The War Of The Lance (15 page)

He was just ducking to step through the opening when a voice behind him said, “Oh, all
right! Let's make a deal!”

At first he couldn't see who had spoken. Sometime during his nap, a whole new rockfall
seemed to have filled about half of the cavern. Huge slabs of stone had crashed down from
above, and torrents of gravel with them. He peered here and there, then found the speaker:
a big, angry green eye stared back at him from the depths of a crevice among the stone.

“Who that?” Glitch asked, backing hastily away.

“Verden Leafglow, you little imbecile!” The crackling voice subsided into a rasp of
resignation. “I'm ready to make a deal.”

“What kin' deal?” He hugged the cavern wall, ready to flee at an instant.

“I'm trapped here,” the dragon voice admitted. “The hill fell in on me, and I can't move.”
The statement wasn't entirely true. She knew she could fight free if she had to, but the
effort it would take to get loose - in her condition - might kill her. “I need help,” she
said.

The Highbulp relaxed slightly. “What kin' help?”

“The same thing I needed before!” the answer was almost a roar of aggravation. Then the
dragon sighed and lowered her voice. “My self-stone. I told you about my self-stone.
Remember?”

It took a bit of head-scratching, but then the Highbulp remembered. “Little stone? 'Bout
this big? Special stone?”

“That's the one. I need it, and I need you and your . . . your people to find it for me.”

The Highbulp scowled in deep thought, scuffing the ground with his toe. Then his eyes
lighted with a shrewd look. “What in it for me?” he asked.

The deep growl that seeped through the fallen stone mixed irritation and controlled rage,
but Verden held herself in check. She was trapped, but not helpless. It would be the work
of a moment to free a claw and rend the arrogant little nuisance to shreds. But that
wouldn't solve her problem. “What do you want?” she asked.

*****

When the rest of his tribe found him - right where they had left him - Glitch I, Highbulp
Etc., was sitting on a rock in the rockfall cavern, his chin resting on his knuckles. At
first, he seemed to be deep in thought; then the other dwarves noticed that he was asleep.

They gathered around him, curious. Old Gandy walked around him, then prodded him with his
mop handle staff to get his attention. “What Highbulp doin'?” he asked.

Glitch blinked, raised his head and looked around. “What?”

“Why Highbulp sittin' here?”

“Thinkin',” Glitch said, irritated at being awakened. “Highbulp doin' big think.”

“Soun' 'sleep, thinkin'? Think 'bout what?”

Glitch scratched his head, trying to remember what he had been thinking about. From the
shadowed rockfall beyond, a voice thin with exasperation said, “He's trying to decide what
he wants from me.”

The voice so startled the gully dwarves that several of them tripped over others, and for
a moment the place was a tumble of confusion. Then Gandy stooped to look under the rocks.
“Dragon? That still you?” “It's still me,” Verden Leaf glow assured him. “I can't believe
that little oaf went to sleep. I thought he was thinking.”

“Highbulp always go to sleep, when try to think,” Gandy explained. “Think about what?”

“I am prepared to offer you stinking little . . . you people . . . something that you
want, in return for delivery of my self-stone. SO WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODS IS IT THAT
YOU WANT?”

Gully dwarves tumbled about again, some diving for cover, some running for the exit. With
a hiss, Verden exhaled a jet of noxious vapor - just a small stream, but aimed directly at
the exit tunnel. Gully dwarves darting into the mist recoiled, gasping and coughing,
tumbling backward as the green fumes assailed them. “No running away!” Verden commanded.
“We are going to settle this, here and now! Tell me what you idiots want.”

The Grand Notioner looked around him, puzzled. “Want? Dunno. Anybody know what we want?”

“Stew,” several offered. “Out,” a few others said. “Rats?” someone wondered.

“Make up your minds,” the dragon hissed.

“We find self-stone, give to you, you give us somethin'?” Gandy pressed, trying to get it
clear.

“Y es.” “What you give us?” "I DON'T KNOW! I'M TRYING TO GET YOU TO . . .

!"

Gully dwarves were diving, tumbling and rolling everywhere. The Highbulp tried to hide
behind the stew pot, then sniffed at its aroma and realized that he was hungry.

With an effort, Verden lowered her voice again, speaking very slowly.

“I... am . . . trying ... to ... find . . . out . . . what . . . you . . . want,” she said.

Gandy peeped out from behind a rock. “Oh,” he said. “Okay. Highbulp, what we want?”

