past. And if sawtooth crags now stood where before had
been dagger-spire peaks, if what had been meadows now
were fields of strewn stone, if entire forests that had stood
yesterday now lay fallen and desolate, it was not theirs to
worry about.
It was over. The world was still here, and they still
walked on it, and it was time to regroup.
“You!” one of them shouted, brandishing a whip. “Back in
line and stay there!” Ahead of him, a small, terrified
creature scurried back into its place in the ragged line
proceed ing northward. “Gully dwarves!” He spat. “We
won’t show much profit from this haul, Daco.”
“Better than nothing, though,” his companion said.
“They can be sold for simple work. They’re strong enough
to tote and fetch.”
“They won’t bring a copper a head.” Daco sneered.
“Slave buyers know about gully dwarves. They’re
unreliable, they’re clumsy, and they can’t be taught
anything useful.”
“Devious, I’ve heard,” someone added. “I wouldn’t
want one for a slave of my own. Always plotting and
scheming. They’d be a danger to have around if they could
concentrate on anything for more than a minute or two.
You, there! Get on your feet and walk! Nobody said you
could stop and sleep!” He turned to the flanker opposite
him. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. The one with the
curly beard there . . . just like that, he was taking time out
for a nap.”
The motley assemblage made its way northward across
a strange and tumbled land, a dozen armed men driving
several dozen gully dwarves. The little creatures – barely
half the size of their captors – stumbled in an erratic double
line, each bound to those in front and behind by a length of
cord tied around his neck. The men surrounded them,
herded them like cattle.
The slavers had been two separate parties only days
before, and each party had been successful. Good slaves for
the market. Human slaves – men, women and children. Then
the Cataclysm – whatever it was – had occurred. Each party
had lost its captives in the ensuing chaos, and now they had
nothing to show for their expeditions except these pitiful
gully dwarves they had chanced across.
Little enough to show, when they arrived at the main
camp. Still, the gully dwarves were better than nothing.
The line topped a ridge, and they looked out on yet
another scene of chaos. A forest of tall conifers once had
lined the narrow valley. Now, hardly a tree was standing.
The valley was a patchwork maze of fallen timbers,
scattered this way and that as though some giant thing had
trod there and paused to scuff its feet.
The men stared at the scene in wonder, then movement
caught their eyes. “Ah,” Daco breathed. “There. Look.”
Among the fallen timbers were people, a ragged line of
them making their way northward. Even from the ridge top,
it was obvious that they were refugees . . . from something.
There were at least a dozen of them, maybe more, and
among them were women and children. No more than two
or three carried weapons of any sort. “Well, well.” Daco
grinned. “It seems our luck has just improved. That lot will
bring a fine price at the pens.”
*****
This Place was a mess. Whatever had happened was
through happening, but the entire cavern was a litter of
fallen stone, gravel dumps, and dust. Holding candles high,
the Lady Drule and the others with her poked about, seeing
what could be salvaged. There wasn’t much: a few iron stew
bowls, Hunch’s mop-handle staff, about half of the
Highbulp’s prized elk antler, a few bits of fabric, a reaver’s
maul, a battered stew pot, a stick used for stirring . . . odds
and ends. Most of what the clans had owned was either
destroyed or lost.
The Lady Drule shook her head sadly. “Gonna need to
forage soon,” she said. ” ‘Bout outta stuff.”
She wandered toward the entrance – or where the
entrance had been – and looked at a mighty wall of fallen
stone. There was no way out. The entrance was sealed.