“Robbers,” said Blade. “Come on.” He shook up Nancy Cobber again and galloped toward the trees.
There were five more ponies with baskets under the trees. Standing in a ring with their backs protectively to the ponies were six small men, whose heads only came up to the waists of the ones attacking them. The attackers wore the shiny black armor that Blade knew so well. Here were some of the soldiers they had lost three days ago.
“Uh-oh!” said Don, and took to the air, remembering Scales’s advice.
Nancy Cobber was hard to stop. Blade was forced to go on, into the midst of the fight. The dwarfs all had big axes, with which they were lustily hacking and parrying—except for one, who was banging for help with his ax on a large gold plate—but they were evidently losing. The soldiers attacking them were twice their size. Blade did not even have a sword. As Nancy Cobber thundered into the melee, all he could think of to do was to yell, so he yelled, trying to make his voice sound like a dragon’s.
It partly worked. Several of the attackers turned toward him. This gave two of the dwarfs a chance to swing their axes at legs. One soldier went down. But two more came for Blade with swords. Blade had it quite clearly in his mind that he was going to be dead when Don came crashing down through the branches overhead. He was near and sudden enough to seem huge, and black against the light, and clapping his wings mightily to stay hovering. Blade thought he was Kit for a moment. The soldiers made the same mistake.
“Hell!” said one. “It’s that black sod of a griffin. Get him!”
But Don got him. Don was about the size of a lion and his strength, when he cared to use it, was the strength of a lion. He seized that soldier and threw him to the ground. He threw another on top of him as the first man tried to get up. That made three attackers down and was enough to turn the fight the other way. The dwarfs became very busy swatting with the flats of their axes. The one who had been beating the plate joined in, too, and within a minute all six men in black armor were rolling on the ground, groaning. Blade snatched the coil of magic reins that he always kept hung on Nancy’s saddle these days, slid off Nancy, and made sure that he had a loop of reins securely wrapped around each soldier.
“Foof!” said Don, landing beside him. “I thought you were dead any second there. Want me to drag them over to Scales?”
“Easier if you wait until they can walk,” Blade said. None of the soldiers was badly hurt. The first one down was already trying to sit up.
Meanwhile the dwarfs were standing around making those throat-clearing sounds people make when they are embarrassed at having to say thank you. Blade could see why. They were warlike, strong-looking little men, with thick legs and big shoulders. Their hair and beards were plaited into several dozen skinny pigtails that were each woven with clacking bones and tufts of red wool, and they wore steel caps and breastplates. Their axes looked formidable. Blade could see they were the sort of folk who would think they ought to cope with six large attackers without needing help. Possibly they could have done if they had not had to protect the ponies.
“Your other pony dropped its load out on the grass and then bolted, I’m afraid,” he said, to cover their embarrassment.
The one who had been banging the plate sighed. “Typical,” he said. “This mission has been a pig’s breakfast right from the start. You’d think we’d offended one of the gods. We had a landslide coming out of the mountains, we spent the next day mired in the rains, yesterday was all horseflies and mosquitoes, and now this! If this tribute gets to Lord Mr. Chesney in one piece at the right time, I shall be so surprised you can cut off my beard and call me a giant. I kid you not!”
Don and Blade exchanged startled glances. “Excuse me,” said Don. “Why do you have to get tribute to Mr. Chesney?”
“We do it every year. He requires it. He’s our overlord,” said another of the dwarfs, surprised and rather gruff about it.
“Then—er—where have you come from exactly?” Blade asked.
“Fastness in the Mossy Mountains. Borders of King Luther’s land,” said a third dwarf. “Why? You want to make anything out of it?”
“Of course not,” Blade said quickly. He and Don frowned at one another, both feeling that something was not quite right. “I—er—just wondered how much further you had to go,” he said.
“Oh, only as far as the nearest ocean,” the first dwarf said, with angry talkativeness. “That town where the Pilgrim Parties come through. They’re calling it Gna’ash or something this year, aren’t they? We’re supposed to get there when the last tour goes out, while the demon’s still got the portal open. Then the tour people take the tribute through and we leg it back home again. Just one of those little tasks that keep life interesting. If we get there, of course. I’m not counting on it this trip.”
“But does Mr. Chesney own the land where your fastness is, or something?” Blade asked, truly puzzled.
The dwarfs looked at one another. Some shrugged. The gruff one scratched among his pigtails and replied, “Don’t think so. We’re in King Luther’s land if we’re anywhere.”
“Then—er—shouldn’t you be taking the tribute to King Luther?” Blade asked.
All the dwarfs laughed. “No way,” said the talkative one. “Tribute goes to Lord Mr. Chesney because he’s Dark Lord of the world. I thought everyone knew that.”
Blade nodded, thinking the dwarf was probably right, but Don said indignantly, “No, he’s not! My father’s Dark Lord!”
The dwarfs all laughed again. “Oh, yes?” said one. “I do see a strong family resemblance there.”
Don’s beak opened angrily. Blade kicked his front leg to shut him up. Luckily at this moment Shona rode up on Beauty, surrounded by dogs and leading the trembling, sweating little pony. The dwarfs all started clearing their throats again. The talkative one even managed to say, “Much obliged—” before Bertha discovered that his face was just at licking height for dogs.
“Come along,” Blade said to Don. The men in black were now sitting up, holding heads and rubbing legs and glowering. Blade mounted Nancy Cobber again and told Don to drag them away.
“We were happy to help,” Shona was saying charmingly as Blade headed for the huge green bulk of Scales at a sharp trot.
“What was that about?” Scales wanted to know as soon as Blade was near enough.
“Six of the soldiers who escaped the other day were trying to rob some dwarfs,” Blade reported. “We got them. Don’s bringing them. But do you know, Scales, those dwarfs are carrying a fortune in golden things! They say it’s for Mr. Chesney and—”
“I thought I smelled gold.” Scales’s vast head swiveled around toward the trees. The stretch of grassy land between was now dotted with figures, Shona and Beauty in front, surrounded by cheerful dogs, and Don further back, holding the reins in his beak and plowing forward to drag the resisting group of men in black. But Scales’s head was turned toward the three dwar