“Every, last word,” Chandos replied, and Morgan nodded
wordlessly.
“Five thousand men! Shades! We could challenge the best
that the Federation had to offer if we had a force like that!”
Padishar was ecstatic. “There might be two thousand and some
that the Movement could call upon, and more than that from the
Dwarves! Shades!”
He slammed his fist into his open palm, then reached over
and clapped both Chandos and Morgan heartily on the back.
“It’s about time something went our way, wouldn’t you agree,
lads?”
Morgan had dinner after that, sitting alone at a table near the
cooking fire, his appetite restored by the smells that emanated
from the stew kettles. Padishar and Chandos had gone off to
confer on what had been happening during the former’s absence,
and Morgan saw no need to be part of that. He looked about for
Steffand Teel, but there was no sign of either, and it wasn’t until
he was almost finished eating that Steff appeared out of the
darkness and slumped down beside him.
“How did it go?” the Dwarf asked perfunctorily, forgoing
any greeting, his gnarled hands clutched about a tankard of ate
he had carried over. He looked surprisingly worn.
Briefly, Morgan related the events of the past week. When he
was finished, Steff rubbed at his cinnamon beard and said,
“You’re lucky to be alive-any of you.” His scarred face was
haggard-looking; the mix of half-light and shadows seemed to
etch more deeply its lines. “There’s been some strange happen-
ings taking place while you were away.”
Morgan pushed back his plate and looked over, waiting.
The Dwarf cleared his throat, glancing about before he spoke
“Teel took sick the same day you left. They found her collapsed
by the bluff about noon. She was breathing, but I couldn’t bring
her awake. I took her inside and wrapped her in blankets and
sat with her for most of a week. I couldn’t do anything for her.
She just lay there, barely alive.” He took a deep breath. “I
thought she’d been poisoned.”
His mouth twisted. “Could of been, it seemed to me. Lots
in the Movement have no use for the Dwarves. But then she
woke finally, retching and so weak she could barely move. I fed
her broth to give her back her strength, and she came around
finally. She doesn’t know what happened to her. She said the
last thing she remembered was wondering something about
Hirehone …”
Morgan’s sharp intake of breath stopped him. “That mean
something to you, Morgan?”
Morgan nodded faintly. “It might. I thought I saw Hirehone
in Tyrsis after we arrived there. He shouldn’t have been, and I
decided then I must have been mistaken. I ‘m not so certain now.
Someone gave us over to the Federation. It could have been
Hirehone.”
Steff shook his head. “Doesn’t sound right. Why Hirehone,
of all people? He could have turned us in that first time in Var-
fleet. Why wait until now?” The stocky form shifted. “Besides,
Padishar trusts him completely.”
“Maybe,” Morgan muttered, sipping at his ale. “But Padi-
shar was quick enough to ask about him when we got back
here.”
Steff considered that a moment, then dismissed the matter.
“There’s more. They found a handful of guards at the cliff edge
two days back, night watch, the ones on the lifts, all dead, their
throats torn out. No sign of who did it.” He looked away mo-
mentarily, then back again. Shadows darkened his eyes. “The
baskets were all up, Morgan.”
They stared at each other. Morgan frowned. “So it was some-
one already here who did it?”
“Don’t know. Seems like. But what was the reason for it,
then? And if it was someone from the outside, how did they get
up and then back down again with the baskets in place?”
Morgan looked off into the shadows and thought about it, but
no answers would come. Steff rose. “I thought you should know.
Padishar will hear on his own, I expect.” He drained his tan-
kaid.’ ‘I ‘ve got to get back to Teel; I don’t like leaving her alone
after what’s happened. She’s still awfully weak.” He rubbed his