Surrounded by sheets of metal armor and several tall, wooden walls, with a surface as broad as a hundred palatial courtyards, the great raft completely filled the harbor that had once served as an anchorage for the Blue Swan Inn. Thousands of Crusaders and Delvers were assembling on the massive deck, and they didn’t yet come close to taking up all the space. Ulf saw columns of giants and goblins, companies of centaurs, huge regiments numbering a thousand elves apiece, all march down the ramps leading to the flat surface. Still more of these troops were assembled on the shore, waiting for their turns to board.
Beyond, even more of the enemy troops were in the camp-and only past these, past tens of thousands of deadly enemies, Ulf could see the causeway, his route to the city, starting across the lake. As the Hour of Darken closed around him, he saw the Delvers start to file out of the cavern. Soon the column would form a barrier across the road, blocking his retreat.
Drawing a deep breath, Ulfgang rose and started to trot down the hill. He stopped to sniff a pile of fresh horse dung, took a long detour to urinate on the only tree trunk on this part of the slope. Taking great care to appear nonchalant, he started past a company of goblins, keeping a wary eye on the hungry-looking warriors. When one of them tossed a spear, the dog sprinted away, ears trailing from the wind of his speed.
Trotting around a group of bored giants, he finally saw the paved roadway of the Metal Highway. The wide avenue started across the lake on its raised causeway, a straight line leading to Circle at Center. Ulf flopped to the ground, tongue drooping lazily, as a rank of elves marched past. When they were gone, he rose and slowly padded forward, crossing in front of the advancing column of Delvers while the Blind Ones were still some distance away.
Now he was near the lakeshore. A pair of centaurs paced back and forth at the terminus of the causeway. Each was armed with a stout cudgel, and their attention was directed mainly along the road extending into the lake, where they remained alert for any sortie from the city.
Ulf trotted down to the shore and lapped up some water. At the same time, he watched the reflections of the centaurs, saw that one glanced at him, then turned his attention back to the road. Still wandering slowly, the dog paced along the shore, up onto the road. Nose down, he padded past the nearest centaur, as if he had no purpose before him other than the next exciting sniff.
“Hey!” The growl came from the second centaur. “Stop that dog.”
Instantly Ulf flew into a wild sprint, belly low, feet pounding the pavement in urgent, rhythmic strides down the straight road. He heard one centaur thundering in pursuit, heavy hooves clattering on the pavement, but by then the streaking Ulfgang was two dozen paces ahead. Without looking back, he stretched further, running faster than a strong wind. The guard kept up the chase for a half mile, but by then the dog was far along the causeway.
And even when he wasn’t pursued, his legs reached, stretched, hurled him along the pavement. His lungs strained for breath, and his long tongue dangled, flopping loosely as he streaked above the water toward the sparkling city. Halfway across the lake he passed a company of giants, the first line of the city’s defense. They made no move to stop him, and Ulf did not slow down. Lights, coolfyre beacons, blinked into life along the upcoming shore as night thickened. Even as the pain of exhaustion rose through his chest and throat he held his speed, swerving around the elven guards that moved to intercept him as he darted onto the island.
Racing across the Mercury Terrace, he ignored the protestations and surprised stares of the few elves who were out at this dark hour. Now his claws clicked along the paving stones of the Avenue of Metal. Ulfgang knew that he could find Natac at his headquarters building, formerly a gallery of iron across from the College. It was still a long run from here, but the road was straight and wide.
A minute later Ulfgang came over a low rise to find that the entire street was blocked by a riotous crowd. He smelled the bittersweet stink of goblins, heard their whoops and shouts as they danced on the pavement and quaffed great mugs of stale-smelling beer. Partners whirled each other in a frenzy, sending drunken goblins careening into each other, provoking insults, kicks, and punches.
“Hoo-hoo! A doggie!” cried one wild-eyed fellow, reaching out as if to smear Ulfgang’s nose with a slobbery kiss. White jaws snapped, and the goblin lurched backward, howling and pressing hands to his bleeding lip.
“You lot!” The bellow was Owen’s voice, roaring above the din. Ulf couldn’t see the Viking, but as the crowd grew suddenly quiet he sensed that the human warrior had waded into the celebration. Goblins yelped in dismay, and several abruptly flew through the air, tossed by blows of Owen’s hamlike fists. “Stop this commotion right now! Or I’ll have yer heads on pikes over the lakefront wall!”
“What for you make ruckus?” demanded another voice, and Ulfgang saw Hiyram swagger through his fellow goblins, jabbing his finger at a chest here, meeting a belligerent eye there. “We’s gotta fight Delverdwarfs-not you too each other!”
Sheepishly, the carousing goblins shuffled from the street, filing into the large manors that had been given them as barracks. But by then Ulf was already moving, pushing through the goblins until he caught up to Owen and Hiyram.
“I’ve got to get to Natac!” He barked frantically, trying to get the goblin’s attention.
“We’ll take you to’m-I’m wantin’ to tell about this mess, anyway,” Hiyram said disgustedly. He looked as though he wanted to take off after the retreating goblins, but Owen, at least, seemed to sense the dog’s urgency. Moving at a trot, they started up the Avenue of Metal.
N atac tried to deny the truth of the message, but deep in his heart he felt the reality of Miradel’s loss. He listened in dull horror to Ulfgang’s dispassionate report. For a long time the warrior couldn’t seem to speak, couldn’t make his mouth shape the words he wanted, needed to say.
“Why?” he croaked, finally. “Why kill her?”
“I think they wanted to capture her, really,” suggested the white dog. “I saw a piece of net there. And water, and marks of fire. It seems she put up a fight.”
“And she will be avenged,” Natac said, though the phrase, the very intention, seemed a hollow mockery. “We’ll start by figuring out how to face this raft, this ‘floating island’ that you spotted.”
He looked around the table in his headquarters chamber. Natac’s subordinate captains watched him warily. Deltan and Galewn, the giants representative of Nayve’s Senate, were there. That pair were responsible for the two forces who had held the causeway against every attack over the last twenty-five years. Karkald, too, was present, as were Tamarwind and Roland Boatwright. Owen and Fionn stood on the other side of the table, Owen with Hiyram and the Irishman with Nistel. They were gathered in a room of metal, with an iron floor and vaulted ceiling of bronze. At the door stood a guard, a giant armed with a massive, hook-bladed halberd and wearing a cap of shiny steel.
The general was acutely conscious of the meeting that had been in progress prior to Ulf’s arrival. It had been a routine affair, a report from the garrison on the Metal Causeway, the awareness that the enemy’s heavy galleys had stayed off the lake since the ships had been destroyed by Karkald’s seaborne batteries.
The training of the gnomes and goblins was proceeding slowly, and Natac fervently hoped that he could continue to spare both big regiments the shock of mortal combat. For years they had been part of the army, of course, but they had been spared many of the ravages suffered by the giants and elves. He admitted to a quiet affection for the diligent gnomes, typically pudgy, bespectacled, and squinting, yet so earnestly intent on becoming warriors, on redeeming the disgrace of their flight during the Battle of the Blue Swan. But in truth they weren’t warriors, and Natac had done everything he could to keep them out of harm’s way.