The self-stone in his belly was the Highbulp's guarantee, and the arrogant little pest knew it. Somehow, through all the days and all the stews, the self-stone remained inside Glitch as though it were glued there.
Their Promised Place. They didn't know where it was, or even what it was, but Glitch I was basking in his newfound glory as a dragon owner, and would settle for nothing less than the perfect spot. He had become downright obnoxious about it. Into the region of Itzan Nul she led them, and there — as the Aghar slept under bright moons — a familiar dragon-voice came again to Verden, speaking within her mind. "You have survived," it said. "I wondered if you would."
"No thanks to you, Flame Searclaw," she responded in kind, hatred riding on the thoughts. "You left me back there. You knew I was there, and you left me to die."
"You were injured and useless." The red dragon's mindvoice seemed almost to yawn with disinterest. "There are uses for you, now, though. The armies are…"
"Don't speak to me of uses," Verden shot, hot rage edging the thoughts. "You and I have much to settle… as soon as I am free to come for you."
"You have a duty…" Searclaw's thoughts were scathing.
"Begone!" Verden thought, blanking out the mindtalk.
She would not forget her "duty." But first she must retrieve her self-stone. She must deliver these useless gully dwarves to their Promised Place. Visions of slaughter danced in her mind as she thought of the moment when her precious talisman was safe once more. The Highbulp and all the rest… how she would make them suffer when they were no longer needed. But first…
Where might it be — the place they would accept as their Promised Place? There were many places — abandoned places, devastated places, places where no one now lived or might ever want to live again. Such, logic said, was a fair definition of a Promised Place for gully dwarves. So Verden led them, on and on, as the days passed. Past the fortress realm of Thorbardin, through wilderness and uncharted lands, beyond Pax Tharkas they journeyed, skirting the beleaguered realms of elf and man.
As she scouted aloft, carrying Glitch I at her breast, the voice of Flame Searclaw again sought her out. Cruel and impatient, its tones as fiery as the ruby scales that flashed when he flew, the red dragon penetrated her mind with his distant voice. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "You were told to come, but you are not here. Report!"
"You should be glad I have not come to you, Flame Sear-claw," she shot back, fiercely. "We have a score to settle, you and I."
"Any time you like, green snake," his voice was contemptuous. "But first, you have a duty. Why are you not here?"
"I can't come," she admitted. "Not just yet. There are these… these creatures. They have a hold on me, and insist that I lead them.. somewhere."
"Creatures?"
In her mind she felt the red dragon's presence, sensing beyond what she had said. Then it recoiled in disbelief. "Gully Dwarves? You, the great Verden Leafglow, a hostage to… to gully dwarves?" Cruel laughter echoed in the mind-talk. "What is it they want of you?"
"To take them to their Promised Place. But they don't know where that is!"
"Gully dwarves." Again the cruel, shadowy laughter. "Hurry and deal with your… with your new masters, Verden Leafglow. Your presence here is commanded."
The mind-voice faded and Verden trembled with rage.
"Ouch!"
She glanced down at the struggling Highbulp. "What?"
"You squishin' me! Don' squeeze so hard!"
You little twit, she thought. I could squeeze the very life out of you with no effort at all. Still, she sensed the self-stone lodged inside the little creature, responding to his discomfort. HER self-stone. It must be protected. Reluctantly, she eased her grip.
Everywhere, the dragonarmies were on the move, and Verden Leafglow ached to join them — to join in the death and destruction they brought. She itched for the sport of it.
A dozen times, holding the smelly, irritating little Highbulp to her breast, she led them to dismal, deserted, unwanted places — splendid places for gully dwarves. But each time, Glitch I, the Highbulp, took a slow, arrogant look around and said, "Nope, this not it. Try again."
Verden thought longingly of how pleasant it would be to slice the strutting little twit into a thousand bloody chunks and scatter him all over Ansalon. But for the selfstone lodged within him…
"Not Promised Place," he insisted, time and again. "Nope, this place okay for This Place, but not Promised Place. Dragon promise Promised Place. Try again."
Beyond the Kharolis', while her unwanted charges slept beneath the visible moons, a thoroughly exasperated Verden Leafglow took Glitch and went scouting. On great wings, fully healed if only temporarily, she soared high in the night sky. All her senses at full pitch, she searched, and where ancient scars creased the shattered land, the mind-talk came again.
Like a taunting, contemptuous message, hanging in the air, waiting for her to hear it, it was there. Flame Searclaw's voice, from far away. A chuckle of evil mirth, and words.
"So they still possess you," it said. "The least among the least, they search for their heritage. And Verden Leafglow is their slave. How marvelous. There is an answer to your riddle, though."
"Continue." Verden Leafglow sneered mentally. "You have my attention."
"Destiny," the non-voice snickered. "A Highbulp of destiny. And one such as you to guide him. How exquisite."
Verden growled in fury, but listened.
"Xak Tsaroth," the dragon voice said. "Xak Tsaroth is a suitable Promised Place. Xak Tsaroth. The Pitt. They belong there. Let the Pitt be their destiny. And delivering them to such a place, at such a time, is your reward."
With a final chuckle of deep, taunting amusement, the voice of Flame Searclaw repeated, "Xak Tsaroth… the Pitt…" and faded.
Xak Tsaroth. Soaring on wide wings, Verden looked down at the Highbulp Glitch I, pressed to her breast. The little twit had, of course, heard none of it. He was sound asleep. Xak Tsaroth. Despite her hatred of Flame Searclaw and the murderous rage she felt toward him, an evil delight grew in Verden. Her reward, indeed. She knew what was in Xak Tsaroth. There could be no finer revenge on the gully dwarves than to deliver them there. Others of their kind were there.. enslaved, abused and at the mercy of draconians. These should join them.
The idea was very sweet to her.
Verden Leafglow had returned to the combined clans by the time they awakened. Like a great, serpentine pillar of brilliant emerald, she towered above them. Her vast wings were radiant in the morning sun and her formidable fangs alight in her dragon mouth. Little Highbulp seemed a ragged doll clenched at her breast. Huge and malevolent, Verden Leafglow loomed over the puny creatures — and shuddered with revulsion when one of them tripped sleepily over her toe.
Without ceremony, she rousted them out and told them, "I have found your Promised Place. Get a move on, and I'll take you there."
"No hurry," Glitch squirmed in her grasp. "This place not bad This Place. Maybe stay here a while, then go."
"We go now," she hissed.
Gandy squinted up at her. "Where is Promised Place?"
"Xak Tsaroth."
"Bless dragon," Minna said.
"What?"
"Dragon sneeze."
"I did not sneeze! I never sneeze. I said, 'Xak Tsaroth'."
"Bless dragon," Minna repeated. "Where Promised Place?"
Verden shook her head as though insects were tormenting her. "The Pitt," she said.
All around her, gully dwarves glanced at one another with real interest. "That sound pretty good," several decided.
"Sound all right," Glitch conceded. "Maybe think 'bout that, day or so, then…"
"Shut up!" Verden roared. "We go now!"
Never before — as far as anyone who might have cared knew — had gully dwarves traveled as fast or as purposefully as the combined clans of Bulp traveled during the following two days. It was a nearly exhausted band that gathered by evening's light to gaze on Xak Tsaroth. They stood at the top of a high, sheared slope above shadowed depths, and looked out at distant crags beyond which were the waters of Newsea.