Could still hear their ghosts calling to him.

Then Rom realized that someone else was calling to him. Grenda, who had sighted something.

"Only saw a movement, but think it might be a crocolisk," she whispered.

"Where?"

"Right there." Grenda pointed at a dead tree far to the right. The branches were long gone and the upper part of the trunk had cracked off. "Just in the deep part there."

"We'll fan out around the area. Watch your footing, everyone." They had lost poor Samm that way. One moment, the young dwarf had been stepping gingerly along the soft soil.. .and the next moment he had been sucked under.

They never had recovered his body.

Grenda took half the hunters to the west, while Rom led the other three north. He saw no sign of their prey, yet not only knew how well crocolisks could hide in the water, but also trusted the female dwarf's vision. Grenda had a keen eye for a race that lived much of its life under the surface.

The dwarves moved with a stealth most other races assumed impossible for beings of their stocky build. Grenda's party skirted the water's edge, while Rom had to actually lead his a few steps into it.

The murky water made it impossible to see anything even just below the surface, but Rom knew to watch for the telltale bubbles or the slight odd shift of the current marking a crocolisk's movements. Unfortunately, at the same time, the reptile would likely be watching for signs of them, as well.

He glanced over to Grenda, who gestured with her ax at a spot near one of her party. She had located something. Rom signaled his group to halt.

The next instant, the crocolisk rose up less than a yard from Grenda... although not to attack, but rather to flee from her and the others. However, two of her hunters had already maneuvered around, cutting off the reptile's flight immediately. One slashed with his ax. The blade cut deep into the crocolisk's foreleg.

The wounded animal veered around to snap at its assailant, only to have Grenda strike it from behind. Her blow cut through the spine, sending the crocolisk into spasms.

Rom nodded. The beast was as good as dead. The hunt would be a remarkably short one, for which he was grateful. The sooner the band was back underground, the better.

A sloshing sound to his left caught his attention. Two crocolisks, whatever their tastes, would better feed his weary troop. He turned...

But it was not one of the water predators before him... It was something ghastly and gelatinous that moved of its own accord toward the dwarves. Within its quivering form floated various objects, but especially bones.

"Beware!" Rom shouted. "An ooze!"

One of the younger dwarves with him swung impetuously at the macabre form before their leader could prevent him. The ax head sank in without pause, causing the dwarf to fall face first into the gelatinous shape.

The nightmarish thing sucked the hunter into its midst.

Rom let out a cry of dismay and, hefting his weapon with his one good hand, charged at the creature. He had some horrific memories concerning similar fiends around the Dustwallow Marsh region. If he hoped to save the other dwarf, he had to do something quickly.

With an expert slash, Rom cut at the monster's side... but the mark his blade made vanished immediately after. Rom cursed himself for attempting what he should have known would have no effect on the ooze. Inside, the other dwarf twitched but otherwise did not move.

With the crocolisk still struggling against Grenda and her band, it was up to Rom and his two remaining hunters. As the other pair joined him, he circled around, hoping that, if he thrust the hilt of his ax in, the monster's captive could seize it and be pulled free.

"Thorvald's Beard!" Rom gasped. He stepped from the gelatinous fiend, horrified by what he saw.

The front of the captive dwarf's face had already been eaten away.

A skull was all that stared back at Rom from underneath the thick hair. Even as he watched, the hair began to wither and dissolve. It was what he had feared would happen, but from his previous battles against ooze, the dwarven commander had believed that he had more time.

"Get back!" Rom ordered the others, fearful of losing another of his people.

"Look out!" one warrior shouted back.

Rom whirled.

Had he still had his other hand, it would have been lost to him now. The burnt stump sank in to the second fiend's quivering form, and Rom felt his flesh burn.

Crying out, he tried to pull free, but the gelatinous, dripping shape would not release him. He imagined dying as the other dwarf had—

Suddenly, from the tree tops there flew a blazing missile. It struck the creature holding onto Rom dead on. Rom expected the oozing form to douse the flames, but instead the fiend became an inferno.

Rom smelled oil and understood what the archer was doing. He also understood that this was his only chance. He pulled as hard as he could, and part of his maimed limb came free.

Another burning bolt hit the struggling monster. Rom fell back as the thing released its remaining hold on him.

The other fiend started to move into the water, but two more arrows struck it in rapid succession. As with the first, fire engulfed the monster. It shook as if about to explode.

Retrieving his ax, which had fallen from his grip, Rom retreated to his companions.

Grenda rushed up beside him. "Are you all right?"

"As best can be expected," he returned, gladly watching them burn. The second one hit had become little more than a pile of scorched refuse...and burning dwarven bones. "Damned ooze!.."

She shuddered, a rare display of fear on her part. "I'll be havin' nightmares...poor Harak. Is there no way to save him for burial?"

Bronzebeard dwarves preferred to bury their dead, returning them to the ground that so benefited their race. They considered it both an honor and repayment.

But nothing could be done. The fire, fueled also by the ooze itself, would reduce the bones to ash.

"He gets a pyre of sorts, at least," Rom answered, trying to make the best of a grim situation. He glanced around, estimating from exactly where the arrows had come.

Then, something at the edge of his gaze made him whirl about. Grenda tensed, clearly thinking another of the monsters was about to strike.

But whatever it was that Rom had seen was now out of sight. He swore.

"What is it? What did you see?"

"Not nearly enough." A vague shape. That was all. He was not even certain how tall it had been. All Rom did know with any certainty was that it moved much too fast for one of his kind.

But what in this foul realm would lend a hand to the harried dwarves?

And, more of interest to him, what did it mean to his mission?

SIX

“He is near."

Zendarin looked up from the pit into which he had been gazing for the past hour, not for the first time marveling at what he—and the lady in black—had wrought. "Who?"

The veiled lady joined him. She, too, stared down in wonder for a moment, then looked to the blood elf. "The one I have expected. The tests I set before him prove it; any other would have perished or turned back. Only he is determined enough to press on."

"If he's coming here, it's more likely he's a fool."

She tipped her head to the side. "He is that... which makes him no less dangerous to us."

Something occurred to Zendarin. "I sensed—"

"Yes, one of your pets almost came across him. That would have proven quite interesting, don't you think?"

As the blood elf was not certain exactly who—or what—sought to encroach on Grim Batol, he merely nodded. Of more concern to him was what this meant. "Do we dare begin again? Is there time?"