“Go,” a new voice said.
Sounds of someone moving echoed up the passage.
“No,” the first voice hissed. “Omer, get back here.”
Bradok gripped the handle of his sword, holding it up in front of him just as a figure rounded a bend in the tunnel not ten feet ahead of him. As his hand tightened around the hilt, he did something he had never done before: he made a wish, wishing he’d brought a light. Suddenly the enchanted blade burst into a pale, orange glow.
In the light, Bradok could see three dwarves with white-blond hair and white skin. The tallest had a braided and forked beard that decorated a shrewd-looking face. Behind him came a woman, with glassy blue eyes and long, disheveled hair. They both seemed to be reaching for the dwarf in front. He was younger, with his beard barely in, and he had an innocent, childlike expression on his face.
Bradok saw all that in the moment it took for the pale dwarves to react to the light. The big man and the woman shielded their eyes as if in horrific pain, but the younger dwarf simply stared at the glowing sword, his face contorted into a mask of rage and hatred.
“Magic!” he shrieked, his voice like an explosion in the silence of the tunnel.
What happened next was almost too fast for Bradok to follow. The young dwarf leaped as if he’d been shot from a catapult, slamming into Bradok and knocking him to the floor. The attacker’s hands were around Bradok’s throat, squeezing with a force unlike any Bradok had ever known. Purple dots erupted across his vision and the world went dark.
CHAPTER 12
Bradok’s fingers tore at the hand, clamped like an iron band over his throat. He could hear Rose cursing and other voices, too, unfamiliar voices, echoing as if from far away.
“Omer,” one shouted. “Let go, boy.”
“No,” the young dwarf roared, not letting go for a moment. “Magic!”
“He’s not a Theiwar, boy. Look at him,” the first voice said. “It’s just a magic sword. The sword is magic, not him. It’s ‘found’ magic.”
The vice on Bradok’s throat loosened a bit, and Bradok gulped a lungful of air.
“Found magic,” the young dwarf repeated, his voice changing back to a tone less threatening, the childlike innocence. “Like me?”
“Yes, like you,” the fork-bearded dwarf said.
When the hand released Bradok, he scurried back, gasping. The pale youth could barely grow a beard, yet he’d manhandled Bradok like a rag doll.
The fork-bearded dwarf raised his hands, showing them he was weaponless and meant no harm. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Just tell him you didn’t make that magic sword.”
“I didn’t,” Bradok gasped. “I’ve never even witnessed its magic before. My father won it off an elf in a dice game, long, long ago.”
The young dwarf made a soft cooing sound, like a bird, then picked up Bradok’s sword and held it out to him.
“Then please accept my apologies,” he said in a slow voice.
Bradok reached out hesitantly and took the sword.
“It’s all right,” he said with a reassurance he didn’t feel. He got to his feet, holding the sword down but still in front of him.
“Don’t mind him,” the dwarf said matter-of-factly. “He just hates wizards. A Theiwar wizard kidnapped him when he was a baby.”
The young dwarf shuddered and squatted down at the older one’s feet, putting his arms around his waist and pressing his head against the fork-bearded dwarf’s abdomen.
“The wizard experimented on poor Omer, here,” he said, stroking the young dwarf’s hair with a gentle hand. “Unfortunately he hasn’t been right in the head since he escaped.”
The passageway filled with the sound of running feet, and many of Bradok’s companions turned up, wielding their weapons.
“What goes on here?” Much demanded threateningly.
The fork-bearded dwarf raised his hands again. “Easy friends,” he said. “We don’t mean anyone any harm.”
“Like we’d believe you,” Jenner said, clutching an evil-looking war axe. “We wouldn’t take the word of a Daergar.”
The Daergar had long ago separated their clan from normal dwarf society in favor of living in the deep places of Krynn. Bradok knew the stories told about them: that they were evil, untrustworthy, and hated their higher-dwelling cousins.
“It’s true we are Daergar,” the dwarf said, indicating his small party. “My name is Corinthar Darklight; you can call me Corin. My friends and I were just passing through here. We mean you no jeopardy; I give you my word on that.”
“Friends?” Chisul said.
“There was a woman with him,” Bradok said, noticing her absence for the first time, “and I heard at least one other voice too.”
“There are six of us,” Corin said; then he turned and yelled back down the passage. “Come on out, everyone.”
Shuffling out of the darkness came four more Daergar. The woman he’d seen before came first, followed by a short, rotund dwarf with a beard cascading nearly down to the ground. Behind him came a tall dwarf with an exquisite face and a close-cropped beard. The last man was stocky and broad, and from what Bradok could see of him, his body bore many scars that crisscrossed his flesh.
All of them squinted against the light. They were dressed in rags and wore no shoes on their feet.
“You say you’re just passing through here?” Rose asked.
“Just so, friend,” Corin said, an easy, unconcerned smile on his face.
“So you know these caves?” she said. “Do you know a way to the surface?”
Corin hesitated; then his shoulders fell. “I’m afraid not, miss,” he said. “We’re just as lost as you.”
At that the woman giggled, and Bradok recognized her. That was the sound he’d heard two mornings earlier when he was using the privy at the other camp. He blushed as he realized she’d been watching him.
“Did you somehow escape?” Chisul asked.
The woman giggled again. “Oh, we escaped all right, handsome,” she replied, her amused expression transformed into an open leer.
“Easy, Jeni,” Corin said.
“What does she mean?” Rose asked, suspicion clouding her face. “Where did you escape from?”
Corin sighed and cast a vaguely disparaging look at Jeni, who appeared not to notice or care. “We were prisoners in the Burning Rock Penal Caves,” he said. “That doesn’t mean anything to you, of course, but it’s the kind of place they send you when they don’t want you coming back.”
“You’re convicts?” Chisul asked, aghast.
Corin smiled and shrugged absently. “Call it what you like. We’re ex-convicts now.”
“How did you escape?” Bradok asked.
“A little over a week ago, there was some kind of a massive earthquake,” Corin explained. “Most of the caves exploded or collapsed, forcing a river of magma into the few areas left intact. Just when we thought we were goners, a fissure opened in the back wall, exposing an underground river beyond.
“We had no choice,” he went on. “We jumped into the river just a step ahead of the deadly magma. Twenty of us went into the river. By the time we washed up on the beach, we were all that survived.”
