The process took longer than necessary because Gus wasn’t clear on exactly what constituted firewood. His first few expeditions into the wood were ruled out; no rocks, moss, or any of the soggy driftwood that he pulled from the stream with no small effort. Eventually, the patient Gretchan showed him the dry branches to be found low on the big pine trunks, and when he found a deadfall, limbs intact but dry and brittle, she praised his diligence enough that his chest puffed out in sheer pleasure. Soon she had a hot fire going, and Gus eagerly filled her small kettle with water from a nearby stream.
“Gonna make some more vejables?” he asked and was delighted with her affirmative answer.
Kondike, meanwhile, stalked back and forth along the bank of that stream. Gus was amazed to see him plunge his face into the water once or twice before emerging with a wriggling trout in his jaws. Several times the dog repeated that remarkable procedure, feasting on two catches as Gretchan and Gus enjoyed a warm, filling vegetable stew.
After their feast, Gus was truly drowsy. With a belly more comfortably full than it had ever been in his life and the companionship of the most wonderful person he had ever met, he sighed in contentment and leaned back against a tree trunk, gazing through drooping lids at the warm embers of the flameless fire. Gretchan pulled a cloak around herself and, using her pack as a pillow, settled herself on the far side of the glowing coals. She put more of the crushed leaf into the bowl of her pipe and puffed quietly.
Gus enjoyed the aroma but remembered her caution, so he remained on his own side of the fire, drifting off to sleep.
Abruptly, a deep, menacing growl echoed through the camp, and Gus’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding. Kondike stood beside the dwarf maid as she sat up. The dog’s fur bristled and he growled again, the sound like the deep rumble of a rockslide.
“What is it?” Gretchan asked, her hand wrapping around the haft of her walking stick.
Two spots of red glowed at them out of the darkness, and immediately Gus knew why the dog had warned them.
“It-it-it-” He tried but he couldn’t quite articulate what he intended to say.
The embers of the fire suddenly whooshed into a blaze, crackling high, casting bright light through the wooded campsite and illuminating the horrifying image of the creature that had attacked Gus. Its great wings, batlike and widespread, seemed to reach out toward them like encompassing limbs. Eyes blazing with infernal heat, the monster opened its mouth and uttered a screech that sent a paralyzing tingle of fear down Gus’s spine. Those crimson orbs remained fixed upon the gully dwarf as the monster took a long, sinuous step forward.
The little Aghar sat up, rigid with terror, his back pressed against the rough bole of a pine. Knees knocking, hands trembling, he wanted to flee into the darkness, but he couldn’t make himself climb to his feet. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again, but somehow he couldn’t even muster the control to shriek his fright out loud.
Kondike lunged forward, jaws wide, fangs bared, barking furiously-a snarling sound totally unlike the friendly “woof” Gus had become accustomed to. The creature raised a taloned paw. Unafraid, the dog stood its ground, barring the path into the campsite as the apparition took another step closer.
“Kondike-come!” ordered Gretchan. Still growling, the dog took a spring backward just as the minion swiped a hand that could have torn the animal’s head away. Kondike bristled and snarled, stiff legged, but slowly retreated toward his mistress.
Awestruck, the Aghar saw that the dwarf maid had risen to her feet and was holding her staff before her in both hands, the butt of the thick shaft planted on the ground. Bravely she faced the approaching horror. Kondike stood before her, forelegs widespread, the thick fur on his back bristling, making the big dog look even larger than he was.
“Halt, beast!” cried Gretchan, and the metal image of an anvil atop her staff abruptly glowed with a pure, golden light-like a tiny burst of sunlight penetrating the gloom of the forest night.
Gus gaped, forgetting the monster, the wizard, Thorbardin, everything. He really, really knew he was in the presence of a goddess. How else could she turn night into day?
With a shriek suggesting raw, physical pain, the monster recoiled. One of its wings closed over its face, as if to block its face from that harsh illumination. Arms flailing, talons slashing, the thing backed away. It seemed diminished, no longer towering like the great trees. Roaring and howling, it stepped back, under the fringe of the trees surrounding the campsite. There it crouched and, abruptly, lunged toward the gully dwarf.
