Numerous dwarven bodies littered the bottom and sides of the ravine, and many other dwarves moaned piteously where they had fallen. A number of these had been injured when tumbling down the rocky slope, so that all told the ranks of the attackers had been sorely depleted.

Still, by the time they reached the bottom of the long slope, Ariakas could see many dozens of the stunted dwarves creeping down the ridge in their wake. A desul shy;tory rain of crossbow quarrels arced downward, and one of these scraped the Hylar's hand, producing a growl of anger from Ferros. Still, the barrage lacked the intensity of the opening volley, and the companions broke from the shelter of the ravine across the narrow valley floor.

A thin stream splashed through the steep-sided vale at the foot of the ridge, while another slope-it could have been a mirror image of the incline they had just descended -stretched toward the sky beyond the brook.

Lyrelee, leaning between the two dwarves, limped toward the streambank, while Ariakas kept his attention riveted on the dwarves above. The Zhakar hastened for shy;ward, but now they were too far back to catch the group before the waterway.

At the edge of the water, Tale Splintersteel stopped, though Ferros and Lyrelee stepped right into the stream. The channel was barely two feet deep, which would have been no higher than his chest, but the Zhakar mer shy;chant dug in his heels. The attackers surged forward, so Ariakas planted a firm kick in his companion's backside, flinging Tale far from shore before the cursing dwarf splashed into the water.

Ariakas waded after, fetching the spluttering figure up from the current, surprised to see Splintersteel quivering in terror. Desperately the dwarf clutched at the warrior's waist, and in disgust Ariakas carried the wretched figure the few steps to the far side of the stream. Ferros and Lyrelee had already emerged, and the dwarf helped the priestess stumble away from the shore. The Hylar's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as Ariakas tossed the dripping Zhakar onto the bank.

Once out of bow range, the party looked back at their pursuers, gathering along the bank. Ferros Windchisel spoke to the bedraggled Tale Splintersteel.

"Do all of you hate the water so much?"

Still muttering, the dwarf gave a surly nod.

"We might have bought ourselves some time," Ferros noted with an appreciative look at the stream. Several slick rocks broke the surface, but anyone trying to cross without getting wet would be in for a real challenge.

They continued away from the stream and toward a steep gully leading up. In moments they had climbed beyond arrow range from the valley floor. Tale Splinter-steel's teeth chattered, and he shivered uncontrollably- altogether the picture of extreme misery. True to the companions' deduction, the pursuing Zhakar reached the banks of the stream and began to curse and catcall after them, but made no attempt to wade across.

One of the Zhakar jumped to a rock in the stream, perching awkwardly on the rounded top. When he tried leaping to the next intended stepping stone, however, he slipped and plunged into the water. Shrieking in pain or horror, he frantically splashed back to the shore and crawled out.

Lyrelee groaned and sagged to the ground.

"Keep an eye on that bunch!" Ariakas warned the dwarves, kneeling beside her. The priestess closed her eyes, wincing in pain, and Ariakas saw that the arrow penetrating her side had been jostled and wrenched in its wound. Lyrelee's breathing was shallow, her color pallid.

The man felt a burning determination-she would not die! Yet only with the aid of his goddess could he hope to help her.

Everything else vanished into the background as Aria shy;kas remembered his training in the temple. "Takhisis, mighty Queen of Darkness," he uttered softly, "summon forth the healing strength of my faith, and bring it to bear against this woman's hurts!"

He felt the power of the goddess thrumming through his limbs, and-with hands that felt almost detached, as if they belonged to someone else-he first touched the shaft embedded in the wound, and then, very gently, removed it. Lyrelee's eyes flashed open, and she placed a hand over his, drawing strength from the power of the man and the Dark Queen.

Within a few minutes she sat up, and when he helped her to her feet, she stood alone, steadily. The sparkling determination returned to her eyes, and the pale cast of her skin was the only visible reminder of her weakened condition.

"The little beggars are inventive-I'll give them that," noted Ferros Windchisel, indicating the dwarves across the stream.

Ariakas saw that the Zhakar had formed a chain of laborers, passing large rocks from one to the next. The last dwarf in the chain stood at the bank of the stream, pitching the rocks into the water as they reached him. Slowly the line of boulders extended into the water, forming an impromptu jetty, with gaps to allow the water to flow through. Within a few minutes the rudi shy;mentary bridge extended most of the way across the stream.

"We'd better get going," Tale Splintersteel urged, his voice tense and agitated. "They'll be after us!"

"You three go on ahead," suggested Ariakas, the beginnings of a plan taking root in his mind. He studied the Zhakar who gathered at the streambank waiting for the completion of the bridge. "I'll stay back-see if I can't give them a little something to remember us by."

Gently carrying the sword with the crimson blade, Ariakas started back down the slope, taking care to remain out of bow range. Several of the cloaked dwarves saw his descent, shouting and jabbering excitedly, point shy;ing toward the warrior and brandishing their weapons in fury.

With a few crashes and splashes, the bridge was fin shy;ished, and the Zhakar began to pour across, leaping the narrow gaps where water continued to flow. The crowd shy;ing was so frantic that several of them stumbled from the irregular surface, splashing into the liquid they had tried so hard to avoid. Nevertheless, at least fifty of the runty dwarves surged forward in a mass, infused with blood-lust.

As the tightly packed horde raced toward him, Aria-kas slipped and slid farther down the incline until he had almost reached the level of the valley floor. The near shy;est Zhakar raised their weapons, no doubt wondering at the folly of this human who accepted such an unequal battle.

The warrior lifted his sword toward the front of the pack, murmuring a plea to his goddess. As before, Takhi-sis heard, and granted him her favor. The blade began to glow, so brightly that the leading dwarves faltered slightly in their charge, uncertain what would happen next.

They never had time to realize what did. Without a sound, the sword suddenly spit out a searing, brilliant tongue of flame. The fire embraced the leading Zhakar with greedy fingers, devouring flesh and torching robes. Before they could open their mouths or utter any cries of pain, a dozen dwarves had died, blackened to crisp, charred corpses scattered along the valley floor.

Ariakas hefted the blade slightly, allowing the billow shy;ing cloud of fire to expand outward and upward. Now the sound of roaring flames rumbled around him, mixed with the pathetic shrieks of Zhakar dwarves who saw death approaching and could do nothing to avoid it. Flames licked across shriveling dwarven skin, and bod shy;ies wrapped in fire fell to the ground and writhed, smok shy;ing bundles of agony. Billows and sheets of oily flame hissed from one dwarf to the next, seeking, killing.

Those dwarves on the fringes of the assault turned and fled back across the bridge, starkly proving the depth of their water abhorrence. Even in blind flight, the Zhakar crowded onto their impromptu bridge. None of the wretched creatures plunged into the stream, even as the scalding fireball drifted closer.