Marchan got down from the carriage as did David and Samuel. The Healer did not seem quite sure of himself. In fact, he seemed overwhelmed by the number of people. Marchan walked to the town well and drew some water. First he spilled some on the stones alongside the well and waited to see if the stone started to move. After a few minutes, he decided it was safe and took a long draught. Cool and sweet, just like water should taste, he thought to himself. He passed the bucket on to David and returned to the carriage to get a jar. His mother had woken up when they stopped. He carried it to the well, filled it and returned it to his mother and said Good Morning to her. She took a daught and asked why they had left their last place in the night.

'Something was in the water there,' Marchan told her. 'I think the Healer's poor memory had something to do with it. If we had stayed much longer, I think we would have been like him. We should find out soon if he will be able to recover.'

'We brought him with us?' she asked, looking around.

'Yes, he's atop the carriage. I think it's time he come down.'

He stepped back from the carriage and called up to the Healer. 'You up there, would you like to come down and get something to drink?'

'Why, yes I would,' he said and jumped off the carriage. He landed and rolled in such a way that Marchan thought he must have practiced it. The Healer got up and joined David and Samuel at the well. Soon his head was completely drenched and his thirst quenched. Then he turned to Samuel and David and spoke to them quietly enough that Marchan could not hear. Marchan ignored him and turned back to his mother.

'How is the duke?' he asked.

'He's still lost a lot of blood and will be weak for some time,' she said. 'I hope this Healer can do something for him. Why does he not come and help?'

'I do not think he remembers,' Marchan replied. 'Sir Healer,' he started turning back to the three at the well, but the three were no longer at the well. Marchan looked around and could not see them. He noticed a few of the townsfolk watching closely a bit to his left, behind the carriage. He turned that way just in time to see David rush out at him. A second body rushed him from behind, and a third appeared from atop the carriage. All four of them rolled through the dirt of the town square and were soon cover in dung, mud and soil. Marchan put up a good fight, but was eventually overpowered. Dana appeared at the carriage door and called out.

'Stop it you three! That's grossly unfair. Come and help the duke. He's waking up.'

Instantly, all four were back on their feet and the Healer entered the carriage. 'My apologies, My Lady,' he said. 'I'd forgotten about my patient.' He quickly examined, though without touching, the duke. 'I must wash up, then I will be ready to do a more thorough examination. He appears to be much healthier today than yesterday.'

'You remember yesterday?' Marchan asked.

'Why yes, yes I do believe I do,' he was told. 'I think you've saved me from the oblivion that I've long lived in. Now, I must go wash.'

He returned to the well and, after filling the bucket, soaked his head and hands again. He called David over and had him pour the cold water over his hands as he vigourously attempted to scrape off the last of the dirt. Then he returned to the carriage. He gently undid Dana's bandages and with water from the jar washed the wounds, then wrapped them up again. Meanwhile, David and Samuel washed themselves up well and made themselves to look the part of servants of an important duke, then walked up to the castle atop the hillock. At the gate they called out, 'His Grace, the Emminent Duke of Quirnotol is below in the carriage. His humble servants request lodging for him and his servants and travelling companions.'

The gatehouse keeper looked out. He did not appear very friendly. 'What have we to do with the Duke of Quirnotol? And is he so proud that he refuses to come to the gate hisself?'

'I'm sure he would come, Lord Gatekeeper, but he is in most dire straits. He was wounded yesterday by a peasant while protecting a most gracious lady and her orphan son who are the duke's travelling companions.'

The gatekeeper sniffed. He walked away into the castle without saying a word. David and Samuel looked at each other and proceeded back down the hill. When they were halfway back to the carriage they hear the gate open behind them and horses pounded out of it, swept past them and surrounded the carriage. Their leader hopped off his horse and looked into the carraige. He did not even seem to notice Marchan standing just to the side.

'My Lord Duke, welcome to my village,' Marchan heard him say. 'I hope the villagers have not been bothering you. I am Baron Yohan of Skiln. I am told you are hurt. You are welcome to my castle, as humble as it is, for as long as you wish to stay.'

