than the clean wound of a steel blade. Sheets of agony wracked her body, bringing hot tears to her eyes.
And, finally, the pain broke the thrall of his magic. With a groan, Perian crumpled to her knees, clasping a hand to the cheek he had touched. She twisted away from Pitrick. She was free.
'You disgust me!' she spat, leaping back to her feet.
Pitrick stepped backward in momentary surprise. At the same time, blue magic erupted from his amulet, but the light diffused through the night, out of its master's control.
'Stop!' he cried, groping for his axe.
But Perian, too, was beyond his control now. She felt for her own weapon, remembering that her axe had fallen from her hands. The march of the advancing derro sounded around her, and she knew that the Theiwar would soon come to their commander's rescue.
Desperately, her fingers reached toward her belt and closed about the hilt of the small knife — her only weapon.
She raised it and slashed wildly, feeling a grim satisfaction as the blade drove into Pitrick's hastily raised forearm. He screamed and slumped backward, tearing the blade from her grip.
Perian jerked away and saw the charging forms of black armored mountain dwarves in the darkness beyond Pitrick.
Some animal instinct in her wanted to stay, to keep striking him until he was dead, but her rational side told her there wasn't time.
She turned and sprinted toward the brewery, hearing the savant's hysterical shrieks of hatred. She did not see him reach for his amulet, though the blue light flared before she could dart around the corner. Lightning crackled through the night.
'Hurry!' Flint cried, overcome with relief as Perian stum bled toward him. The Theiwar troops advanced down the road behind her, but he swept her into his arms and together they tumbled through the gate. Other hill dwarves slammed the heavy portals shut and dropped the bars to lock them.
'You made it!' he grinned, gasping for breath and rolling over to look at Perian. 'I was so worried!'
She smiled weakly and took his hand in hers. He was sur prised to see that it was covered with blood. Then his eyes widened in horror as he saw the deep wounds, blistered by hot magic, in her back and along her left side.
'Perian!' he cried in disbelief.
Her smile slowly faded.
Chapter 24
'She's — they're getting away!' Pitnick's voice ex ploded in a shrill screech of outrage. 'Incompetent fools!
You're letting them escape!'
Watching Perian slip away, the hunchback limped into the main street, his hand clasped over the wound in his arm.
His hatred of Perian and all that she stood for flared to new heights, causing him to tremble beyond control. Flecks of spit drooled, unnoticed, from his lips as he raved. Her es cape only served to inflame him further. Through the smoke of the lightning bolt he'd cast, he had seen that she was mightily wounded. Despite this knowledge, Pitrick could think only of total, mindless destruction.
'Excellency, please!' pleaded one of his battle-weary ser geants. The leader of the derro looked up at him, smoke and grime smeared across the white skin of his face. His bristling beard and hair had many scorched patches, singed during the battle.
'The hill dwarves have gathered in one large building — they have not gotten away!' The warrior spoke quickly, fearful of his commander's wrath. 'They are trapped there, waiting for us to draw tight the noose!'
Pitrick dropped his fist, a thin smile creasing his gro tesque face. 'Trapped? All of them?'
'All that we could see, sir. It's a stout building, with a heavy gate. But I think we can bash it down.'
'Good. Very good.' The hunchback abruptly sat down on the street, thinking. His face lightened still further as an idea occurred to him.
'Let the hill dwarf scum sit and watch while we burn their village!' Pitrick ordered, springing to his feet. 'Put the torch to every building, every barn, every pile of hay in
Hillhome!' He imagined the conflagration consuming the town around him, and the thought gave him much pleasure.
'Excellency, I have a suggestion,' said the sergeant, with unusual courage.
Pitrick looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then gestured for the derro to speak.
'It will be dawn soon — no more than an hour to first light, and in another hour the sun will drive us under cover.
I urge that we attack the hill dwarves immediately, destroy them now, while darkness still surrounds us. Then we can destroy their town at our leisure.
'But, if we stop to burn now,' the sergeant continued, knowing he risked his life by daring to suggest a plan counter to the idea of his temperamental commander, 'the sun will rise before the battle is concluded, and we will have given the hill dwarves another day of life.'
Without pause, the sergeant rushed on. 'The hill dwarves have already proven resourceful and treacherous. Who knows what they will do while the sun shines and we are at the disadvantage. Excellency, we are on the verge of a great victory! I urge you to finish the fight now, while this victory is within our grasp!'
Pitrick grew suddenly, ominously calm. Then he spoke.
'Very well. We will destroy the enemy first. Now, where is this building that shelters them?'
The derro sergeant, concealing a sigh of relief, described the brewery to the adviser as they walked up Hillhome's de serted Main Street. Pitrick knew that his savants had ex pended their most potent spells against the earthwork, and would be of little use in the next battle. They would need to spend many hours studying their spellbooks before they could again cast the volleys of magic missiles or storm of hail that had proven so decisive on the wall.
And Pitrick, too, had employed most of his spells al ready. One or two might prove useful in breaking into the fortress, and then there were several he saved for his antici pated confrontation with Perian and the insolent Flint Fire forge.
Unconsciously, Pitrick fingered the dark battle-axe at his side. He had not yet used it, but he looked forward with cruel anticipation to the chance to drive it into a hill dwarf body. Perhaps even Flint Fireforge would find himself tast ing the bitter steel of that Theiwar blade.
They came to the brewery, and Pitrick quickly took in the formidable nature of the position. The gate was the obvious vulnerable point, but he would also send his forces against the walls, using makeshift ladders, poles, and whatever else they could find. He had no doubt that they would quickly break into the last-ditch fortress.
His subcommanders gathered around, waiting for his or ders. 'We will take them here. Attack from all sides.
'And as for the gate,' Pitrick said to his sergeant. 'Make a battering ram.'
The derro hurled themselves at the stone-walled brewery, assaulting it from every side. They scrambled up the steep wall, they bashed against the gate, and they pressed hard to break through the barricaded windows along the back wall.
Everywhere the defenders stood firm.
Some of the Theiwar laid long poles against the top of the wall, and slowly inched up these crude ramps in an attempt to force their way over the barrier. Others found ladders in nearby barns and shops and used them to climb the walls more directly.
