"Uh oh," Nanfoodle whispered to Shoudra.

When the sceptrana looked his way, the little gnome motioned his chin toward a group of dwarves holding a conversation near the lip of the cliff. Torgar and Shingles were there, as well as Catti-brie, Wulfgar, Banak, and Tred of Citadel Felbarr. Tred had just returned from Mithral Hall with word of Pikel, no doubt, and also of the duo from Mirabar.

At around the same time Banak and the others all turned to regard the gnome and Shoudra, and their expressions spoke volumes.

"Time for us to go," Shoudra whispered back, and she grabbed Nanfoodle's shoulder.

"No," the gnome insisted, pulling away. "No, we will not flee."

"You underestimate - "

"We helped them in their dilemma here. Dwarves appreciate that," Nan-foodle said, and he started off toward the group.

"I thought it from the first," Torgar Hammerstriker said when Nanfoodle arrived, Shoudra moving cautiously behind. "Ye still can't see the truth o' that damned marchion."

"We didn't flee, did we?" Nanfoodle replied.

"Ye'd probably be smart in keeping yer mouth shut, little one," offered Shingles, and his tone wasn't threatening as much as honest, even sympathetic.

"Ye've got yerself in enough trouble by-the-by. These folk'll treat ye fair and put ye on yer way back home soon enough."

"We could be well on our way home already, if that was the course we chose," Nanfoodle stubbornly replied. "But we did not."

"Because ye're a dolt?" Torgar remarked.

"Because we believed we could be useful," Nanfoodle countered.

"To us or to them orcs?" Banak Brawnanvil put in. "Ye came here to ruin our metal, so ye told Steward Regis yerself."

"That was before we knew of the orc army," Nanfoodle explained.

He tried to focus and find his center, tried to calm his breathing, telling himself to trust in the truth.

"And that's making it any better?" Banak demanded.

"We came here under orders to do exactly what you have stated," Shoudra Stargleam admitted. She came forward to stand beside Nanfoodle and managed to release herself from Banak's imposing stare long enough to shoot her little friend a comforting look. "Your departure brought great fear and distress to Mirabar," she went on, addressing Torgar directly. "And weakened our city greatly."

"That's not me problem," the stubborn dwarf answered.

"No, it is not," Shoudra admitted. "It is the duty of the marchion to protect his people."

"He'd do better protecting them if he could tell the difference between friends and enemies," Torgar shot back, poking a stubby finger Shoudra's way.

The sceptrana held her hands up to calm him, patting them in the air.

"This is not the time to rehash the debate," she said.

"Good a time as any, as far as I'm seein' it," said Torgar.

"We came here not to sabotage . .." the sceptrana began.

"The little one admitted it," said Tred, who had brought the news up to the cliff.

"... but to investigate," Shoudra went on. "We had to know if there was any danger to Mirabar - surely you can understand that. Perhaps the emigrating dwarves harbored resentment that would bring them back upon our city, with a host of Battlehammers behind them."

"Ye're talking stupid," said Torgar.

Shoudra started to respond, then sighed and nodded.

"I am telling you things from the perspective of Marchion Elastul, who is charged with the security of Mirabar," she explained.

"Like I said," came Torgar's dry reply.

"Barring any imminent threat to Mirabar - which Nanfoodle and I did not expect to find - we would never have used the formula. In fact, it was that same formula that Nanfoodle used to destroy the giant catapults. Have you so quickly forgotten our help?"

"Course we ain't," said Banak. "Which makes this news all the more painful. We're in a war here, so ye come here as friends or ye come here as enemies. Ain't no middling ground when the blood is flowing."

"We are here as friends," Nanfoodle said without hesitation. "We could have run home, but we did not. We were free in Keeper's Dale and would have been long off to the west before any word came out of Mithral Hall had we chosen to flee. But how could we, when we knew that you were fighting our common enemy up here? How could we when we knew that we could bring valuable assistance to your cause? Judge not my drunken words to Regis - never did I desire to poison Mithral Hall's metal. It is a mission I resisted every step out of Mirabar, and one that I only embarked upon with the intention of turning aside its course. And no less can be said of Shoudra Stargleam, who has ever been a friend of Torgar Hammerstriker and Shingles McRuff."

Banak, Tred, Catti-brie, and Wulfgar all turned to the Mirabarran dwarves, and the pair nodded their agreement with Nanfoodle's assessment.

"Then what would ye have me do, little one?" Banak asked. "Let ye run free down the road to Mirabar?"

