The mountain trail led down from the east, and from his vantage the elf got a better look at the broad clearing on this side of the city. Many corrals had been erected there, and though some were empty, others held large herds of horses or oxen. He could also see the tents and barns, lined in neat rows, where Sir Kamford had said they would find the accumulated weapons and stores of the Dark Queen's reserve.

Ashtaway wondered briefly about his own presence here, on the fringes of a place that would soon become a savage battleground. On his previous visit to the pass, when he had discovered the trail, he had ventured only far enough through the saddle to get a look at the city. This was not a place he had any desire to explore. Yet even with that memory-and the same feeling now, only much stronger-he continued to creep toward Sanction's festering and polluted fringes.

Certainly, the knights no longer needed the Kagonesti's help to reach their battle. The trail down the mountain was smooth and wide, aided by the fact that the slope was far more gradual within Sanction valley than without. Still, Ashtaway never considered departing before the charge. He had been impressed by these serious warriors with their great steeds, and he was very interested in seeing their attack.

He knew that the column of horsemen must have started down the trail, though they remained out of sight behind him. Sir Kamford was determined to commence his attack with the earliest hours of full daylight, while sleep still dulled the senses and impeded the reactions of the snoring garrison troops.

Nearing the bottom of the slope, Ashtaway felt his scalp tingle with a sudden sense of alarm. He wondered, briefly, what might happen if the dragons came back. It did not take a great deal of imagination to see that, if Sir Kamford was wrong about the strength of Huma's campaign and several of the serpents returned to Sanction to keep an eye on their precious reserves, a military disaster was inevitable.

Concealed by a knobby outcrop of rock beside the trail, Ash studied the smoke-screened skies. He saw no sign of anything flying there, not even a bird, and gradually convinced himself that his alarm had not been triggered by the arrival of evil dragons. It was probably just the pungent smell of this place, the elf told himself, as the bitter air stung his nostrils and wisps of sulphurous smoke brought tears to his eyes.

As he moved along the foot of the mountain, leaving the path to take advantage of the concealment offered by the rough ground at the base of the slope, he saw that the plateau of Sanction was terribly vulnerable to attack from the east. At this early hour even the slaves still slept, and the great racks of weapons-as well as the bins of coal and the stone-walled edifices of the city's great forges-stood for the most part undefended. Animals rustled and paced in the crowded corrals, bellowing and lowing as if they sensed the danger of which their masters remained blissfully unaware.

The listless sentries Ash saw included many humans and a few bored, lazy ogres. The guards on duty seemed more concerned with finding a comfortable place to rest than in protecting their precious stockpiles. And even when one of them did sit up and look around, the elf noticed that the guard paid a great deal more attention to the city beyond than to the smoldering mountain rising so close by. Obviously, the notion of an attack from the east was a thing that these guards-and, by inference, their commanders-had long since discounted.

Dawn seeped veins of crimson light through the smoke, bringing an otherworldly glow to the mountainous horizon. Whips cracked, and hulking ogres urged columns of slaves from their barracks to the mines and forges on the plateau. Ash saw these miserable laborers marching dully forth, responding only to the extent necessary to spare the sting of the lash. What must life be like for them, he wondered? How could any sentient creature surrender to such an existence? He knew that he, or any Kagonesti, would sooner accept death than allow himself to be compelled into a life of servitude.

He heard the clanging of a heavy metal object and ducked once more into a crevice between two lava- scarred rocks. Several ogres appeared, apparently marching right out of the mountainside, clomping within a stone's throw of the concealed elf. Only then did Ashtaway notice that they had emerged from a tunnel, leaving a pair of great iron doors standing open in the mouth of their subterranean passage.

Squinting in the growing light, the Kagonesti observed that the file of ogres numbered at least a dozen. The brutes were coated with black dust and tromped along slowly, with an unmistakable air of fatigue. They wore large swords at their sides and dented, battle-scarred helmets on their heads. Obviously these were not workers, but warriors.

"Good to see sky again," one grunted, coughing with an exhalation of dust.

"Tunnel's too blasted long," another groused. "Too many days underground."

"But at least we get to Sanction," a third growled. The latter seemed to be some sort of commander. He cuffed the two complainers across the backs of their heads. "Straighten up! March good-like!"

Still muttering, the rest of the monsters took steps to obey, brushing the heaviest layers of dust from their arms, adjusting their swords at their belts so that the weapons hung straight. They even tried to collect their file into a double rank, but in this they were less than successful. The elf watched as they marched out of earshot, discerning that the ogres veered sharply left, apparently heading for the city and not the labor fields of the broad plateau.

Ash took careful note of the concealed entrance, wondering if his knowledge of yet another path might prove useful in the immediate future. Sidling sideways, darting from one cluster of rocks to another, he sought to get a look inside.

The tunnel opened into a low cut in the rocks, which helped to conceal it from outside observation. The two large doors must have weighed many tons each, and for a moment Ash couldn't understand how anyone could have opened them. Then the elf saw a curious wheel, set on its side with spokes extending out beyond the rim. Around the axle below the wheel was a tight coil of rope, and though he couldn't understand how it worked, the Kagonesti guessed that this mechanism was the means of opening and closing the door. Leaning farther, he saw a second, matching wheel beside the other door.

Movement within the tunnel caught his eye as several figures advanced from the shadows. He heard the cracking of a whip and a sudden yelp of pain.

"Move, you toads!" growled a deep voice-a sound that could rumble only from an ogre chest.

Ash crouched just a few feet outside the still opened doors and observed a number of small figures scrambling and tumbling toward him. The whip snapped again, and the small figures scattered to all sides.

"Get back here! Turn that capstan! Now, by the Dark Queen, or dere'll be no gruel for you!"

Whimpering pathetically, the little fellows gathered, cringing, around one of the curious wheels. Seizing the spokes where they emerged beyond the rim, the dwarflike figures began to pull. With a creaking groan, the nearest door began, very slowly, to move.

Now Ash saw the overseer, who was indeed an ogre. The monster wore a black tunic of stiff leather studded with nails. An old specimen, the brute had lost both his tusks, but his bloodshot eyes still sparked with evil and cunning. He raised a clublike fist, and the elf saw the supple strand of the whip lash back, ready for another strike at the tiny, pathetic slaves.

That blow would never land, as a steel-tipped arrow flew into the cavern mouth with silent accuracy, slicing through the ogre's neck. The brute, retching and gagging, stumbled backward, far too slowly to avoid the tattooed figure that plunged through the door.