appeared, as if the earth had swallowed them whole. Only the
stories remained, growing more lurid and at the same time less
accurate with each telling, losing the force of truth as time
passed, until only the Dwarves themselves remained certain of
what had happened.
Morgan Leah stared downward for a moment longer as the
stories of his childhood came to life, then wrenched his eyes
away from the drop, away from the nightmare below, and looked
frantically at Steff. The Dwarf was staring back at him, half-
turned as if to bolt from the fortifications, his scarred face
stricken.
“A Creeper, Morgan. A Creeper-after all these years. Do
you know what that means?”
Morgan didn’t have time to speculate. Padishar Creel was
suddenly beside them, having heard the Dwarf speak. His hands
gripped Steff’s shoulders and he pulled the other about to face
him. ‘ ‘Tell me now, quickly! What do you know of this thing?”
“It’s a Creeper,” Steff repeated, his voice stiff and unnatural,
as if naming it said everything.
“Yes, yes, fine and well!” Padishar snapped impatiently. “I
don’t care what it is! I want to know how to stop it!”
Steff shook his head slowly, as if trying to clear it, as if dazed
and unable to think. “You can’t stop it. There isn’t any way to
stop it. No one has ever found a way.”
There were mutterings from the men closest to them as they
heard the Dwarf’s words, and a sense of restless misgiving be-
gan to ripple through the lines of defenders. Morgan was
stunned; he had never heard Steff sound so defeated. He glanced
quickly at Teel. She had moved Steff away from Padishar pro-
tectively, her eyes bits of hard, glistening rock within her mask.
Padishar ignored them, turning instead to face his own men.
“Stand where you are!” he roared angrily at those who had
begun to whisper and move back. The whispers and the move-
ment stopped immediately. “I’ll skin the first rabbit who does
otherwise!”
He gave Steff a withering glance. “No way, is there? Not for
you, perhaps-though I would have thought it otherwise and you
a better man, Steff.” His voice was low, controlled. “No way?
There’s always a way!”
There was a scraping sound from below, and they all pushed
back to the breastworks. The Creeper had reached the base of
the cliff wall and was beginning to work its way up, securing a
grip in cracks and crevices where human hands and feet could
not hope to find purchase. Sunlight glinted off patches of armor-
plating and bits of iron rod, and the muscles of its wormlike
body rippled. The marching drums of the Federation had begun
to sound, pounding a steady cadence to mark the monster’s ap-
proach.
Padishar leaped recklessly atop the defenses. “Chandos! A
dozen archers to me-now!”
The archers appeared immediately and as rapidly as they could
manage sent a rain of arrows into the Creeper. It never slowed.
The arrows bounced off its armor or buried themselves in its
thick hide without effect. Even its eyes, those hideous black orbs
that shifted and turned lazily with the movement of its body,
seemed impervious.
Padishar withdrew the archers. A cheer went up from the
ranks of the Federation army and a chanting began, matching
the throb of the drums. The outlaw chief called for spearmen,
but even the heavy wooden shafts and iron heads could not slow
the monster’s approach. They broke off or shattered on the rocks,
and the Creeper came on.
Massive boulders were brought forward and sent rolling over
the cliff edge. Several crashed into the Creeper. They grazed it
or struck it full on, and the result was the same. It kept coming.
The mutterings resumed, born of fear and frustration. Padishar
shouted angrily to quiet them, but the task was growing harder.
He called for brush to be brought forward, had it fired and sent
tumbling into the Creeper-to no effect. Furious, he had a cask
of cooking oil brought up, broken open and spilled down the
cliff wall, then ignited. It burned ferociously against the barren
rock, engulfing the approaching Creeper in a haze of black