"Well?" Derkin approached him. "If you haven't the stomach for this…"

"Gods," the man said again. "You people are thorough, aren't you?"

"Are you going to try to stop us? Those are humans in there, like you."

"Not like me," Tuft spat. "Those are empire soldiers. I'm a Cobar."

The cabin blazed, and the shouts inside turned to screams. At the second cabin a door crashed open, and men came rushing out, gaping at the blaze, shouting in confusion. The first two or three never saw the dwarven women waiting in the shadows, until the swords, axes, and clubs hit them. Others tried to fight, and some in the rear had picked up weapons. But it was over with in a minute. Taken completely by surprise, groggy with sleep and half-blinded by the glare of the burning cabin, the slavers had no chance against a dozen angry dwarven women swarming among them, cutting them down without mercy.

Thrown torches routed the last two slavers out of their shelter. One of them ducked aside, started to run, then saw Helta Graywood standing alone, gazing raptly at the blazing cabin. With a roar, the man charged toward her, raising a sword, then toppled as Derkin's axe buried itself in his chest. The last slaver was running for the wilderness when an arrow from Tuft Broadland's bow brought him down.

Derkin wrenched his axe from the dead slaver and snapped at Helta, "Pay attention! You could have been killed." Then he stalked around the grounds, counting dead humans. When he was satisfied that none had gotten away, he looked around for Tuft Broadland. At first there was no sign of him, then he appeared from the shadow of the longhouse. And behind him were other humans, following him in single file.

Just as Derkin saw them, some of the women spotted them as well. "There are some more!" Nadeen shouted. "Come on! Get them!"

"Wait!" Derkin roared.

All around him, women hesitated, then lowered their bloody weapons. Followed by his motley, blood-spattered female volunteers, Derkin approached the humans. Besides Tuft Broadland, there were six more, all wearing the soft buckskins and bright weaves of nomads.

"These are my companions from the lake," Tuft said. "They came when they saw the fire."

A tall, gray-bearded man nodded at the dwarves, then asked Tuft, "The empiremen… are they all dead?"

"Every last one," Tuft assured him.

"Good," the gray-bearded man said. "Then there will be no alarm across the pass at Klanath."

"No, but you had better go now if you want to slip through before morning." Tuft turned to Derkin. "This is Wing," he said. "He is chief of our mission."

Derkin glared at the gray-bearded man named Wing. "What do you people want?" he demanded.

Wing gazed at the dwarf. "You're Hylar," he said. "Do you come from King Hal-Thwait?"

"There is no such…" Derkin started, then changed his mind. "I've been sent by no one," he said. "Who or what do you seek?"

Wing nodded. "Tell him whatever he wants to know," he told Tuft. "He may be useful to us." With that the man turned, waved, and trotted away. The other five strangers followed him, running as silently as elves.

"Aren't you going with them?" Derkin asked Tuft.

"No, I'm staying with you for now," the man said. "Think of me as an observer. We're on the same side, you know."

"I don't know anything. You haven't told me anything. What same side are we on?"

"We're against the emperor of Daltigoth." Tuft shrugged. "Those were his people you roasted, you know."

"I don't know anything about human emperors," Derkin said. "I'm here to get an army. What do you have against the emperor?"

"I'm a Cobar," Tuft said. "The emperor's troops have invaded Cobar lands east of here. We're at war. So I'm sticking around. You might find me useful. By the way, where is this army of yours?"

"Up there," Derkin pointed. "They're locked in that mine shaft. I'm here to free them."

"That sounds simple enough. Let's go get them."

"I think there's a company of goblins in there with them," Derkin added.

"Oh." The man gazed up the slope thoughtfully. "That complicates things, doesn't it? Have any ideas?"

"I do now," the dwarf said. "You said you could be useful. Now you can prove it."

At dawn, a grim-faced man wearing the garments and armament of a guardsman appeared at the closed entrance of the main Tharkas mine shaft. He lifted the heavy bolt from its hasps, then banged on the plank gate. From inside came the sounds of another bolt being withdrawn, then the gate opened slightly, and a sallow, bloated face peered out at him. "Time open mine?" the face asked.

For an instant, the man hesitated, his nose wrinkling. In all his life, Tuft Broadland had never seen a goblin. He had heard they were ugly things, but had never realized just how ugly they were. Large, dull-looking eyes stared at him from a face that was wider than it was long. A wide, lipless mouth revealed glimpses of dark, pointed teeth as it spoke. Below the mouth was almost no chin, just a fleshy wattle that tapered down to its bronze chest-plate. It wore a flat-looking iron helmet and held a crossbow in one greenish hand.

And the draft that wafted through the gate it had just opened stank. For a second, Tuft felt as if he was going to be sick. But he tightened his shoulders, stood tall, and frowned fiercely at the creature. "Come on, open up!" he demanded. "The slaves are wanted down in the camp." The goblin blinked at him. "All of 'em?" "All of them," Tuft said. "Bring them out, now!" The goblin opened the gate a few inches more and stepped out. It was about as tall as a dwarf, but there the resemblance ended. Tuft felt as though he were looking at a pale, erect frog.

With a suspicious glance at the man, the goblin looked past him, shading its eyes against the morning light. It scrutinized the compound below, then pointed at the smoking ashes that were all that was left of the guard cabin. "Wha' happen?" it asked. "Have fire?"

"It isn't your concern," Tuft snapped. "Just do as you're told. Bring out the slaves. They're wanted in the compound."

The goblin gazed at him again, then stepped back through the door. He heard its guttural voice rasp, "Men want all th' dwarves brought out."

Another, similar voice asked, "Why?"

"Dunno," the first said. "Looks like there been trouble. Maybe they gonna kill some dwarves."

" 'Kay," the second voice said. "They say bring 'em out, we bring 'em out. Open th' gate."

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Tuft Broadland stepped back, putting a little distance between himself and the stench coming from the opening. He had heard about goblin-stink, but realized now that one had to actually smell it to really appreciate the foulness of it.

A chorus of shouts, curses, and commands echoed from the darkness of the mine shaft, then a squad of goblins filed out and formed a double line before the gate. All of them wore body armor, and each had a crossbow at its shoulder and a bronze sword in its hand.

More commands were shouted, and dwarves started coming out of the shaft. Tuft shook his head in sympathy as they appeared. Many of them had minor wounds, some of them had open sores, and all of them looked as though they had been systematically beaten and abused.

More and more dwarves appeared, prodded along by grinning goblins, until the entire staging area before the shaft was crowded with tattered, sullen dwarves, surrounded by armored goblins brandishing weapons.

Steeling himself, Tuft stepped forward, pointing as he singled out individual dwarves from the crowd. "You," he said pointing. "And you, and you. Step out here." As the selected dwarves moved forward, he picked out others. "You," he said. "You, and you, and you."

The twenty dwarves he singled out were those who looked the strongest and fittest. They were all young males, and all in fairly good shape, compared to their peers.