Thornhold

Fortunately the ore resolved this dilemma. He spat and tipped back his head defiantly, baring his throat as he chose death over surrender.

The paladin struck, leaning hard on the spear and fin­ishing the evil creature in a single quick, merciful stroke. That accomplished, he turned to the messenger.

Algorind gently turned him onto his back and immedi­ately realized two things: first, the man could not possibly survive his hurts, and second, he wore the white and blue tabard that proclaimed him a member of the Knights of Samular. A second, closer look revealed the courier’s pouch still strapped to the wounded man’s shoulder.

“Brother, take ease,” the young paladin said gently. “Your duty is done. Here is another to take it from you. The crea­tures are vanquished, and the hall is but an hour’s ride. I will carry your message for you.”

The man nodded painfully and swallowed hard. “Another,” he croaked out. “There is an heir.”

Algorind’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. With his last strength, the messenger wrenched open the latch on the pouch and drew from it a single sheet of parchment. The words written upon it filled Algorind with awe, and his lips moved in gratefhl prayer to Tyr.

There was another. The great Hronulf, commander of Thornhold, would not be the last, after all. An heir to the bloodline of Samular had been found.

* * * * *

“Almost home,” panted Ebenezer Stoneshaft as he thun­dered through the deeply buried tu

“Home” was a warren of dwarven tu

He’d been gone quite a while this time, but it was all so familiar: the damp scent of the tu

Ru

Right behind him.

In his ears rang a cacophony of hisses that sounded like a fire-newt left out in the rain, and screeches that would make an eagle cock its head and listen for pointers. Who’d-a thought, he grimly noted, that a mob of over-sized pack rats could raise such a ruckus?

Granted, it was a big pack, as osquips went. Dozens of clawed feet scrabbled against the stone as a score of giant rodents chased after Ebenezer in hot and angry pursuit. And for what? He’d taken a mithral chisel from their pile of shiny trinkets—only one, and only because it was his to take. Belonged to his cousin Hoshal, it did, a dour and reclu­sive dwarf smith who would string Ebenezer up by his curiy red beard should he get wind of any kin of his being slacker enough to leave a good tool just lying about.

Ebenezer almost stopped. Come to think on it, how did that chisel end up in an osquip trove? It was a family jest that Hoshal could put his hands on any one of his many tools or weapons sooner than he could grab his own— “Yeow!”

A sharp nip stole the remembered quip from Ebenezer’s mind, and sheared a chuck of thick boot leather—and a good bit of the skin beneath—from the dwarf’s ankle. Fortunately for Ebenezer, the osquip only grazed him. If the critter had gotten a good grip, Ebenezer would have ended up hopping the rest of the way back to his clanhold. An osquip's teeth were large, protruding squares that could gnaw through stone—pretty damn good practice for biting off a dwarf’s foot.

Ebenezer whiried, hammer in hand, and whacked down hard on the head of the offending rodent. The huge, wedge-shaped skull shattered with a satisfying crunch. The sud­den attack set the others back on their heels for a moment, which was all Ebenezer needed. He was off and ru

Grim humor lit the dwarf’s slate-blue eyes as he envi­sioned the reception his kin would muster to receive their unexpected visitors. It had been many years since the Stoneshaft clan had been troubled by osquips—giant, hair­less, many-legged rodents who were nearly as ugly as a tea-totaling duergar—but they killed the critters on sight, just on principle, and also to keep the numbers down. If they didn’t, the rodents could raise a horde in the side tu

If the gods were kind, thought Ebenezer with a grin, the fun he was bringing would get him off the spit for being late to his sister’s wedding. At the very least, maybe Tarlamera would vent most of her temper on the osquips before turn­ing it on him.

Ebenezer burst from the tu

The dwarf considered his options. He could stand and fight, but this many osquips were a bit much even for him. Ahead of him flowed a deep underground river. For the briefest of moments he considered plunging into it. Osquips weren’t much for swimming, even with so many legs to do the paddling. He could count on at least half of them drown­ing. On the other hand, his own chances were even less opti­mistic. The clan kept hunting cats that liked water better than Ebenezer did, and they feared it less. It might be that he could swim, but he’d never actually taken to the water to test it out.

“Stones,” he muttered darkly. Still ru

A sudden, sharp hiss on the path before him brought him up short. There, her orange ears flattened back against her head and her fangs bared in her customary welcome, crouched Fluffy, his sister’s ginger cat.

Instinctively, Ebenezer danced back. He was leery of cats, even the sawed-off critters that humans kept as pets and mousers. Four-legged elves, they were, right down to their haughty airs and deft, dangerous paws. Fluffy was easily ten times the size of a surface cat, and she had a disposition to match Tarlamera at her surliest. For once, and for all those reasons, Ebenezer was almost glad to see the beast.

“Rats,” he panted out, stretching the truth a bit as he pointed to the roiling pack of swiftly approaching osquips. “Get ‘em!”

Fluffy cast him a supercilious glare, but her tail lashed as she eyed the rodents. With a fearsome yowl, she launched herself into flight and came down in the center of the pack. The creatures fell back, yipping and squealing in surprise. Had they possessed more intelligence, the osquips would have realized that the lot of them were more than a match for a tu