Nanfoodle looked to Shoudra, then, smiling, back at the dwarf.

"No," he insisted. "Take me to Regis that I might make my case. In chains, if you must."

He held out his hands to the dwarf, who pushed them aside.

"Ye helped us here. Ye bought us needed time," Banak said. "If ye're wanting to run, now's the time for it. We'll look away long enough for ye to be long gone."

Again Nanfoodle glanced at Shoudra before eyeing the dwarf directly.

"If we thought we could be of no more assistance, we would accept your generous offer, good dwarf." Nanfoodle glanced back to the ridge, where new logs were already piling up, and said, "You must deal with those giants, and I think I can help. So no, I will not leave at this time and will accept the judgment of Steward Regis."

"Sounds like the little one's got a plan," said Catti-brie.

Nanfoodle's smile widened even more.

* * *

Regis sat back in his comfortable chair, dropped his chin into one hand and stared down at the many maps and diagrams Nanfoodle had spread out on the floor.

"I don't understand," he admitted, and he looked to Shoudra.

The sceptrana seemed equally perplexed and could only shrug in response.

"Is he always this abstract?" the halfling asked.

"Always," Shoudra admitted.

In the chair beside Regis, Ivan Bouldershoulder pored over a group of other diagrams Nanfoodle had given him, and it took him some time to realize that the other three were staring his way.

"Easy enough," the dwarf told them, particularly Regis. "The box at least. Simple enough contraption."

"The open-ended metal cylinders will prove no more complicated," Nanfoodle said.

"Agreed, except for the number ye're wanting," said Ivan, and he looked to Regis. "Ye'd have to set every furnace in Mithral Hall working day and night to get it done in time."

Regis shook his head, seeming more perplexed than negative.

"If I am right..." Nanfoodle started to say.

"You don't even know if those tunnels are open," Regis replied. "Nor do you know what you'll find if they are."

"Then let me go and look, at least," said the gnome.

"I can't commit my smiths to the task until we're sure," the steward replied.

Despite the denial, or more so because of the wording of the denial, Nan-foodie's grin nearly took in his abundant ears.

"Yes, go," Regis relented. He looked down at the mass of maps and diagrams and shook his head in disbelief and open skepticism. "It seems a fool's errand, but we have nothing better."

Nanfoodle bowed, again and again, as if he was bobbing with happiness -  as indeed he usually was when someone in power offered him the opportunity to chase down another of his often wild proposals. Eventually, he managed to turn back to Ivan, whose reputation as a craftsman had long preceded him to Mithral Hall.

"You will construct the box?" he asked.

"Got all I need," said the dwarf. "Except this flame water potion."

"Leave that to me, when the time is near," Nanfoodle assured him. The brightness on the gnome's face dimmed then, as he added, "Where might I find your brother?"

"Sitting in the dark," Ivan replied. "And I'm wishing ye luck on getting him to go tunneling with ye. He's not much in the mood for anything right now."

"We shall see," said Nanfoodle.

"With your permission, I will return to Master Brawnanvil," Shoudra put in then.

"I feel the fool for trusting you after what he admitted to me," Regis said to her. "I should throw you both in chains and have Marchion Elastul pay a high ransom for your safe return."

Shoudra smiled at him and said, "But you will not."

"Go to Banak," Regis said with a wave of his little hand.

Shoudra started out of the room but paused and looked back as the gracious steward added, "And thank you."

As she left the room, the sceptrana told herself pointedly that when she returned to Mirabar, she would oppose Marchion Elastul's every move against this neighbor and ally.

* * *

As he moved up to the door, Nanfoodle heard the soft, "Oooo" and winced in sympathy for the poor dwarf. The gnome lifted his fist to knock but held back and slowly dropped that hand to the dragon-shaped doorknob and quietly turned the latch. The perfectly balanced and well-oiled portal made not a sound as it swung open.

There sat Pikel in the middle of the floor, head down, his remaining hand absently drawing designs on the stone floor of the room. So distracted and distraught was the green-bearded dwarf that he didn't even look up as Nanfoodle approached, moving right beside him. Every now and then, the dwarf gave another plaintive, "Oooo."

"Does it still hurt?" Nanfoodle quietly asked.

Pikel looked up at him.

"Uh uh," he said, and he waved his stumped forearm in Nanfoodle's direction.

"Then you are sad," Nanfoodle said, and Pikel looked at him as if that should be obvious enough. "Do you believe that you have nothing to offer to Clan Battlehammer now?"

"Eh?" the green-bearded dwarf replied.

He held up his hand and waggled his fingers.