The duke lifted his head slightly so he could see his new host, then lifted his left hand. The Baron kissed his ring and mounted his horse. Just then Samuel and David had returned and the Baron told them to bring the carriage up into the castle. They lifted themselves into position and the carriage was off. Marchan walked behind the carriage, hoping no one would ask him why he did so. He felt that something was wrong but could not think exactly what it was. When they passed the gates the baron called for men to carry the duke into the castle. There was much hurrying about and a stretcher of a sort appeared and men carefully, with the Healer's directions, placed the duke upon it and slowly carried him into the keep. As the procession entered the doors, a hand shot out and stopped Marchan.

'Where do you think you're going?' a nasty voice asked.

Marchan looked down at the hand and let his eyes follow the arm to its owner. He looked into the eyes and saw a hatred he had never seen before. 'I'm with them,' he said.

The man spoke with the same nasty voice, 'And what would you have to do with them? You are of not their kind.'

Marchan watched as the procession ahead of him turned to the left and went around the tables in the hall. He looked back at the owner of the hand. 'That's my mother attending the duke,' he said firmly.

'Your mother! Hear that Rocky? This dwarf has a human mother.' A guffaw came from behind Marchan. He suddenly became aware that there were three large men standing behind him. He looked up at the first man.

'Yes, this dwarf has a human mother,' he said even more firmly. He shifted slightly so that his weight could be used to his advantage should he suddenly find himself in a fight, which was seemingly likely. 'She nursed me when I was a babe and rasied me from childhood. That is what a mother does and that is what a mother is. She is my mother.'

The owner of the hand was almost taken aback, but Rocky or someone else behind Marchan said, 'You are still a child, little squirt. You ain't grown up at all!'

Marchan heard the sound of feet moving on stone and dropped his weight into Hand's legs. Hand went down and Marchan rolled off him and was on his feet facing the three remaining attackers before their first stroke had finished.

They looked rather rough, like they were washed up squires who had never made it to knight. No knight would have allowed himself to be seen in public dressed as they, though it was obvious they'd had some military training. Marchan backed slowly away from them into the keep and they followed at a two metre distance. Marchan could see Hand getting up behind them. He soon joined them.

'Uh, guys, he's right. She's his mother,' Hand said.

'Shut up, Martug,' said Rocky.

Apparently Hand's name was Martug. Marchan thought the name Hand was better anyway. He continued his backwards walking, aware that his attackers were starting to sweat. He thought about it for a second but could not think of any reason they would start to sweat by coming indoors. He walked himself into a spot where he was cornered between the tables and the four men. Hand seemd to be trying to take up more than a quarter of the angle, maybe to let Marchan escape through the rest, but Marchan had other ideas. He grabbed a chair from beside him and twisted it around so it sat between him and the men, then ducked under the table through the hole that it left. Then he raced between the chairs as the men started yelling at each other that he was getting away. Rocky called each of his companions idiots several times, and their names for him were not nearly as kind. Marchan soon reached the table closest to the door through which the procession with his mother had disappeared and ducking out from below the tables reached it in three steps, opened it and stepped through. He made sure the door was closed behind him and started to walk down the passage looking for signs of his mother or the duke. Suddenly he heard the sound of a grown man crying.

He followed the sound and found the Healer curled into a ball on the floor of the passageway, his back against the wall. Tears were streaming down his cheeks wetting his tunic. When he saw Marchan he started wailing.

'I did it! I did it! No one is to blame but me!'

'What did you do?' Marchan asked, wondering if the duke was still alive.

'The niteshades. I put them in the well. I was promised so much. Destroy morale and we will win the war. But the first town I poisoned the water, and it was so terrible. Mother's ignoring their children's cries because they couldn't remember to nurse them and then wondering why they were in pain themselves! Men forgetting to feed their horses, or gather in the crops so they could eat over the winter. I couldn't live with myself. I went to the town and scared everyone away. I drank the water because I longed to forget. Why do you force me to remember? I am only human!'

Suddenly, the Healer got up and grabbed a nearby candlestick. He thrashed and tried to hit Marchan with it. Marchan ducked away, then heard his pursuers coming through the door behind him. He ran past the Healer and went searching for his mother and the Baron. Perhaps they could put a stop to this. His five pursuers were not far behind him. He looked and listened, but his pursuers were making too much noise, and a wrong turn could mean that they would catch him.

Marchan turned a corner and overheard a man moaning ahead of him. He followed the sound and turned into a brightly lit room. Sunlight burst upon his eyes and it took some time for his eyes to grow accustomed to the light again after the shadow of the corridor.

