Kerrick winced. “Friends,” he corrected. Moreen chuckled softly.
“All gullies friends,” declared Croaker, whacking Divid on the back with enthusiasm. “This one even when we hates him for taking my eats. And my girl-gully.”
“My eats!” Divid declared, bristling. He stood close to the other, chest puffing out aggressively. “You take my eats! And Darknose my girl-gully!”
“You take eats and my girl-gully,” Croaker said. “Oughta bop you a good one-two!”
“Yeah? Me bop you, two times!” Divid raised his grimy fists, ready to swing.
“We have eats,” Moreen said quickly, reaching out to Kerrick. He handed her the small sack of provisions that Randall had given them when the two groups parted. “Is anyone hungry?”
“We hungry! Always hungry!”
Kerrick was astonished to see that there were suddenly at least a dozen gully dwarves in this chamber. They came scrambling out of holes, eyes wide and shining in the darkness. “Whatcha got?” asked one grubby female, swaggering forward and poking her face into the satchel.
“Here. We have some fish-cakes. I think there’s one for everyone,” the chiefwoman replied, gracefully pulling the bag away, then soothing the scowling girl-gully by offering her the first cake. The others crowded around, and soon the whole group was munching on the nutritious, if rather dry and tasteless, food, the traditional fare of travelers in the Icereach.
“What is this place?” Kerrick asked Divid, glancing around. “Somebody’s, er, home?”
“This fine inn!” declared their guide. “Called ‘Way-fare House’. Gullies come here for good eats, good talk. Meet girls, too,” he said with a wink.
“Meet my girl,” Croaker said sullenly, apparently unwilling to let that transgression go unmentioned. “Two times!”
“This is an inn, eh?” the elf said. He looked around the place, now crowded with gully dwarves. There was no furniture, no fireplace, just a few rotting logs and big stones and a slab of rotten meat lying along one wall of the room.
Kerrick assumed from its odor that this latter was garbage, but one of the gullies, having consuming his fish cake, pulled a piece of stringy flesh from the slab and gobbled it down with a great smile. The elf suppressed a gag as he saw maggots crawling on the morsel, just before the cheerful gully dwarf smacked his lips over the white, pasty grubs.
“How much farther,” Kerrick asked Divid with a gulp. “How long before we get to the castle?”
“What castle?” asked their guide, chewing innocently.
“Dracoheim Castle,” the elf replied, trying to hold his temper. “You know, where you promised to take us.”
“Sure, sure, I promise.”
“When? How far is it?” repeated Kerrick.
“We here,” said Divid, leaning his head back.
“Where?” asked Kerrick, looking up, noticing for the first time that the roof of the “Wayfare Inn” was high overhead. Moreen was already standing up, pointing to a shaft leading upward, a rickety ladder extending down from the opening in the ceiling all the way to the floor.
“Castle Dracoheim! We right under big castle. What you think, anyways?” said Divid, before turning back to dig in, with visible relish, to a bite of maggot-infested dessert.
* * * * *
“Do you think we should cross over the ridge?” wondered Randall, as he and Strongwind paused for sips of water and a bite to eat. They rested on a patch of sun-warmed grass, catching their breath, making sure the ogres didn’t fall too far behind. “That might make them worry a little… pick up the pace of their pursuit, you know?”
“Maybe, but I think we should stay where they can get a good look at us now and then,” the king suggested. “I wouldn’t want them to give up and head back to the castle.” He gazed off toward the citadel, now a good distance away. He hoped Moreen was safe, but knew there was nothing he could do for her now except keep these foolish ogres away from her.
“Time to go,” the king said, rising to his feet, adjusting his sword so that it hung easily from his belt.
“Suits me,” Randall agreed, also rising to his feet, easily hefting his axe. The ogres were coming on below. One of them shouted something as the two men showed themselves, and the cat-and-mouse chase resumed.
* * * * *
“How many of them did you see?” growled the ogre king, panting for breath, as he squinted toward the place where the humans had dropped out of sight again.
“Just two, Sire,” reported Argus. “I don’t know if they are the same two, however. More and more my eyes fail me-”
“No, that’s what I saw, too,” Grimwar declared. Squinting, he looked back along the ridgecrest, toward the looming height of Dracoheim Castle. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen more than two, not since this chase started.”
The castle was now a good ten miles away, in the opposite direction of their pursuit. The king tried to think, always a strenuous effort. He furrowed his brow and looked first toward the fleeing men, then back at the castle. If the intruders were after the Alchemist, and the Alchemist was back at the castle, surely he was safe.
But if they were chasing two humans, where were the other three people who had crashed the shores of Dracoheim? Where was the Messenger?
Suddenly, Grimwar had the feeling he had made a terrible mistake.
23
Aerie of the Alchemist
The bead of gold sizzled under the spurt of blue torch-flame, the metal glistening as it heated, slowly becoming liquid, dripping from the end of the malleable strip to flow into the groove around the seam of the golden orb. The Alchemist worked slowly and carefully, not because he was worried about wasting the precious material, but because he dared not overheat the sphere of soft, yellow metal.
One final turn, a sprinkle of water bursting into steam, cooling down the surface, and he was done. The orb gleamed like a giant, emotionless eye, resting on a wooden pedestal on his bench. It was heavy, weighing more than he could ever hope to lift, but that was no longer his problem.
He chuckled at a grim thought. The king would have to select a very diligent ogre to carry this precious object down the stairs from this lofty laboratory. One slip and the orb would start to roll, and on the first bounce, or the second, the glass bottle of potion enclosed in the sphere would crack, the liquid would mix with the powder, and the destruction would transform Dracoheim Island.
He heard steps outside his door, the muttering voices of his guards humbly greeting someone. There was a knock on his door, and the portal swung open.
“Don’t you keep this locked?” barked the Dowager Queen, striding angrily into his room. “You know there are intruders reported on the island!”
The Alchemist shrugged. He was not in a mood to be cowed or deferential.
“There are six of your hefty guards outside my door. If they can’t protect me, I don’t think a little iron bracket is going to make much of a difference.”
“It’s dark in here,” she complained, gesturing to the shuttered window.
“Safer that way,” he replied.
Only then did her eyes fasten on the gleaming metal sphere. She came forward, licking her lips, placed her massive hands on either side of the orb. “Gonnas be praised,” the elder queen whispered, awestruck. “So much power in such a small package. It is completed?”
“Ready to be carried down to the ship,” the Alchemist said quietly, wishing that she would just pick it up and go.
Queen Hanna shook her head. “It is better to keep it here for now,” she said. “Until we have the matter of these intruders taken care of and the elven Messenger is caught and skewered on a spit. My son has taken his warriors in pursuit on the highland, and Queen Stariz leads a full company through the valley. I have no doubts but that the blood of these insolent wretches will soon be soaking into the ground.”
The Alchemist nodded, strangely ill at ease with this conversation.