Flint the King

Chapter 11

Mudhole

When He created the world, Reorx the Forge, a god of neutrality who strove for balance between good and evil, needed men to help Him with His work in this new land. For many years the humans worked happily under the loving guidance of Reorx, the master of creation and invention.

But the men became proud of their skills, as men will, and they used them for their own ends. Early in the Age of Light, four thousand years before the Cataclysm forever altered the face of Krynn, Reorx became angered by this and trans formed some men into a new race. He took from them the crafts He, upon the anvil of His immortal forge, had taught, leaving only their burning desire to tinker and build, invent and construct. He made the stature of this new race, known as gnomes, as small as their goals.

The evil Hiddukel, the patron god of greedy men, was pleased by this because He knew the forging god had worked long and hard to make order out of chaos, and now the balance of god and evil was not being maintained. Hid dukel went to another of the neutral gods, Chislev, and, seeking to make mischief, He convinced Him that neutrality could not be maintained since evil was losing position.

Their only hope, He said, was for neutrality to seize control.

To that end, Hiddukel persuaded Chislev, who in turn per suaded His fellow neutral god, Reorx, to forge a gem that would anchor neutrality to the world of Krynn. A large, clear gray stone of many facets, it was designed to hold and radiate the essence of Lunitari, the red moon of neutral magic. And on that same moon it was placed.

Reorx, although still angry at the gnomes, loved them and could see how they might yet serve Him. He presented to them a plan for a Great Invention that would be powered by a magical stone: the gray gemstone. As only the gnomes could, they built a mechanical ladder that lifted itself into the sky and to the red moon itself. With a magical net given to him by Reorx, a gnome appointed by Reorx climbed to the top of the ladder and captured the Graygem for the

Great Invention. But when he returned to Krynn and opened the net, the stone leaped into the air and floated quickly off to the west. Fascinated, most of the gnomes packed up their belongings and followed it to their western shores and beyond. The gem's passing caused new animals and plants to spring up and old ones to alter form overnight.

Instead of anchoring neutrality, the gem made the pendu lum of good and evil swing more rapidly than before. That is when Reorx knew He and Chislev had been tricked.

During many years of searching for the gem, the gnomes split into two armies. Both armies' searches led them to a barbarian prince named Gargath, who, seeing it.as a gift from his gods, had plucked the marvelous gem from the air and placed it in a high tower for safekeeping. Gargath refused the groups' demands for the gem, so they both de clared war on the barbarian prince.

After many abortive siege attempts, the gnomes finally penetrated Gargath's fortress. Both sides were amazed to see the gem's steel gray light suddenly fill the area with unbear able brightness. When anyone could see again, the two fac tions of gnomes were fighting each other. One side was filled with lust for the gem, the other side was curious about it.

Under the power of the gem, the gnomes changed. Those who coveted wealth became dwarves. Those who were curi ous became the first kender. These new races spread quickly throughout Ansalon.

As their mountain and hill dwarf cousins were always quick to point out, gully dwarves were the result of inter marriage between dwarves and gnomes. Unfortunately, the members of this new race lacked all the better qualities of their ancestors.

Seeing the result, dwarven and gnomish societies banned this sort of intermarriage, and members of the new race were driven out, most vehemently by dwarves. Forced to grub for existence among abandoned ruins and the refuse piles of cities abandoned after the Cataclysm, the gully dwarves were free to develop their own culture — or lack of it. Named Aghar, or "anguished," humans later nicknamed them "gully dwarves," noting their poor living conditions and the general disgust felt toward them by nearly every other race on Krynn.

Such was the lot of some three hundred Aghar living in

Mudhole. Before the Cataclysm, Mudhole had been a thriv ing, productive mine, supplying the forges of Thorbardin above with rich iron. But that continental catastrophe had sent sheets of rock crashing into the shafts, cutting off all but one long tunnel that led back into Thorbardin. Even that one was pitched so that it was now nearly vertical and impossible to climb: it was this that the derro called it the

Beast Pit.

But some good came of the Cataclysm, at least for the Aghar of Mudhole. Most of the dwarven-dug tunnels re mained intact, and in some places actually intersected with stunningly beautiful organic caverns cut by centuries of wa ter that ran through the mountains of Thorbardin.

The three hundred gully dwarves that inhabited Mudhole were broken down into family units; they lived in the ends of abandoned, dead-end shafts, but shared the four natural caverns as common space. They had "decorated" their homes with family heirlooms, such as petrified animals, and other bits of treasure garnered from the garbage piles of

Thorbardin above. Thus, Mudhole was at once a natural wonder and an appalling pigsty.

