"Word-Maker!" she called into the pen. "Come out here."

The mound of matted straw at the back stirred, and a pair of feral eyes glinted in the dim light. "My brothers come. Is true, human?"

The woman undid the lock and quickly stepped back, her sward held ready. The lanky gnoll eased slowly from the pen, stiffly unworking his cramped joints, even though the ceiling was too low for the seven-foot tall shaman to stand straight.

Martine motioned him to start down the passage. "I don't want to kill you, Ward-Maker, but I will if 1 you force me to. Do I have your word you won't attack?" The question was almost a demand.

Krote stopped his canine stretching to look at the Harper and then ask with silken cynicism, "Why should I believe your words? You said you would free me."

"I will." ^-Why?

Martine tossed back her stringy, short hair. "Because you're the Word-Maker and you believe in your wordsdon't you?"

Krote stood silent, ears twitching to the echoes that rolled down the corridor. "I give you my word, human. I will not attack. My people will kill me anyway."

"Good enough. Now go-quickly."

They hurried down the corridor, gradually increasing their speed to an easy lope. They moved through the dark passages toward the nervous din of the Vani. The hallways were deserted, not surprising considering the battle that raged through the underground halls, but it felt strange nonetheless.

Finally they reached the granary Jouka had chosen The last of the refugees were just arriving. The way quickly became jammed with cloaked older Vani women, young wives cradling their newborns in swaddling, and children clinging to their mothers' skirts. The council elders, too old to fight but carrying canes and swords, were directing the last preparations for escape, urging families to hurry as they finished bundling packs of food and blankets: Hostile eyes followed the gnoll, an enemy in their midst.

"Martine!" a deep bass rumbled from the hallway. It was Vii, with the last of the rear guard, sprinting down the hall. The gnomes of his command slipped into the room and immediately struggled to slip into the few remaining supply packs already prepared, all the while keeping an eye on the corridor.

"Now what?" Vil asked.

"We hope Jazrac can cast the spells needed to get us out of here."

"You don't know?" Vil's face suddenly creased with concern. "I thought you had this planned."

"Almost. We just need a little luck." With that, the Harper pushed her way through the crowd, peering over their heads for Jazrac's tall form. At last she found him, looking somewhat confused.

Martine was shocked to see the normally resplendent wizard, a man who valued immaculate grooming as much as his spells, looking so haggard. His lean face sagged; his eyes made hollow depressions underscored by gray bags. Even the carefully groomed goatee that Jazrac could almost use like another finger jutted soullessly downward.

"Jazrac, over here!" She raised her hand high above the milling crowd. The wizard stumbled over to where she stood near the outside wall. He'd clearly slept no more than she had, though he lacked the energy the surge of battle had renewed in her.

"What are we doing here? Shouldn't we be doing something?" the wizard asked in confusion.

"We are. I have an important question to ask you. When you sneaked back into our room after the raid, you used a spell, right?"

Pain crossed the wizard's face. "Yes… a passwall spell." "Can you cast it right here and now?" The Harper pointed toward the nearby outside wall.

"As a matter of fact, I have memorized it again. But why-"

"Just do it! We don't have time to talk," Martine blurted with relief. "Just open a passage to the outside and get these people out of here!" _

The wizard's worn expression brightened slightly. "I am, as you have reminded me, a senior Harper."

"Jazrac, you don't have to playact for me."

"Perhaps I can atone, if only in part, for past sins… Please stand back, everyone."

As Martine helped to clear a space around the wizard, Jazrac straightened his clothing. Then, his hands stroking the wall, the wizard uttered a series of garbled phrases. As he spoke, the wooden wall seemed to evaporate like water Then the dirt, and finally a layer of snow, all faded into nothing. A hallway, broad by gnome standards, had been cat straight through the hillside. The howl of wind and a blast of cold air proved it was not an illusion.

"It won't stay open for long," the wizard said urgently. "Jouka! Vil!" Martine shouted. "Guide everyone to the cabin."

With a calmness bred by fear, the gnomes formed into lines and hurriedly filed through the magical passage toward the storm that raged outside.

The granary was empty except for Martine, Jazrac, and a handful of Vani who had volunteered to cover the retreat. They'd already barred the door with barrels of supplies and bags of flour. Martine knew the barrier couldn't hold up to Vreesar's icy blasts, but she had no doubt it would slow down the Burnt Fur. At their backs, snow blew into the room through Jazrac's magical passageway.

"Get going, Jazrac. Use your ring to go and get more help," Martine said once she was satisfied that everyone else was gone. "We'll cover you."

"I'm staying with you."

Martine grimaced. "Look, this could get bloody. I don't need any fake heroics now. Besides, we need you to go back to Shadowdale and get help dealing with Vreesar."

"That can wait. Vreesar is here right now, and I don't think he'll leave until he's done with us all. Like you, my dear, I choose my troubles," Jazrac said with his old confi

dence. "I'm not running away this time. You need me." He pushed her up the magical passage. "If we don't get moving now, we'll all be trapped."

Martine threw her hands up in despair. "Fine. Play hero then." She turned to face the Vani. "It's time to leave, everybody!" The gnomes quickly scurried up the hall Jazrac had parted through the hillside:

As the wizard followed the little warriors, Martine said, "I appreciate your offer, Jazrac, but do me a favor. Be careful out there."

Jazrac struck an attitude of mock pride, with one hand pressed to his chest. "Me? I shall be in no danger, my dear. I am still quite capable of taking on a few ignorant gnolls."

Martine had to smile at the wizard's display of confidence. "Just don't get carried away-for old friendship's sake, okay?"

"For… old friendship's sake." 'Me wizard savored the words like a Chessentian wine merchant before giving his grandest bow and departing. Martine wistfully watched him go up the passage: She was surprised to realize she still felt some respect for the man. After one last check of the storeroom, she, too, hurried up the passage.

Jazrac's spell had opened a route cleanly through to the outside, where the storm still raged, its fury unabated. The trampled path of the refugees was already half drifted over. Martine paused.

"Do we follow the others?" shouted Ojakangas, her second-in-command, pointing to the trail.

Martine shook her head. "Not yet. 'There's a rope in my pack. Get it out." She stooped to allow Ojakangas to reach inside and draw out the looped coils. Taking the rope, the ranger passed the length along to each warrior. "Hang on to it," she said, "so you don't get lost." With that, she drew her sword, ready for the fight she knew would come.

"I'll go ahead. When you feel a pull, follow me and stay close!" Without wasting any more precious seconds, she plunged into storm, feeding out line as she went.

Without skis, the Harper blundered through the snow, stumbling in the footprints made by those who had passed through previously. At last she reached the end of the rope and tugged to signal the others forward. After several minutes, the rest of the rear guard had all joined her. "Any sign of the gnolls?" she asked Ojakangas.