The Ruin by Richard Lee Byers Page A

Some babbled in dismay, or moved to help the afflicted, but their neighbors restrained them.
    Everyone had taken his food from communal platters and the like. Still, by some legerdemain, the dwarves had plainly poisoned their guests.
    Making a supreme effort, Pavel brandished his sun amulet and gritted out the opening words of a prayer presumably intended to counter the effects of the toxin. A dwarf bashed him over the head with a crank-handled, fire-blackened roasting spit, and he collapsed on his face. With a snarl, Will drew his hornblade and rounded on the attacker, but. the
    weapon slipped from his fingers. The halfling fell retching beside his friend.
    Pain stabbed through Dorn’s guts, banishing the faint hope that somehow he’d avoided eating the tainted food. He looked back down at Kara. “Change form!” he begged her. In her dragon shape, maybe she could shake off the effect of the poison.
    She simply lay still, not even shivering, and he discerned that, though her amethyst eyes were still open, she was no longer aware of him or anything else.
    Furious, he reached for the nearest dwarf with his iron talons. But though his metal arm was impervious to poison, the brain guiding it wasn’t, and he missed. The jabbing pain in his guts swelled into agony, and he couldn’t manage a second try. He toppled onto his side.
    From that position, he could see Wurik, Raryn, and tiny Joylin, her eyes wide with shock, watching everything unfold. Raryn tried to articulate the words of a charm. Wurik hesitated, then cocked back his fist and punched his brother in the jaw, spoiling the cadence.
    “I’m sorry,” said Wurik, “truly.”
    His ruddy, white-bearded face twisting, Raryn struggled to rise, but couldn’t. He groped for Joylin and pulled her close. Dorn wondered if he hoped to use her for a hostage.
    If so, it didn’t matter. Her father grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her away.
    A surge of agony lifted Dorn and swept him into darkness.
     
    Wurik looked about, counting up the stricken travelers, making sure none had escaped. No, they all lay unconscious where they’d dropped. The poison, brewed from a tirichik’s vital organs, was potent stuff.
    For the most part, his fellow villagers stood quiet, grimfaced, unable to look one another in the eye. Wurik felt the
    same shame they did. To betray guests was a despicable act.
    “Are they dead?” Joylin asked.
    “No,” Wurik said. He’d measured out a dose that would incapacitate, not kill.
    “They aren’t just sick,” she said. “You… you did this to them.”
    “We don’t have time to talk about it now.”
    “Why?” Joylin wailed. “They saved me, and Uncle Raryn is our kin.”
    “Yes. Raryn’s one of us, and we won’t give him up.” He bent down and lifted his brother in his arms. “The others, we must.”
    “But they’re all my friends!”
    “I said, we don’t have time to talk about it.” He turned to the other adults. “Tie up the prisoners. Half of them are so strange, we don’t know how long the drug will make them sleep. Gather their possessions. The Ice Queen’s servants will want those as well. I’ll hide Raryn.”
    He turned and strode toward his snow house. Though it must have hurt her wounded ankle, Joylin scurried after him.
    “Why do we have to do this?” she asked.
    “Because Iyraclea ordered it, and she’ll kill the hostages— the folk she took away—if we defy her. The lives of our own, people have to come first. You’ll understand when you’re older. Maybe… maybe the queen will just question the strangers, then set them free.”
    “If you think that, why are you hiding Uncle Raryn?”
    He glared at her. “Enough! No more arguing. Can’t you see, this is hard enough already?”
    She lowered her eyes. “Yes, Papa.”
    He hauled Raryn into the rear chamber of his dwelling, then hurried back to the bonfire. When they arrived, Iyraclea’s agents would expect to find him waiting with the captives. Joylin