When it was out of sight, Bron sighed with relief and looked around, wondering where everybody had gone. He saw Tunk, or at least the rear end of Tunk, squirming and kicking at the base of a low, bronze chest. Tunk had tried to dive under the thing to hide, but the crack was too small. Now his head was stuck, and the rest of him was struggling to free it. Pook peeked from behind a heavy, open door in the interior room, and Swog was climbing out of a flower pot. Around the corner, Tag and a few others emerged from beneath a daybed.
“Two,” Bron counted them, frowning in concentration. “More than two. Thought there were more than that, though. Where ever’body else?”
“Some of ’em went out this door,” Pook said. “Some Talls, too.”
“Don’t need any more Talls,” Bron said, squinting up at the girl beside him. “Already got one. Real nuisance.”
Thayla strode to the open door. Beyond was a narrow, smoky corridor with stone stairs leading upward to the left and downward to the right. “I guess this is the way out,” she said. “Come on.”
Bron frowned at her. “Come on, where?”
“Out,” she explained. “You are here to get me out of this place, aren’t you?”
“Dunno,” he answered.
“Well, you are! That’s what heroes do. So come on, get me out of here.”
“Okay,” Bron said, shrugging again. None of it made any sense to him, but the female Tall seemed to understand the situation. “Ever’body come on,” Bron said. Holding his bashing tool before him like a shield, he peered into the corridor beyond the heavy door, then stepped through. With the others following him, he turned right and started down the winding stone stairs.
But a few steps down he stopped, bracing himself as some of those behind, gawking around at the mosaic of the tower’s stonework, piled into him.
“Why Bron stop?” someone asked.
“Somebody comin’,” he said. “Sh!”
“What?”
“Sh!”
“Why Bron say, ‘sh,’?”
“Shut up!”
“Oh. Okay.” The chattering subsided. Somewhere below, faint noises grew, coming nearer.
“Better go other way,” Bron decided. He turned, tripped over Tunk and sprawled on the stairs, then picked himself up, muttering.
“We can’t go up,” Thayla argued. “I’m sure the way out isn’t up there. It has to be down there.”
“Somebody comin’ down there,” Bron explained. “We go up.”
“I don’t think we’re making much progress toward escaping,” the girl noted. But she turned, lifted the hem of her skirt prettily, and led the way. At the open door they had just come from, two or three gully dwarves veered off, curious, but Bron called them back. “We already been there,” he said. “Le’s go some other place.”
The sounds from below were growing louder. There definitely was somebody coming. A lot of somebodys.
The stairs wound steeply upward, following the interior wall of the tower. At the top was a plank landing, a short passage lighted by guttering torches. At the end of the passage was a large, iron-bound door.
The Aghar pulled up short there, gawking at the closed portal. “Oops,” one of them said. “Dead end.”
“Maybe can dig through,” another suggested. “Or jus’ break it down. Bron pretty strong. Bron, break down door.”
“Okay,” Bron agreed. He backed away, took several running steps, and braced himself. He thudded into the heavy timbers and bounced off. Backpedaling, he took two or three other gully dwarves with him. They skidded to the edge of the landing and rolled down several stairs before overcoming their momentum.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Thayla sighed. With a dainty hand she grasped the door’s ornate bar and pulled. The portal opened readily, swinging wide on oiled hinges. Thayla stepped through, the gully dwarves following.
The room they found themselves in was circular in shape, occupying the entire top floor of the great tower. Open portals looked out in all directions, and those on the east wall led to a narrow, railed balcony.
“Lord Vulpin’s quarters,” Thayla murmured, wide eyes darting here and there. The tower loft was richly furnished. The walls between portals were lined with fine trunks and chests of enameled hardwood, some of them bound with gold filigree, some with lustrous leathers. Near the western portal stood a large, brass telescope of the finest mountain dwarf design, set on a silver tripod. Across from it stood a single, elaborately-carved chair of darkwood and bronze and lush satin cushions.
“Wow,” Tunk breathed, climbing to the seat of the tall chair. “Pretty nifty.”
The sounds from the stairwell had grown louder, and now they could hear the distinct echo of angry Tall voices, coming closer.
Thayla turned to the door, but before she could close it a horde of gully dwarves tumbled through.
“Hey, there!” Bron waved at them from the ledge of the west portal. “Where ever’body been?”
“Downstairs,” several of them explained.
“Got company comin’,” Tag said, pointing at the open door, where the echoes of human voices had become a loud babble. Rising through the voices was the distinct clatter of unsheathed weapons. “Which way’s out?”
“Dunno,” Bron admitted. “Maybe not any.”
“Oh,” several of them said.
“Then what we do?” Tag wondered. “Hide, maybe?”
“Why not close the door?” Thayla Mesinda suggested.
“Good idea,” Bron said. “Somebody close door.”
Obediently, half a dozen of them hurried out, and a moment later the door slammed behind them. There was a pause, then the sound of small fists pummeling the planks. Thayla shook her head in disbelief, went to the door and opened it. The gully dwarves piled in, looking sheepish. “Oops,” one of them said.
The human girl slammed the door and dropped its heavy bolt into place, just as the first of Lord Vulpin’s tower guards came into sight on the stairs below. Their shouts were drowned by the closing of the portal.
Bron had dragged a big, wooden chest across to where the telescope stood. Climbing up on the chest, he pressed an eye to the instrument’s glass, then hissed in fright and threw himself back. In an instant he was flat on his back on the floor, his eyes wide with alarm.
Thayla Mesinda stared at him for a moment, then stepped to the glass and looked. The instrument was of the finest quality, crafted by skilled glaziers in the mountain fortress of Thorbardin. Through its lenses, the Gelnian army in the fields below seemed to be only a few feet away.
“It’s only a far-seeing glass,” she told Bron. “Not magic.” Curious, she swiveled the glass here and there, studying the hordes of armed men closing in on the fortress. There were thousands of armed warriors of all kinds, moving in tight, choreographed ranks and files. Closest among them were massed companies of archers and spearmen, flanked by units of heavily armored cavalry, formidable lancers on huge war-horses, and troops of plains raiders on swift mounts. Great companies of footmen, with shields, swords and axes followed the assaulters, and behind them came clusters of men and draft animals, each cluster tending one of the tall siege towers that trundled majestically along, inching their way ever nearer to the walls of Tarmish.
“I believe they’re planning a war,” Thayla said to herself. “I wonder why?”
Bron had clambered onto the chest again, and Thayla stepped back from the telescope. “Here,” she said. “Take a look. It won’t hurt you.”
“Wow,” Bron breathed, scanning the view. “Lotta Talls.”
Someone was pounding at the barred door now, and muffled voices came through. “Gully dwarves,” a human said. “I saw them. They can’t be much of a problem.”
“But they’re in Lord Vulpin’s quarters,” another voice objected. “There’s no telling what kind of mess they might make in there. Somebody should go tell Lord Vulpin.”
“His lordship is busy,” a deep voice growled. “He’s at the walls, setting up his defenses. He has no time for gully dwarves.”
“But the girl is missing, too,” a thin, aged voice piped up. “She must be found!”