Grenda came to a decision. First and foremost, she needed to get the band outside. They had some weapons, true, but mostly pikes and whips, not their favored axes or short swords. They were also worn and beaten. Better to escape, then send word to the king of what they had discovered. They had gathered enough information that those with sharper minds would likely be able to put two and two together and come up with the complete picture.

"We go for that passage," she ordered the others. There was no disagreement; Grenda was their leader now and her commands would be followed as if she were Rom.

Rom. She wondered what had happened to him, where his body lay. They would probably have to pass near where the others had perished; perhaps among them she might discover his corpse.

If there's any way to bring you back for burial. I'll do it, she swore to his shade. Although Grenda could not even admit it to herself, she had fallen in love with the veteran fighter. It had started as admiration for his deeds and reputation, turned to respect as she had followed him on this mission, and became much more the longer she had been around him and learned of the dwarf behind the legend.

Grenda gritted her teeth. With only five skardyn about and none of them near the ridge, it was time for action, not regrets. She waved two of the others up to her.

"On my mark, you move as quickly as you can to the other side. Keep low, keep running."

They nodded, then braced themselves for her signal. Grenda glanced from one skardyn to another, watching where their attention lay.

"Go now!"

The two warriors scurried forth. Grenda watched with anxiousness as the pair wended their way along the ridge. The two made it a quarter of the way, then half, then two-thirds... and, at last, to the other side.

By that time, she already had two more ready. As soon as the first two were nearly across, the dwarven commander sent them.

In sets of two, her band crossed, but much too slowly for Grenda. Each second, she waited for one of the skardyn to look up, but they never did. Where all the others were, Grenda did not know. She wondered whether they were hunting the high elf or the draenei, who no one had seen in almost as long a time as they had Rom.

As she thought of the others, Grenda sent two more of her people on. However, they had barely gotten a third of the way when the escapees were finally noticed...but not by those below.

The skardyn who sounded the alarm had crawled out of one of the openings well above, one which no Bronzebeard would have been able to use. The scaly creature climbed along the high cavern wall like a spider. It had quickly seen the two fighters racing along and had opened its mouth to let out a guttural shriek that sounded as if from the grave.

The other skardyn immediately turned to stop the escapees. Worse, others began pouring out of holes everywhere, no longer reminding Grenda of spiders but a legion of poisonous ants.

"Everyone across! Now!"

The rest raced forward, Grenda taking rear guard. She wielded one of the pikes, which now felt highly ungainly as she sought to reach the other passage. The dwarf took some solace in the fact that most of the skardyn would not be able to reach the ridge before the party left the cavern. There was also the benefit that neither the whips nor the pikes would be of any use until that moment—

A small object whistled past her head. At the same time, one of those just before Grenda let out a cry and toppled off the ridge to the floor far below. Grenda could see that he was already dead long before his body hit.

She glanced at the wall next to her, where the object had struck and stuck. It was a tiny stone ball with spikes at least two inches in length. Grenda knew the material from which it had been carved and understood immediately how deadly it was even for a dwarven skull.

Another of her people let out a howl and fell. This time, though, the body lay sprawled on the ridge, blocking the path.

There was no time for niceties. "Shove her off!" Grenda shouted. "Do It!"

The dwarf next to the body knelt to do just that—and another spiked ball caught him in the throat. He fell into the corpse and both slipped from the ridge.

The skardyn were using a device that looked almost like a tiny crossbow. Grenda recognized the weapon from historical records. The dwyar'hun—the name literally meant "star bow" in the older dialect, the spiked ball being the "star"—had been used by Bronzebeards long ago, too, but had eventually been discarded. The skardyn still apparently favored this weapon, though.

The one disadvantage to the dwyar'hun was that, while the skardyn could apparently cock it using one hand and their teeth—a necessity when one was clinging to a cavern wall—only one ball could be loaded at a time and that slowly, as it required manipulation by the same hand. Indeed, the salvo that had slain three of her number was all but over and the dwarves now had at least some breathing space before the next possible shot.

But that momentary respite was quickly shattered as those at the other passage began piling together instead of moving on. The reason for that was soon evident; another group of skardyn had come from elsewhere to block the path. More adept with their particular weapons, they were forcing the escaped prisoners back to the cavern... and certain doom.

However, the Bronzebeards would not go down easily. They used the pikes and whips as best they could and managed some well-struck blows themselves. Grenda's remaining brother used his pike to shove one climbing skardyn down atop another, sending both to the rock floor far below. Another dwarf, this one armed with a whip, caught a skardyn above as it crawled from a nearby hole. The lash circled one arm enough so that when the dwarf pulled, his target lost hold.

Unfortunately, the Bronzebeards still could not break through. Grenda looked back, wondering if the rest should retreat.

Skardyn burst out of the other passage. The dwarves were trapped between them on a narrow ridge where, one way or anotherthey would be picked off until they either surrendered or perished.

And then, to the utter surprise of everyone—but especially the skardyn—a new menace materialized near the captured dragon, a menace of the likes Grenda could only imagine out of her nightmares.

A raptor... raptors...

Grenda counted two, then three, then four or more. She could swear that they literally popped into existence, for what else would explain their sudden, impossible presence in here of all places.

The raptors faced away from the dragon, striking at the nearest skardyn with wild abandon. Caught off-guard, the nearest skardyn perished in a quick ripping of flesh.

And as the reptiles turned the battle to utter chaos, a more familiar figure appeared near the bound leviathan: Iridi, the draenei, but not alone. With her was a human who bore the look of a wizard, a human with thick, red hair.

Grenda knew of only one wizard with red hair and although there might be more, she had to assume that there was only one daring—perhaps foolhardy—enough to leap into Grim Batol. Rom had told her the stories of the human, and the ranger had mentioned him, too, albeit in a much more intimate manner.

Rhonin Dragonhead had come to their rescue.

But that was not quite the case, Grenda thought the next second. First, he could not have known that they would be here at this moment. In Grim Batol, yes, but not here. Indeed, both he and the priestess looked far more concerned with the unsettling dragon than anyone else. Iridi was working feverishly at one of the crystals that marked each end of the strands holding the massive prisoner in place. The female dwarf understood that they were trying to release the behemoth.