atop a tower, and a lot of the humans – the Talls – had
gathered around it and slowly cranked the extended arm
around and back, then abruptly had released it. It had
made a noise like distant thunder, and the thing that flew
from it had been very large and had knocked down a tree.
“That it,” he decided. “One a’ them. Fling-thing.”
Several other gully dwarves were gathered around
him now. One asked, “What Tagg talkin’ ’bout?”
“This thing,” Tagg pointed. “This a fling-thing. Throws
stuff.”
“Why?” another wanted to know.
“Dunno. Does, though. Throws big thing, knock a tree
down.”
“I know. Cat’pult.”
“Nope. That some other kind. This called a . . . uh . . .
dis . . . disca . . . somethin’.”
“Okay.” Losing interest, some of them wandered away
again, though Tagg and two others lingered, creeping
through the wreckage in wonder. One was a white-bearded
ancient named Gandy, who was given to occasional bursts
of lucid thought and served as Grand Notioner to the
combined clans of Bulp. The other was a young female
named Minna.
Tagg was vaguely glad that Minna was interested in
the same thing that interested him. He found her presence
pleasant. His eyes lighting on a glistening bauble among
the rubble, he picked it up and held it out to her. “Here,”
he said, shyly. “Pretty thing for Minna.”
Climbing among the twisted members of the fallen
discobel, Tagg helped Minna across a shattered timber,
then turned and stumbled over old Gandy. The Grand
Notioner was on his knees, staring at something, and Tagg
tripped over him and thudded facedown in the sooty dust.
Barely noticing him, Gandy brushed his hand over a
vague shape on the floor and said, “Here somethin’. What
this?”
Tagg crawled over to look, and Minna peered over his
shoulder. The object was a big, iron disk with sharpened
serrations all around its edge, except for one area where it
had been blunted and bent.
“That disk,” Tagg said. “It what th’ fling-thing fling.
Knock down trees with these.”
“Knock down somethin’,” Gandy decided, looking at
the blunted edge. The disk had hit something very solid,
very hard. He rubbed it again and looked at the dark stains
on its surface. There were other stains on the cracked floor
nearby, as though blood had congealed there. He scraped
the stain with his finger, then tasted his finger. He frowned
and spat. It was not any kind of blood he knew about.
It reminded him, though, of the primary goal of the
moment. He stood, tapping the ground with the battered
old mop handle he always carried. “‘Nough look at stuff,”
he proclaimed. “Look for food first. Come ‘long.”
Obediently, they followed him out of the wreckage of
the war engine, then paused and looked around.
“Where ever’body go?” Tagg wondered.
Gandy shrugged. “Aroun’ someplace. Can’t get far,
followin’ Highbulp. Glitch don’ move that fast.”
From where they were, a dozen tunnels and breaks in
the rubble led away. Choosing one at random, old Gandy
led off, with Tagg and Minna following. “Now watch
good,” he ordered.
“Watch what?”
“What?”
“You gonna do trick or somethin’?”
“No! Watch for food. Need to find stuff for make
stew.”
The tunnel they were in was a long, winding way
created by the spaces between building stones that had
fallen on one another. After a few minutes, Tagg asked,
“What kind food Grand Notioner expect find here?”
“He didn’ say,” Minna said.
Just ahead of them, Gandy turned, frowning in the
shadows. “Any kind food,” he snapped. “Keep lookin’. If it
moves, it prob’ly good for stew.”
“Okay.” Moving on, Tagg stepped into the lead.
They had gone only a few steps when Tagg, his alert
young eyes scanning everywhere, saw something move.
It was something that protruded, curving downward,
from a crack between fallen stones. It was a tapered thing,
about as long as his arm. Dark and greenish, it was almost
invisible against the muted, mottled colors of the rubble
around it. But as his eyes passed over it, it twitched.
Tagg stopped, and the others bumped into him from
behind. Old Gandy tottered for a moment, then regained