A rude noise came out of the darkness. Some of the soldiers were sniggering into their beards. If Kharas heard, he pretended he hadn’t.
“Ask him more about the Hammer of Kharas,” Sturm urged Tanis, who shook his head. Flint had once more lapsed into silence. The old dwarf would never admit to being tired, but Tanis noted that walking was costing him an effort.
“How much farther do we have to go until we are out of Theiwar territory?” Tanis asked.
“We have to cross that bridge,” Arman replied, gesturing ahead. “Once we are on the other side, in the West Warrens, we will be safe. Then we can stop to rest.”
A vast cavern opened up before them, spanned by a stone bridge of curious make. Small figures of dwarves carved out of stone lined the bridge on either side. The stone dwarves stood about three feet in height, forming a barricade to keep people crossing the bridge from tumbling off. Iron tracks ran down the middle of the bridge, with walkways for pedestrians on either side. The bridge, like everything else in this part of Thorbardin, showed signs of neglect. Some of the dwarven statues were missing heads or arms, while others had been destroyed completely, leaving gaps in their ranks.
“This cave is known as Anvil’s Echo, for it is said that the sound of a dwarven hammer striking an anvil in this cave will echo for all eternity,” Arman Kharas told them.
“An excellent defensive measure,” said Sturm, looking on the bridge with approval. He stared overhead, but could see nothing for the darkness. “I take it there are murder holes in the ceiling?” Arman Kharas was pleased by the knight’s praise. “The enemy never made it past this bridge. The defenders of Northgate dropped down boulders, molten lead, and boiling oil on those who tried to cross. Few did, and their skeletons still lie at the bottom of the cave.” Flint glowered at the mention of this. He halted, frowning. “I won’t cross,” he stated. Arman misunderstood. “No one ever goes up there now. You need have no fear—” he began in patronizing tones.
“Fear?” Flint went red in the face. “It’s not fear! It’s respect. My people died on this bridge and you tell me they lie there unburied, their souls lost and wandering.”
“My people lie there, as well,” said Arman. “When the blessed day comes when I unify the kingdoms, I will give orders that the dead of both sides are given proper respect.” Flint was considerably taken aback by this statement, which appeared to leave him at a loss for words. He muttered something to the effect that he guessed he would cross, but he kept giving Arman strange looks.
Arman sent some of his soldiers on ahead, to make certain the bridge was secure. He followed with the prisoners, and the rest of his soldiers closed in behind, as they began the long trek from one side of Anvil’s Echo to the other.
“Mad as a marmot,” muttered Flint.
“This is certainly a long bridge,” stated Tasslehoff, with a gusty sigh. Caramon grunted in agreement.
Tasslehoff had been keeping out of mischief mainly due to the fact that the dwarves had trussed up the kender so efficiently he had not been able to slip free. Every time Tas saw something interesting and started to wander off, the soldier would poke him in the back with a spear. Caramon wondered how long this would go on before either the kender found some way to escape, or the dwarf grew so frustrated he skewered him.
“I thought crossing a bridge with murder holes would be extremely interesting, but it isn’t. It’s boring.”
“And never a mention of dinner,” Caramon grumbled. “My stomach’s so empty it’s flapping around my backbone. What do Thorbardin dwarves eat anyway?”
“Worms,” said Tasslehoff. “Like the ones inside the lanterns.”
“No!” Caramon said, shocked.
“Oh, yes,” said Tas. “The dwarves have huge farms where they raise these gigantic worms, and butcher shops where they cut them into worm steak and worm stew and worm chops—” Caramon was appalled. “Raist, Tas says that dwarves eat worms. Is that true?” Raistlin was eavesdropping on Tanis’s conversation with Arman, and he cast Caramon a look that said plain as words that he was not to be bothered with stupid questions. Caramon suddenly found he wasn’t as hungry as he had been. The kender was leaning over the barricade, trying to see the bottom.
“If I fell off, would I keep falling until I came out on the other side of the world?” Tas asked.
“If you fell, you’d fall until you hit bottom and ended up splattered all over the rocks,” said Caramon.
“I guess you’re right,” said Tas. He looked up ahead to where Flint, Tanis, and Arman Kharas were walking together. “Can you hear what they’re saying?”
“Naw,” said Caramon. “I can’t hear anything over all the tromping, rattling, and clanging. These dwarves make noise enough for an ogre feast day!”
“Not to mention the thunder,” said Tas.
Caramon glanced at him, puzzled. “What thunder?”
“A moment ago I heard thunder,” said the kender. “Must be a storm coming.”
“If there was, you couldn’t hear thunder down here.” Caramon’s brow crinkled. “Are you making this up?”
“No, Caramon,” said Tas. “Why should I do that? I heard thunder, and I felt it in my feet like you do when the thunder falls out of the sky…”
Caramon heard it too now. He stared up into the darkness. “That’s not thunder… Raistlin! Look out!”
Hurling himself forward, Caramon knocked his brother down and flung his body across him protectively just as an enormous boulder struck the bridge where Raistlin had been standing. The boulder crushed two of the dwarven statues and opened a large hole in the barricade before it went bounding off into the darkness.
The Hylar scattered as another boulder came hurtling after the first. This one missed its mark, going wide of the bridge. They heard the first boulder land down below, smashing into pieces.
“Raistlin! Douse that light!” Tanis shouted. “Everyone get down, hug the floor!”
“Dulak!” Raistlin gasped, and the light atop his staff went out. The dwarves shuttered their lanterns, and they were plunged into darkness.
“Not that this will do much good,” Flint growled. “The Theiwar can see in the darkness better than they can in the light. It is only a matter of finding their aim.”
“I thought you said the way to the murder holes was impassable,” Tanis said to Arman.
“It used to be.” The dwarf leader alone remained on his feet, staring upward in astonished outrage. “The Theiwar must have repaired it, though that is odd…”
His voice broke off as another boulder came down, striking the bridge some distance ahead of him, cracking the stone and causing the bridge to shake alarmingly.
“Caramon,” said Raistlin testily, “move your great bulk off me! I can’t breathe.”
“Sorry, Raist,” said Caramon, shifting his weight. “Are you all right?”
“I am lying on my back on a bridge in pitch darkness with someone hurling boulders at me. No, I am not all right,” Raistlin retorted.
Another boulder smashed into the railing, crumbling more dwarven statues and causing everyone to flinch.
“That one just missed me!” Sturm reported grimly. “We can’t stay here and wait to be smashed into jelly!”
“How far to go until we reach cover?” Tanis asked Arman in a low voice.
“Not far. Only about another forty feet.”
“We should run for it,” Tanis urged.
“Some of us can’t see in the dark like you can, Half-elf,” Caramon pointed out. “I think I’d rather get flattened by boulders than fall off this bridge.”
They all ducked as another boulder thudded somewhere nearby.
Arman gestured to his men. “Unshutter the lanterns!”
The soldiers did as they were ordered, working quickly, and everyone started running.
“This bridge didn’t turn out to be as boring as I thought,” said Tasslehoff cheerfully. “Do you think they’ll pour boiling oil on us next?”