The Crucible of the Dragon God

them.

Lucky fora them, she thought, because if they hadda tittered, I would havva to keel them horribly and withouta mercy.

After she had keeled the bastardo.

Dolorosa span as she saw that the macalorum had taken advantage of her unexpected halt to turn around and bounce back up the hill, chittering as it passed her. Once again she made a grab for it, and once again missed. What had made this essential ingredient of her surprise stew quite so skittish she wasn't sure — it was normally such a docile little herb — and she wondered whether it had anything to do with the reports of strange creature sightings to the west. These things nicknamed the k'nid. Certainly macalorum wasn't the only thing around here that was uneasy at the moment, as most of the smaller wildlife in Tarn seemed to be that, or worse. Whatever the cause, the macalorum's determination to avoid becoming an ingredient only made her all the more determined to catch it.

Dolorosa bent and slid her fingers into the rim of her right boot, then rolled up her sleeves and began to stomp after the herb.

The stiletto she had extracted from her footwear gleamed viciously and the woman grinned evilly and tossed it in her palm, weighing it up, before flipping it so that she held it by the end of the blade. All she had to do now was time her moment right. And there it was, she thought, where the herb was about to hop over that small ridge into the trees beyond. The macalorum tensed it roots and Dolorosa threw.

Victory issa mine! she thought, and began to scramble up the hill towards the impaled and struggling herb.

She was almost upon it when she found herself staggering backwards. The sky above her tipped dizzily, as if she were going into a swoon.

Greata Gods of the Seas, I havva overdone myself, she thought. My 'usband, in moments of passion, hassa warned me ovva this.

There was only one problem with that theory, she realised — she didn't feel remotely dizzy or weak. Why, then, did she continue to fall backwards, landing on her behind with a thud and a puff of dry soil?

Anda wotta wassa happening to the hill?

To her confused eyes it seemed to be getting bigger.

Pah! Eet ees impossible.

Impossib -

'Greata Grandma of the Gods!'

Above her, no more than a yard from her upturned feet, the grass that covered the hill was breaking apart, spilling roiling piles of soil onto the otherwise green landscape, like a pan that had begun to bubble over. Dolorosa scrambled back, thinking that perhaps she was being visited by a rarely seen undermuncher, but it soon became clear that it was bigger even than that. The roiling soil was spreading ever outward now, so much so that her feet and the bottom of her legs had begun to rise with it, tipping her further backwards so that she had to steady herself on the palms of her hands. The old woman watched, mesmerised, as the mound turned into a small hillock, and then one not so small, and her eyebrows raised as something suddenly poked its nose through the surface. Something big.

Dolorosa rapidly muttered a small number of hail glorias, and then far more curses, as she was once more tipped heels over head, her skirt enveloping her again, though this time perhaps mercifully as it shielded her gaze from whatever monster was emerging from the depths. She rolled down the hill in darkness, aware as she went that whatever was emerging from the ground was rumbling loudly and that it stank of the depths and something old. Totally unnecessarily, considering she was under her skirt, she closed her eyes and waited for whatever fate was going to befall her.

Suddenly the rumbling stopped.

The unknown beast hissed loudly.

And then… nothing happened.

A second passed. Two. Three. And then, with a gulp of apprehension, Dolorosa flung her skirt off her head, squinting ahead. There, silhouetted by the evening sun, something shadowed and bulky obscured the hillside. Something with a number of projections on its front, like cannon, that seemed to distort the air in front of them. As she stared the beast disgorged something from its side. No, not something, Dolorosa realised — a figure. A strangely familiar figure, as it turned out, witha what appeared to be a bum sticking out ovva its pants.

The figure looked around, taking in its surroundings.

'Pits of Kerberos,' Kali Hooper said, 'it worked.'

She leapt down from the cabin of the machine she had nicknamed The Mole and limped past the prone and gaping old woman, pausing only to point back and declare with girlish enthusiasm; 'Dolorosa, you have GOT to get yourself one of those.'

'Bossa lady?' Dolorosa said. And then again: 'Boss?'

She picked herself up and, with a backward glance at the strange machine, raced after Kali as she hobbled purposefully towards the Flagons, circling her as she walked and squinting with some concern, but mainly suspicion, at the bedraggled, dirt covered figure. Once she had truly established its identity, she poked it in the chest with a bony finger.

'You are notta dead?'

'Nope. But I am thirsty. Very.'

'Beer eet issa notta good when you arra dehydrated.'

Kali snorted. 'Yeah, right.'

They reached the doors to the Flagons and Kali flung them open, frowning in puzzlement at the fact the bar was adorned with a great strip of bunting inscribed, in Dolorosa's strangled peninsulan, with the words: 'Kali Hooper — Resta Inna Peas.'

Rather unnecessarily, Dolorosa declared to all within that 'the boss lady issa back', but before the expressions of joy had even had time to settle on the regulars' faces, Kali was already seated at the bar, pointing silently, but self-explanatorily, at the cask thwack. Much to his wife's apparent disapproval Aldrededor was already pouring a tankard, and then another, and then — because he knew the occasion would demand it — another still. Kali downed them all in rapid succession, wiped her mouth with her forearm, sighed and burped long and hard.

'That,' she gasped, 'I needed. Hi, guys,' she added, waving at the regulars and smiling as they welcomed her back.

''Allo, Kaleeee!'

'Good to see yer, halfpint…'

'So — you are not dead,' Aldrededor declared, taking the last empty tankard and placing another frothing one in her hand. 'It is very good to see you home, Kali Hooper.'

'Likewise, Aldrededor.' Kali slapped the empty on the bar. 'What made you think I was dead?'

Aldrededor shrugged. 'The fact that you have been missing for six weeks. That there has been no news at all and, of course, this — ' The one-time pirate pointed at Kali's battered and torn equipment belt, hung in pride of place behind the bar. 'It washed up on a beach near Nurn. Luckily, Mister Larson was there on his holiday and managed to retrieve it. Thank you, Mister Larson.'

'Six weeks?' Kali repeated. She nodded to Ronin as she reclaimed her belt. 'That place really threw me out of whack. So have I missed anything?'

'Oh, the usual,' Aldrededor said casually. 'Red was arrested three or four times, Miss Scrubb has been nibbling the Dreamweed again and — ' Rather surprisingly, Aldrededor stopped and suddenly busied himself wiping glasses.

'Aldrededor?' Kali prompted, but the swarthy Sarcrean only shrugged and devoted all his attention to erasing a tiny spot on one of the tankards, one that was seemingly never going to disappear no matter how hard he tried.

Suspicious now, Kali span on her barstool to face the gathered regulars, but where a moment before it had been all 'Here's to Kali!' and 'We should have known you'd be fine!' there was now a totally uncharacteristic silence.

Kali stared at Pete Two Ties on whom she could usually depend, but his head had descended into what was