"You are still able to cast your spells then?"

"Yup yup," said Pikel.

"What are you doing there on the floor?" the gnome asked.

He came forward and leaned over the still-sitting Pikel - to see that the dwarf wasn't just sliding his hand over the stone in swirling designs, he was actually swirling the stone itself around. A grin widened on Nanfoodle's face, for that was exactly one of the purposes he had in mind for Pikel Bouldershoulder.

Nanfoodle moved around in front of Pikel and squatted down to look the dwarf directly in the eye.

"Your brother is working for me," he said.

"Eh?"

"I needed a craftsman, an engineer," Nanfoodle explained. "I was told that Ivan was among the best."

"Yup. Hee hee, me brudder."

"And Regis was very interested in telling Ivan to help me because he understands that my plan could well change the battle raging up on top of the cliff." He paused and studied the dwarf to make sure that he had Pikel's attention. "You want to help them, yes?"

Pikel's expression was perfectly perplexed.

"Yup yup."

"You see, I have many different needs right now," Nanfoodle tried to explain. "Important things must be done, but many of the tasks are a bit different than the dwarves could normally offer. Oh, there are a few that Steward Regis knew who might be able to assist me with one task or another, but there was only one name that came through repeatedly, for every task."

"Pikel?" the dwarf asked, pointing to himself - with a finger that was covered in fast-hardening stone.

"Pikel," Nanfoodle confirmed. He pointed down to the designs on the floor. "For that, and because I need help from animals - they won't be injured, I assure you. Not if we are smart and quick."

"Hee hee hee."

It did Nanfoodle's heart good to see that he had brought a smile to the despondent dwarf's face. Pikel seemed such a gentle soul to him; the mere thought of such a person suffering so grievous an injury pained Nanfoodle greatly. But Nanfoodle also understood that Pikel's pain was more emotional than physical, and that, in such cases as his, a person's self-worth was often the greatest casualty.

"Come on," he cheerfully offered to the dwarf, extending his hand to help Pikel to his feet. "We have much to do."

* * *

"Ye're pulling me beard," said Wocco Brawnanvil, brother of Brusco and proud cousin of Mithral Hall's heroic war commander.

"I ain't, and if I was, ye'd be kneeling, don't ye doubt," Ivan Bouldershoulder replied.

"This little gnome's a troublesome one, then," said Wocco. "He's not for building them damn arky-busses, is he? Heared them things blow up in yer face more'n they boom yer enemies."

"Nah, none o' them," Ivan confirmed.

Wocco and all the other blacksmiths standing around him breathed a sigh of relief. Ivan thought discretion necessary. If those dwarves, miners all, understood what Nanfoodle had in mind, they wouldn't be pleased.

"So ye're just wanting a tube of metal?" another dwarf asked.

"But all gotta be the same diameter," Ivan replied.

"And length?"

"Long as ye can make 'em."

The blacksmiths all looked around at each other.

"And Regis wants us doing this?" one asked.

"Got his mark, don't it?" Ivan asked, pointing to the parchment he had handed over, complete with diagrams and instructions and the signature of the Steward of Mithral Hall.

"All the forges?" one of them asked.

"We got lots of weapons to fix, with the fighting up above," Wocco explained. "We're behind already, after outfitting the band Regis sent running down the southern tunnels."

"This comes first," said Ivan. "Bah, if ye're quick about it and make a proper mold, ye'll put them out a dozen at a time!"

Again the blacksmiths looked around at each other, but a couple, at least, were nodding.

"How many ye need?" asked Wocco.

"Just ye keep making them," said Ivan.

He grinned and pulled out another rolled parchment, opening it wide for the other dwarves to see. It contained a diagram, one far more complicated than the instructions for the simple rolled metal tubes.

"And I'm working with impact oil," Ivan said with a snicker.

"Boom?" asked Wocco.

"I'm hopin' I don't slip with me hammer," Ivan said with a laugh, and the others joined in.

"Boom!" several said together.

Wocco lifted the parchments in salute, then motioned for his companions to follow him back to the lines of forges.

Ivan, whose work would be much more delicate, turned and moved off the other way, back to the smaller work area Regis had afforded him near the audience chambers.

He did pause long enough to look across the Undercity to the northwest, to the doors blocking the little-used tunnels, and his smile fast faded. Pikel was down there, with Nanfoodle.

Ivan could only hope that his brother would be all right, and that he would find his heart again, and his laugh.

