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"Maggot!" Pitrick hissed, stumbling away from the dust
cloud. He delivered a vicious kick to Nomscul. The little
shaman crashed through the railing of the bridge and
splashed into the pool, gasping and wailing.
Then Flint reached the bridge, racing full-tilt toward the
derro, his roasting fork poised above his head. Still strug-
gling to regain his senses, Pitrick snatched a long, straight
dagger from his belt.
Below them, Nomscul popped to the surface of the pool.
"You got my magic stuff all wet!" he whined, paddling to-
ward the bank.
The two dwarves came together. Flint's momentum car-
ried Pitrick over backward. Locked together, each strug-
gling for an advantage, they rolled over and over toward
the shore. Each held his own weapon in one hand, his oppo-
nent's wrist in the other.
As they tumbled onto land, Pitrick thrust out his leg, pin-
ning Flint below him. He threw all his weight behind his
weapon, forcing the blade down toward Flint's unprotected
chest. Caught off guard, the hill dwarf strove to straighten
his arm, but Pitrick's blade inched closer
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