The jolt of pain passed, and the creature sighed, opening its eyes again. Something had happened. Something inconceivable that seemed at the edge of memory but was just beyond recall. In a muttering voice as deep as gravel in a well, it faltered with words. 'Wha… what? What happen? Where?' Wincing at the effort, it tried to remember… and could not. Only a word came to memory, one significant word. A name? Yes, a name.
His own name. Krog.
Sore and shaking, he stood. Small, unseen things scurried away among the tumbled stones.
KROG. 'I… am Krog,' he muttered. It was true. He knew that, but nothing more. His name was Krog, but what had happened to him? Where was he? And WHY?
'Who am I?' he whispered. 'Krog… what is Krog? WHO is Krog?'
The battered landscape told him nothing. In the distance, where dawning grew, were smoke and haze. In the other direction were high mountains, but they meant nothing to him. Everywhere he looked, he saw a bleak and sundered landscape that was the only landscape he knew because he remembered no others.
It was as though he had just been born, and abruptly he felt a terrible loneliness — a need for… something… for belonging. There must be someone somewhere, someone to care for him. Someone to teach him, to help him understand. There had to be someone.
He turned full circle, big hooded eyes scanning the distance. Nothing moved. Nothing anywhere suggested that there was another living creature other than himself.
'Not right,' he muttered, the words a low growl that came from deep within a great chest. 'Not just Krog. Not all alone. Has to be… somebody else here.'
He started walking on unsteady legs. All directions were the same, so he went the way he had been facing, with the mountains to his left and the gray, hazed morning to his right. Ahead was a caprock hill, and he headed toward it. Remembering nothing except his name, knowing nothing except that he had awakened from nowhere and was headed to a place, aware of nothing except his aching head and the driving need not to be alone, Krog went looking for someone.
'Even the mountains are different,' one of the men said, pointing with a coiled whip at the distant peaks standing against a high gray sky. 'What in the names of all the gods could have done this?'
Those nearest him shrugged and shook their heads. Men of the tribe of Shalimin — reviled by those who knew them as 'the raiders,' or 'marauders,' or, simply, 'the slavers' — were men who knew the ways of the wild, not the ways of the world. The changes they saw now in that world were abrupt and massive; the night of change had been terrifying. Yet, whatever had done it, now it seemed to be past. And if sawtooth crags now stood where before had been dagger-spire peaks, if what had been meadows now were fields of strewn stone, if entire forests that had stood yesterday now lay fallen and desolate, it was not theirs to worry about.
It was over. The world was still here, and they still walked on it, and it was time to regroup.
'You!' one of them shouted, brandishing a whip. 'Back in line and stay there!' Ahead of him, a small, terrified creature scurried back into its place in the ragged line proceed ing northward. 'Gully dwarves!' He spat. 'We won't show much profit from this haul, Daco.'
'Better than nothing, though,' his companion said. 'They can be sold for simple work. They're strong enough to tote and fetch.'
'They won't bring a copper a head.' Daco sneered. 'Slave buyers know about gully dwarves. They're unreliable, they're clumsy, and they can't be taught anything useful.'
'Devious, I've heard,' someone added. 'I wouldn't want one for a slave of my own. Always plotting and scheming. They'd be a danger to have around if they could concentrate on anything for more than a minute or two. You, there! Get on your feet and walk! Nobody said you could stop and sleep!' He turned to the flanker opposite him. 'See? That's what I'm talking about. The one with the curly beard there… just like that, he was taking time out for a nap.'
The motley assemblage made its way northward across a strange and tumbled land, a dozen armed men driving several dozen gully dwarves. The little creatures — barely half the size of their captors — stumbled in an erratic double line, each bound to those in front and behind by a length of cord tied around his neck. The men surrounded them, herded them like cattle.
The slavers had been two separate parties only days before, and each party had been successful. Good slaves for the market. Human slaves — men, women and children. Then the Cataclysm — whatever it was — had occurred. Each party had lost its captives in the ensuing chaos, and now they had nothing to show for their expeditions except these pitiful gully dwarves they had chanced across.
Little enough to show, when they arrived at the main camp. Still, the gully dwarves were better than nothing.
The line topped a ridge, and they looked out on yet another scene of chaos. A forest of tall conifers once had lined the narrow valley. Now, hardly a tree was standing. The valley was a patchwork maze of fallen timbers, scattered this way and that as though some giant thing had trod there and paused to scuff its feet.
The men stared at the scene in wonder, then movement caught their eyes. 'Ah,' Daco breathed. 'There. Look.'
Among the fallen timbers were people, a ragged line of them making their way northward. Even from the ridge top, it was obvious that they were refugees… from something. There were at least a dozen of them, maybe more, and among them were women and children. No more than two or three carried weapons of any sort. 'Well, well.' Daco grinned. 'It seems our luck has just improved. That lot will bring a fine price at the pens.'
This Place was a mess. Whatever had happened was through happening, but the entire cavern was a litter of fallen stone, gravel dumps, and dust. Holding candles high, the Lady Drule and the others with her poked about, seeing what could be salvaged. There wasn't much: a few iron stew bowls, Hunch's mop-handle staff, about half of the Highbulp's prized elk antler, a few bits of fabric, a reaver's maul, a battered stew pot, a stick used for stirring… odds and ends. Most of what the clans had owned was either destroyed or lost.
The Lady Drule shook her head sadly. 'Gonna need to forage soon,' she said. ' 'Bout outta stuff.'
She wandered toward the entrance — or where the entrance had been — and looked at a mighty wall of fallen stone. There was no way out. The entrance was sealed.
Behind her, a whining voice said, 'So much for that.'
She turned to see the Grand Notioner, leaning on his mop handle. 'Guess so,' she said.
'So what we do now?'
'Dunno.' Lady Drule shrugged. 'All go find Highbulp, I guess. Let him decide.'
'Decide what?' Hunch frowned. 'Highbulp dumb as a post. What bright idea he gonna have?'
'Highbulp our glorious leader,' Drule pointed out. 'He think of somethin'.'
'Hmph!'
He followed along, though, with all the rest, when the Lady Drule set out in search of the Highbulp. The last she had seen of him, he and most of the other males had been disappearing into a crack in the back of the cave. The search began there.
Beyond the crack was an erosion seep, a damp, winding tunnel that led away into the hill, curving beyond sight, heading generally upward. Drule started treading along it, and there was a clamor behind her. 'What happen?' She turned to look.
'Nothin',' someone said. 'Somebody fall down.' 'Come on,' the Lady Drule urged them. 'Keep up.'
A smoke-hazed sun had crossed much of the sky, and the hot, searing winds from the east had changed to cool, whispering winds drifting down from the shattered peaks to the west. Time and miles were behind Krog since his awakening, but still he had found no one.
It was as though the world were an empty place, and he the only being on it. Confusion and sheer loneliness drove him on, though his search seemed more and more hopeless.
Then, atop a barren caprock hill, he heard voices. People — somewhere — talking among themselves. With a whimper of sheer glee, Krog searched for the source of the sounds, his eyes alight, his ears twitching. He saw no one, but after a time he heard the voices again and found where they came from. Amidst a pile of rubble was a hole in the ground, and somewhere below were voices, coming nearer. He knelt, peered into the darkness. He could see nothing. He tried to lower himself into the hole, but only his head would go in. The hole was far too small for his
