You're letting them escape!"
Watching Perian slip away, the hunchback limped into the main street, his hand clasped over the wound in his arm.
His hatred of Perian and all that she stood for flared to new heights, causing him to tremble beyond control. Flecks of spit drooled, unnoticed, from his lips as he raved. Her es cape only served to inflame him further. Through the smoke of the lightning bolt he'd cast, he had seen that she was mightily wounded. Despite this knowledge, Pitrick could think only of total, mindless destruction.
"Excellency, please!" pleaded one of his battle-weary ser geants. The leader of the derro looked up at him, smoke and grime smeared across the white skin of his face. His bristling beard and hair had many scorched patches, singed during the battle.
"The hill dwarves have gathered in one large building — they have not gotten away!" The warrior spoke quickly, fearful of his commander's wrath. "They are trapped there, waiting for us to draw tight the noose!"
Pitrick dropped his fist, a thin smile creasing his gro tesque face. "Trapped? All of them?"
"All that we could see, sir. It's a stout building, with a heavy gate. But I think we can bash it down."
"Good. Very good." The hunchback abruptly sat down on the street, thinking. His face lightened still further as an idea occurred to him.
"Let the hill dwarf scum sit and watch while we burn their village!" Pitrick ordered, springing to his feet. "Put the torch to every building, every barn, every pile of hay in
Hillhome!" He imagined the conflagration consuming the town around him, and the thought gave him much pleasure.
"Excellency, I have a suggestion," said the sergeant, with unusual courage.
Pitrick looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then gestured for the derro to speak.
"It will be dawn soon — no more than an hour to first light, and in another hour the sun will drive us under cover.
I urge that we attack the hill dwarves immediately, destroy them now, while darkness still surrounds us. Then we can destroy their town at our leisure.
"But, if we stop to burn now," the sergeant continued, knowing he risked his life by daring to suggest a plan counter to the idea of his temperamental commander, "the sun will rise before the battle is concluded, and we will have given the hill dwarves another day of life."
Without pause, the sergeant rushed on. "The hill dwarves have already proven resourceful and treacherous. Who knows what they will do while the sun shines and we are at the disadvantage. Excellency, we are on the verge of a great victory! I urge you to finish the fight now, while this victory is within our grasp!"
Pitrick grew suddenly, ominously calm. Then he spoke.
"Very well. We will destroy the enemy first. Now, where is this building that shelters them?"
The derro sergeant, concealing a sigh of relief, described the brewery to the adviser as they walked up Hillhome's de serted Main Street. Pitrick knew that his savants had ex pended their most potent spells against the earthwork, and would be of little use in the next battle. They would need to spend many hours studying their spellbooks before they could again cast the volleys of magic missiles or storm of hail that had proven so decisive on the wall.
And Pitrick, too, had employed most of his spells al ready. One or two might prove useful in breaking into the fortress, and then there were several he saved for his antici pated confrontation with Perian and the insolent Flint Fire forge.
Unconsciously, Pitrick fingered the dark battle-axe at his side. He had not yet used it, but he looked forward with cruel anticipation to the chance to drive it into a hill dwarf body. Perhaps even Flint Fireforge would find himself tast ing the bitter steel of that Theiwar blade.
They came to the brewery, and Pitrick quickly took in the formidable nature of the position. The gate was the obvious vulnerable point, but he would also send his forces against the walls, using makeshift ladders, poles, and whatever else they could find. He had no doubt that they would quickly break into the last-ditch fortress.
His subcommanders gathered around, waiting for his or ders. "We will take them here. Attack from all sides.
"And as for the gate," Pitrick said to his sergeant. "Make a battering ram."
The derro hurled themselves at the stone-walled brewery, assaulting it from every side. They scrambled up the steep wall, they bashed against the gate, and they pressed hard to break through the barricaded windows along the back wall.
Everywhere the defenders stood firm.
Some of the Theiwar laid long poles against the top of the wall, and slowly inched up these crude ramps in an attempt to force their way over the barrier. Others found ladders in nearby barns and shops and used them to climb the walls more directly.
But the top was several feet wide, and this made a good platform for the defenders. In several places, mud-slick piles of earth from inside the compound had been used to bolster the walls. The sloping surfaces of these served as easy routes to the top, allowing many hill and gully dwarves to scram ble up.
The defenders fought resolutely. The Aghar of the Creep ing Wedgie, organized by Nomscul and Fester, found a new use for their shields, conking the derro on the head as the en emy reached the top of the wall. The hill dwarves, inspired by Fidelia Fireforge and Turq Hearthstone, used pitchforks, shovels, and spears to strike at the derro climbing the lad ders. They learned to knock the poles aside and drive the ladders toppling to the ground.
To the rear of the compound, more Theiwar hurled them selves with savage abandon against the barricaded win dows. They hacked the wooden barriers to pieces, flinging themselves through the narrow openings this created. But, within the vat-house, Basalt and Hildy directed an equally savage defense. Each attacking derro no sooner squirmed through the entrance than was impaled by the weapons of a half-dozen hill dwarves. Soon the bodies of the attackers piled up, creating an additional obstacle to the Theiwar.
The gate was the weakest point of the defense, though be hind it stood a sturdy company of hill dwarf fighters. Tybalt
Fireforge stood with these, watching the creaking gates. The portals swung farther with each crash of the ram, and the cracking of the beams became more and more visible as dawn's light diffused through the courtyard.
Then, creaking and splintering, the gates began to collapse.
Flint barely noticed the heavy pounding at the gate. He held Perian's limp form in his arms. She was unconscious, her breathing shallow and weak.
He had enlisted Fidelia's and Ruberik's help to carry her into the storeroom, where he tried to make her comfortable on a bed of hay and blankets.
Ruberik stayed with him. He brought water in a tin cup, though Perian was not aware enough to drink. He stood awkwardly to the side, not wanting to intrude on Flint's grief, yet offering any help that he could.
Finally, Flint looked up at his brother, after trying to stem the bleeding as best as he could. In his heart, he knew there was nothing more he could do.
The brothers' eyes met in a pain-filled gaze. "You'd better get out there," Flint said hoarsely. "I'll be… following along." He could say no more, dropping his head to hide his tears.
"I'm sorry, Flint," replied the gruff farmer. Ruberik shuf fled wearily out the door.
Flint turned back to Perian. She looked as beautiful as ever to him. A few strands of coppery hair curled across her forehead, but the skin below that hair was so pale, now — so horribly pale. And at Perian's too-white throat Flint saw the aspen leaf necklace.
Suddenly her eyes fluttered open, and Flint's heart leaped.
She smiled at him weakly, and her hand closed, ever so faintly, around his. Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't have the strength to speak.
"My Perian…" Flint said, choking the words around his tears. Her hand tightened once more, breaking his heart.