Glitch didn't respond. He was busy eating stew.

Something akin to inspiration tugged at Tagg's mind, possibly stirred up by realizing that
Minna was beside him, holding his hand. “Maybe what we always lookin' for is what we
want,” he suggested.

Gandy glanced around. “What that?”

“Promised Place. Seem like we always lookin' for Promised Place.”

“Mebbe so,” Gandy nodded. To the dragon, he said, “We get you stone, you lead us to
Promised Place?”

“Yes,” she agreed, sighing. “Where is it?” “Dunno,” he said. “Hopin' you'd know.” “Rats,”
the dragon muttered. “Rats, too,” Gandy pressed. “Throw in some rats.” “All right! It's a
deal.”

Gandy crept nearer to the rockfall and leaned down to peer into the depths. A big, green
eye looked back at him. “You say true?” Gandy asked.

The dragon glared at him, then sighed. “I say true. Have I ever lied to you?”

“Okay,” Gandy decided. “When Highbulp finish eatin', somebody tell him he decided what we
want. We get little rock for this dragon, we go to Promised Place.”

Within moments, there were gully dwarves filing through the exit, all telling one another,
“Find little rock, 'bout this big.”

Tagg started to follow them, but Minna pulled him back. Still holding his hand, she crept
toward the rockfall and looked beneath. “How come dragon make deal with us?” she asked.

“My lair collapsed,” Verden said.

“Oh,” Minna breathed. Again she looked into the depths of the fallen rock, at the great,
green eye looking back at her. “Oh. Poor thing.” Sympathetic and truly concerned, she
reached into her belt pouch and brought out her finest treasure, the little bauble given
to her by Tagg. “Poor dragon,” she said. "Here. Here a pretty thing

for you." She reached the bauble toward the hole, and the green

eye brightened. The dragon voice hissed, “That's it! It's mine!” A talon shot upward,
spraying rock fragments into the cavern.

Tagg tumbled back, pulling Minna with him. She lost her hold on the self-stone, and it
arced upward, then down.

There was a splash, and Glitch snapped, “Watch it! Highbulp eatin'!” Glaring, he swigged
another mouthful of stew, gulped it down and grumped, “How come stew got rocks in it?”

“My self-stone!” Verden Leafglow shrieked. “You . . . you SWALLOWED my self-stone!” Rocks
erupted again, and a gigantic clawed arm emerged. For a second, huge talons flexed above
the horrified Highbulp, then Verden hissed with frustration and pulled back her claws. The
little nuisance might be nothing but a gully dwarf, but he was a living thing. And her
self-stone was inside him. The self-stone, with its affinity for life.

If he died with the self-stone inside him, the crystal would be destroyed.

*****

Under smoky skies, across a war-ravaged land, the combined clans of Bulp made their way
out from Chaldis and into the vast reaches of the Kharolis Mountains, ever onward and ever
upward, led by a thirty-six-foot-long green dragon who carried a Highbulp at her breast.

Verden Leafglow was not happy about the situation. As a guide for the puny creatures she
so despised, she felt humiliated and degraded. She longed to simply splash their blood all
over the nearest mountainside. She dreamed of doing that, but she did not do it. She was
stuck with them. By holding Glitch I - and the self-stone within him - close to her
breast, she had managed a temporary healing of her wounds. But it was only temporary,
until she had her self-stone back, intact and uningested.

She needed the detestable little imbecile, and he knew it. At first, the sheer terror of
being gripped in dragon claws and pressed against a dragon's breast had almost killed him.
A more complex individual probably would have died from compounded fright and shock.
Glitch had

only screamed and passed out. Since then, though, he had decided that he enjoyed

being carried around by a dragon, and seemed to be doing everything in his power to
maintain the status quo. Whether by his own doing or by simple luck, Glitch had kept
Verden's self-stone lodged somewhere inside him for nearly a week. Through sheer stubborn
perversity, it seemed, Glitch I had become constipated, and seemed determined to remain
that way until Verden delivered him and his subjects to their Promised Place. She couldn't
kill him, she couldn't dispose of him - each time she let go of him for more than an hour,
her wounds began to open again - and she couldn't separate him from the rest without
chancing that he would somehow disgorge the stone and lose it.

The self-stone in his belly was the Highbulp's guarantee, and the arrogant little pest
knew it. Somehow, through all the days and all the stews, the self-stone remained inside
Glitch as though it were glued there.

