"It will please me if you command the House Guard in Perian's stead," the thane said, his tone lazy.
"Yes, my lord," was the adviser's confident response.
"With troops such as these, we can not fail to wipe the little village of hill dwarves from the face of the continent!"
Arms crossed, feet spread wide in a powerful stance, the thane considered his adviser. "The latter is the point of this attack, is it not?"
"Most certainly," Pitrick said quickly. "We shall leave midafternoon this day for the long march through the wagon tunnel, so that we will arrive on the surface at dusk, in familiar darkness. Though I have recently made trips to
Sanction, the troops have never been outside the lightless ' ness of Thorbardin. I am not sure how well their eyes will adjust, so we will travel at night and sleep in caves or under the protection of thick trees during daylight."
Realgar nodded his approval. He, himself, had not been on the surface in many decades, lacking the time or the incli nation to go there. "What of snow?" he asked. "Isn't it near ing wintertime above?"
"Yes," Pitrick agreed, "but the wagon crews tell me it is yet early, and the snow is still traversable. I estimate that, en cumbered by the mass of troops, it will take two nights of steady marching to reach the dreadful little village. We will attack an unsuspecting Hillhome on the third evening. We can rest the afternoon nearby — out of sight of Hillhome so that our attack will come as a complete surprise."
"What could Perian possibly want in the grotto so late on the night before we leave for battle?" Flint mumbled aloud as he hastened down the final long tunnel leading to the beautiful cavern at the farthest corner of Mudhole. He had been working with Nomscul to pack the explosive sludge into sacks and bottles, as well as clean up some rusty old daggers and sword blades that had been discovered during the searches of the last two days. Nomscul had relayed the message with a giggle: "Queen Furryend say you to meet her at grotto when done. She have big surprise!" With that, the gully dwarf shaman had clamped his hand over his large mouth, refusing to give Flint further clues about the myste rious missive.
At last Flint came to the opening on the right that marked the entrance to the cavern, and he turned down the enclosed staircase, taking the narrow steps two at a time. He paused at the bottom to draw in a breath, then bounded in.
Immediately, he was grabbed by a giggling frawl, Perian's self-appointed "weighty lady," Fester.
"Take off clothes and come with me!" Fester squealed, her fleshy cheeks buckling in a smile as she tugged at Flint's clothing.
"What are you talking about? Stop that! Don't touch me, you silly frawl! Where's Perian?" Flint demanded, trying to shake off Fester's grip.
"I'm right here," Perian called. She came around the cor ner of a stalagmite and laughed out loud when she saw
Flint's stony, red face and Fester's eager tugging. "Stop it,
Fester." The frawl Aghar dropped away from Flint, sheep ishly regarded the royal family, then scampered up the stair way.
Flustered, Flint gathered the edges of his clothing that Fes ter had managed to pull down, his face burning. "What's go ing on here? What have you been teaching her, mugging?"
Perian laughed again. "Unfortunately, she already knew that. Look, I'm sorry," she said, flashing her big, hazel eyes.
"Fester must have decided that since I've taken off my usual armor, you would want to as well."
Suddenly Flint became aware that Perian was dressed in a tight-fighting blue-green wrap; his favorite color looked spectacular against her copper hair. She stood silhouetted by the glowing moss behind her near the pool, and for the first time he could really see her shape through the gauzy gown. His eyes traced her form upward, from her surpris ingly slim ankles, to her muscular calves, her broad hips, slightly narrowed waist, her ample… His cheeks grew hot again, and he forced his eyes back up to the safety of her face.
Perian smiled invitingly and held her hand out to him.
"Come, your surprise is getting cold."
Startled, Flint drew back. "What surprise?"
Perian frowned impatiently. "If I told you here, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it? You aren't afraid to be alone with me, are you?"
"Certainly not!" Flint huffed, snatching up her hand in embarrassment and irritation. But as he followed her around the stone pillar and into the depths of the grotto, he was not so sure. He forgot his humiliation when he saw what awaited him on the bench before the pool.
Five mismatched pots of steaming food nearly covered the bench and surrounded a single lit candle and two metal plates. Flint clapped his hands and licked his lips as he rushed forward, eyeing the containers.
"What's the occasion?"
"The occasion is our last dinner — a celebration," she said simply, waving him to sit by the plate that faced the pool.
He dropped to the ground on the fluffy moss and slid his legs under the bench. "Celebration," he snorted. "What have we to celebrate? We're leading a ragtag bunch of gully dwarves off to save a village from a powerful, demented magician, and — "
"I know all that," she interrupted with a sigh. "Can't we have just a few last peaceful hours?" She folded her legs un der her and gracefully lowered herself to the ground, back to the pool. She took the hilt of an old dagger and stirred it around in one of the pots, then used it to ladle a portion of the pot's contents onto Flint's plate.
"Sauteed white fungus and onions," she said. Pointing from one pot to the next, she rattled off their contents.
"There's mushrooms and sprouts, meat — don't ask what kind- in red sauce, turtle soup, and creamed fish."
"Where did you get all this stuff?" Flint mumbled through a mouthful of delicious fungus and onions.
Perian propped her chin up on her hands looking proud, yet a little sheepish. "I'm afraid I risked sending two more
Aghar up to the warrens. It took them long enough, but they managed to find most of what I sent them for without getting caught. You'll be happy to know that I did not send them for mossweed — I've broken that habit… I think.
And also, gully dwarf hands never touched the food during preparation — I made it all myself."
"What a catch — brawn, brains, beauty, and she can cook," he muttered unconsciously, busy stuffing his mouth.
He listened to his own words and gasped, glancing up quickly, but Perian, intent on her plate, showed no signs of having heard him. They ate quickly and in silence, savoring tastes forgotten in the short week they had been consuming a tiresome catch-all called gully dwarf stew.
When the last bowl was scraped clean, Flint pushed him self back, patting his stomach happily. "Simply marvelous," he sighed.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Perian said, standing up. "I hope you like my next surprise as well." She danced past
Flint and disappeared behind him into the columns of lime stone that ran from floor to ceiling opposite the pool.
The mountain dwarf quickly returned, holding a long, narrow package wrapped in cotton batting and tied shut with twine. Flint watched expectantly, unable to guess its contents.
Perian's head was dipped nervously as she untied the par cel with shaky hands. "I've wanted to give you this for a day or two, but the moment just never seemed right. I wish I could have spent a few more days on it…" she mumbled mysteriously as she fumbled with the twine. "Oh, here!" she said, flustered. She flung back the cloth cover and thrust her hands toward him. "A weapon befitting a monarch leading his troops to war."
Curious, Flint peered beyond the wrapping. His breath caught in his throat and he drew no air, his face paling dan gerously.
"What's wrong?" Perian asked, concern and dismay crea sing her face. "I–I cleaned it up as best I could. I know it's very old, but it's an excellent axe, dwarven-crafted, no doubt. Don't you like it?"