them-run them into the ground. You ogres, keep going up the hill.” He pointed, uttering a cry of delight as he saw a flash of movement high on the slope above them, a human figure dashing across a shallow draw, closely followed by another. “Look, there they are! In that ravine up there!”
Already the two dozen ogres of his detachment, every one of them a seasoned Grenadier, had turned from the path they were following along the valley floor. The ogres crossed the tundra to the base of the steep ridge, moving in a loose skirmish line. Even in this broken ground, there was no way the fugitives could slip through the ranks.
The king scanned the valley floor behind them. He could see another group of ogres, thirty or more about a half a mile behind his band, led by his wife. Stariz strode along energetically, bearing a tall wooden staff, the warriors jogging to keep up with her. With her billowing dress and broad, stomping stride, even Grimwar had to admit she looked powerful and intimidating. He was satisfied her party would be able to cover the low ground.
Beyond his wife rose the forbidding bulk of Castle Dracoheim, perched on its rocky knoll, commanding a view of this and all surrounding terrain. Grimwar was comforted to know that his mother was still in the fortress, the Dowager Queen keeping a careful eye on the approaches. Grimwar smiled cruelly, knowing that the Alchemist was safe-and busy crafting the final seal around the rim of the golden orb. The explosive weapon had been nearly complete when they started in pursuit of the intruders.
Content with the disposition of his warriors, Grimwar hurried to catch up with his strapping young Grenadiers, who were scrambling upward almost as quickly as they had moved across the level ground. Even with a measured pace, the king was startled to find himself breathing heavily after a few dozen paces up the steeply ascending ground.
Still, he made progress, creeping upward, within hailing distance of his faster warriors. Looking up the slope, Grimwar spotted a bearded man carrying a great sword. The bearded fellow paused near the summit and glanced down on his pursuers, then whirled away. Other ogres shouted in alarm, increasing the pace of their climb.
The king didn’t see any signs of the other intruders.
His scouts had reported a party of five coming this way.
“Be sure to look in all these gullies!” Grimwar shouted. “Don’t let the cowards hide, or sneak past!”
By the time the monarch crested the ridge, he was sweating profusely and gasping for breath. “Stop… here!” he ordered, plopping down onto a flat-topped rock. He mopped his brow. “Any sign of them?” he called to one of his warriors, who had advanced to observe from a high rock twenty or thirty paces away from the ogre king.
“I saw at least two heading along this ridge,” reported the Grenadier, a veteran called Three-Tusks because of the unique tooth growing out of the middle of his lower jaw. It was a trait that caused him to spit when talking, so Grimwar was pleased to speak to the fellow from some distance away.
“Go after them, my friend,” the king said. “Argus and I will keep a lookout here, and come along in a moment. Argus,” he called to his trusted lieutenant, who had made the climb at his side. “Can you see where the queen’s party is?”
“Her Highness Queen Stariz leads her company down the path we vacated,” Argus reported, indicating a score of ogres even now making their way down the valley floor. “It looks as though she intends to go all the way to the sea.”
“Good,” grunted the king. “That will cut them off along the shore. We chase up here, she’s down there. Let him cast a fog or pray for wind-this time the Messenger won’t get away!”
From somewhere he found the strength to push himself to his feet. Grunting, shaking his head, and once more wiping the sweat from his eyes, he started forward at a fast walk, following the ogre Three-Tusks and the detachment of Grenadiers.
Kerrick’s knees felt as though they had been scraped raw. His hands were caked with dirt. An unidentifiable odor of remarkable rankness coated the inside of his nostrils, so thick that even if he ever got out of here he was certain he’d smell it for the rest of his life.
He had no idea how long they had been crawling through these close, muddy confines-hours, at the very least, maybe even days. He was vaguely aware of Moreen in front of him. Occasionally his hand would touch her boot, when she slowed down or he crawled faster. He could only wonder at her courage, advancing resolutely even where she probably could see nothing in front of her at all.
Divid muttered periodically, usually about being hungry, and his voice was the only confirmation Kerrick had that the gully dwarf was still leading the way. Several times they squirmed through narrow bottlenecks, getting scuffed and scraped on all sides, and twice they reached slightly larger chambers, confluences of several tunnels. In each of these they stopped to stretch and, briefly rest. When Kerrick looked around he noticed several passages leading in all different directions.
When it was time to resume, Divid displayed no hesitation in selecting one of the apparently identical tunnels. Kerrick could only hope that the dwarf knew where he was going, for they certainly had no choice but to follow him.
Abruptly Moreen stopped and as the elf came up behind her he heard voices from ahead.
“Hey, Croaker? That ole you?”
“Divid? Where you go? How you come here? Got eats?”
“Got boat job,” said the gully dwarf guide proudly, before sighing. “Sinking kinda boat. Lousy eats, though. Whatcha got?”
Moreen moved forward, and Kerrick came behind, seeing that they had entered the largest subterranean chamber yet. The chiefwoman rolled to the side, then sat with her back against the muddy wall, while the elf squirmed forward, then knelt at her side. They were in a circular room, perhaps twenty feet across. At least a dozen low tunnels led away from here in as many directions.
“Who dat?” asked the strange gully dwarf. This was apparently the redoubtable Croaker.
“These guys go castle,” Divid said. “I show ’em the way.”
“Oh yeah? They no ogres?” Croaker asked, peering suspiciously at the elf and the woman.
“Nope, no ogres,” their guide assured his companion. “Nice smellin’ one is a lady! Married to skinny one, me thinks.”
Kerrick winced. “Friends,” he corrected. Moreen chuckled softly.
“All gullies friends,” declared Croaker, whacking Divid on the back with enthusiasm. “This one even when we hates him for taking my eats. And my girl-gully.”
“My eats!” Divid declared, bristling. He stood close to the other, chest puffing out aggressively. “You take my eats! And Darknose my girl-gully!”
“You take eats and my girl-gully,” Croaker said. “Oughta bop you a good one-two!”
“Yeah? Me bop you, two times!” Divid raised his grimy fists, ready to swing.
“We have eats,” Moreen said quickly, reaching out to Kerrick. He handed her the small sack of provisions that Randall had given them when the two groups parted. “Is anyone hungry?”
“We hungry! Always hungry!”
Kerrick was astonished to see that there were suddenly at least a dozen gully dwarves in this chamber. They came scrambling out of holes, eyes wide and shining in the darkness. “Whatcha got?” asked one grubby female, swaggering forward and poking her face into the satchel.
“Here. We have some fish-cakes. I think there’s one for everyone,” the chiefwoman replied, gracefully pulling the bag away, then soothing the scowling girl-gully by offering her the first cake. The others crowded around, and soon the whole group was munching on the nutritious, if rather dry and tasteless, food, the traditional fare of travelers in the Icereach.
“What is this place?” Kerrick asked Divid, glancing around. “Somebody’s, er, home?”
“This fine inn!” declared their guide. “Called ‘Way-fare House’. Gullies come here for good eats, good talk. Meet girls, too,” he said with a wink.
“Meet my girl,” Croaker said sullenly, apparently unwilling to let that transgression go unmentioned. “Two times!”
“This is an inn, eh?” the elf said. He looked around the place, now crowded with gully dwarves. There was no furniture, no fireplace, just a few rotting logs and big stones and a slab of rotten meat lying along one wall of the room.
Kerrick assumed from its odor that this latter was garbage, but one of the gullies, having consuming his fish