"They can't really expect us to sleep in here, can they?"

Perian moaned, pacing anxiously.

Nomscul, the gully dwarf who had rescued them from the Beast Pit, had led them here and left them, saying he would return shortly with food and some friends. Perian fingered the tattered edges of the filthy woolen blanket that was draped over a legless wooden chair. She disdainfully nudged an old bone on the dirty stone floor with a toe of her boot. Shivering, the mountain dwarf hugged herself and looked around in despair for someplace suitable to sit.

The perfectly square chamber had two doorways and was perhaps twenty feet square. It had been chipped out of solid granite, for the bites the pick-axes had taken could still be seen in the cold, gray-green stone walls. Thick, moldy old support beams crisscrossed the ceiling in no apparent pat tern, or perhaps a few had been removed by the gully dwarves for other purposes. Indeed, some chairs and small tables looked to be hastily constructed of the same stout beams. Small rugs; worn, hairless animal skins; and the oc casional piece of fine silk or rich but filthy lace, all but cov ered the floor.

Broken stoneware pots, sundry rodent skeletons, rusty weapons in various states of ill-repair, dozens of candles burned to an inch, bent utensils, one half of a hand-held fire bellows, a canoe filled with holes, a stringless lute, and a dwarf-high pile of unmatched shoes and boots rounded out the adornments.

Reclining on the big, soft bed of burlap-covered moss,

Flint picked at his teeth absently with a splinter of wood. He chuckled at Perian's discomfiture. "I've slept in worse."

He watched her flit about the room apprehensively, virtu ally tearing off the whites of her nails. "Can't you relax for one moment?" he asked, putting down his toothpick. "I'll admit the accommodations aren't the best, but they're only temporary. Not ten minutes ago I was carrying you and limping for our lives from — well, you know what from. At least we're safe until I can get someone to show us the way out of here."

The first thing Flint intended to do after that was to let his nephew, whom he'd left waiting outside Thorbardin, know he was all right. Basalt would be plenty worried by now.

Perian whirled about, perspiration alluringly curling the ends of her coppery hair. She fixed him with an icy glare.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" The mountain dwarf chewed the end of another nail off with her teeth, her eyes, like daggers, piercing his. "You think just because I suffered a little temporary fright paralysis I can't take care of my self?"

"A little paralysis? You were like a sack of flour!" Flint caught the embarrassed look in her eyes and held up his hands in mock surrender. He laughed. "Sorry if I assumed command. I forgot I was talking to a soldier. I'm used to or dering around youths and barmaids," he explained, thinking of his friends in Solace. He coughed uncomfortably when he saw her bemused face. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded! I have these friends — oh, never mind!" he ex claimed, unused to explaining himself. He rubbed his face, turned onto his side, curled up into the moss bed, and closed his eyes.

"You aren't going to sleep, are you?"

He opened one eye. "I thought I might until that Aghar brought some food, yes." He closed his eye again.

"But how can you sleep after what we've just been through?" she squealed, her fists clenched tight at her sides.

Flint sighed heavily, sat up, and looked at her through half-lidded eyes. "That's precisely why I need the sleep. I'm exhausted! In the last few days I've been pushed and punched and kicked and chased and dropped down a pit.

Every muscle and bone aches; the only thing holding me to gether is my skin! Do you think my face usually looks like this?" he asked, holding a cracked and swollen hand to his puffy lips, nose, and black eye. "Adventures always drag me out." He covered a yawn with the back of his thick, cal lused hand.

Perian looked astounded. "You mean you've had this sort of thing happen to you before?"

He blinked. "Sure, though the situation has become con siderably more complicated than your average dungeon crawl. Don't tell me you haven't?"

"I'm the captain of the thane's guard, for Reorx's sake!" she said despondently. "I train troops for parade maneuvers and theoretical fighting, and I live in the plushest barrack on the richest level of Thorbardin! I am not accustomed to this!" she said, indicating the cluttered room with a wave of her hand.

He scowled. "So that's all it is." Flint punched his fluffy moss pillow and dropped his bushy gray head onto it. "Lay down, take a load off your feet! Mark my words, this place won't look so bad after you've had a good rest."

Perian stopped her fidgeting long enough to run a hand through her damp hair. "That's just it! I can't rest here!" She frowned and looked away, then mumbled, "If you must know, I'm dying for a rolled mossweed!" She resumed pacing.

