Abruptly something hammered into the side of his head, smashing him sideways into the cavern wall. His heart pounded in panic as he heard the clash of his sword clattering loose on the stone floor. Before he could stoop down, another blow struck his head, bashing a deep cut into his chin and hurling him backward, past Ferros Windchisel, to collapse flat on his back.

"What hit you?" asked the Hylar, advancing with his axe raised as Ariakas scrambled to his feet.

Frantically the man looked for the sword, seeing one of the fungus creature's monstrous feet trudge over it. Then he saw the source of the attack. Along the mon shy;ster's tough skin dangled a series of long, supple ten shy;drils. They blended so well that at first he'd thought they were just part of the body-but now he saw one snap loose with the speed of a whiplash.

The tip of the tentacle was a hardened ball, the size of a large fist. This blunt end crashed into the side of Ferros Windchisel's thigh, drawing a cry of pain from the nor shy;mally taciturn fighter. The Hylar went down, his leg jut shy;ting sideways at an unnatural angle.

Then the monster stepped past the sword and loomed overhead. Ariakas dived forward, tumbling to the floor and somersaulting around the monster's lumbering feet. He felt immeasurable relief as his hands closed around the hilt of his weapon-but then his consciousness reeled as a smashing blow took him full in the chest. Gasping for air, Ariakas stumbled away from the hulking crea shy;ture. Ferros Windchisel flailed on the ground as Ariakas lunged forward. A tentacle lashed, and the man chopped with his sword, almost severing the tough, woody limb. Charging past the monster, he whirled and struck again, halting the bloated beast before it could crush the immo shy;bilized dwarf.

"Thanks, warrior," grunted the Hylar as Ariakas's whirling slashes and feints drove the creature back a step.

But the shapeless creature held its ground. When Aria shy;kas pressed, it was the human who retreated before daz shy;zling blows-any one of which would have crushed bone, had it landed.

Then they saw another reason for the creature's relent shy;less and dauntless advance-it could be certain of help. In the dim limits of the gem light, but growing closer with each step, came another pair of the resolute plant-monsters. Beyond them, lost in the shadows, advanced the forms of many more.

Chapter 23

Flight of Despair

Ariakas desperately chopped at the monster's encrusted skin, halting the lumbering advance long enough to hoist the Hylar in his arms. Together the pair staggered down the corridor, away from the plodding horrors. The warrior cast a last look at Lyrelee's body, seeing the leading fun shy;gus creature kick the corpse aside with its huge foot. Then he ran for all he was worth, his lungs gulping air desperately, his legs pumping to carry them away from the monsters.

It seemed like hours later when he collapsed, falling against the cave wall and slumping to the ground, Ferros tumbling free beside him. The dwarf gasped, too-but not from exhaustion. The pale sheen of sweat across the dwarf's brow and the pallid cast of his skin told Ariakas that his companion was in profound pain. The Hylar scraped listlessly at his skin, which came off in great, flaking clumps.

"What about the sword-can you fry these swamp-muckers with it?" Ferros hissed through teeth clenched with agony.

"No-I can't use the blue blade!" Ariakas retorted, shaking his head in frustration.

The Hylar didn't reply, turning instead to look down the corridor they had used in their flight. Bulky forms moved in the shadows, and he didn't have to see more to know that the pursuers advanced with relentless deter shy;mination.

"Go on-without me!" gasped the Hylar. "It's the only way you'll get away!"

Ariakas remained silent, watching the nearest of the hulking monsters shamble into the fringe of light from his spell. He couldn't bring himself to look at Ferros Windchisel-perhaps because he knew the dwarf was right.

"Look, warrior-I came in search of a dwarven king shy;dom in the Khalkists," the Hylar said, his tone growing firm as he banished the pain to some distant part of his awareness. "I wanted to find this place-and now it claims me."

"Their treachery will be avenged," Ariakas promised, surprised at how dull his own voice sounded.

"That's not what I'm talking about!" snapped Ferros, before squeezing his eyes shut as a spasm of pain racked his battered body. "It's this: if you meet a Thorbardin dwarf sometime, get them this word-there are no dwarves in the Khalkists! None worthy of the name, at least-none who could ever serve as allies of Thorbar shy;din."

Again Ferros ceased talking, his breath coming in short, rapid pants. Ariakas looked at the grotesque forms of the monsters. The first had halted temporarily, allow shy;ing its companions to join it. Then, in a bunched and menacing group, they clumped steadily closer.

The Hylar opened his eyes, and stared fixedly at Aria-kas when the human met his gaze. "When Thorbardin meets Zhakar," he growled, his voice taut with fury, "it will be not as allies, but as enemies. And that's a thing I'd just as soon not live to see!"

"Come on," Ariakas said gruffly. His muscles shrieked in protest at the thought, but he rose stiffly to his feet and reached for Ferros.

"No-get going!" shouted the dwarf, holding his axe in his good hand. His smashed leg jutted awkwardly to the side, and a growing pool of blood marked the floor around him. Seated with his back against an outcrop of the cavern wall, Ferros turned to face the advancing monsters-barely a few steps away now.

"Move!" cried Ferros Windchisel, his voice shrill with agony and rage. "Don't make my death a waste, too!"

With those words ringing in his ears, Ariakas turned and sprinted away. From somewhere his heart and lungs found the energy to fuel his flight. His boots pounded the floor, not loud enough to overwhelm the recrimina shy;tion ringing in his mind.

He turned down a passageway, blindly lunging in the direction that he thought might take him back to the water warrens. Where had the Zhakar turned from here? Ariakas couldn't remember, so he guessed, still sprinting along the dank, stone-walled passages of the deep war shy;rens.

Another turn, another winding cavern. This one didn't seem familiar-Ariakas sensed that he ran down a grad shy;ually descending passage, and he didn't remember doing any climbing on the way in. Still, he couldn't arrest his flight, didn't even want to take the time to see if the monsters still pursued.

Finally he paused, leaning against the stone wall and gasping for air until his breathing rasped into mere pant shy;ing. By the time he could hear anything aside from him shy;self, the telltale noise of the fungus creatures' advance reached him down the corridor, urging him once more into flight.

Gradually, as he ran, fatigue settled into the back shy;ground. He pounded along without noticing the tearing pain in his lungs, the dry hacking of his throat. Instead, his mind focused directly, to the point of obsession, on one thing:

The Zhakar would pay. He would start with the pathetic excuse for a monarch, Rackas Ironcog, but his vengeance would continue long after that lone villain was dead. The savant, Tik Deepspeaker, deserved to die in agony. The entire people, the entire nation, he vowed, would suffer for the treachery with which they had greeted the emissaries of the Dark Queen.

When first he had arrived in the dwarven kingdom, Ariakas had intended to forge a treaty with the Zhakar, to work out an arrangement of trade that would be prof shy;itable to both sides. No more. Now he would bargain as master, as conqueror. He would dictate the terms of the agreement, and personally-and gleefully-kill any plague-pocked dwarf who objected to the oppressive conditions!