"Get us out of here, Fetch," Dhamon snapped. "Before we have more company."

The kobold scampered to the front of the wagon and put his shoulder against the boulder blocking it. He grunted and cursed, his muscles straining. Rikali joined him and pushed hard. The earth helped the pair's efforts, rumbling slightly with another aftershock and providing just enough impetus to budge the rock. It rolled slowly down the mountainside, careening into natural pillars, sending shards of crystal into the air and breaking apart as it went.

Panting, the kobold climbed up onto the wagon, his feet dangling. Rikali passed him the reins, then scrambled up and ripped open Mai's shirt, tearing the sleeve and fashioning it into a tourniquet for his injured arm.

"I can't feel my arm, Dhamon," Mai said, his voice so hoarse and soft he had to lean his face over to hear. "I can't move it."

Rikali offered him soothing words as Dhamon searched about beneath the canvas sacks and found a jug of hard cider. He poured some on the wound, and Maldred shuddered at the stinging sensation.

"There, you can feel something," she said. "That's a good sign." Softer, she said, "Isn't that a good sign, Dhamon?"

Dhamon didn't reply. Holding his forehead, he was scrutinizing his big friend, his eyes unusually wide and sympathetic, but he was frowning. "I hope so," he finally whispered.

Rikali regarded Dhamon for a moment. "Perhaps this should be me layin' here instead of Mai," she said too softly for him to hear.

Then she returned her full attention to the big man and tried to blot some of the blood away with a section of her own tunic. "Where should we go? Someplace to get him help. Someplace. Dhamon, I don't know what to…" she started.

"We have got to get away from here," Dhamon said, wincing slightly as he poured more cider onto Maldred's arm. "Toward Bloten. Fetch knows the way."

Four nights later they sat around a fire roasting a large rabbit. Despite the late hour, the air was still hot. The ground was so starved for water that it had become powdery like ash. Fetch risked a few sips from his last water-skin and grumbled that they'd be even richer if they could find a way to make it rain in these mountains.

Many of the clothes they had claimed from the merchant wagon had been fashioned into bandages for Mal-dred, replaced as they were needed.

Dhamon refused Rikali's attempts to bandage him, saying he wanted all the available cloth saved for Mai. He convinced the half-elf that he looked far worse than he felt-though he was certain he'd either bruised or broken a few ribs. He moved carefully, and breathed shallowly. His oily hair was matted with blood, and it was badly tangled and streaked gray and brown with dust and dirt. The stubble on his face was becoming an uneven and unsightly beard, and his clothes were soiled and tattered. He'd managed to save one shirt from the merchant haul, tucking it away beneath a sack of gems so the others wouldn't find it and rip it into bandages. But there was no reason to wear it now-it was for later, he decided, when he reached Bloten and needed to look better.

All their clothes were dark with sweat stains and dried blood. Fetch had fared the best, escaping with only a few scrapes, though his clothes were riddled with holes. He was playing nursemaid to the rest of them, inspecting the cuts and bruises they'd picked up from their ride down the mountain, and serving as their sentry.

Now, with his good hand, Maldred was tracing patterns in the dirt. His wounded arm was wrapped close to his chest to keep it immobile. The kobold intently watched the big man, thinking the symbols mystical and part of some spell. He tried to copy the patterns, then grew bored when he couldn't fathom them and instead busied himself by passing out wooden plates.

After Fetch finished waiting on them, and after he wolfed down his own meager share of the cooked rabbit, he recovered the last jug of distilled spirits from the wagon and placed it next to Dhamon. In a great show he withdrew the old man pipe from its pouch, tamped tobacco into the bowl, and lit it with his finger in an effort to demonstrate to all that he'd truly perfected the fire enchantment.

After that, the kobold paced in front of them, clicking his pointed teeth on the stem and gently thwacking his hoopak on the ground while he waited for a magical request. When none came, he took a deep puff on the pipe, blew a smoke ring into the air, and broke the silence. "At least I didn't lose my weapon in that quake, like Maldred and Riki did. Didn't have to take one of them dwar-ven axes like Mai," he stated. "At least Dhamon's pretty sword stayed in his belt. So we had some good fortune after all. My ‘old man' didn't get a scratch on him. And we got all these rough gems…" He frowned when he saw Maldred glaring at him. "Oops. Well, I'm sure you'll find another sword just as big and heavy and sharp," he said quickly. "And we'll get some more daggers for Riki.

In Bloten." When he figured out that nobody was appeased, the kobold finished with his pipe, carefully replacing it in the pouch, and then he excused himself to patrol the grounds around their camp-just to make sure no dwarves were tracking them.

"I'm still a little sore," Maldred quietly admitted to Dhamon after a long silence. "And a little weak. But I guess I should just be happy I'm alive."

"Ah, Mai," Riki said. She slid closer, cringing when Dhamon wrinkled his nose at her. "Mai, don't you worry. You're too mean to die."

Maldred rubbed the muscles of his injured arm and was barely able to make a fist. He frowned. "Had never been hurt like that going into the valley before. But then I'd never stayed as long, or had an earthquake to contend with on top of the dwarves. Never came away with as much, either."

"Are we going back?" There was hope in the half-elf's voice. "I mean, if we need all these gems to buy Dhamon his sword-which we shouldn't ‘cause nothin' in the world should be that expensive, maybe we could take a big old wagon back just for us and…"

He shook his head. "Not for a while, Riki. The dwarves will double their patrols. Maybe in a few months, perhaps right before winter sets in. Or maybe we'll wait until just after the first snow. They wouldn't expect anything then."

Her eyes gleamed merrily.

"At least I'm on the mend," he continued. "And thankful to feel at least something in my fingers. I know a good healer in Bloten who will finish the job. Have him take a look at the two of you also."

"Doubt you'll need him, Mai. Riki's right, you're too mean to be down so long," Dhamon joked. His words were slurred, heavy with the alcohol he'd been drinking. An empty jug lay on its side at his feet. He awkwardly moved the new jug to between his thighs, his finger playing around the lip. "Besides, being hurt like this is a good excuse to take it easy for a while."

Rikali slid over to sit between them, tugged Dhamon's jug away and took a long pull from it, then coughed and sputtered. She handed it back and studied her fingernails. Sighing, she reached up and draped an arm across each of the men's shoulders. "I figure we're two days from Bloten, maybe less. I wonder if there're grand shops to visit. Maybe Dhamon can't buy his sword with all of that on the wagon. And if he can't, we can keep all of that for ourselves, right?"

Maldred disregarded her. He glanced at a battle-axe that lay within reach, the firelight dancing off its blade, which held his attention. Finally, he looked away into the darkness and said, "Riki, we'll have a grand time in Bloten celebrating our good fortune. And we'll get you some new knives. And we'll get Dhamon his sword, too."

"I want to buy some more clothes. And perfume. And… Mai, did I ever tell you about this grand house I want built? On an island far… did you hear something?" Quick as a cat, she glided away from the men and peered off into the darkness on the far side of the camp. The fire cast tendrils of light toward the rocks and scrub grass, and the grass moved lazily to an almost imperceptible breeze.