"I'm sure the gully dwarves have some sort of weed you can smoke if you must," the hill dwarf said in exasperation, his tone telling her what he thought of the habit of smoking dried moss. With that, he turned over again. But he could hear her mumbling behind him.

"I know it's a disgusting habit, but it's the only one — well, one of the only ones I have!" She chewed nervously on a wild hank of her hair. "Some sort of weed, hmm? I'm used to the best dwarven mix from the north warren farms in Thor bardin, and you expect me to smoke any old dried thing?"

Flint yawned. "I don't expect you to do anything on my account but be quiet."

Perian had a retort prepared, when suddenly, from the doorway straight ahead came the sound of clattering glass and metal and some other unidentifiable noises as well. The mountain dwarf whirled around in surprise, and the hill dwarf shot up angrily.

"What in the — ?"

"Nomscul back with eats!" The Aghar popped up in front of Flint, the mud-streaked skin above his scruffy, unshaven chin spread in his usual eager grin.

Nomscul, they had learned, was Mudhole's shaman, the keeper of the clan's relics and lore. He served as its healer and wise man, and was widely regarded as its best cook. He was kind of its beloved leader, more for the cooking than the wisdom perhaps. Nomscul now wore a ratty, smelly wool vest that hung to his knees and was lined with pockets of differing sizes and fabrics. From his belt dangled a red cloth bag cinched with a twine. In his hands was a steaming bowl of something gray and stringy, which he shoved right under the old dwarf's big nose.

Though annoyed at first, Flint was drawn in by the rich, meaty aroma. He took another deep, satisfied breath and accepted the bent spoon Nomscul offered him. "Wonder ful!" Flint sighed, barely pausing to speak between mouth fuls. "What is it?"

"Grotto grubs in mushroom mash," Nomscul answered proudly. Flint's spooning rhythm slowed for just a moment.

He looked over and saw Perian leaning against a table, first mouthful poised near her waiting lips. Her eyes wide circles of disbelief, she set the spoon down and stared into the bowl.

"You like?" the anxious gully dwarf asked Flint.

The hill dwarf set his bowl down on a table, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and hopped from the mossy bed. "Yes,

Nomscul, it's, uh, very tasty."

Pleased, the gully dwarf patted the potbelly that bulged below his plain, dingy shirt. He bounded for the door. "I get more!"

"Wait!" Flint cried. The gully dwarf stopped and turned around, and Flint came to his side. "Look, Nomscul," he be gan, searching for the right words, "thanks for, you know, saving us and all, but I really need to be going now."

Perian stepped up next to Flint quickly. "I'd like to leave, as well." She scowled at the hill dwarf.

Nomscul's fleshy cheeks bunched up in a full smile. "King and queen want two leaf? Stay here, I be right back!" Nod ding to himself, he dashed into the darkness of the stone tunnel beyond.

"Strangely pleasant little fellow," Flint commented.

"Probably went to get an escort for us."

'What was that 'king and queen' stuff?" Perian asked, staring after the gully dwarf.

Flint shrugged. "I don't know, probably Mudhole's hon orary title for guests." Perian nodded absently.

As they waited for Nomscul to return, Flint circled the room, looking into corners, picking up and examining little bits of gully dwarf treasure. He handed Perian a dirty, broken-toothed tortoise shell comb.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the frawl dragged the comb's six remaining teeth through her matted hair.

"Ouch!" she snarled after one particularly stubborn rat's nest. "I can't wait until I get out of these mud-caked clothes — I can barely bend my knees in these pants!"

Flint raised his eyebrows as a thought struck him. "Say, where do you think you'll be heading when we get out of here?"

"Home, of course," Perian said quickly, picking the dried mud from her pants. 'What a question. Where else… 7"

Abruptly she stopped, sucked in her breath, and clapped a hand to her mouth. "I see what you mean! I can't go back to

Thorbardin — Pitrick thinks I'm dead! He'd never let me live now, after what happened at the pit!"

She fell back on the bed in despair. "But where will I go?" she moaned. "Thorbardin is my home, the Theiwar are my clan — I doubt that any other group there would take me!

And I don't know how to live anywhere but underground!"

She bit off the end of another nail.

Watching her torment, Flint smashed his hand down on a table. "But why would you want to live among such cut throats, liars, and murderers?"

Perian bristled. "Not everyone in Theiwar City is like Pit rick, you know," she said. "There are more good half-derro dwarves like me, and even many a fine full-blooded Hylar."

