Douglas Niles - Goddess Worldweaver

She stopped at the entrance to the alley. A single glance showed her that the fighting down the hill was savage. Her brothers, side by side, were holding a half dozen dwarves at bay, but another big axeman was pressing against Hiyram, swinging his heavy weapon in roundhouse swipes that slashed over the goblin’s head.

“This way!” Darann cried. “Hiyram-over here!”

She despaired as her voice seemed to vanish into the thunderous melee, then took heart as she saw the valiant goblin glance in her direction. He blinked once and turned his attention back to the dwarf, using the slender knife to somehow parry another slashing blow from the heavy axe.

But the power of the dwarf-at-arms was enough to send the goblin tumbling backward, and Darann could only watch as a dozen swordsmen spilled into the intersection, coming from the other direction. They met an equal number of goblins, but this rabble was unarmored, bearing but knives, sticks, and clubs as weapons. With a sharp rush, the disciplined dwarves scattered the goblins, killing four and routing the others back up the narrow, steeply climbing street.

A big goblin with a cleaver, one eye matted with a bloody smear, suddenly rushed from the depths of the alley, charging at Darann. She lifted the shield and grunted as the powerful blow knocked her against the wall. “No-I’m a friend!” she cried, but he didn’t seem to hear or to care. Instead, he raised the cleaver and uttered a growl so piercing that it raised the hairs on the back of her neck. There was nowhere to go, so she used the shield as a weapon, charging against the goblin, pushing him away for a second.

Then Hiyram was there, rapping his fist sharply on the side of the big goblin’s head. “This Lady dwarf, fool! She help gobs outta here!”

The bleeding attacker just scowled, but by then the tide of retreating goblins carried them along, away from the alley and the steep hill. “Gotta find you way outta here,” gasped Hiyram. “Get you going now! This alley, around the corner then you go down hole!”

“Follow me!” Darann shouted, and Hiyram repeated the command. In another moment she was running along, followed by the sounds of broad, flat feet slapping against the bedrock. She raced as fast as she could, darting around the corner, then stopping as, finally, she saw the unguarded manhole cover.

Konnor was there, too, and several goblins came behind, though they initially shied away from the leather-clad Seer. Hiyram followed the dwarfmaid up to the narrow hatch.

“Through there,” he explained breathlessly. “It goes into pipe, will lead you to the city outside ghetto, toward Royal Tower. Best escape for you.”

“We’ll go-but you come after, as soon as you can!” she cried.

“Bull-Hair, go with!” cried Hiyram, clapping the one-eyed warrior who had earlier attacked Darann. “Lead the gobs away from here. I come after the end!”

“You get started,” Borand said. “Auri and I will help hold them up.”

“No!” the dwarfmaid insisted. “You have to come, too!”

“We’ll be right behind,” her brother assured her. He turned to the big goblin. “Take her down there-now!”

Without hesitation the battle-scarred Bull-Hair dove through the hatch. Konnor and Darann started after, down the ladder and into the now-familiar dankness of the drainage sewer.

Her last sight was of Hiyram and her brothers as they gathered a dozen stalwart goblins and headed back down the street, determined to hold up the pursuing Seers.

“Stop them!” shrieked Nayfal, as his restive ferr’ell pranced beneath him. Of course, mounted as he was, he was in the best position to lead the pursuit of the fleeing goblins, but he was too reasonable to do that. Let the foot soldiers risk their lives. His role was here, in the saddle, and in command!

Two companies of dwarves charged forward, pitching in to the goblins who were battling with such unusual ferocity. Nayfal saw several of his men fall back, wounded and bleeding, but was pleased that others quickly stepped in. Axes and swords rose and fell, and he could only imagine-happily-the carnage that was being wrought.

But the number of goblins was shrinking faster than he could explain by death and wounding, and as the dwarves pushed forward, he got a glimpse from his saddle that confirmed his worst fears.

“They’re getting away!” he cried. “Stop them!”

There could be no stopping the escape, however, not when the rear guard fought with such ferocity. It was only when the last of the refugees had vanished that the attackers overwhelmed the goblins, taking several prisoners.

It was then that Nayfal got his next surprise, one that brought a grim smile to his thin lips. For there, among the prisoners, were the two brothers of clan Houseguard. Somehow, fate had delivered them right into his hands.

“C OME on-keep moving!” shouted Bull-Hair, the urgency of his voice amplified by the pitch darkness of the tunnel and the distant sounds of battle fading behind them.

Darann had held up, wanting to wait for her brothers, but Konnor took her arm and spoke to her softly, persuasively. “They’ll meet us at the Goat Hair Inn if they can. Borand knows where it is; we’ve been there together, in happier times. But what they’re doing, staying back there and fighting, that’s for you. Don’t waste it by staying behind.”

“Dammit, you’re right,” she snapped, before turning and following the slapping footsteps of their goblin guide. Surely her brothers would find a way out-they had to! She wouldn’t let herself believe that they could get snared in Nayfal’s sweep.

They seemed to go for a long time, covering a greater distance than in their first subterranean trek, when they had been seeking Hiyram. Darann had no trouble believing that they had moved beyond the ghetto walls, but she found it impossible to get any sense of bearings, to have any idea where they were going. She simply followed along behind Bull-Hair, and when the sounds of his steps abruptly stopped, she halted, too.

“Here, go up,” their guide said suddenly. “This quiet place; nobody see, if you careful. Be careful.”

“We will-thank you,” Darann said, squeezing the loyal guide on his shoulder. “You be careful, too.”

She felt for the rungs, found that Konnor had aleady started up the metal ladder. She came along behind, silently climbing. A minute later the two dwarves emerged through a sewer drain on a quiet side street, several blocks away from the ghetto wall. Trying not to think about her brothers, Darann couldn’t suppress a single, grieving sob as she looked down the hole they had emerged from. Were Borand and Aurand back there someplace? Or had, as she feared, they been snared by the attacking guards? Konnor put an arm around her shoulders, and she drew a breath, banishing her fears, angrily rubbing a hand across her moist eyes.

“The Goat Hair Inn is not far away,” Konnor said, taking his bearings from the position of the city’s great towers rising into view around them. “We can walk there in ten minutes. Let’s hope Greta Weaver is at home.”

“And that she’s willing to tell us the truth,” Darann agreed, drawing some comfort from her companion’s calm awareness. He offered her his arm, and she took it, reasoning that their chances of being questioned by guards was lessened if they could be mistaken for a normal couple.

They found a main street and, though they wanted to run, walked along like a couple out for a stroll. True to his word, Konnor soon led her up to the door of a run-down inn. They heard sounds of raucous laughter within, while the not unappealing scent of coal smoke and grilled meat wafted into the street from the door. With an air of bravado that Darann hoped was real, Konnor swaggered forward, pushed open the entrance, and led her inside.