Their Promised Place. They didn't know where it was, or even what it was, but Glitch I was
basking in his new- found glory as a dragon owner, and would settle for nothing less than
the perfect spot. He had become downright obnoxious about it. Into the region of Itzan Nul
she led them, and there - as the Aghar slept under bright moons - a familiar dragon-voice
came again to Verden, speaking within her mind. “You have survived,” it said. “I wondered
if you would.”

“No thanks to you, Flame Searclaw,” she responded in kind, hatred riding on the thoughts.
“You left me back there. You knew I was there, and you left me to die.”

“You were injured and useless.” The red dragon's mind- voice seemed almost to yawn with
disinterest. “There are uses for you, now, though. The armies are . . .”

“Don't speak to me of uses,” Verden shot, hot rage edging the thoughts. “You and I have
much to settle ... as soon as I am free to come for you.”

“You have a duty.. ..” Searclaw's thoughts were scathing.

“Begone!” Verden thought, blanking out the mind- talk.

She would not forget her “duty.” But first she must retrieve her self-stone. She must
deliver these useless

gully dwarves to their Promised Place. Visions of slaughter danced in her mind as she
thought of the moment when her precious talisman was safe once more. The Highbulp and all
the rest . . . how she would make them suffer when they were no longer needed. But first .
. .

Where might it be - the place they would accept as their Promised Place? There were many
places - abandoned places, devastated places, places where no one now lived or might ever
want to live again. Such, logic said, was a fair definition of a Promised Place for gully
dwarves. So Verden led them, on and on, as the days passed. Past the fortress realm of
Thorbardin, through wilderness and uncharted lands, beyond Pax Tharkas they journeyed,
skirting the beleaguered realms of elf and man.

As she scouted aloft, carrying Glitch I at her breast, the voice of Flame Searclaw again
sought her out. Cruel and impatient, its tones as fiery as the ruby scales that flashed
when he flew, the red dragon penetrated her mind with his distant voice. “What are you
doing?” he demanded. “You were told to come, but you are not here. Report!”

“You should be glad I have not come to you, Flame Sear-claw,” she shot back, fiercely. “We
have a score to settle, you and I.”

“Any time you like, green snake,” his voice was contemptuous. “But first, you have a duty.
Why are you not here?”

“I can't come,” she admitted. “Not just yet. There are these . . . these creatures. They
have a hold on me, and insist that I lead them . . . somewhere.”

“Creatures?”

In her mind she felt the red dragon's presence, sensing beyond what she had said. Then it
recoiled in disbelief. “GULLY DWARVES? You, the great Verden Leafglow, a hostage to ... to
gully dwarves?” Cruel laughter echoed in the mind-talk. “What is it they want of you?”

“To take them to their Promised Place. But they don't know where that is!”

“Gully dwarves.” Again the cruel, shadowy laughter. “Hurry and deal with your . . . with
your new masters, Verden Leafglow. Your presence here is commanded.”

The mind-voice faded and Verden trembled with rage.

“Ouch!” She glanced down at the struggling Highbulp. “What?” “You squishin' me! Don'
squeeze so hard!” You little twit, she thought. I could squeeze the very

life out of you with no effort at all. Still, she sensed the self-stone lodged inside the
little creature, responding to his discomfort. HER self-stone. It must be protected.
Reluctantly, she eased her grip.

Everywhere, the dragonarmies were on the move, and Verden Leafglow ached to join them - to
join in the death and destruction they brought. She itched for the sport of it.

A dozen times, holding the smelly, irritating little Highbulp to her breast, she led them
to dismal, deserted, unwanted places - splendid places for gully dwarves. But each time,
Glitch I, the Highbulp, took a slow, arrogant look around and said, “Nope, this not it.
Try again.”

Verden thought longingly of how pleasant it would be to slice the strutting little twit
into a thousand bloody chunks and scatter him all over Ansalon. But for the self- stone
lodged within him . . .

“Not Promised Place,” he insisted, time and again. “Nope, this place okay for This Place,
but not Promised Place. Dragon promise Promised Place. Try again.”

Beyond the Kharolis', while her unwanted charges slept beneath the visible moons, a
thoroughly exasperated Verden Leafglow took Glitch and went scouting. On great wings,
fully healed if only temporarily, she soared high in the night sky. All her senses at full
pitch, she searched, and where ancient scars creased the shattered land, the mind-talk
came again.