on?”
Vigre took a deep breath and told them the bad news.
“Dragonarmy soldiers are coming this way,” he reported. “We saw them from the top of the
ravine. There must be at least two thousand of them marching through the city. We'd all be
trapped in the prison if they got here before Spinner was freed. So I ordered most of our
people to meet the dragonarmy soldiers in the street and fight them there. It was the only
way to stall for time.”
Barsh and Quinby turned pale. A ragtag group of dwarves didn't have a chance against two
thousand crack dragonarmy troops. Vigre's people were going to be slaughtered. They must
have known their fate, yet they were willing to sacrifice their lives for stories they
would never hear. Truly, thought Quinby, this was the stuff of legend. He put his hand on
Vigre's shoulder and said, “If I were a dwarf, I'd be proud on this day. Then again,” he
added, considering, “I'm not a dwarf.”
Vigre looked at the kender trying to decide what Quinby meant.
“No matter what happens,” Quinby went on, oblivious to Vigre's questioning stare, “your
people belong in Spinner's stories. Not all of his stories,” he hastily added. “Just one
of them.”
Vigre gave up trying to figure out the kender's intentions
and simply said, “Spinner could make a fine, though tragic, tale of the battle in the
city. So let's make sure that he lives to tell it. I'll take what's left of our force and
fight our way through the prison till we find our storyteller.”
“But there aren't enough of you,” Quinby declared. “You're going to need help. I'll take
some kender and go with you.”
“And I'll come, too,” volunteered Barsh. “I'll bring a small troop of gnomes along.”
Vigre couldn't refuse. He knew they were right. There was no telling how many of the
Dragon Highlord's soldiers were waiting for them inside the prison's labyrinth of cells.
“Come on,” he said. “Spinner must be wondering what all the noise is about.”
I was, indeed, wondering what all the noise was about. The night had nearly passed, and I
waited for the dawning, resigned to my fate. My cellmate, Davin, had listened to me
throughout the night, offering not a word of his own.
Then I heard shouts and screams filtering down to the depths of the filthy dungeon where I
had been left to languish until my death.
“What's going on?” I called out to a dragonarmy guard who raced past the cell.
He ignored me.
“What do you think is happening?” I asked Davin. He shook his head.
The noise grew louder. It sounded like battle. There was the clash of steel on steel.
There were howls of pain, boots running on stone, and shouts of ... MY NAME!
“Here!” I cried. “I'm here! This way!”
I couldn't believe my own senses. But yes, it was the voice of Quinby Cull calling out to
me! Then I heard Vigre Arch. My mind was reeling when even that clever gnome, Barsh, made
his presence known.
“It's impossible!” I exclaimed. And then I turned to Davin. “Do you hear them, or have I
gone mad? Are my friends really here to save me?”
My cellmate was about to answer, but then, instead, he shouted, “Look out!”
Too late. A prison guard had suddenly appeared at my cell and grabbed me through the bars.
“I'll see you dead before they free you,” he vowed. And then he lifted his
dagger and plunged it toward my chest. Davin was faster than I was. He lunged forward and
grabbed the guard's wrist just before the knife could strike me. He twisted the man's arm
against the iron bars until there was an audible crack. The guard screamed as the knife
clattered to the floor. He ran in terror as Quinby, Vigre, and Barsh led a legion of their
people toward my cell.
“Keys!” crowed Barsh, dangling them happily in the air.
“We took them from an officer at the landing,” explained Vigre. “You're going to be free.”
“We're glad to see you,”
Vigre took a deep breath and told them the bad news.
“Dragonarmy soldiers are coming this way,” he reported. “We saw them from the top of the
ravine. There must be at least two thousand of them marching through the city. We'd all be
trapped in the prison if they got here before Spinner was freed. So I ordered most of our
people to meet the dragonarmy soldiers in the street and fight them there. It was the only
way to stall for time.”
Barsh and Quinby turned pale. A ragtag group of dwarves didn't have a chance against two
thousand crack dragonarmy troops. Vigre's people were going to be slaughtered. They must
have known their fate, yet they were willing to sacrifice their lives for stories they
would never hear. Truly, thought Quinby, this was the stuff of legend. He put his hand on
Vigre's shoulder and said, “If I were a dwarf, I'd be proud on this day. Then again,” he
added, considering, “I'm not a dwarf.”
Vigre looked at the kender trying to decide what Quinby meant.
“No matter what happens,” Quinby went on, oblivious to Vigre's questioning stare, “your
people belong in Spinner's stories. Not all of his stories,” he hastily added. “Just one
of them.”
Vigre gave up trying to figure out the kender's intentions
and simply said, “Spinner could make a fine, though tragic, tale of the battle in the
city. So let's make sure that he lives to tell it. I'll take what's left of our force and
fight our way through the prison till we find our storyteller.”
“But there aren't enough of you,” Quinby declared. “You're going to need help. I'll take
some kender and go with you.”
“And I'll come, too,” volunteered Barsh. “I'll bring a small troop of gnomes along.”
Vigre couldn't refuse. He knew they were right. There was no telling how many of the
Dragon Highlord's soldiers were waiting for them inside the prison's labyrinth of cells.
“Come on,” he said. “Spinner must be wondering what all the noise is about.”
I was, indeed, wondering what all the noise was about. The night had nearly passed, and I
waited for the dawning, resigned to my fate. My cellmate, Davin, had listened to me
throughout the night, offering not a word of his own.
Then I heard shouts and screams filtering down to the depths of the filthy dungeon where I
had been left to languish until my death.
“What's going on?” I called out to a dragonarmy guard who raced past the cell.
He ignored me.
“What do you think is happening?” I asked Davin. He shook his head.
The noise grew louder. It sounded like battle. There was the clash of steel on steel.
There were howls of pain, boots running on stone, and shouts of ... MY NAME!
“Here!” I cried. “I'm here! This way!”
I couldn't believe my own senses. But yes, it was the voice of Quinby Cull calling out to
me! Then I heard Vigre Arch. My mind was reeling when even that clever gnome, Barsh, made
his presence known.
“It's impossible!” I exclaimed. And then I turned to Davin. “Do you hear them, or have I
gone mad? Are my friends really here to save me?”
My cellmate was about to answer, but then, instead, he shouted, “Look out!”
Too late. A prison guard had suddenly appeared at my cell and grabbed me through the bars.
“I'll see you dead before they free you,” he vowed. And then he lifted his
dagger and plunged it toward my chest. Davin was faster than I was. He lunged forward and
grabbed the guard's wrist just before the knife could strike me. He twisted the man's arm
against the iron bars until there was an audible crack. The guard screamed as the knife
clattered to the floor. He ran in terror as Quinby, Vigre, and Barsh led a legion of their
people toward my cell.
“Keys!” crowed Barsh, dangling them happily in the air.
“We took them from an officer at the landing,” explained Vigre. “You're going to be free.”
“We're glad to see you,”
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