"But now it's vacant."
The savant casually dropped the dead dwarf onto the pol ished floor, stood, and stepped around the body. He picked up the filled mug, then set it back on the table again; any more ale and he might have difficulty concentrating on a spell to raise Perian from the dead.
Nomscul took the bag from his belt and slapped it in Flint's face, sending a cloud of dust up the hill dwarf's nose.
Flint coughed and sputtered and cursed. "What are you try ing to do, you darn fool, choke me with dirt?"
Mudhole's shaman looked surprised. "That not dirt, that magic! Why you not be spellstruck like Aghar?" He thought about that for a moment. "I know, that prove you king!
Nomscul no can magic king!"
Flint considered Nomscul's stubbornly resolved expres sion with exasperation. "You can't force someone to be your king!" He strained futilely against his bonds.
But the gully dwarf's square jaw remained set. "It not I. It property. It fate. You must give in."
"But it's not my fate," Flint insisted, "because your proph ecy is not my concern!"
Nomscul suddenly looked crestfallen. "You mean you no want to be our king? It great honor. We wait long time for you to come — since before Nomscul be Nomscul!"
Lower lip quivering, Nomscul pulled the rusted blade from a hiltless dagger and a mold-encrusted pendant from the pockets inside his furry vest and held them toward Flint.
"If you not king, who get treasures Aghar save since Kitty clawsem? Who be our saver?" The room erupted into a sym phony of wailing, moaning, sobbing, and shrieking gully dwarves, who threw themselves to their knees and pounded the ground in despair.
"Oh, for crying out loud, stop that infernal screeching!"
Flint yelled. The room fell instantly quiet, and all eyes turned to him.
Including Perian's. Flint had all but forgot her in his des peration to escape. Suddenly the hill dwarf saw himself as she must see him, strapped to the chair, and he felt more foolish than angry. Enough was enough.
Flint regarded Nomscul, who was tapping his chin. "I have an idea. It's so much fun to be your king, that I've de cided I'd like you to have the fun, too. I'm going to make you king for a day."
But instead of whooping with joy, the gully dwarf looked insulted. "Property no work that way," he said solemnly. "I no drop from mud chute with queen."
Flint would have rubbed his own face in frustration if he could have reached it. He considered his options. He could stay tied to the chair and try to outlast their attention spans.
However, these Aghar seemed a tenacious lot, and patience was not one of his virtues. Why can't I be their king for just a while? he asked himself. He had no burning commitments, except to avenge Aylmar's death. It would take some plan ning to infiltrate Thorbardin and reach Pitrick; maybe these insufferable Aghar could be some help.
Was it truly fate that he and Perian had fulfilled the Aghar's prophecy? It was certainly one weird coincidence.
"Let me loose," he growled suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be your king."
"Huh?" said Nomscul, blinking in surprise.
"I said, I'll be your king," Flint repeated more loudly.
Nomscul looked suspicious. "You promise? You won't run away?"
Flint rolled his eyes. "I promise on my honor as a Fire forge that I will be your king and not run away."
Nomscul squinted in concentration. "For how long?"
Flint sighed. "A promise is a promise! For as long as you need me."
"And I'll be your queen," Perian said, stepping forward, smiling at Flint with a twinkle in her eye. He gave her a wink.
A cheer went up in the room and spread to the rest of the Aghar waiting in the hall.
"Get crown! Get crown!" Flint saw the crowd passing something forward, until the object was placed in Nom scul's hands. The gully dwarf shaman held forth a jagged metal crown and placed it proudly on Flint's sweat-soaked gray hair. The cold metal ring immediately slipped over the hill dwarf's eyes, forward off of his face, and fell with a
"tink!" to the dirt floor. Nomscul quickly replaced it, and just as quickly it slid down Flint's head again, bounced off the arm of the chair, and flew through the air.
"Gee, a game! Crowntoss!" Nomscul giggled into Flint's face. "You one fun king!" He jammed the crown back on his king's head.
Flint screamed. "Not points down, you moron!" Nomscul hastily yanked it off and righted it.
Not a bad fit. Looked okay too, Flint decided. "Now, un tie me!" The room was a flurry of gully dwarves trying to comply with Flint's wishes, some pulling on the ropes, a fair number trying to gnaw through them with their teeth. At last the bonds fell away and Flint stood up, rubbing his wrists and legs.
The Aghar were in a delirious frenzy; their "saver" had ar rived. Nomscul whistled for attention. "Shudduuuuub!" he screamed, but no one was listening. Frowning in irritation, the shaman snatched the red bag from his belt and clapped it hard, sending a cloud of dust over the gully dwarves, who fell silent, as if under a spell. "See," he said, giving Flint a smug look. "I told you it magic."
He turned back to the gathering. "We plan crownation party for — " His eyes shifted from left to right as he searched his mind. "What your names?" he whispered to Flint and
Perian. They quickly told him. "Party someday soon in Big Sky Room for King Flunk II, and Queen Furryend! I cook big food and everyone dance!" Most of the gully dwarves streamed like lemmings from the room to begin the prepara tions for the upcoming festivities.
Though even Perian had to laugh at Nomscul's mangling of her name, her face fell at the mention of his cooking. She quickly pulled Flint to the side. "Let's tell him to send Aghar up to the north warrens for some decent food, not the gar bage pile they usually raid. I can tell them exactly what to get and where to get it." Her face brightened further. "Say, they could even get some mossweed, couldn't they?"
"Isn't a raid into Thorbardin risky?" asked Flint.
"The Aghar do it all the time," replied Perian. "I'll just tell them to be a bit more selective."
Flint decided her suggestion was a good one and had Nomscul dispatch two gully dwarves to the warrens with Perian's specific instructions in hand.
It was such a good idea, in fact, that Flint decided to send two more Aghar out, this time through the "big crackin grotto," as Nomscul pronounced it, to resolve his most pressing concern: Basalt. His nephew must surely have re turned to Hillhome by how, and probably thought his uncle was a goner. From Nomscul, Flint had a rough idea of where the "big crackingrotto" emerged from Mudhole into the
Kharolis range; probably about a stone's throw from the western tip of Stonehammer Lake. Flint personally selected two young harrns named Cainker and Garf, and gave them his best guess for directions to Hillhome, as well as a thor ough description of Basalt.
Flint stuffed a hastily scrawled note into the pocket of Cainker's vest. "Bring this to my nephew," he instructed as he sent them on their way. "It will tell him I'm safe." He had no real hope that they would succeed, but it was worth a try.
Thrilled at the prospect of some mossweed, Perian had al lowed herself to be swept away by some frawls, who wanted to gussy her up for the festivities. Thus, Flint, his first kingly duties attended to, and left alone, finally fell to undisturbed sleep.
Beads of perspiration joined the streaks that flowed down
Pitrick's temples, pooling above his lips. His thick tongue licked the sweat away unconsciously, since he was intent on the heavy, leather-bound tome beneath his eyes. The savant was seated behind the burnished granite desk that rose out of the floor in his cozy study to the right and three steps above the main chamber. To his left and flank were floor-to ceiling shelves filled with heavy, bound books, faded scroll cases, a beaker of teeth, patches of fur, a harpy skull, an ivory ogre tusk, quill pens and ink bottles, ground toenails, a flask containing the breath of seven babies, and other as sorted dried ingredients. The shelves to his right were re served for bottles filled with raw components of every imaginable color, odor, and viscosity, including frog glands in phosphorescent swamp water, golden griffon blood, red hot lava, the sweat glands of a bugbear, mercury, giant slug spittle, and rendered virgin rattlesnake.