informed as to the 'intruders' in this part of the caverns. Kruk! This will make it even more difficult for us to reach the Dusken Door.'
'How do we get past the guard at the west corridor without raising the alarm?' whispered Perry. Bonn touched his finger to his lips for quiet, and silently crawled off into the dimness.
Perry and Anval watched the guard slouching against the wall beneath a torch lodged in an ancient lantern bracket on the delved wall, a bracket put there in elden times by the Dwarves. Minutes fled by and nothing happened. As the two watched, time seemed to stretch out endlessly, and the Warrow could see no sign of Bonn. Still they waited. Suddenly it seemed as if one of the shadows behind the guard detached itself from the wall and soundlessly engulfed the Ruck. Perry heard a quiet thump, and then Anval was pulling on the Warrow's arm and hissing, 'Now!'
Swiftly they flitted along the wall and into the corridor; Borin carried the dead Ruck over one shoulder, and hid the body at the first wall crevice. The three then fled down the passageway. Behind them, all was still; their escape had not been noted.
The next four miles was a nightmare of hide and run. Repeatedly, the companions dived into crevices, notches, and side passages, to remain hidden as Hloks and Rucks came loping eastward. Many small squads and large companies passed by. Perry guessed-rightly-that the news of a few 'intruders' had spread, and the Spawn were flocking to the sport of hunt and slaughter.
At last the threesome approached a room called the Oval Chamber in the Brega Scroll. Once more the trio found the way blocked by maggotfolk, but Anva! motioned, Follow me, and taking an enormous gamble they began crawling from shadow to shadow along the north wall.
At times they lay without moving for long minutes as one or more Rucks in the chamber came near. At other times they crawled swiftly from rock to pillar to crevice, only to find that again they had to remain motionless in the darkness with Spawn barring the way. Finally they came to the passage leading on toward Dusk-Door, and after a long wait they managed to slip out of the chamber and into the corridor.
Though they met no maggot-folk, the three found the next few miles arduous, for there were cracks in the floor that yawned unexpectedly. Yet, one crevice that they came to was foreknown to Perry, and dreaded by him: it was the Drawing Dark, so named because of the awful sucking sound that could be heard in its lost depths, thought by the Deevewalkers to be a slurking whirl of water in an underground river at the bottom of the crack; but to Perry this explanation was of no comfort, for it sounded as if something below were alive and questing for victims.
Although Perry had been expecting this rent-for it had been mentioned both in The Raven Book and in the Brega Scroll-still he found it difficult to summon up the courage to leap it, for it was fully eight feet across, and he could not banish the specter of being sucked down into the deep crack, drawn down into an unseen maw ravening in the black depths. But at last he took three running steps and sprang with all his might and cleared it by a good three feet.
The trio pressed on for the Long Hall, and as they neared it. Bane's fire grew. Soon Perry sheathed the sword, for its flame was bright. Yet when they came to the chamber, they could see neither torchlight nor Spaunen. 'Let us cross the floor quickly, before the Rucks arrive and block our way again,' urged Perry, and they started across the Hall.
As they reached midchamber they heard shouts and snarls, and looked around to see a company of maggot-folk issue out of a corridor behind them. The trio had been detected!
'Fly!' cried Perry, and the three ran toward the west corridor; but as they approached they could see light reflected around a bend moving swiftly toward them from the passage ahead- Perry darted a look over his shoulder: the other exits were already cut off by the howling Spawn closing behind. Trapped!
At a glance, Anval took in the situation. 'The force before us is as yet unaware of us, and there may be only a few. Let us charge through if we can. If not, then we will slay many before we fall.'
Borin brandished his axe. 'Chdkka shok! Chdkka cor!' he cried. Anval, too, gripped his double-bitted weapon and vented the ancient battle cry. Perry whipped out flaming Bane, determined to sell his life dearly.
Forward they charged, running toward the oncoming force. Behind them the yawling Rucks pursued, weapons and armor clattering, boots slapping against stone. Ahead and toward them came the others, suddenly rounding a corner and bursting into view. And Perry's racing heart leapt to his throat, and he gave a great shout, for at the forefront of the oncoming force ran a small form in golden armor with a bright sword. It was Cotton! And Durek! And Rand! And four thousand others! The Dwarf Army was within the Halls of Kraggen-cor!
CHAPTER 7
Three hours earlier, the Host had stood before the Dusk-Door, and Durek had said the words of power, and by moonlight and starshine and Dwarf lantern the theen tracery and runes and sigils had. appeared.
Durek caught up his weapon by the helve and stepped back from the high portal; all that remained was for him to say the Wizard-word for 'move,' and the Door, if able, would open. The Dwarf turned to Cotton, Rand, and Felor. ''Stand ready,'' he warned, ' 'for we know not whom we meet.''
Cotton gripped his sword and felt the great pressure of the moment rising inside him and he felt as if he needed to shout, but instead he thought, Let Mister Perry be at the Door and not no Ruck.
Durek turned back to the Door and gripped his axe; he placed his free hand within the glittering rune-circle; then his voice rang out strongly as he spoke the Wizard-word of opening: 'Gaard!'
The glowing web of Wizard-metal flashed brightly, and then-as if being drawn back into Durek's hand-all the lines, sigils, and glyphs began to retract, fading in sparkles as they withdrew, until once again the dark granite was blank and stern. And Durek stepped back and away. And slowly the stone seemed to split in twain as two great doors appeared and soundlessly swung outward, arcing slowly, the black slot between them growing wider and wider, becoming a great ebon gape as the doors wheeled in silence, til at last they came to rest against the Great Loom.
A dark opening yawned before the vanguard of the Legion, and they could see the beginnings of the West Hall receding into blackness; to the right a steep stairwell mounted up into the ebon shadows. And those in the fore of the Host-weapons gripped, thews tensed, hearts thudding, hackles up-stared with chary eyes at the empty darkness looming mutely before them.
And they were astonished and baffled, for no one was there, neither friend nor foe, only silent dark stone!
And of all those in the vanguard, only one did not seem rooted in place: 'Mister Perry!' shouted Cotton, and before any could stop him, he sprang through the doorway and bolted up the stairs, holding his lantern high and calling as he ran: 'Mister Perry! Mister Perry!' he cried, but his voice was answered only by mocking echoes: Mister… ister… Perry… erry… cry — — ister… erry… ery… y…
'Cotton! Wait!' shouted Rand, breaking the grip of his bedazement. ' 'Ware Spaunen.'' And he and Durek and Felor and the forefront of the Host leapt forward after the Warrow. And they could see the light of Cotton's lantern dashing up the steps far above them to disappear from sight over the top.
'Fool!' Prince Rand cursed the Waerling's rashness, and sprang up the steps two at a time, his long shanks outdistancing the Dwarves behind. The steps were many, and soon he was breathing deeply, for the climb was strenuous; but in a trice he o'ertopped the last one. Ahead and around a bend he found Cotton at the first side passage, his lantern held high, peering through the arch and into the dark. Several swift strides brought the Prince to the Warrow's side. 'Cotton,' he gritted through clenched teeth, angered by the Waerling's thoughtless actions.
'He… he's not here, Prince Rand,' stammered the Warrow, turning in anguish to the Man. 'Mister Perry's not here,'
'Cotton, you are our only guide. The Yrm…' but ere Rand could say on, he saw that the Waerling was weeping quietly.
'I know, Sir. I know,' sobbed Cotton, miserably. 'I've acted the fool, rushing in like I did, and all. But Mister
