back there all the way from Hillhome. Who was Brandon Bluestone? Why had he possessed the Bluestone, as he claimed? And why had he risked his life to confront the Klar? Was it to retrieve the fascinating colored stone?
In truth, Garn didn’t believe his prisoner was simply another treacherous hill dwarf. There was something exotic, foreign, about him that aroused other suspicions, though, and the Klar commander had waited long enough to act upon his suspicions. Scooping the two stones back into their bag, Garn locked the precious stones in a vault and started down to the dungeon, determined to get some answers.
He was startled, but not shocked, to encounter a gully dwarf at the bottom of the stairway leading into the dungeon. The wretches were common enough pests around there, but he didn’t like the thought they were often straying beyond the boundaries of their filthy town.
“Get out of here, you!” he snapped. “Or I’ll knock your head right off your shoulders!”
Much to his surprise, the little fellow didn’t budge, but instead stood there, glaring up at him, almost as if he had something he wanted to say.
“What is it, runt?” demanded Garn. “Don’t you understand plain speech?”
“Prisoner complaint!” spit the Aghar with surprising vehemence. He gestured down the corridor toward the cell where Brandon Bluestone was imprisoned. “Him not locked up good enough!”
“He escaped?” Garn asked, startled until the gully dwarf firmly shook his head.
“Not escape. But not locked up enough!”
“What do you mean?” asked the Klar captain with exaggerated patience.
“Uh, him visited by nice, pretty maid. Nice, pretty maid all right, real important historian. Prisoner fools her. Gretchan visits him-and him not locked up good enough!” With that, the angry Aghar spun on his heel and sprinted away into the darkness, toward Agharhome.
Garn stared after him, amazed and alarmed. First of all, that was a pretty long speech for a gully dwarf. Then, too, he remembered the historian named Gretchan Pax very vividly; her sudden appearance in the midst of his company’s camp had unsettled him more than he dared to admit. Her foul powers had paralyzed him in the mountain camp that night. She was either a witch or something much worse. Who was she really? Why was she there? And what was her purpose in talking to the prisoner?
Every answer he could imagine caused him worry.
Gus strutted proudly through the dungeon of Pax Tharkas. He was getting to know the place fairly well, and indeed, not far away he had found himself a second home in the scummy tunnels of Agharhome, on a comfortable sleeping pallet. The pallet had been graciously offered up by Berta, who volunteered to sleep on the cold stone instead, and Gus allowed himself to feel a measure of gratitude toward the dirty little gully wench.
She even continued to call him “highbulp,” which he found a delightful and inspiring title. Thus far, the rank was not acknowledged by any other of the tower’s Aghar population, but Berta kept telling everyone that Gus was the new highbulp, and she kept telling Gus himself that, in two days, the rest of the bluphsplunging doofars in Agharhome would recognize his exalted status as well. In point of fact, he didn’t really care if the others called him highbulp. It was enough that Berta did so and that she would share the occasional rat or other morsel she acquired. Her pallet was nice too.
But right at the moment, he was thinking of a different female. He was very proud of his boldness in speaking to the great Hylar prince, and he wanted to boast about his deed. Up till then he had been in a jealous snit for days and had avoided Gretchan Pax. Speaking to the Klar prince had made him feel better. Gretchan didn’t seem even to care if he was alive, but he had been doing some very good spying, and he knew right where to find her.
Gretchan had made her quarters, all unknown to the Tharkan garrison, in a small, dry, secret room just next to the dungeon halls. The chamber was clean and warm, and she always seemed to find good food to eat; she was constantly taking food to the prisoner. Gus felt another stab of jealousy but set his chin, marching onward.
Coming to the secret panel, which was concealed behind a weapons cabinet in one of the rooms that would have been used to garrison dungeon guards, should there ever be enough prisoners down there to require a garrison, Gus pulled the cabinet door open and knocked on the wooden back wall. Immediately he heard a low growl from beyond the panel.
“Kondike! It’s me! Gus!” he whispered loudly.
Moments later the panel was pulled aside and Gretchan Pax was beaming down at him. “Gus!” she said very sweetly, the gully dwarf had to admit. “I was afraid I’d lost you! Come in.”
“No lose Gus!” he replied sarcastically, stepping into the room as she held the door open for him. “Gus no lose Gretchan either.”
“Well, now you have found me and I’m glad,” she said. “This is a good hiding place, but I didn’t think anyone else knew where I was.”
“I follow!” Gus bragged happily. Then his features twisted into a dark scowl, and his tone became accusing. “Follow when you visit big kisser dwarf in jail!”
“Why Gus!” Gretchan chided, her eyes widening and her cheeks colored by a tinge of embarrassed redness. “Have you been spying on me?” she asked sharply.
“No! I mean yes!” the Aghar replied, gazing steadfastly at the floor to avoid Gretchan’s beautiful eyes. His big toe jutted out the front of his worn boot, and he used it to mark irregular circles on the floor. “Not Gretchan, but Gus spy on big kisser dwarf!”
“All right now, Gus. I’m serious. What are you talking about? What’s the big deal about this big kisser-oh, his name is Brandon, damn it. What about him?”
“I not like big kisser dwarf. Him bad for you. Big dwarf general gonna lock him up more better! Him not locked up enough!” Gus stated bluntly.
“Oh, isn’t that sweet. Are you jealous?” Gretchan asked amusedly. She started to laugh then caught herself, her expression growing stern. “Wait, what’s that about a big dwarf general? Did you talk to someone?”
“Yep. Gus brave, talk to Klar chief. Him gonna lock up prisoner more better. You and I then go away like before. Forget big kisser dwarf!”
“Oh, Gus, you didn’t!” the dwarf maid gasped, kneeling down to grasp the gully dwarf firmly by the shoulders. Her eyes were large, serious, and concerned. “Did you… did you tell the Klar general that I am here, that you saw me visiting the prisoner?”
“Yes!” he declared hotly.
“Oh, that’s terrible!” she said, shaking her head as her eyes moistened with tears. “Garn Bloodfist will be angry, and he’s already so twisted up with hate. There’s no telling what he might do! How could you do this to me?”
“To you? Big kisser dwarf bad; him do to you! Klar gonna make him stop!”
“You don’t understand!” accused Gretchan. “Brandon doesn’t mean any harm to you or anyone else. He keeps ending up in jail, but he’s innocent; he did nothing wrong! Now you might have cost him his life!”
“Life?” gulped Gus. “N-no! Not life. Just lock him up better!”
The dwarf maid stamped her foot angrily. She was furious, so angry she was shaking. Gus took a step backward, feeling suddenly very miserable. “You little fool!” she snapped. “You’ve just ruined everything! Oh, just get out of here! Go away, I tell you!”
Stunned by her outburst, his heart breaking under the onslaught of her harsh words, Gus could only retreat out through the secret door still cracked open behind him. He wandered, feeling forlorn, back into the dungeon, haunted by the sound of Gretchan’s sobs coming through even after the door had slammed shut.
TWENTY-FOUR
G arn Bloodfist went straight to the thane, finding him-as always-on the catwalk high inside the Tharkadan Wall. Tarn Bellowgranite was supervising the placement of the rocks, nearly all of which had been lifted up from the floor where they had lain for more than eighty years. Bloodfist clenched his fists, shaking his head in a physical effort to remind himself to be calm when all he wanted was to grab Tarn by the shoulders and shake him into some sense of alarm.
