beacons with unusual diligence. From the low, metal-hulled boat those washes of light seemed like sinister searchers, sweeping and probing across the surface of the Darksea. When another boat came into the glare of one beam it remained fixed on the watercraft for some time, and Darann could imagine the guards taking careful inventory of whoever was aboard that vessel.
The goblin ghetto opened only onto a small section of Axial’s waterfront, a place crowded with piers and docks and fisheries and even a long-abandoned boatyard. The docks were strangely naked, Darann was not surprised to see, for she recalled that one of the first of King Lightbringer’s goblin-control edicts was to ban them from owning boats. Not that goblins had ever been much for seafaring, but now they had no means of getting in and out of the ghetto by water. It seemed, judging from the vigorous sweeps of the beacons, that the dwarves intended to keep it that way. There seemed to be no gap, no way to slip between the diligent searchlights.
“We’ll never get to the ghetto docks without being spotted. We’ll have to land in the city and make our way there over land,” Borand whispered from the bow, vocalizing the same conclusion Darann had reached on her own.
“Let’s go to the ferry harbor,” she suggested, veering the tiller to turn them in the direction of wood. “There’s lots of activity there, and we’ll be able to slip into the docks without attracting attention. And it’s only a half mile down the waterfront from the ghetto wall.”
“Good idea,” Borand agreed.
For a while there was just the steady creaking of the oars and the solid rhythm of Aurand’s deep, strong breathing as he pushed the boat along. The light grew stronger, not just the wash of the great beacon but the general spillage from a thousand household lamps, a hundred globular streetlights, and the torches that marked each of the hundred or so boats currently making their way along the waterfront. Darann could see their reflection in the water, knew that they would soon be spotted by dwarves in other boats, and on shore.
“Best we light our own wick,” she said, nodding to the lamp dangling from a hook over the prow. “Nothing’s as likely to arouse suspicion as the sight of us trying to sneak through the shadows.”
“Another good idea,” Borand agreed. “I’ll get it.” He pulled a bundle of matches from his shirt, torched one, and lit the lamp to bring their own little circle of light onto the dark coastal waters. Datann felt terribly exposed, wanted to hunker down below the gunwales. It took all of her willpower to avoid acting on her fear, but she managed to sit tall, just as if she absolutely belonged here. Perhaps, she told herself, trying to inject a burst of confidence… perhaps she did belong here!
Soon they were approaching the vast, open harbor where the city’s numerous ferries docked. Some of these were small boats, no different from the one Darann had commandeered, but a few were larger, raftlike craft that plied regular routes to some of the city’s near environs. Each of these had many lamps, and when one glided past within two hundred yards, they could hear raucous laughter, the clink of toasting glasses as a large group of dwarves embarked on some jovial excursion.
Darann steered away from these big boats, making for a quiet section of the harbor. She had seen ports on Nayve, where breakwaters were regularly placed to block waves and, incidentally, channel boat traffic. She was grateful that no such barriers were necessary on the stormless Darksea. The entire anchorage faced open water. Several small boats glided nearby, but neither the rowers nor their passengers paid any attention to the four dwarves approaching the crowded waterfront. She steered them away from the traffic, and as they drew near to the shore they slipped between a couple of tall, empty docks. Feeling a little better now that they were concealed among the pilings, she had her brother paddle them in as close to shore as possible.
“Lash to the base of that ladder, there,” she suggested, and soon the boat was made fast. Borand went up the ladder first, doing his best to look casual, though he checked to make sure his sword swung freely from his belt. Aurand went next. When Darann waited for Konnor, he gestured for her to precede him. In another minute all four of them had climbed to the dock and were ambling down the stone pier toward the waterfront.
They reached shore in front of a quiet inn, in the midst of a section of small warehouses. The ghetto lay to their right and, without speaking, they turned of one mind toward that direction. A few dwarves emerged from the inn, cast them uninterested glances, and turned to walk the other way.
They soon found themselves alone on a dark stretch of the wharf. The waters glimmered in the dark off to their right, and the buildings to their left-stone structures of one or two stories-were silent, projecting an air of dilapidation and abandonment.
“Business must be bad this close to the ghetto,” remarked Borand. “I can remember when that place there was a dance hall as lively as any in the habor quarter-and you could buy and sell gold in the shop next door, trade it for anything in the whole First Circle and beyond.”
“Not surprising they’ve all closed down now. Would you want to do business in the shadow of that?” asked Darann, nodding toward the dark wall that stood before them. It extended to the edge of the water, where it terminated in a watchtower capped by a platform and a swiveling beacon. They could see the silhouettes of three dwarves atop the tower, all facing the other direction; it seemed the trio were occupied with their bright light, casting a coolfyre beam back and forth through the ghetto and the water just offshore.
The foursome took shelter in a narrow alcove, the doorway to the last building in front of the wall, in order to discuss their options. “Sounds like the trouble is on the other side of the ghetto, at the Metal Gate,” Darann said. “For now, anyway.”
“Yep, seems pretty quiet over here,” Aurand agreed. He looked at Darann. “You’ve been to visit the goblins before. How do you get in?”
“I just have to talk my way through one of the guard posts. They have ’em set up at every gate,” she replied. “But I don’t think they’ll be too likely to let anyone in now, not when there’s some kind of raid going on.”
“Well, let’s have a look at the wall then,” Aurand suggested. Moving to the end of the alcove, he leaned out to examine the barrier.
Darann heard something and pulled his collar, yanking her younger brother back in the split second before a troop of guards came into sight, emerging from a side street a stone’s throw away. The soldiers turned toward them, marching along the waterfront.
The alcove was deep, and the four dwarves huddled soundlessly as the company-at least a hundred strong and fully girded for battle-hastened past at a double-time march.
“Heading for the ghetto,” Konnor remarked.
“Looks like the Wood Gate will be the next to get it,” Darann agreed. “I have the feeling we don’t have much time.”
14
Embattled Nayve
’e ’eld ’is ’ead as ’e saw th’ dead, and ’e laid ’is blade on the plain; till ’e raised it again, and ’e scoured the flame and ’e led all o’ trolldom to fame!
A volley of arrows arced through the sky, falling among the black-shirted Delvers as the dwarves sorted out their ranks. Again and again the Hyaccan elves launched their feathered, steel-tipped missiles, and many punctured enemy armor and flesh. But the steady barrage seemed to have no effect on the horde of attackers, as the dwarves formed their lines, lifted their shields, and started to advance.
“Mount up and fall back!” Janitha cried, furious at the necessity of retreat. For five decades her company had stood here, and she had allowed herself to believe that Riven Deep was a barrier that would stand forever. Now, in an explosion of dark magic, the Delvers had crossed that vast gulf in the space of a single hour.
The great slabs of stone had each borne a thousand or more Delvers. The air rafts, as she thought of them, had drifted across the chasm as gently as any lighter-than-air balloon. They had rumbled to the ground on the near rim, their edges cracking into rubble. The elves had ridden forward bravely, shooting hundreds of arrows, but the
