There was no shortage of willing crossbowmen, but Brandon saw the truth of Tank’s earlier complaint: at the most, twelve of the Kayolin archers would be able to crowd into the doorway to provide covering fire while many more defenders would be able to concentrate their missiles against the ram-wielding attackers.
“Tankard,” Brandon said, placing a hand on his old friend’s shoulder before he realized that he didn’t really have anything to say, just wanted to delay the departure of the dangerous attack for another few seconds. “Be careful-and good luck,” he declared.
“I’m always careful-and lucky!” the captain replied with a breezy grin. He turned to the platoon that had brought up the ram. “All right, you slugs! Carry that thing like you mean it! Now let’s go!”
Gretchan held Brandon’s arm almost as if she expected him to charge forward with the ram. Instead, he clasped his own hand over hers and watched as the brave Kayolin dwarves, with the stone column supported at shoulder height, sprinted into the hallway. As soon as they had charged through the door, the archers moved into position, immediately firing at the enemy crossbowmen who swarmed forward onto the balconies. A few of the Kayolin missiles found targets, but the defenders fired an initial volley that felled six or seven of the ram-bearing dwarves at once.
Others raced forward into the hall, helping to support the heavy column as Tankard urged his men onward. They closed against the double doors quickly, and the makeshift ram smashed into the barrier with a resounding boom. The attackers stumbled back, but Brandon was encouraged to see the doors shaking from the force of the impact.
“Again!” shouted Tankard Hacksaw, and his men reared back to drive the column once more into the doors. “And again!”
But the arrow fire from above was lethal. One bolt caught Tankard in the shoulder, and he stumbled and fell. More of his men were killed, and many of those who ran to assist were shot down even before they could reach the heavy ram. Under the steady hail of missiles, the Kayolin dwarves buckled and wavered, finally dropping the stone column to the floor.
Brandon broke free of Gretchan’s restraining hand. He raced into the hall, feeling an arrow knock into his breastplate and ricochet away. Tankard was kneeling, trying to pull the missile out of his shoulder. Brandon grabbed his old friend by his other arm, pulled him to his feet, then stumbled and careered back to the door. Together they fell into the mess hall, where other willing dwarves pulled them out of the enemy’s line of sight.
“The rest of the men!” Tankard gasped, his face covered in a sheen of sweat. “Get them out of there! Order the retreat!”
By the time Brandon rose to his feet, there was no need to issue any orders. The only Kayolin dwarves left in the corridor were the dead.
“Smell that! Smell fire!” Slooshy chirped excitedly.
“Maybe food with fire?” Gus said, feeling the first glimmer of hope he’d felt since they had picked over the small berry bush several-two? — days earlier.
Since that time, the three Aghar had wandered through the wilds of the Kharolis foothills. They’d come upon a few farms and villages and inns of the hill dwarves but had been driven off in each case before they could even begin to try to steal some food.
In one case, a hill dwarf innkeeper had loosed several ferocious hounds on the gully dwarves, and Gus had lost the seat of his trousers to a savage bite as he’d tried to scramble up a very thorny tree. The fact that Berta and Slooshy had been laughing at him from the higher branches had only served to further fuel his anger and disappointment.
But Slooshy was right: there was a distinct odor of wood smoke on the breeze. “Come this way-find food!” Gus urged, diving into a thorny thicket and pushing through to the other side. His companions came noisily behind, but he didn’t bother waiting.
Stumbling forward eagerly, Gus tumbled into a stream and came up, gagging and choking, to find that he was standing in waist-deep, very cold water. It flowed with a noisy current, and it seemed to him that the smell of the smoke was coming from upstream, so the Aghar charged right through the icy liquid, climbing over slippery rocks, advancing up a channel that seemed to be bounded by two close-set stone walls.
He was vaguely aware of the two chattering girls coming behind him, but his growling stomach would brook no delay. Instead, he scrambled and crawled and climbed upward to move himself through the water and over the rocks. Finally he saw a glint of light through the woods and knew he had found the source of the blaze!
Leaping out of the stream, he pressed through another bramble on the bank and saw a small clearing where a large fire crackled cheerfully and warmly.
Then he froze, noticing something else. Two big dwarves were in that clearing. One was a male, a Klar to judge from his unkempt hair and wildly staring eyes. The other, a female, was fighting him. She lay on the ground, her face and most of her body concealed by that violent-looking Klar.
Then she screamed, and the urgent fear in her voice set Gus’s heart to pounding. He blinked and rubbed his eyes and saw strands of light-colored hair flying around, illuminated by the fire. His mind focused, and he could think of only one thing.
“Gretchan!” he shouted, charging forward without another thought. The two combatants were so fiercely engaged that neither seemed to notice him at first, but the Aghar advanced resolutely. “Leave Gretchan alone!” he shouted at the Klar.
The only answer was an inarticulate growl as the male reared back and fastened his powerful hands around the female’s throat. Her next scream was choked into a gagging cough by the Klar’s suffocating grip.
“You let go!” Gus cried again. He reached down, picking up a large, jagged-edged rock that was right under his feet. With an impetuous spring, he leaped forward, lifting the rock over his head in both of his hands. With stunningly accurate force, he brought it crashing down on the Klar’s skull.
The attacker groaned and immediately collapsed on the female, who grunted and struggled to push the inert form away.
“Gretchan! Gus save you!” cried the gully dwarf, grabbing the insensate Klar by one hand and pulling him off to the side. The victim, still coughing and choking, pushed herself into a sitting position and struggled to regain her breath.
“Hey! You not Gretchan!” Gus declared indignantly.
“No, I’m not,” she said when she finally found her voice. She wiped a hand across her face and looked at Gus with considerable relief. “But I’m very grateful to you for saving my life.”
“Oh, well, all right,” Gus replied, warmed by the praise-even if the dwarf maid was an impostor.
Abruptly his arms were seized by firm, small hands, one pair pulling to each side of him.
“Hey, you big dwarf sister!” declared Berta in a voice full of menace. “You stay away!”
“Yeah!” added Slooshy, tugging hard at Gus’s other side. “This my guy!”
“Um, don’t worry,” said the dwarf maid whom Gus had mistaken for Gretchan. “I won’t take him away. But thanks for letting him come to my rescue.”
Gus, meanwhile, was thinking about other things while the three females conversed warily. “Hey,” he said after a minute, addressing the dwarf he had rescued. “You got any food?”
The courier found Brandon in the ruined mess hall, sitting with Tankard and Gretchan as the priestess worked her healing magic on the captain’s deep but not lethal wound. He sprinted up and clapped his fist to his chest in salute.
“General Bluestone! Captain Morewood said to tell you that we’ve got the Firespitter up to the gate!”
“Bring it forward at once!” Brandon replied, seizing on the news as if it were a lifeline on a stormy sea.