As he waited he heard his mother's voice, 'Why are you doing that? You are hurting him.'

'I am a physician, madam,' another voice replied, 'I know what I am about. Please step aside.'

The moaning grew stronger, as did the sound of Marchan's pursuers in the corridor. Marchan stepped forward and walked to the right, stepping away from the door just in time to miss his pursuers as they entered the room.

As Marchan hid behind a chaise lounge, he heard the Healer's voice, 'What's the moaning sound? Why, man, what are you doing?' His shoes clicked across the floor. There was a pause and then, 'Man, you will kill him if you keep removing those coverings. He cannot yet afford to lose any more blood.'

'Know your place,' replied the physician. 'I am the Baron's own personal physician.'

'And I am the Duke's personal physician,' replied the Healer. 'He retained me last night. I do not recall anyone asking you to interfere with my patient.'

'You! You're a raving madman! I heard you screaming a few minutes ago as they brought me the Duke. You are no physician.'

'Raving madman or not,' replied the Healer. 'I am his physician and you are interfering with my patient. The College of Physicians will not look kindly upon this intrusion. Until I have been examined by a professional examiner to determine if I am mad, I must be assumed not to be. Now, out of my way and stay away from my patient.'

'Lunatic,' the Baron's physician said; his voice revealing his exasperation. He stalked loudly from the room. The four men who had been chasing Marchan from the front hall were moving around, still looking for the dwarf, but two of them left after the physician.

The Healer and Dana were talking in quiet tones. 'That quack nearly killed the Duke,' said the Healer. 'It's a good thing your son led me here when he did. The Duke could not handle losing any more blood.'

'So you didn't try to kill him?' Dana asked. 'You were screaming about killing him when we left you in the corridor.'

'Oh, I tried. For a guy so small he's very quick. I don't think he has to worry about me any more, though I think these other men would think different. I don't know what they want with him, but they seem very upset. I'm going to be busy with the Duke for some time. Why don't you go look for your son and maybe you can protect him from them.'

Dana looked at the Healer, then back at the Duke. She nodded, got up and left the room. The two remaining men left behind her, quietly following, hoping she might lead them to Marchan. The Healer worked to stop the Duke's bleeding side. He hummed to himself as he worked and Marchan was able to get a good look around the room. It was quite large: easily 6 metres by 6 metres. The walls were covered in very expensive drapery, except where various paintings with gold frames hung. The bed in the middle of the room had been stripped of its top cover, which lay on the floor, and the sheets beneath were dark red with blood from the Duke. Several chaise lounges, two desks with stools, some small tables, three wardrobes, several large vases and three floor to ceiling bookcases were arranged in an almost haphazard manner around the room. Marchan felt a little overwhelmed by the display of raw wealth in the contents of the room. Aside from the gold picture frames upon the wall, the bookcases held platinum bookends and exquisite statuettes. The books were almost all leather bound with gold trim. The mirrors covering the doors of the wardrobes, a rare enough find in themselves, appeared to be glass backed by silver instead of the more common polished bronze. Atop the tables stood silver and gold chalices and ewers. Marchan had certainly never seen such wealth before. Suddenly, he heard a voice speaking to him.

'You can come out now,' said the Healer. 'I think all of those men have gone now.'

'How did you know I was here?' Marchan asked.

'I saw you enter the room, although they did not. I knew you had entered, and I haven't seen any sign of an exit that you could have taken. As I told your mother, you have nothing to worry about from me. I am sorry for my attempt a few minutes ago, as I am sorry for poisoning that well. I should finally introduce myself to you, but I don't think we'll have time. You must leave very soon. I know of this Baron Yohan of Skiln. He will not be happy to see you. His son died in the war and he blames the dwarves for it. I do not know why. I think it was something about them abandoning the troops of our king, though I have heard that it was our king's troops who abandoned the dwarves. Either way, the Baron holds a great grudge against all dwarves. I would suggest you leave immediately. Your mother is keeping his men busy from finding you, so don't bother trying to find her. You will just find them. I will look after the Duke and your mother and see that they leave here safely. I am not without resources! Do not worry.'

'But,' said Marchan. 'How can I trust you?'

