“Scouts,” she said. “A hunting party.” She shook her chestnut hair out of her face. “They’ll be going for the squatters.”
“Yeah.” Haplo glanced back they way they’d come.
Wolfen hunted in packs of thirty, forty creatures. There were fifteen squatters, five of them children.
“They don’t stand a chance.” It was an off-hand remark, accompanied by a shrug. Haplo wiped the blood and gore from his dagger.
“We could go back, help fight them,” the woman said.
‘Two of us wouldn’t do that much good. We’d die with them. You know that.”
In the distance, they could hear hoarse shouts-the squatters calling each other to the defense. Above that, the higher pitched voices of the women, singing the runes. And above that, higher still, the scream of a child.
The woman’s face darkened, she glanced in that direction, irresolute.
“C’mon,” urged Haplo, sheathing his dagger. “There may be more of them around here.”
“No. They’re all in on the kill.”
The child’s scream rose to a shrill shriek of terror.
“It’s the Sartan,” said Haplo, his voice harsh. “They put us in this hell. They’re the ones responsible for this evil.”
The woman looked at him, her brown eyes flecked with gold. “I wonder. Maybe it’s the evil inside us.”
Hefting her weapon, she started to walk. Haplo remained standing, looking after her. She was moving down a different path than the one they’d been walking. He could hear, behind them, the sounds of battle lessening. The child’s scream abruptly ended, mercifully cut short.
“Are you carrying my baby?” Haplo called after her.
If the woman heard him, she didn’t answer, but kept walking. The dappled shadows of the leaves closed over her. She was lost to his sight. He strained to listen, to hear her moving through the brush. But she was a runner, she was good. She was silent.
Haplo glanced at the bodies lying at his feet. The wolfen would be occupied with the squatters for a long time, but eventually they’d smell fresh blood and come looking for it.
After all, what did it matter? A kid would only slow him down. He left, heading alone down the path he’d chosen, the path that led to the Gate, to escape.
CHAPTER 22
THE TUNNELS, THURN TO THILLIA
THE DWARVES HAD SPENT CENTURIES BUILDING THE TUNNELS. THE
passageways branched out in all directions, the major routes extending norinth to the dwarven realms of Klag and Grish- realms now ominously silent-and vars-sorinth, to the land of the SeaKings and beyond to Thillia. The dwarves could have traveled overland; the trade routes to the sorinth, particularly, were well established. But they preferred the darkness and privacy of their tunnels. Dwarves dislike and distrust “light seekers” as they refer disparagingly to humans and elves.
Traveling the tunnels made sense, it was plainly safer; but Drugar took grim delight in the knowledge that his “victims” hated the tunnels, hated the smothering, closed-in feeling, hated- above all-the darkness.
The tunnels were built for people of Drugar’s height. The humans and the taller elf had to hunch over when they walked, sometimes even crawl on hands and knees. Muscles rebelled, bodies ached, knees were bruised, palms were raw and bleeding. In satisfaction, Drugar watched them sweat, heard them pant for air and groan in pain. His only regret was that they were moving much too swiftly. The elf, in particular, was extremely anxious to reach his homeland. Rega and Roland were just anxious to get out.
They paused only for short rests, and then only when they were near collapsing from exhaustion. Drugar often stayed awake, watching them sleep, fingering the blade of his knife. He could have murdered them at any time, for the fools trusted him now. But killing them would be a barren gesture. He might as well have let the tytans kill them. No, he hadn’t risked his own life to save these wretches just to knife them in their sleep. They must first watch as Drugar had watched, they must first witness the slaughter of their loved ones. They must experience the horror, the helplessness. They must battle without, hope, knowing that their entire race was going to be wiped out. Then, and only then, would Drugar permit them to die. Then he could die himself.