exposed to the Theiwar attackers, if there was any chance of getting them to safety.
'I'll just be a minute,' Perian said. 'Keep the gate open for me.'
Swallowing his further objections, since they would just waste time, Flint said, 'Hurry!' Then he watched as she darted between a pair of buildings toward the direction taken by Fester. With an anxious look up the road, he was mildly relieved to see no sign yet of the advancing mountain dwarves. Flint broke into a run, and soon rounded the curve in the road that took him toward the brewery.
The stone wall of that enclave now loomed ahead, the last battlement of the defenders of Hillhome. But a strong bas tion it might prove to be; only one gate provided access to the courtyard within that wall, which was six to eight feet thick at its base. The brewery consisted of three buildings: a barn, the vat house, and an office and storage building.
Each of these three structures was placed inside the com pound, against one of the courtyard's four walls.
At the gate he found Ruberik and Tybalt, together with a dozen armed hill dwarves. This group waited in the street, holding the gate open while they tried to ascertain that all the defenders had passed inside.
'The vat house windows are blocked,' reported Tybalt.
'There's a hundred of us in there, with swords, spears and pitchforks — and also, the Wedgies. I don't think the derro'll be coming in that way.'
'Is everyone inside now?' asked Flint.
'This is most of us,' said Ruberik as a dozen more hill dwarves, led by Turq Hearthstone, sprinted around a corner and joined the group at the gate.
'I didn't see anyone back there,' Turq gasped. 'I think ev eryone's gotten away — at least, everyone who could still walk,' he added grimly.
'I'll stand at the gate,' said Flint. 'We can hold it open for another minute. At least until we can see them coming.'
Hurry, Perian, he urged silently. 'Can you go into the vat house?' Flint asked Tybalt and Ruberik. 'See how Basalt and Hildy are faring. We've got to be ready for an attack from behind.'
The two Fireforge brothers nodded at Flint. Each of them clasped one of his hands and for a moment they stood to gether in silence. 'You and Basalt have given Hillhome a chance,' Ruberik said quietly to Flint. 'And whatever the outcome, we're all grateful for that.'
Flint cleared his throat awkwardly and winked. 'What do you mean, 'whatever the outcome'?' His brothers smiled at his forced joviality, then turned to pass through the gate.
Looking up at the high stone wall, Flint thought that his village just might have a chance. True, they would be sur rounded, cut off from escape or food supply. But the moun tain dwarves would have difficulty attacking them. If they could hold the Theiwar off for a while — though how long such a while might be, he had no idea — they might outlast their dark-dwelling foe.
Then Flint turned and looked up the street. He heard sounds of the enemy approaching, but as yet he could see nothing in the distant darkness.
Where was Perian?
Darting around the corner of an old warehouse, Perian looked up and down the side street. When she saw no sign of
Aghar, she didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.
Then she heard a sound coming from the open door of a darkened greengrocer's shop. Crouching, she slipped across the street and looked into the store.
'Hi, Queen Furryend! Get food for fort!' 'Fester beamed at her, looking up from her efforts at collecting bacon, pick les, and other provisions. The Aghar's mouth was outlined in white sugar — apparently some of her supplies would be transported internally — but her apron bulged with food.
Other gully dwarves moved forward from the shadows at the rear of the store, laden with pork, cheese, bread, and melons.
'Good, Fester — that's great! But you've got to hurry, now! Are there more of you near here?'
Fester nodded her head. 'More get hungry and get food.'
'Good! Now, run to the fort as fast as you can!' Perian barked the command sharply.
Fester looked momentarily puzzled, but then dashed for the door. The other Aghar, nearly a dozen in all, raced be hind the 'weighty lady.'
Perian followed them from the store, looking anxiously up the side street. She heard the tromp of heavy footsteps to the west, though the derro were still some distance away.
With relief, she saw Fester and her companions disappear in the direction of the brewery.
Were there any more stragglers? She looked around, her sensitive eyes seeing well in the darkness; she spotted no
Aghar. The sounds of armored dwarves on the march came closer on Main Street, but still there were no derro on this side avenue.
Pivoting smoothly, she turned toward the brewery. The structure was visible at the limits of her vision, its tall, fea tureless wall offering protection. The gate lay just around the corner, and there she would find Flint. A quick, low dash, and she would reach the shelter of that fortress before the attacking Theiwar.
A blue wash of light spilled through the street, and Perian knew that Pitrick was near.
'Come!' The lone word echoed through the night out of nowhere. She heard the savant's voice as she tried to break into a run, but something in the power of his voice — in the power of his word — held her step.
Perian whirled to face him, ready to shriek her hatred and revulsion. Instead, she took a step toward him. Gaping in astonishment, she looked down at her feet even as she took another step toward the repulsive hunchback.
'I knew I'd find you!' he crowed.
Perian tried to articulate a challenge, or to raise her axe in defense. But her mouth clamped shut, beyond her control, while her arms hung slack at her sides. She felt, but could not stop, her axe slipping from her numb fingers. The weapon dropped to the ground.
Again that blue light surged, and she saw its reflection in Pitrick's eyes. He leered at her, all but licking his lips, as she stumbled forward another step. Perian thought of the walled fort, of Flint waiting for her at the gate. The knowl edge halted her advance as she resolutely planted her feet, ignoring the compelling power of Pitrick's spell.
But the derro raised his hand and curtly gestured her for ward. Once again she took a step toward him, fighting the impulse with every ounce of her will, but helpless against the grip of his power. Perian stared at the hideous figure, cocky in his deformed stance, the grotesque hump pressing him into his forward-stooping posture. His huge eyes gleamed at her, glowing like dire beacons in the night.
Flint! She wanted to cry his name, to fall into his arms, but instead there was only the grinning apparition of Pitrick before her, growing larger with each inevitable footstep.
The hunchback planted his fists on his hips, sneering confi dently as Perian stumbled closer still. In moments she would be within his reach; he seemed to take a perverse pleasure in bringing her toward him, while he remained immobile, waiting.
Her attention riveted to that hateful face, Perian felt as though she and Pitrick w, re the only beings in the world — a world that had become very forlorn indeed. Blue light seeped from his amulet, and it was the only light she knew.
Blindly, helplessly, she stepped toward him again, and once more.
A few more paces would take her to his side. She strug gled to speak, to cry out, but her mouth remained slack, her arms frozen at her sides. Only her feet moved in that slow, doomful cadence.
'Come, spiteful wench. Come, and feel the touch of your master! Come, and meet your death!' Pitrick threw back his head and laughed into the night.
Perian took a final step and then stood before him. Waves of despair tormented her soul. Pitrick reached forward with a clenched, clawlike hand, raising his fingers toward her face.
He touched her cheek.
Pain flashed through her skin as he made contact. His ca ress was like a shot of vile sickness, far worse
