“Get out?” Gus hadn’t really processed that idea yet. He shrugged, trying to think; then he remembered. “I took drink from bad wizard’s bottle. Strong drink, fizz my throat. Then I was out!”
Thinking more, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out Willim’s bottle of elixir, the bottle from the Midwarren Pale spirits distillery. “Bottle kind of like this. But drink different.”
Gretchan looked rather alarmed. She reached for the bottle, and Gus let her take it in her hands, noticing that she shivered as she touched it. Holding it up to the light, she studied the bottle, shook it so the potion swirled around inside, and set it down while she cradled her perfect chin in her graceful, surprisingly long-fingered hands.
“Good thing, if you ask me, that you didn’t drink from that bottle,” she said softly. Turning those blue eyes to the gully dwarf, she asked, “Would you mind if I carried it for you?”
Gus would have given her his right arm, or any portion of his body, if she had asked him, and he didn’t want any dwarf spirits anyway. So he nodded his assent. She wrapped the bottle very carefully in some sort of cloth and gingerly set it into her backpack.
“Hmm. It is a mystery how you got here,” she said. “A mystery worth pondering. But now what am I going to do with you?” she added pensively. “I can’t very well send you home-of course, if I knew how to enter Thorbardin, I’d take you there myself!”
The thought of going home to Agharbardin suddenly seemed like a bleak and hopeless prospect to the forlorn gully dwarf. “Maybe I stay with you? Here in snow place?” he asked eagerly. “Gus big help! Finds lotsa food! Fight bad dwarves!”
She smiled gently, and his heart melted. “Well, I guess you can come along for now. I have some work to do, but I don’t think you’ll get in the way. And sooner or later we’ll meet some other gully dwarves. There are plenty of them out here in the real world too, you know. I bet you’ll be quite a hero to them, with all you’ve gone through.”
“Yes! Me hero gully dwarf. Spit in eye of him say not!” Gus crowed.
Delightedly, he hopped to his feet as Gretchan turned to go, striding beside the female dwarf and Kondike, who was not a monster but a “dog,” he had learned.
Kondike was a very big dog: his head was higher off the ground than Gus’s, and even underneath the heavy coat of shaggy black hair, there was a body of powerful sinew and long, graceful legs. Gus was grateful that Kondike seemed to consider him a friend.
Only once, as they crested a snowy ridge and started into the next valley, did Gus have a shuddering memory of the horrible minion that had stalked him the night before. He wondered where it had gone and whether it would be coming back to chase him.
But he decided it was better not to say anything about the ghastly fiend to his new friend. After all, he didn’t want to worry her.
TWELVE
Brandon staggered off the single-masted sailboat, down the rickety wooden pier, and onto the hard-packed dirt of the anonymous little fishing village. There, he dropped to his hands and knees, where he gazed lovingly at the solid, unmoving ground.
“Never again,” he groaned as Harn Poleaxe sauntered merrily after him.
“What?” asked the hill dwarf innocently. “It was just a little fresh breeze and some sprinkles-nothing like when I sailed north. Then we went through some real storms!”
“We had water pouring over the deck! Half the sails tore away! If that wasn’t a storm, I’ll eat my axe!”
“At least it’s all overland from here-down the coast of the Newsea and into the hills of home.” Chuckling, Harn helped Brandon to his feet, and they looked around the village.
The place was a far cry from the bustling port of Caergoth. In that Solamnic city, ships with masts and galleys with oars had steadily made their way in and out of the broad, deep channel. A long curve of waterfront had included docks, warehouses, markets, and an extensive shipyard, where three new hulls were busily being constructed.
In contrast, the seashore village was a cluster of huts with one long rickety building that seemed to be a smokehouse for fish. A couple of small fishing dhows were pulled up on shore, and another, larger boat rested at anchor in the small bay.
“Doesn’t look like there’s an inn worthy of the name,” the hill dwarf said in disgust.
“But there is a stable,” Brandon noted happily. After all that time rolling and rocking on the waves, the prospect of a long stretch in a saddle didn’t seem so bad.
Two hours later they were on the road. Brandon’s head was clear, and his lungs relished the taste of dry air, free of the taint of salt. Bouncing on his horse, he felt almost comfortable. He even allowed himself to hope that, there on the dry land of the south, away from Kayolin, his luck might be about to improve.
Though he was acutely conscious of the treasure he bore, still wrapped in the pouch he wore at the small of his back. The Bluestone Wedge was heavier than just a stone. To Brandon, it was the weight of the legacy of his father and his grandfather and the whole of his family’s house.
After an hour of contemplation and analysis, Willim decided he would not move his laboratory, even though the king and his agents knew where it was located. He inspected the seal of the original tunnel, found it to be as air and water tight as ever. Detection spells, with wafts of smoke as his feelers, determined that no holes had been drilled or otherwise established that would allow access to the underground chamber from any other direction. Let the king teleport in more toadies if he would; Willim could defeat an army of dwarves! And if hard pressed, well, he could always resort to a teleportation escape, a magical flight that would be impossible for his enemies to pursue.
Only after making his decision did he allow himself the luxury of cleaning up the debris from the battle and its aftermath. Casting a spell of levitation, Willim rose from the floor until he floated in the air, high above the floor of his laboratory. From there, he could see better what needed to be done. Wielding his magic as if it were a team of laborers, he slid a heavy bench across the room and righted several shelves and bins that had been upset during the melee. He repaired boxes and barrels that were damaged, plucked stray arrows from his wooden table and benches. Finally, he repaired his granite table, using the gesture of a finger to weld a seam through the crack his tantrum had wrought in the hard, smooth stone.
Then he drifted around the great vault of the chamber, mindful of security. He set spells of alarm to create noise and light if any intruders appeared or if any sound of digging or boring was detected through the walls. He installed traps he could activate by a simple command word, devices that would send granite columns and great shards of stone shooting through the chamber if they were triggered. He rigged the entire vast hall with a powerful spell of stone-shattering, ensuring that, if he were forced to retreat from a fresh army of attackers, he could bring the roof down on their heads even as he made his instant escape.
Just he was settling back to the floor, he felt a tingle of alarm and sensed the presence of another. But the newcomer was no threat: his minion dropped through the ceiling, spreading its black wings as it came to rest before him. The gaunt minion, with its Abyss-red eyes, pressed itself obsequiously to the floor, paying homage to its lord.
“Where is it?” hissed the Black Robe. “The flask!”
“The Aghar is destroyed,” replied the minion. “But his body was lost, frozen in an avalanche. I searched and searched but could not discover him in the cold vastness before the sunrise drove me underground.”
“Fool!” snarled Willim, raising his fist. He twitched irritably; whatever blow he delivered would make little difference to the soulless being. “I don’t care if you spend the entire year up there, you must go back as soon as it is night and look harder and find his body. Most importantly of all, bring me the thing that he carries!”
“As you wish, lord,” replied the creature, spreading its wings as it prepared for departure.
“Wait,” declared the wizard, holding up his hand. “Let me seek him again-that way, I might be able to confirm that he is dead and where his body may be found.”
