They came up apart, Oliver hopping to his feet and slapping at the muck on his blue pantaloons, crying “Ick! Ick! Ick!”
“We’re under the merchants,” Shuglin put in, his gravelly voice thick with sarcasm. “You probably should be quiet.”
Oliver cast a hopeless glance at Luthien, but he knew that his friend was more amused than sympathetic. And he knew, too, that his complaints were minor; in light of the importance of this day, even Oliver could not take them seriously. Only a week after the opening of the mines, the rescued dwarfs had shown their value, repairing old weapons and armor, fashioning new equipment, and opening up the sewers under the embattled merchant quarter. Now Luthien and Oliver, Shuglin and three hundred of his bearded kin, were creeping along several parallel routes and would come up right in the midst of their enemies.
Still, the halfling figured that he didn’t have to enjoy the journey. The lanterns lit the tunnels well enough, but they did nothing to ward off the dead cold. Ice lined the sewer tunnels and was thick about the floor’s rounded center, but there was fresh waste above the ice and it would take more than a freeze to defeat the awful stench of the place.
“They had barricaded the openings,” Shuglin explained, “but we got through in more than a dozen and killed four cyclopians who were nearby in the process.”
“None escaped to warn of our approach?” Luthien asked for the tenth time since the expedition had set out from the city’s lower section.
“Not a one,” Shuglin assured him, also for the tenth time.
“I would so enjoy marching through this muck only to find the enemy waiting for us,” Oliver added sarcastically.
Shuglin ignored him and took up the march again, moving swiftly down the straight tunnel. A few moments later, the dwarf stopped and signaled for those following to do likewise.
“We are found,” the dismal halfling said.
Shuglin took the lantern from another dwarf and held it high in front of the mouth of the passage. He nodded as a like signal came from across the intersection, and he poked his stubby thumb upward. “All in time,” the dwarf remarked, motioning for the others to move along once more.
They came into a small cubby at the side of the passage. A ladder—of new dwarfish construction—was secured against one wall, leading up a dozen feet to a wooden trapdoor.
Luthien motioned to Oliver. It had been agreed that the stealthy halfling would lead them out of the sewer, and Oliver was happy to oblige, happy to be out of the muck even if the entire cyclopian force was waiting for him above. He sprang nimbly and silently to the ladder and started up.
Before he neared the top, the trapdoor creaked open. Oliver froze in place and those down below went perfectly silent.
“Oh, no,” the halfling moaned as a naked pair of cyclopian buttocks shifted over the hole. Oliver buried his face in his arms, hoping his wide-brimmed hat would protect him. “Oh, please shoot him fast,” he whispered, not thrilled with the possibilities.
He breathed easier when Luthien’s bow twanged and he felt the rush of air as an arrow whipped past. He looked up to see the bolt bury itself deep in the unwitting cyclopian’s fleshy bottom. The brute howled and spun, and took a dwarfish crossbow quarrel right in the face as it foolishly leaned over the opening. The screaming went away and the friends heard the cyclopian fall dead on the floor of the small room above.
Oliver adjusted his hat and looked to the upturned faces below. “Hey,” he called out softly, “the one-eyes, they look the same from both ends!”
“Just go on!” Luthien scolded.
Oliver shrugged and scampered up the ladder, coming into a small, square room, where the smell was nearly as bad as down below. Some brute was knocking on the door.
“Bergus?” it called.
Oliver turned back, putting his face over the opening, lifting his finger over pursed lips and motioning for the others to clear out of the way. Then he padded silently to the door. It rattled as the brute outside jostled it, for only a small hook held it closed.
“Bergus?” the brute growled again, and Oliver could tell that it was fast growing impatient.
The door shook as the cyclopian hit it harder, perhaps with his shoulder. Oliver looked to the dead cyclopian and considered the angle.
“You all right?” came a call, and the door shook again. Oliver slipped to the side of it and drew out his rapier.
Three loud knocks.
“Bergus?”
“Help me,” Oliver grunted softly, trying to imitate the low tones of a cyclopian and to sound as though he was in trouble. As soon as he spoke the words, he brought his rapier flicking up, unhooking the latch. An instant later the cyclopian hit the door shoulder first, barreling through, and Oliver stung the inside of its knee with his rapier point, then kicked the brute’s back foot in behind its leading one.
The overbalanced cyclopian pitched right over its fallen companion. Oliver was quick in the chase, guiding its flight so that it nearly tumbled right into the hole. A strong arm lashed out to the side, though, and the brute was able to hold itself up, with only its head and shoulders and one arm going over the lip.
Oliver jumped back and moved to strike, but he heard a twang from below and the cyclopian jerked violently, then went still. The halfling rushed back to the door and closed it once more, checking to ensure that no one else was around. Then he went to the cyclopian and heaved the creature into the hole.
“Good shot,” he said to Luthien when he saw the man step over the body to get to the ladder. “But do you know which end of the thing you hit?”
Luthien didn’t even look up. He didn’t want to encourage Oliver, didn’t want the halfling to see his amused smile.
All across the quiet upper section of the city, the invaders filtered out of several such outhouses and other privies located inside merchant dwellings. The air was still cold and dark before the dawn, and they could hear fighting over at the wall, near the Ministry.
“Right on time,” Oliver said, for the diversion—an attack by forces from the lower section—was not unexpected.
Luthien nodded grimly. Right on time. Everything was going according to plan. He looked about, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, and he nodded, seeing lines of grim-faced dwarfs, who had lived for years as slaves under the tyranny of Greensparrow, filtering into nearly every shadow.
The young Bedwyr started off, Oliver in tow, heading in the general direction of the fighting. They quick-stepped along the shadows of one lane, coming to an abrupt stop at a corner when they heard footsteps fast approaching from the other way.
A cyclopian skidded around the bend, its one eye going wide with surprise.
“This is too easy,” the halfling complained, and stuck his rapier into the monster’s chest. A second later, Blind-Striker split the brute’s skull down the middle.
Luthien started to answer, but both he and Oliver jumped and spun as a fight exploded behind them. A group of cyclopians had rushed out of a side avenue, also heading for the fight, but they found battle sooner than expected as two bands of dwarfs, Shuglin among them, caught them in a squeeze, overwhelming them in the street.
Skirmishes erupted all across the merchant section, and the fighting increased when the sun broke the horizon, sending slanting rays into the turmoil of war. Luthien and Oliver encountered only minimal resistance—two cyclopians, which they quickly defeated—on their way to the wall near the Ministry, where they would link with their allies, but found that a number of dwarfs had beaten them to the spot. Already the cyclopians holding the position were hard-pressed.
“Keep alert!” Luthien ordered the halfling. The young man took out his folded bow, opened and pinned it in a single movement and had an arrow ready to fly. While Oliver guarded his back and flanks, he picked his shots, one by one.
Grappling hooks came sailing over the wall, and with the dwarfs engaging the defenders on this side, others roaming the streets to cut off any reinforcements, the cyclopians could not resist. Elves and men streamed up and over the wall, joining the fighting throng.