"Yeah, the Great Betrayal is a testament to the charity of the blue-blooded Hylar and mountain dwarves in general!"

Flint sneered, kicking at a broken pottery shard, sending shattered pieces into the air.

Perian sat up and chuckled without humor. "You think the mountain dwarves were all snug and warm after the

Cataclysm? Thousands of dwarves starved to death in

Thorbardin, including my grandparents! At least the hill dwarves, used to being above-ground, could forage for food!" She gave a patronizing laugh. "You hill dwarves are such ignorant bigots!"

"At least our people have something in common," said Flint evenly. The chamber fell uncomfortably silent.

Perian broke the silence at last, standing up, looking van quished. "None of that matters anyway, since I can't go back there."

"Don't worry, Perian." Flint clapped her on the back, then felt awkward. He cleared his throat. 'You'll probably fit in above-ground better than you think. You aren't like the other Theiwar I've met."

"You don't know the first thing about Theiwar," Perian ac cused, her eyes blazing with fire again.

"I know one thing — you're a half-derro. You don't look like a derro, or even other Theiwar," he shot back. He crossed his arms smugly. "And I know that no one who thought like a Theiwar would have defended a hill dwarf at the Beast Pit." His eyes narrowed. "Why did you do that, anyway?"

Perian squirmed under his scrutiny. "I don't know. For years I've stood by and watched Pitrick abuse everything from Aghar to… to me, all for his own twisted amuse ment. I guess something inside me just snapped today, when

I heard what he did to your brother, when I saw that fright ened Aghar go over the edge… I just couldn't stand by and let something happen one more time."

She snorted. "Frankly, it never occurred to me that he would push me in." Her hands clenched into fists. "Pitrick deserves a long, slow, torturous death."

"He'll get it, the black-hearted bast — " Red-faced, Flint glanced up at Perian. "He'll pay for what he's done to all of us, but especially for Aylmar." Flint snapped a piece of pot tery between his thumb and forefinger.

"Who's Aylmar?" Perian asked.

Bitterly, Flint told the tale of his brother's murder. His an ger flared, fueled by the frustration of their forced inaction.

"Where is that Bonehead fellow?" he roared impatiently.

"Nomscul," Perian reminded him.

"Whatever!" Flint marched to the door and poked his head out.

The little imp abruptly sprang from a corridor to the left, staggering under the weight of a large wooden box. Noms cul elbowed his way past the barrel-chested dwarf and dropped his heavy load unceremoniously onto the dirt floor.

Flint looked in disgust at the box. "What in the Abyss is that?" he bellowed, nearly bowling the smaller dwarf over.

"That two leafs king and queen want!" Nomscul pro nounced, happily waving a dirt-caked hand toward the box. Flint and Perian squinted at the container and saw that it did, indeed, contain a sloppy pile of dirty, wet, decompos ing leaves. "King find good grubs in there for queen to eat!"

Nomscul winked conspiratorially at the hill dwarf.

Flint could see Perian gulp down her disgust. It was with the greatest drain on his limited patience that Flint managed to growl, "We don't want leaves. We want to go away, to get out of here. Please lead us — or if you're too busy collect ing leaves — get an escort to take us to the surface."

"King want a skirt for queen now?" Nomscul was obvi ously puzzled by this new request. His queen looked dirty enough. Shrugging, he spread his hands wide to measure her thick waist, resolving to find one of the skirts that helped differentiate Aghar frawls from harrns.

"Of course, we don't want a skirt, you ridiculous little worm!" the hill dwarf exploded.

Perian put a hand on Flint's shoulder. "He doesn't under stand." Turning to Nomscul, she asked, "How many ways out of Mudhole are there?"

The Aghar wiped his nose with his sleeve. "There one way — " He held up three fingers "- to get out of Mudhole.

Beast Pit, garbage run, and big crackingrotto," he said.

"Garbage run?" Perian asked, with a sinking feeling.

"Up in warrens," Nomscul told her. "Get good food from weird-eyed dwarves." The Aghar forced his eyelids open wide with his fingers, then crossed them and giggled.

Seeing Flint's puzzled look, Perian explained. "The gully dwarves raid Theiwar City's dumps and warehouses in the north warrens all the time."

Flint nodded in understanding. "What is the 'big crackin grotto,' and where does it lead, Nomscul'!"

"There big crack in wall of grotto, and it go out," the gully dwarf said simply. Nomscul picked a bug from his scalp, in spected it closely, then popped it into his mouth.

