“What do we do now?” Konnor asked. “Surely something, besides hiding out in the dark?”
“Yes. Now that you are here, we have to take action,” Darann declared. “We must try to get to the king, tell him what you’ve learned about the Delvers, and what I suspect about Nayfal.”
“You are right, I think,” Borand said. “But I wish we had more to tell him than mere suspicions. Is there some way we can get proof?”
“You said someone helped him to sabotage the lift. We could try to find that person, force him to confess,” said the dwarfmaid.
“Not an easy task, perhaps even impossible,” said the elder brother, shaking his head. “But Hiyram gave you warning about the plot against Father. Do you have any idea how he learned?”
“He knows a dwarf, a pailslopper, who works in the Royal Tower, seems to know something about Nayfal’s activities. But she’s not loyal to him-she gave Hiyram the warning to bring to me. If we find Hiyram, perhaps he can lead us to her, and she might be able to provide us with proof?”
“A pailslopper?” Aurand said with a grimace. “Makes us seem pretty desperate.”
“We are desperate!” snapped Darann, glaring at her younger brother. “In case you hadn’t noticed, your life is probably in danger as well! If our best hopes lie with a goblin and a pailslopper, then what does that say about our countrymen?”
“I am sorry. Your point is taken,” Aurand acknowledged. “And it says some very ugly things about our fellow Seers… very ugly indeed.”
“I have been thinking of something else,” Darann noted, continuing as her brothers remained silent. “Father got a note from a dwarfmaid who claimed to be ‘one of the lowest’ or something like that. I am wondering if she is the same woman as Hiyram’s pailslopper.”
“It’s possible,” Borand concurred. “Certainly worth speaking to the wench.”
“Your boat-is it nearby?” asked Konnor.
“At the foot of this hill,” she replied. “And big enough for the four of us, but barely.”
“We can get the supplies off the ferr’ells,” volunteered Aurand, “and meet you at the shore. Let’s get started right away.”
“Do you think the king will see us?” Borand asked, staring at the city shining so brightly in the distance. The white coolfyre beacons reflected off the still water, amplifying their brightness against the backdrop of the sunless circle.
“We don’t have any choice but to try!” Aurand said sharply. “Our father has been murdered! Do you not desire to avenge him?”
“I do,” said the elder brother, nodding grimly. “I just wonder about our chances of success.”
“That’s a waste of time from over here,” Konnor said. “Better to wonder while we’re waiting in the throne room for our audience with the king. Until then, we’ve got other problems to solve.”
“Agreed,” said Borand. “Perhaps I am simply feeling my age. It is easier, certainly, to wonder than it is to act. But so, too, is such pensive reflection undeniably useless. So let’s move.”
The two brothers started to descend the back side of the hill toward the ferr’ells, while Darann led Konnor down the steeper side facing the city. They worked their way down the rocky slope for some distance before stopping to catch their breath, still a hundred feet above the shore.
“I… I feel terrible that you were here alone,” the dwarf told Darann, clearing his throat awkwardly. “That is… since Karkald was lost, I have worried about you… I mean, with concern, of course.”
Darann sighed, touched and irritated at the same time. He had a point. Why did it seem as though she had to deal with so many problems by herself? But she clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I am glad that the three of you are here now.”
Konnor nodded, looking at her seriously, as if he had something important to say. But in the end he swallowed his words, nodded gruffly, cleared his throat again. “Yes, I’m glad that we’re here, too,” was all he said.
Hiyram ran with terrible fear pounding in his heart, but he did not let that fear turn to panic. Spadrool was still at his side, and together they had been able to send many females and youngsters toward the lower end of the ghetto, while they raced into view of the Seer troops and led the invaders off the track.
Of course, despite his determination, there was plenty of panic to be found in the goblin ghetto. They found several bodies, goblins of all ages and both genders who had been cut down with violence. Sometimes other fleeing goblins were too distraught to listen to their advice; one elder fellow, half deaf and limping along with a cane, simply waved them off and hurried up the street, straight into the path of one of the Seer patrols. Hiyram groaned aloud as he saw the goblin flinch back from a blow, then fall to the ground to be kicked and stabbed by the dwarves. Crouching in the shadows, he waited until the dozen or so Seers had tromped past, then went to see if he could aid the old goblin. He was not surprised to find that the fellow was already dead.
“Why they do?” Spadrool asked pathetically, looking down at the frail-looking corpse. “What for they come?”
Hiyram shook his head, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He didn’t know the answer. For a time, earlier in this very interval, he had wondered those questions himself, not coming close to an acceptable answer. Now, with violence and suffering all around him, he would no longer worry about the whys and the what fors. The knife had been almost forgotten in his hand, but he discovered his fingers clenched painfully around the hilt.
“Come. We got work,” he said, starting off at a trot, the faithful Spadrool sprinting after until he caught up.
The two goblins came around another corner and found several females with a score of youngsters huddled, sobbing, in the niche between two buildings. The heavy footsteps of dwarven interlopers grew louder in the street, coming toward them.
“Follow him!” cried Hiyram, pointing at Spadrool. “Take them down to sewer flats-hurry!” he urged.
“But-you come, too!” declared his companion.
“Right after,” Hiyram said. “But go!”
With an anxious glance back, Spadrool took off, the terrified goblins hurrying along behind. Hiyram trotted after, looking over his own shoulder, seeing the rank of dwarves turn into the street. One spotted the fleeing party and raised a shout; immediately, the tromp of marching boots broke into the clatter of a dead run.
One of the females screamed, and several children started crying. Their progress was too slow; the dwarves would catch them inside of a minute! Casting around for something to do, Hiyram spotted a stack of empty, rotting barrels stacked haphazardly beside the roadway. He ducked behind the stale-smelling kegs, looking anxiously as the fleeing goblins hurried up the street. From his hiding place he couldn’t see the pursuers, but the sounds of clomped, nailed boots grew thunderous as they approached.
Judging his moment carefully, Hiyram pushed against the bottom barrel, nudging it over, toppling it into the street. Several casks atop that one fell outward, one shattering and the other tumbling over the stone roadway. Immediately he heard cursing and crashing, saw the rolling barrel bounce toward him as a heavy object-an armored dwarf-collided with it. Urgently he pushed at the stack, sending more barrels rolling across the street, scattering the pursuing guards like ninepins.
“There he is-get him!” The shout seemed to be right in Hiyram’s ear, and he whirled in sudden fear. A dwarf, huge and strapping and fiercely bearded, thrust at him with a short sword. The goblin ducked under the blow, then dove headlong into the tumbling barrels, dodging a heavy boot that tried to stomp down on his head.
Bouncing to his feet, he darted behind another dwarf, thankfully observing that Spadrool and the fleeing goblins had disappeared down the street. But now the dwarves were focusing on him, circling menacingly. One hacked downward with an axe, shattering a barrel into kindling as Hiyram tumbled away. He ducked, crept past another barrel, then leaped to his feet. The road was open before him, and he put down his head and sprinted-
Right into the gut of a dwarf who somehow emerged into view, having been hidden by a rolling keg. This one had a sword, and as he gasped for breath, he raised the weapon, aiming a blow at Hiyram’s head. Other dwarves closed in, the rest of them coming from behind, jeering and shouting.
The knife seemed heavy in the goblin’s hand. He remembered Darann’s entreaty that he never use it against a dwarf, not unless his life depended upon it. Every fiber of his conscience urged him to hold back his hand, resist the violence that was overwhelming him. But that dwarven blade was close now, quivering as the fellow lined it up for a killing blow.
“I’m sorry, Lady,” Hiyram groaned.
