“Wait!” he gasped. “Blackbeard.”
Rega and Paithan stopped, hands and bodies coming together, leaning on each other for support.
“Why-?”
“The dwarf. He couldn’t keep up,” said Roland, catching his breath. “They won’t let him inside the gates without us to vouch for him.”
“Then he’d just go back to the tunnels,” said Rega. “Maybe that’s what he did anyway. I don’t hear him.” She crowded closer to Paithan. “Let’s keep moving!”
“Go ahead,” said Roland harshly. “I’ll wait.”
“What’s got into you?”
“The dwarf saved our lives.”
“Your hus-brother’s right,” said Paithan. “We should wait for him.”
Rega shook her head, frowning. “I don’t like it. I don’t like him. I’ve seen him look at us, sometimes, and I-”
The sound of booted feet and heavy breathing interrupted her. Drugar stumbled along the path, head down, feet and arms pumping. He was watching the path, not where he was going and would have plowed right into Roland, if the man hadn’t reached out a restraining hand.
The dwarf looked up, dizzily, blinking back the sweat that was running into his eyes. “Why . . . stopped?” he demanded when he could spare breath to talk.
“Waiting for you,” said Roland.
“All right, he’s here. Let’s get going!” said Rega, glancing around uneasily. The sound of the drumbeats pounded like their hearts, the only sounds in the jungle.
“Here, Blackbeard, I’ll give you a hand,” offered Roland.
“Leave me alone!” Drugar snarled, jerking back. “I can keep up.”
“Suit yourself.” Roland shrugged, and they started off again, pace slightly slower, to accommodate the dwarf.
When they arrived at Griffith, they not only found the gates closed, they discovered the citizens erecting a barricade in front of them. Barrels, pieces of furniture, and other junk were being hastily thrown down from the walls by the panic-stricken populace.
Roland waved and shouted, and finally someone looked over the edge.
“Who goes there?”
“It’s Roland! Harald, you jackass, if you don’t recognize me, you must recognize Rega! Let us in!”
“Who’s that with you?”
“An elf, name’s Quin. He’s from Equilan and a dwarf, name of Blackbeard, from Thurn … or what’s left of it. Now are you going to let us in or stand here and jaw all day?”
“You and Rega can come in.” The crown of a balding head appeared over the top of an overturned barrel. “But not the other two.”
“Harald, you bastard, once I get in there I’m gonna break-”
“Harald!” Rega’s clear voice rang over her brother’s. “This elf is a weapons dealer! Elven weapons! Magical! And the dwarf has information about the . . . the . . .”
“Enemy,” said Paithan quickly.
“Enemy.” Rega swallowed, her throat gone dry.
“Wait here,” said Harald. The head disappeared. Other heads replaced it, staring out at the four standing in the path.
“Where the hell else does he think I’m gonna go?” muttered Roland. He kept glancing back, over his shoulder. “What was that? Over there?”
All of them turned fearfully, stared.
“Nothing! Just the wind,” said Paithan, after a moment.
“Don’t do that, Roland!” Rega snapped. “You nearly scared me to death.”
Paithan was eyeing the barricade. “That won’t keep them out, you know …”
“Yes, it will!” whispered Rega, twining her fingers with the elf’s. “It has to!”
A head and shoulders appeared, looking at them over the barricade. The head was encased in brown, highly polished, tyro-shell armor, matching armor gleamed on the shoulders.
“You say these people are from the village?” the armored head asked the balding one next to it.
“Yes. Two of them. Not the dwarf and the elf-”
“But the elf is a weapons dealer. Very well. Let them inside. Bring them to headquarters.”
The armored head left. There was a momentary delay, barrels and crates had to come down, carts had to be pushed aside. Finally the wooden gates swung open only far enough to permit the four to squeeze their bodies through. The stocky dwarf, encased in his heavy leather armor, got stuck in the middle and Roland was forced to push him through from behind, while Paithan pulled from the front.
The gate was swiftly shut behind them.