seemed to catch and reflect the light. Flint thought, incongruously, of fire flies glimpsed across a summer meadow.
For a moment he wondered if the volume of sound alone would be enough to sweep the defenders from the breast work, but a quick look around showed him that the hill dwarves were ready to stand firm. The gully dwarves actu ally contributed to the din, most of them sticking their tongues out or shrieking insults.
Flint looked nervously over his shoulder into Hillhome, now sheltered behind this semicircular barrier of earth. The darkened town seemed lifeless under the overcast night sky, especially in contrast to the fires scattered about the field.
The town, in fact, was virtually abandoned. Some three hundred and fifty of its citizens stood with Flint, Perian, and the Aghar along the redoubt. The others, almost one hun dred and sixty hill dwarves — the very old, very young, and otherwise infirm — had retreated to caves in the hills, wait ing fearfully for the outcome of the battle.
'Ready the sludge bombs!' cried the king, turning back to the charging Theiwar. The Aghar in the center reluctantly ceased their rude noises and took up the small, glass and ce ramic vessels that contained their weapons.
'The torches, too,' Flint added. 'Light them now!' Sev eral dozen hill dwarves touched matches to the oil- soaked torches they had prepared. 'We'll give the little grubs a sur prise when they get close enough,' he remarked to his brother Ruberik as the farmer came up to him. Ruberik nod ded grimly as they stood silently for a moment, peering into the darkness.
The thane's ranks swept closer. The charge, begun at sev eral hundred yards distance, swiftly closed the gap. Now, in the glaring light of the bonfires, Flint could discern individ ual derro. He saw faces distorted by battlelust, eyes squint ing murderously, seeking victims. Most of the derro advanced at an easy trot, their shields on their left arms while their right hands held axes or short swords.
Some of the fires vanished from sight, trampled by the dark line in its implacable advance, but closer pyres now il luminated the army. Flint wished for a rank of longbow men, or a catapult — any kind of missile with long range.
The sludge bombs, unfortunately, would only carry the dis tance of an Aghar toss — anywhere from one to fifty feet — and he wouldn't risk the gully dwarves in the Agharpult un til he was ready to attack.
'Stand firm, there!' Flint bellowed at a nearby pair of young hill dwarves who had started looking anxiously over their shoulders.
He heard Perian shout similar encouragements on the right flank, where she stood with Basalt and a small com pany of hill dwarves, supported by a reserve of Creeping
Wedgies.
Flint cast a quick glance to the left, where Tybalt stood with the majority of the hill dwarves, concealed behind the wall. Somewhere in that group, Flint knew, were Hildy, his brother Bernhard, and his sister Fidelia. He
