us incarcera … in custo … got us locked in for sell.”
“Oh.” Bipp studied the bars, shrugged, and turned away.
“Okay,” he said. “Have nice evenin’. I go tell Lady Drule.”
In a moment he was gone, but behind him a babble of
voices echoed, and a guard roared, “You slaves heard what I
said!”
A torch flared. A guard with a patch on one eye drew a
sword and thrust it viciously between the bars. A human
screamed, and the scream became a whimper as the guard
withdrew the sword, bloody.
The man put away his sword, grinned at another guard.
“That ought to quiet them,” he said. “Slaves don’t need two
ears, anyway.”
*****
Atop the ridge, the Lady Drule and the others listened
wide-eyed as Bipp made his report. He told them what he
had seen and what he had heard, and there was no doubt
what it all meant. Most of the males of the Bulp clan were
prisoners of heavily armed Talls, and would be sold into
slavery.
Drule scratched her head, wondering what to do about
that, then gave up and went to find Hunch. “You Grand Notioner,”
she reminded him. “Time for Grand Notion.”
The Grand Notioner was preoccupied, trying to repair
the bindings on his feet after a long day’s walk. “What
about?” he grumbled.
” ‘Bout how get Highbulp an’ all away from Talls! Pay
attention.”
“Oh.” He thought about it for a while, then shrugged
and pointed at the stick in her hand. “Use bashin’ tool, I
guess.”
“For what?” Drule looked at the stick.
“For bash Talls,” he explained.
To the Lady Drule, that didn’t sound like much of an
idea, but when several long minutes of fierce concentration
didn’t produce a better one, she resigned herself to it.
Bashing Talls, in her opinion, was a very good way to get
into a lot of trouble, but maybe it was worth a try.
“Anybody wanna bash Talls?” she asked around,
hoping for volunteers. There were none. She would just
have to do it herself, then.
Nearing the foot of the ridge, Drule suddenly was aware
that Krog was right behind her, mimicking her stealthy
approach. She turned and raised a hand. “Krog wait,” she
whispered. “I got somethin’ to do.”
In a rumbling whisper, the big creature asked, “What
Mama do?”
She pointed toward the pen, where a guard was sitting
on a rock. “See Tall there? Gotta bash him. Now be quiet.”
“Oh,” Krog said. “Okay.”
With Krog silenced, the Lady Drule crept on down the
slope toward the guard. Even sitting on a rock, the man was
taller than she was, and his ready sword glinted in the
starlight.
Trembling with dread, Drule crept up behind him,
raised her rat-bashing stick, and brought it down on the
back of the man’s head as hard as she could.
“Owl” the man said. His hand went to his head. “What
th’ – ” He reached for his sword.
The Lady Drule tried to run, but tripped over her own
feet and fell.
The raider guard spied her, spat. “Gully dwarf!” He
grasped the hilt of his sword . . . then raised his eyes to see
the last sight of his life – a massive club descending on his
skull.
The Lady Drule got her feet under her, started to run
again, then saw the squashed body of the man sprawled
across the rock. Krog stood to one side, disinterestedly
gazing out over the fire-lit camp.
“Wow!” Drule breathed. Raising her rat-stick, she stared
at it in amazement. “Pretty good bash!”
Quietly, then, she crept toward the pen, bright eyes
looking for other Talls to bash. Somewhere nearby, a
rumbling whisper said, “Ones with weapons first,D Mama.”
That, she realized, made pretty good sense. She
wondered how Krog came to know such sound strategy. At
the bottom of the slope, she began to circle the slave pen.
The gully dwarves were all crowded into one comer of the
wooden cage enclosure, spumed by the humans inside.
As Drule neared that comer, a voice whispered, “There
Lady Drule! Hi there, Lady Drule.” Another voice
whispered, “Highbulp! Wake up! Lady Drule here . . .