That was the nature of the Aghar — the people most others called gully dwarves. One of their strongest driving forces was simple inertia.
The size and shape of the group changed constantly as they made their way through the ruins of the city, tending upward toward its center. Here and there, now and then, by ones and threes and fives, various among them lost interest in following along and took off on side expeditions, searching and gawking, usually rejoining the main group somewhere farther along.
There was no way to know whether all of them came back. None among them had any real idea of how many of them there were, except that there were more than two — a lot more than two. Maybe fifty times two, though such concepts were beyond even the wisest of them. Numbers greater than two were seldom considered worth worrying about.
Gradually, the stragglers converged upon the higher levels of the ruined city. Here the fallen building stones were more massive — huge, smoke-darkened blocks that lay aslant against one another, creating tunnels and gullies roofed by shattered rubble. Here they found more dead things — humans and animals, corpses mutilated, stripped and burned, the brutal residue of battle. They crept around these at a distance, their eyes wide with dread. Something fearful had happened here, and the pall of it hung in the silent air of the place like a tangible fear.
At a place where a flanking wall had fallen, some of them paused to stare at a tumble of great, iron-bound timbers that might once have been some piece of giant furniture but now was a shattered ruin. The thing lay as though it had fallen from high above, its members and parts in disarray. Having not the faintest idea of what it might be, most of them crept past and went on. One, though, remained, walking around the huge thing, frowning in thought.
His name was Tagg, and an odd bit of memory tugged at him as his eyes traced the dimensions of the fallen thing. He had seen something like it before… somewhere. Tugging at his lip, Tagg circled entirely around the thing. A few others were with him now. They had seen his curiosity and returned, curious themselves.
"Got a arm," he muttered, squatting to reason out the placement of a great timber jutting outward from the device. Within the twisted structure itself, the timber was bound to a sort of big, wooden drum, with heavy rope wrapped around it and a set of massive gears at its hub.
"Fling-thing," he said, beginning to remember. It was like something he had seen from a distance, atop some human structure his people had skirted long ago in their travels. He remembered it because he had seen the Talls operate it, and had been impressed. It was a wooden tower atop a tower, and a lot of the humans — the Talls — had gathered around it and slowly cranked the extended arm around and back, then abruptly had released it. It had made a noise like distant thunder, and the thing that flew from it had been very large and had knocked down a tree.
"That it," he decided. "One a' them. Fling-thing."
Several other gully dwarves were gathered around him now. One asked, "What Tagg talkin' 'bout?"
"This thing," Tagg pointed. "This a fling-thing. Throws stuff."
"Why?" another wanted to know.
"Dunno. Does, though. Throws big thing, knock a tree down."
"I know. Cat'pult."
"Nope. That some other kind. This called a… uh… dis.. disca… somethin'."
"Okay." Losing interest, some of them wandered away again, though Tagg and two others lingered, creeping through the wreckage in wonder. One was a white-bearded ancient named Gandy, who was given to occasional bursts of lucid thought and served as Grand Notioner to the combined clans of Bulp. The other was a young female named Minna.
Tagg was vaguely glad that Minna was interested in the same thing that interested him. He found her presence pleasant. His eyes lighting on a glistening bauble among the rubble, he picked it up and held it out to her. "Here," he said, shyly. "Pretty thing for Minna."
Climbing among the twisted members of the fallen discobel, Tagg helped Minna across a shattered timber, then turned and stumbled over old Gandy. The Grand Notioner was on his knees, staring at something, and Tagg tripped over him and thudded facedown in the sooty dust.
Barely noticing him, Gandy brushed his hand over a vague shape on the floor and said, "Here somethin'. What this?"
Tagg crawled over to look, and Minna peered over his shoulder. The object was a big, iron disk with sharpened serrations all around its edge, except for one area where it had been blunted and bent.
"That disk," Tagg said. "It what th' fling-thing fling. Knock down trees with these."
"Knock down somethin'," Gandy decided, looking at the blunted edge. The disk had hit something very solid, very hard. He rubbed it again and looked at the dark stains on its surface. There were other stains on the cracked floor nearby, as though blood had congealed there. He scraped the stain with his finger, then tasted his finger. He frowned and spat. It was not any kind of blood he knew about.
It reminded him, though, of the primary goal of the moment. He stood, tapping the ground with the battered old mop handle he always carried. "'Nough look at stuff," he proclaimed. "Look for food first. Come 'long."
Obediently, they followed him out of the wreckage of the war engine, then paused and looked around.
"Where ever'body go?" Tagg wondered.
Gandy shrugged. "Aroun' someplace. Can't get far, followin' Highbulp. Glitch don' move that fast."
From where they were, a dozen tunnels and breaks in the rubble led away. Choosing one at random, old Gandy led off, with Tagg and Minna following. "Now watch good," he ordered.
"Watch what?"
"What?"
"You gonna do trick or somethin'?"
"No! Watch for food. Need to find stuff for make stew."
The tunnel they were in was a long, winding way created by the spaces between building stones that had fallen on one another. After a few minutes, Tagg asked, "What kind food Grand Notioner expect find here?"
"He didn' say," Minna said.
Just ahead of them, Gandy turned, frowning in the shadows. "Any kind food," he snapped. "Keep lookin'. If it moves, it prob'ly good for stew."
"Okay." Moving on, Tagg stepped into the lead.
They had gone only a few steps when Tagg, his alert young eyes scanning everywhere, saw something move.
It was something that protruded, curving downward, from a crack between fallen stones. It was a tapered thing, about as long as his arm. Dark and greenish, it was almost invisible against the muted, mottled colors of the rubble around it. But as his eyes passed over it, it twitched.
Tagg stopped, and the others bumped into him from behind. Old Gandy tottered for a moment, then regained his balance. Minna clung to Tagg, her pressure against him totally distracting him. He decided at that moment that any time Minna wanted to bump into him, it was all right as far as he was concerned.
"Why Tagg stop?" Gandy snapped. "I nearly fall down."
"Okay," Tagg murmured, paying no attention at all to the elder. "That fine."
"Not fine!" Gandy pointed out. "S'posed to be lookin' for food, not foolin' aroun'. You!" He nudged Minna with his mop handle. "Leggo Tagg. Stop th' foolishness!"
"Oh." Minna backed away, shrugging. "Okay."
With a sigh, Tagg turned to go on, then saw the thing he had seen before. The thing that twitched. He pointed at it. "What that? Maybe food?"
They gathered close, and Gandy bent for a better look. The thing was sticking out of a small crevice in the rubble. It was hard to tell in the subdued light, but it seemed to be round and tapered, with a sort of sharp ridge running along the top of it. Its color was dark green. And as they stared at it, it twitched again.