* * *

Pikel held his shortened arm up and the small bird sitting on it shifted nervously. The dwarf druid brought the delicate creature in close and whispered reassuring words, then lowered the arm and started off down the side passage, which was lit with a soft, reddish glow.

"You are sure of this?" Nanfoodle asked the dwarf. "I have little in the way of weaponry about me and am not even certain that my more potent spells would affect such creatures."

In response, Pikel looked back at Nanfoodle and scrunched up his face, closing his eyes tight, a reminder that the gnome had insisted that they use no fire in the potentially disastrous tunnels.

"Yes, but..." Nanfoodle started to protest.

Pikel just gave a, "Hee hee hee," and started away.

Nanfoodle turned back to the five dwarf warriors assigned as escort and merely shrugged, and so did they, seeming more amused than worried.

"Just bugs, little one," one of the group explained. "Big bugs, but bugs all the same."

To reassure the gnome, the group presented their weapons, including the two enchanted, glowing long swords that had been providing all of their light.

They didn't need those weapons, though, for Pikel had little trouble in persuading the potential enemies that there was no battle to be found, and soon after, all seven were riding rather than walking, atop large beetles with red-glowing glands. Fire beetles, they were called, often coveted by Underdark adventurers for those helpful glands, which would retain their glow for days after the creature had been slain. Of course, there was even more practicality in Pikel's method, because the living beetles never stopped providing the light.

All along the tunnels, the green-bearded dwarf communicated to his new "friends" with a series of clicks and pops, and he even (so he said) managed to glean a bit of useful information out of the giant insects.

Whether or not that claim was true, the dwarf did lead the party to a most curious tunnel, sloping down to the north and reeking of a particularly nasty odor. Streaks of color lined the dark walls, though it was hard to distinguish its true hue in the red light.

"Yellow," Nanfoodle told them, for the gnome knew the smell of sulfur. "Keep a careful watch on your bird, Pikel. You don't want him to fall over dead."

Pikel gave a squeak of protest and brought the brave little bird up close to his face. Almost immediately, the bird began to panic, and Pikel whispered into its ear and sent it flying back up to clearer air.

Beside him, Nanfoodle understood the positive sign, and he pressed on through the reek.

The tunnel ended in a wide, high chamber full of stalagmites that narrowed as they rose, then widened again as they joined with the great stalactites hanging down from above. A haze filled the room, and even the sturdy dwarves had to pull the cloths Pikel had prepared up before their faces.

"Gonna lose me breakfast," one announced, and the others all nodded in agreement.

Nanfoodle, though, was simply too excited to consider such possibilities. He urged his beetle mount up ahead, then quickly dismounted and moved between the pillars of stone to the edge of an underground pool.

His smile erupted when he at last managed to peer through the haze, to see the source of that sulfuric fog, for the water roiled and bubbled, a sure sign of gasses escaping.

"If you lit a torch in here, we would all be incinerated," the gnome somberly announced.

"Hope that breakfast wasn't too spicy, then," chortled one dwarf, motioning over to another who was on his hands and knees gagging.

Those who were able moved up beside Nanfoodle to view the spectacle.

"The gas we need is invisible and has no odor," the gnome explained.

"Could o' fooled me," said one dwarf.

"No no," the gnome explained. "It mixes with other gasses in the pressure below. But you see how it escapes?" he asked, pointing to the bubbles. "Yes, yes, it is all in place."

"Got no idea what ye're talking about, gnome," said a dwarf. "But ye found it, yep? So now we can be leaving?"

"In a few moments," Nanfoodle replied. "We have to know the texture of the stone. We must be prepared when we return, for this will be no easy task."

He looked to Pikel, who was already falling within himself, eyes closed, arms waving.

The dwarf finished, giggled, and lay down, then simply melted into the stone, disappearing from view.

"That one's just not right," muttered a thoroughly shaken dwarf.

"Shut yer trap and get on yer beetle," another sarcastically remarked.

"Doo-dad...." said a third, shaking his head.

Nanfoodle just smiled through it all.

A short while later, Pikel's form reappeared in the stone, like a bas relief carved into the floor. He came forth fully and hopped up, brushing himself off.

"Whew!" he said.

"How thick?" the excited Nanfoodle asked.

Pikel tapped himself on the head three times.

"Fifteen feet," Nanfoodle muttered.

"How'd he know that?" one dwarf asked another.

"Three Pikel's deep," reasoned another.

"Ye're scarin' me, gnome," a third remarked.

"Can we get through that much?" Nanfoodle asked Pikel, ignoring the others.

"Hee hee hee," said the green-bearded dwarf.