Or, at least, it faked a lunge. Gus yelped and fled around the fire pit to cower behind Gretchan, and the monster hesitated, again shielding itself with its wings, as the dwarf maid challenged it. “Go!” she commanded, her voice ringing like a trumpet. “Leave us!”
To Gus’s astonishment, Gretchan took a step toward the monster, the anvil glowing brighter than ever. She raised the staff from the ground and brandished it like a spear, thrusting the glowing head toward the creature, forcing the monster away from the fire. It uttered another unworldly wail, and its red eyes blazed more brightly then ever as it stared at Gus with palpable hatred. The gully dwarf’s knees collapsed, and he dropped to the ground, pressing his face into the dirt, throwing his arms over the top of his head.
Kondike barked even more frenziedly, his loud woofs echoing through the woods. The big dog bluffed a charge, but firmly held his position close beside his mistress. The monster stepped to the side, and the dog moved to block it, bristling and snapping, nimbly ducking back again when a taloned claw lashed out.
“Go!” Gretchan cried again, striding steadily forward, forcing the monster to scrabble back. She broke into a run, and those great wings spread as the thing leaped into the air, clawing for altitude as she swung the staff viciously at it. When the anvil struck the beast’s foot, it shrieked even louder and quickly vanished into the dark, night sky.
Gretchan, her face slick with sweat, gasped for breath as she retreated back to the dying fire. Kondike kept pacing, stiff legged, around the perimeter of the little camp as Gus slowly stemmed his trembling and, with considerable effort, lifted his head from the ground, sat up, and pushed himself to his feet.
He found himself looking up at the dwarf maid’s staring face. It was still a beautiful, round-cheeked, and sweet face, but there was a new appraising expression in her eyes and furrows across her forehead. She cast another look upward to make sure the monster had gone then stepped up to the gully dwarf to kneel before him.
The pure blue of her eyes had turned to ice, and there was a sternness in her voice Gus had never heard before as she addressed him.
“Well, little fellow,” she said softly. “You’re more interesting than first appearances might suggest. What is it that you haven’t told me?”
True to form, Brandon’s skull throbbed painfully when he woke up. It was the worst headache he had ever experienced, and for a few minutes, all he could do was grit his teeth and fight the pain. He was vaguely aware that full daylight had brightened the camp, while a cold breeze chilled his sweaty garments and made him shiver. His tongue was swollen in his mouth, and when the throbbing in his head rose to an almost unendurable level, he rolled onto his side and retched the contents of his stomach onto the ground.
He felt terrible, but even so, he was surprised that the hangover afflicted him so severely that he couldn’t even move his arms, which seemed to be awkwardly pinned behind him. Where was he? What in the name of Reorx had he been drinking?
Gradually, a few answers came to him from deep inside his foggy mind. He had been in a campsite, traveling with Harn Poleaxe. They’d been sharing a flask of dwarf spirits… but then everything got confusing. What had happened to them?
Only gradually, as he continued to struggle to form his thoughts, did he realize the bitter truth: he was bound! He struggled against the tight cords that restrained his wrists, speared by pain as he forced himself into a sitting position. He looked around for Poleaxe, wondering if his companion, too, had been taken captive by unknown foes. But how? Hadn’t Harn told him that, at long last, they were back on his own, friendly territory?
Even when he saw his Neidar companion, sitting across the smoldering remnant of the great bonfire, grinning cheerfully at him, he didn’t remember what had happened. Only when he took in the other dwarves, a full dozen of them, armed and armored as if for battle, did he begin to comprehend the betrayal. The newcomers were casually seated around Poleaxe, clearly no threat to him. Two of them sipped mugs of steaming tea, while several more leaned against tree trunks, their booted feet propped casually on rocks near the fire.
The Bluestone luck! He’d been betrayed and captured. Complete understanding dawned when he recognized
