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. Out of
the corner of his eye he saw Hildy and Moldoon step from
the inn, drawn by the commotion.
"You heard me - clean them!" growled the mountain
dwarf.
"Get your mother the hobgoblin to do it!" Hildy piped in,
her eyes smoldering with indignation as she stomped to-
ward them.
By now, a small group of dwarves had gathered on the
street, watching the confrontation warily.
Basalt saw the derro's mad, glaring eyes swing toward the
young frawl. Suddenly, the most frightening thing in the
world was not the threat to himself but the fear that Hildy
might step between them, humiliating him beyond all ca-
pacity for endurance. Or, even worse, that she might get
hurt.
"Not even a mother hobgoblin would claim this lump of
flesh," Basalt growled, commanding the derro's attention
again. Their gazes met, full of hate, and locked like horns.
"A hobgoblin wouldn't let a woman do his fighting for
him, either," sneered the derro. "Though this one looks like
she could distract me for a couple of hours, with the right
enticement."
The derro's leering face was more than Basalt could stom-
ach
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