Helt came to a low crouch, staring out into the dark. Behind them, the slide down which they had fallen loomed like a wall against the night. Before them, spread out for hundreds of yards in all directions in a mass of blazing yellow light, were the watchfires of the Gnome army that encircled the fortress of Capaal. Helt studied the fires wordlessly for a moment, then dropped back into the brush, Slanter beside him.
«We’re right in the middle of the siege camp,” he said quietly.
Already there were torches lining the ledge from which they had fallen, far distant yet unmistakable in their purpose. The Gnomes on the ledge were coming down after them.
«We can’t stay here.» Helt came to his feet once more, eyes peering out through the brush at the Gnome Hunters about them.
«Well, where do you suggest we go, Borderman?» Slanter snapped.
Helt shook his head slowly. «Perhaps along the slide…»
«The slide? Perhaps we can fly while we’re at it!» Slanter shook his head. The Gnome Hunters were calling down into the camp from the ledge. «No way out of this one,” he muttered bitterly. He cast about futilely for a moment, then paused. «Unless, of course, you happen to be a Gnome.»
His rough yellow face swung about to find Helt. The Borderman stared back at him wordlessly, waiting. «Or perhaps one of the walkers,” he added.
Helt shook his head slowly. «What are you talking about?»
Slanter bent close. «Must be mad even to consider this, but I guess it’s no madder than anything else that’s happened. You and me, Borderman. Black walker and Gnome servant. Pull that cloak about you, hood about your head, no one’ll know. You’re big enough for it. Walk right through them, you and me — right up to the gates of that fortress. Hope to all that’s good and right that the Dwarves open up long enough for us to slip in.»
Shouts rose from off to their left. Helt glanced over quickly, then back again. «You could do all this without me, Slanter. You could get out on your own a lot easier than if I’m with you.»
«Don’t tempt me!» the Gnome snapped.
The gentle eyes were steady. «They’re your people. You could still go back to them.»
Slanter seemed to think it over for a moment. Then he shook his head roughly. «Forget it. I’d have that black devil Weapons Master tracking me all through the Four Lands. I’m not risking that.» The hard yellow face seemed to stiffen further. «And there’s the boy…»
His eyes snapped up. «Well, do we try it or not, Borderman?»
Helt rose, pulling his cloak close about him. «We try it.»
They strode clear of the brush, Slanter with his cloak thrown wide so that all could see it was a Gnome who led the way, Helt with his drawn close, a massive, hooded giant towering above the other. They passed boldly down through the spokes of the siege lines toward where the army massed before the fortress walls, staying carefully within the darkness between those lines so that they could not be clearly seen. They walked for nearly fifty yards, and no one gave challenge.
Then a cross line blocked their way forward, and there was no longer any darkness left through which to pass. Slanter never hesitated. He stalked toward the watchfires, the cloaked figure following. The Gnome Hunters who were gathered there turned to gape, weapons lifting guardedly.
«Stand back!» Slanter called out sharply. «The Master comes!»
Eyes widened and fear reflected in the harsh yellow faces. Weapons lowered quickly, and all stood aside as the two figures passed, slipping into a square of half–light between the lines. Gnomes were all about them now, heads turning, eyes staring in surprise and curiosity. Still no one challenged, the tumult of the search on the slope drowning out everything else in the autumn night.
Another siege line lay ahead. Slanter lifted his arms dramatically to the Gnome Hunters who turned. «Give way to the Master, Gnomes!»
Again the lines parted to let them through. Sweat was pouring down Slanter’s rough face as he glanced back at the shadowed figure behind him. Hundreds of eyes followed after them, and there was a faint stirring within the ranks of the Gnomes. A few were beginning to question what was happening.
The last of. the forward lines of the siege lay before them. Here the Gnome Hunters again brought up their short spears menacingly, and there were disgruntled mutterings. Beyond the watchfires the dark walls of the Dwarf citadel rose up against the night and on their battlements, torches burned in solitary patches of hazy light.
«Stand away!» Slanter bellowed, again throwing up his arms. «Dark magic runs loose this night and the walls of the enemy keep shall crumble before it! Stand away! Let the walker pass!»
As if to emphasize the warning, the cloaked figure following lifted one arm slowly and pointed toward the watch.
That was enough for the Gnomes on the siege lines. Breaking ranks, they parted hurriedly, most of them scurrying back toward the second line of defense, casting anxious glances over their shoulders as they went. A few lingered, frowns on their faces as the two figures passed, but still no one stepped forward to offer challenge.
The Gnome and the Borderman walked into the night, eyes riveted now on the dark walls ahead. Slanter raised his hands high above his head as they approached, praying inwardly that this simple gesture would be enough to stay the deadly missiles surely pointed in their direction.
They were two dozen yards from the walls when a voice rang out. «Come no further, Gnome!»
Slanter drew to an immediate halt, arms lowering. «Open the gates!» he cried furtively. «We’re friends!»
There was a low muttering on the walls, and a call down to someone below. But the gates remained closed. Slanter glanced about frantically. Behind where he and Helt stood watching, the Gnomes were stirring once more.
«Who are you?» the voice from atop the wall called out again.
«Open the gates, you fool!» Slanter’s patience was gone.
Now Helt came forward to stand beside the Gnome. «Callahorn!» he called out in a hoarse whisper.
Behind them, a chorus of howls rose up from the Gnomes. The game was up. The two broke for the fortress walls in a mad dash, calling to the Dwarves within. They dashed up against the iron–bound gates, casting desperate glances back as they ran. An entire line of Gnome Hunters swept toward them, torches bobbing wildly, cries of rage breaking from their throats. Spears and arrows launched through the dark.
«Oh, shades, open up in there, you… !» Slanter bawled.
Abruptly the gates swung open and hands reached out to yank them through. An instant later they were within the fortress, the gates slamming shut behind them as renewed howls of fury filled the night. They were thrown to the ground, and iron–tipped spears ringed them tightly.
Slanter shook his head in disgust and glanced over at Helt. «You explain it to them, Borderman,” he muttered. «Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could.»
Jair Ohmsford fell a long way into the Cillidellan. Downward he plunged, a tiny speck of darkness against the deep blue–gray of the night sky, the pit of his stomach dropping away, the rush of the wind filling his ears with its sound. Far below him the waters of the lake shimmered with bits of crimson light as the watchfires of the Gnomes reflected against their rippling surface, and all about him the vast sweep of the mountains and cliffs encircling Capaal rose up through the blur of his vision. Time seemed to come to a sudden standstill, and it felt as if he would never come to rest.
Then he struck with jarring force, breaking through the surface of the lake and plunging deep into the cold, dark waters. The breath left his lungs with stunning suddenness, and his whole body went numb with shock. Frantically, he clawed his way through the chill blackness that had closed about him, barely conscious of anything beyond his need to reach the surface once more so that he could breathe. The heat from his body dissipated in seconds, and he felt a crushing force pressing in against him, so terrible that it threatened to break him in two. He struggled upward, desperate with need. Lights danced before his eyes and his arms and legs seemed suddenly turned to lead. Weakly, he thrashed against their pull, lost in a maze of dark turns.
A moment later, everything slipped away from him.
He dreamed, a long, endless dream of disconnected feelings and sensations and of times and places both remembered and yet somehow new. Waves of sound and motion carried him through landscapes of nightmare and haunts of the familiar, through oft–traveled forest trails of the Vale, and through sweeps of black, cold water where life passed in tangled disarray in faces and shapes not fixed one to the other, but disjointed and free. Brin was there, come and gone in brief glimpses, a distorted form that combined reality with falsehood and begged for
