Then Flint turned and looked up the street. He heard sounds of the enemy approaching, but as yet he could see nothing in the distant darkness.
Where was Perian?
Darting around the corner of an old warehouse, Perian looked up and down the side street. When she saw no sign of
Aghar, she didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.
Then she heard a sound coming from the open door of a darkened greengrocer's shop. Crouching, she slipped across the street and looked into the store.
"Hi, Queen Furryend! Get food for fort!" 'Fester beamed at her, looking up from her efforts at collecting bacon, pick les, and other provisions. The Aghar's mouth was outlined in white sugar — apparently some of her supplies would be transported internally — but her apron bulged with food.
Other gully dwarves moved forward from the shadows at the rear of the store, laden with pork, cheese, bread, and melons.
"Good, Fester — that's great! But you've got to hurry, now! Are there more of you near here?"
Fester nodded her head. "More get hungry and get food."
"Good! Now, run to the fort as fast as you can!" Perian barked the command sharply.
Fester looked momentarily puzzled, but then dashed for the door. The other Aghar, nearly a dozen in all, raced be hind the "weighty lady."
Perian followed them from the store, looking anxiously up the side street. She heard the tromp of heavy footsteps to the west, though the derro were still some distance away.
With relief, she saw Fester and her companions disappear in the direction of the brewery.
Were there any more stragglers? She looked around, her sensitive eyes seeing well in the darkness; she spotted no
Aghar. The sounds of armored dwarves on the march came closer on Main Street, but still there were no derro on this side avenue.
Pivoting smoothly, she turned toward the brewery. The structure was visible at the limits of her vision, its tall, fea tureless wall offering protection. The gate lay just around the corner, and there she would find Flint. A quick, low dash, and she would reach the shelter of that fortress before the attacking Theiwar.
A blue wash of light spilled through the street, and Perian knew that Pitrick was near.
"Come!" The lone word echoed through the night out of nowhere. She heard the savant's voice as she tried to break into a run, but something in the power of his voice — in the power of his word — held her step.
Perian whirled to face him, ready to shriek her hatred and revulsion. Instead, she took a step toward him. Gaping in astonishment, she looked down at her feet even as she took another step toward the repulsive hunchback.
"I knew I'd find you!" he crowed.
Perian tried to articulate a challenge, or to raise her axe in defense. But her mouth clamped shut, beyond her control, while her arms hung slack at her sides. She felt, but could not stop, her axe slipping from her numb fingers. The weapon dropped to the ground.
Again that blue light surged, and she saw its reflection in Pitrick's eyes. He leered at her, all but licking his lips, as she stumbled forward another step. Perian thought of the walled fort, of Flint waiting for her at the gate. The knowl edge halted her advance as she resolutely planted her feet, ignoring the compelling power of Pitrick's spell.
But the derro raised his hand and curtly gestured her for ward. Once again she took a step toward him, fighting the impulse with every ounce of her will, but helpless against the grip of his power. Perian stared at the hideous figure, cocky in his deformed stance, the grotesque hump pressing him into his forward-stooping posture. His huge eyes gleamed at her, glowing like dire beacons in the night.
Flint! She wanted to cry his name, to fall into his arms, but instead there was only the grinning apparition of Pitrick before her, growing larger with each inevitable footstep.
The hunchback planted his fists on his hips, sneering confi dently as Perian stumbled closer still. In moments she would be within his reach; he seemed to take a perverse pleasure in bringing her toward him, while he remained immobile, waiting.
Her attention riveted to that hateful face, Perian felt as though she and Pitrick w, re the only beings in the world — a world that had become very forlorn indeed. Blue light seeped from his amulet, and it was the only light she knew.
Blindly, helplessly, she stepped toward him again, and once more.
A few more paces would take her to his side. She strug gled to speak, to cry out, but her mouth remained slack, her arms frozen at her sides. Only her feet moved in that slow, doomful cadence.
"Come, spiteful wench. Come, and feel the touch of your master! Come, and meet your death!" Pitrick threw back his head and laughed into the night.
Perian took a final step and then stood before him. Waves of despair tormented her soul. Pitrick reached forward with a clenched, clawlike hand, raising his fingers toward her face.
He touched her cheek.
Pain flashed through her skin as he made contact. His ca ress was like a shot of vile sickness, far worse than the clean wound of a steel blade. Sheets of agony wracked her body, bringing hot tears to her eyes.
And, finally, the pain broke the thrall of his magic. With a groan, Perian crumpled to her knees, clasping a hand to the cheek he had touched. She twisted away from Pitrick. She was free.
"You disgust me!" she spat, leaping back to her feet.
Pitrick stepped backward in momentary surprise. At the same time, blue magic erupted from his amulet, but the light diffused through the night, out of its master's control.
"Stop!" he cried, groping for his axe.
But Perian, too, was beyond his control now. She felt for her own weapon, remembering that her axe had fallen from her hands. The march of the advancing derro sounded around her, and she knew that the Theiwar would soon come to their commander's rescue.
Desperately, her fingers reached toward her belt and closed about the hilt of the small knife — her only weapon.
She raised it and slashed wildly, feeling a grim satisfaction as the blade drove into Pitrick's hastily raised forearm. He screamed and slumped backward, tearing the blade from her grip.
Perian jerked away and saw the charging forms of black armored mountain dwarves in the darkness beyond Pitrick.
Some animal instinct in her wanted to stay, to keep striking him until he was dead, but her rational side told her there wasn't time.
She turned and sprinted toward the brewery, hearing the savant's hysterical shrieks of hatred. She did not see him reach for his amulet, though the blue light flared before she could dart around the corner. Lightning crackled through the night.
"Hurry!" Flint cried, overcome with relief as Perian stum bled toward him. The Theiwar troops advanced down the road behind her, but he swept her into his arms and together they tumbled through the gate. Other hill dwarves slammed the heavy portals shut and dropped the bars to lock them.
"You made it!" he grinned, gasping for breath and rolling over to look at Perian. "I was so worried!"
She smiled weakly and took his hand in hers. He was sur prised to see that it was covered with blood. Then his eyes widened in horror as he saw the deep wounds, blistered by hot magic, in her back and along her left side.
"Perian!" he cried in disbelief.
Her smile slowly faded.
Chapter 24
"She's — they're getting away!" Pitnick's voice ex ploded in a shrill screech of outrage. "Incompetent fools!