many more sips? It would last through the summer, perhaps. He remembered there was a little left in the small bottle, the potion of gaseous form she had made for him earlier in the spring. Two swallows, perhaps, a few more precious days of enhanced existence.
Suddenly the winter looked very dark and very cold.
“Let’s hurry,” Kerrick said, touching Divid on the shoulder, nodding to the gully dwarves still gathered around them. “I thank all of you at the ‘Wayfare House’ for your hospitality. Now it is time for us to continue on our way.
“You climb, me stay here with pals,” the gully dwarf said. He offered a two-eyed wink, nodding to the grimy female who had gotten food from Moreen. Now that gracious damsel was snuffling about in the dirt, nostrils pressed to the ground, as if she sought to confirm some intriguing scent there. “That Darknose,” Divid whispered. “She hot for me!”
“She’s, er, lovely, but we still need your help,” the elf declared sternly. “We don’t know the layout of this castle. Please show us how to find the Alchemist-then you can hurry back. I’m sure the, er, lady will wait for you!”
The gully dwarf looked at his comrades, many of whom were cheerfully gnawing on the piece of carrion, wrestling back and forth, occasionally flinging maggots at each other. Cloaker was sound asleep against the wall, and apparently that was enough to convince Divid that he could risk leaving his lady-love alone for a trifle longer.
“You give us pretty good eats,” the gully dwarf admitted. “Guess me show you which way to tower.”
“Thank you,” said Moreen.
The elf, looked skeptically at the ladder, which leaned precariously and seemed barely capable of supporting their weight.
“I’ll go first,” Kerrick told Moreen, feeling he should take the greatest risk. “Divid can follow, and you bring up the rear.”
He took hold of the ancient ladder, feeling mildew and mold on the lower rungs. Suppressing a shudder of disgust, he started to climb. Hand over hand, step by step, he made his way upward.
The ladder was surprisingly sturdy, and soon Kerrick spotted a hole overhead, a circle of grayish darkness. Pulling himself up the last stretch, he emerged through a gap in the floor of a stone-walled room.
“This be cistern, water for castle,” Divid announced, following him out of the ladder shaft.
Moreen came last. They stood on a ring of cold flagstones, a circular underground chamber around a pool of deep, clear water. Another ladder, this one formed of iron rungs planted in the stone walls, rose from here, toward light glimmering above.
“Up,” pointed their guide. “We gullies not usually go here. Ogres see us, they stick us with spear. No good.”
“You are very brave,” Moreen said, patting him on the shoulder. The praise made Divid beam, and as he started after Kerrick the elf reflected that, indeed, the grubby little fellow was performing an act of no small heroism.
This time when they reached the top, they climbed through a hole in the floor into an alcove off of a darkened corridor. Stone archways supported the ceiling, and a stairway of wide steps led upward. Divid took the lead, and they gingerly followed him, ascending at last into a large, dry room. A flickering of oily flame cast light from some unseen space just beyond the arched entrance.
“This one of favorite places… castle dungeon,” the gully dwarf explained in a loud whisper. “Sneak in here sometimes, but gots to run if ogres come.”
“Just show us the way to the tower,” the elf replied, gripping Divid’s arm in an gesture that was meant to be encouraging.
“Ouch!” protested the little fellow. “No grab!”
“Sorry,” Kerrick said replied quickly. He heard a rumbling sound from around the corner. Cautiously he peered around the edge and saw a large ogre lying on a bench, snoring loudly. The elf’s attention immediately went to the wall behind the bench, where several spears and a couple of swords stood haphazardly in a wooden rack. Beyond the bench the corridor was blocked by a barred iron door with a large lock.
This was a perfect opportunity. Kerrick had lost his sword when his boat went down, and he was weaponless.
Gesturing for his companions to wait, the elf crept forward as soundlessly as possible. The sleeping ogre snorted and half-rolled over, and Kerrick held his breath, afraid the lout would fall off the bench and wake up. Apparently the turnkey was used to his narrow perch, however, for he curled around and resumed his sonorous breathing.
The elf reached over his flabby belly, selecting the smallest sword in the rack. He lifted it out without managing to rattle any of the other weapons. The sword was a little long for him, heavier than his elven blade, but still a prize. He thrust it through his belt.
Divid led them away from the sleeping guard and the locked door, to another flight of steps. As they climbed Kerrick felt a heart-pounding excitement. They moved into a brighter hall, a place illuminated by the genuine light of day!
They emerged into a covered entryway next to the castle gatehouse, an arched passage leading directly to the wide courtyard around the keep. The trio pulled back into the shadow of the arch as a troop of twenty or more ogres marched past. Kerrick’s hand clenched around his new sword, but he knew that if they came this way he and his companions were outnumbered. He didn’t breathe for a full minute until the patrol had moved well out of sight.
“Up there,” said the gully dwarf, pointing to indicate one of the towers. “That where Alkist lives. Alla way to top.”
“We can climb from the gatehouse, then cross on that bridge,” Moreen suggested breathlessly, pointing to a stairway that the elf hadn’t noticed before. It seemed to lead up within the large, square building where they found themselves. That route offered some concealment. It was certainly better than a dash across the open courtyard.
“All right,” said. “Let’s do it.”
He turned to thank Divid for his help, but the gully dwarf was already gone.
“They’re giving up,” said a dismayed Strongwind, watching the ogre pursuers milling around more than a mile away. “It looks like they’re turning back to the castle.”
The ogre party started down the long slope toward the path on the valley floor. Strongwind saw the brutish warriors waving, apparently signaling to the larger party that had progressed toward the coast. Now those ogres, too, reversed course and started toward the looming castle.
“I wonder if that one, the big fellow wearing the black cape, isn’t the king, himself,” Randall mused, chewing on a blade of grass. “Didn’t Lady Moreen say something about a black bearskin that he captured from her tribe?”
“Yes. It was a tribal symbol, a bear slain by her ancestor as I recall. I’ve never heard of any other black bear. I bet you’re right.”
“There’s got to be a way to get their attention, to keep them chasing us,” Randall suggested. The berserker scratched his chin, a wry smile upon his face.
“I fear not. What do you propose?” asked Strong-wind, anxiously.
“Well,” said the berserker, with a mild chuckle. “Up until now we’ve been fleeing. We could always attack.”
“This way!” hissed Kerrick, leading Moreen along a small, narrow passageway. They had ascended a spiral stairway within the gatehouse tower and emerged from that route on top of the curtain wall. Now they followed this enclosed tunnel toward a battle platform, the outside rampart visible before them and bathed in bright sunlight.
At the end of the tunnel they paused, concealed behind the frame of the arch, watching as several guards strode along the parapet. One moved away from them, but two approached, so they shrank back into the
