“Shades,” muttered someone nearby, “we have been murdering children.”
Swallowing dryly, Baldric asked, “Will you tell me about the man who leads you?”
“We know little about him,” replied Keet. “Except that he is called ‘Dakshiras’.”
“That is a dwarf word,” exclaimed Hamron.
“Surely,” said Keet, “for our people were once dwarves. The word means ‘betrayer’.”
Chuka suddenly put his hand in his pocket. Rough hands grabbed him and removed the object he clutched fervently. It was a small, carved, wooden figurine. A toy.
“A toy,” said Baldric, almost choking on the word. “For pity’s sake, give it back to him.”
The small gnome clutched his only possession, on the verge of tears. Baldric turned away and clutched the pommel of his sword, shoulders clenched as if in pain. He shook his head. A toy.
The hatred and anger of the elves, dwarves, and men standing about was replaced by grief and pity. They had expected evil, and were met instead by a pair of malnourished, unhappy, frightened, deformed children.
A toy.
Piter, who was standing nearby, clenched his teeth to hold back his emotion. He left to supervise the disposal of enemy bodies into the river. But as his troops set about their grizzly labour, he thought, what a terrible thing it is to die this way, alone, forgotten, and so far from home. And so unhappy, unloved, and in the end, unmourned. What kind of a monster is this Morlock? How could anyone do such a thing?