"Where is the grotto?" Flint demanded.

"That way." Nomscul chucked a thumb toward the corri dor beyond the room. "Past bedrooms of Aghar — lots of

Aghar in Mudhole!"

"That's good enough for me," Flint said, taking Perian's arm and pulling her toward the door. "We'll just explore around until we find something that looks like a grotto;

Mudhole can't be that big. Come on, Perian."

"Where we go?" Nomscul asked, bouncing at their sides.

Flint did not stop to look at him. "I don't know where you're going, but Perian and I are gonna look for the crack ing grotto."

Nomscul looked crushed. He fumbled in a pocket on his right side and pulled out a carved wooden whistle. Placing it between his thick lips, the gully dwarf blew so hard on it that his face turned red. Both Perian and Flint jumped at the unexpected shrill noise. Before either could turn or ques tion, though, they were stampeded from both doorways by running, screaming, jumping Aghar, all talking at once.

"You can tell he king. He got big nose!"

"That your real hair, Queen? Hair not usually come that color!"

"Two chairs for king and queen! Hip-hop hurry! Hip-hop hurry!"

The teeming masses of Aghar flooded in endlessly from the corridors, tearing the astonished Flint from Perian's side. Where were they all coming from? the hill dwarf won dered as he tried to make his way to the door again. On every grubby face was an adoring smile, and each one he squeezed past reached up to touch his hair, her hem. What on Krynn did they all want?

"King getting away!" Nomscul shouted. Suddenly every gully dwarf within ten feet launched himself into the air and onto Flint's back and head, hugging him, squeezing his arms and cheeks as he was crushed to the floor. Someone poked him in his black eye, but the right side of his face was pressed into the cold stone floor and he couldn't even move his mouth to swear at the perpetrator.

"What is going on here?" Perian screamed over the din.

Though she had not been knocked to the ground, ten gully dwarves clung to her legs and arms.

The Aghar atop Flint rolled off into a mound of wiggling, flailing limbs, as the hill dwarf struggled to his feet, shaking his head. His face was hot with anger, and he swung about in a wide circle, his fists raised and ready.

"King and queen must stay in Mudhole!" Nomscul an nounced, standing on top one of the tables to be seen. "The property say so!"

"Pro-per-ty! Pro-per-ty! Pro-per-ty!" The gully dwarves chanted, dancing and whooping and gibbering around their stunned dwarven visitors.

"What are you talking about?" Perian demanded. "What 'property?' "

That all-too-familiar puzzled look crossed Nomscul's face again. Suddenly his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You test ing Shaman Nomscul to see if he know!" The gully dwarf squinted in concentration, his eyes sinking into his skull as if he would find the answers there. At last he began to recite in an irritating, singsong falsetto.

King and Queen descend from mud,

Land in Beast Pit with a thud.

Aghar crown them, dance and sing,

And they be king and queen forever.

Nomscul began to hop up and down happily at having passed the test. "That what property say!" The gaggle of gully dwarves once again whooped, gibbered, and bounced around its newly acclaimed monarchs.

"That's terrible!" moaned Perian. "It doesn't even rhyme!

And he must mean prophecy, not property."

Flint cast her a stony glance.

"We touch king! We touch queen!" the Aghar chanted, drawing a sloppy circle around the two.

Flint batted away their groping hands. "Stay back!" he growled. "Keep your disgusting paws off of me!" He made one last lunge for the door, but the press of bodies was too thick, and they brought him down again.

"Tie king up!" Nomscul commanded. Dozens of hands lifted Flint from the floor and stuffed him into a rickety chair made of beams. Eight dwarves sat on his thrashing form while Nomscul and a frawl the shaman called Fester ran circles around the chair with two lengths of thick rope.

"Untie me this minute, you miserable dirt-eaters!" Flint flung himself from side to side, sending the chair pitching and making the gully dwarves who clung to him hoot with glee. But the chair did not break, the Aghar did not lose their grips, and Flint remained tied up.

Arms behind his back, Nomscul leaned toward Flint and smiled right into the hill dwarf's scowling face. "Queen not running away," he said. Perian stood at the far corner of the room, relatively ignored by the Aghar since she offered no resistance. Her arms were crossed and her hazel eyes re garded Flint expectantly, a small smile about her lips.

"Promise to be king, and we cut you loose," Nomscul of fered affably in a singsong voice.

Flint hung his head over the arm of the chair and spat on the ground. "Me? King of the gully dwarves? I'd sooner drown!"