'I swear on the grave of my dead wife, they will be better without you here than with you here. Think! The Baron and his men hate you. How will they act towards those you care for? Will they not try to hurt them to hurt you. If you are not here, they will not be so interested in hurting them. Your mother has nothing to worry about, as long as she doesn't remind them too much of your existence. They may dislike her at first for having saved a dwarf, but she is such a beautiful woman that they will eventually forgive her. And it seems to me that you just met the Duke a few days ago, so you needn't worry about him.'

Just then David and Samuel came in. David spoke, 'Wow, the whole castle is looking for a dwarf. Seems he attacked Rocky and Martug. Martug is out cold. The Baron's physician is looking at him now. They seem to think he hurt the Duke as well. It seems we'd best get you out of here, Marchan.' He grabbed the covers from the bed and wrapped them around Marchan before he had a chance to react. Marchan felt himself lifted onto broad shoulders and carried throught the halls. After a few minutes they stopped.

'Ah, madam,' Marchan heard David speaking. 'You are no doubt looking for safety from the dwarf that seems to be hurting everyone. Please come with me.'

He stopped her somehow from speaking and they continued. They were stopped again before long.

'You, what are you doing with the bundle?'

'This?' replied David. 'Oh, my master wanted some things from the carriage. I thought this cover would make an excellent way of carrying them.'

'Very well, I will accompany you, if madam permits.'

'Madam does not permit it,' Dana's voice rang clear. 'I find all these new voices and faces much too confusing and wish to get away from all of you.'

'But you are not safe with this dwarf in the castle.'

'I am quite safe with the Duke's footman, thank you very much.'

They started moving again, but Marchan was not sure if they had been joined by the Baron's man or not. He guessed not, but was soon proved wrong.

'Why are you following us?' Dana's voice was starting to sound angry.

'I am merely fulfilling my duties, madam. You appear to be going toward the front doors. I am also ordered to the front doors.'

'In that case,' Dana replied. 'We will let you pass. I'm sure your duties are more important than my fears. Please continue ahead of us.'

'Thank you, m'lady.

After a minute they continued and then Marchan was put down. David uncovered him and stepped away. Dana came up and hugged Marchan.

'It's not safe for you here,' she said. 'I am suprised by how dangerous. The Baron of the castle hates dwarves and any one associated with them. I have had to disclaim you as my son so that they would stop insulting you to my face.'

'The Healer told me some of it,' said Marchan. 'Will you come with me?'

'I can't', Dana replied. 'They would claim you kidnapped me and then hunt you down. You can stay out of sight much easier without me. The Healer will get the Duke back on his feet and we'll follow in the carriage. Make for the capital. We'll find each other there. I love you!'

'And I love you,' said Marchan. 'Promise me that you'll stay alive and we'll see each other in the capital.'

'I promise!' she said.

David wrapped Marchan up again and carried him outside. Marchan soon found himself hiding inside the carriage with promises of help getting out of the castle after dark. At least he didn't have to worry about Hand and his friends. He waited for several hours, but eventually nature came calling. He tried to hold on, but when there is nothing else to do, a pain eventually becomes intolerable. Marchan peeked out. The courtyard seemed to be empty. He snuck out and slipped into the stables. He found a quiet corner and added his mess to the general manure. He was returning to the carriage when he heard steps in the courtyard. He slipped to where he could see without being seen.

'Where is the dwarf now?' a voice asked.

'I do not know, my lord,' came a very subservient reply. Oddly, Marchan was able to recognize it. It was Hand's voice! Very unlike his voice when Marchan had met him ten minutes earlier, but definitely his.

'Find him, I want him to suffer the way my brother did.'

'Yes, my lord.'

Marchan finally saw Hand and a few others come out to the carriage. They searched it and then looked around and walked toward the stables. Marchan ran. He ran quickly and upon seeing a ladder climbed it as quick as a squirrel. He discovered it led into the loft and was soon buried under mounds of hay and straw.

His pursuers made plenty of noise below him. He had no trouble tracking their progress. They even called out to each other where Marchan wasn't. If they were trying to sneak up on him, they were doing it very badly. Eventually, they climbed the ladder. Hand was in the lead and soon five men were in the loft. They started to grab pitchforks and stab into the straw, but Hand stopped them.

'Forget it,' he said. 'All we're going to do is make ourselves sneeze. Any story I ever heard said that dwarves react badly to grass and hay. Something in their makeup. It'ld be as stupid for him to hide here as for us to hide in poison ivy. Come on, let's go.'

Marchan wondered what on earth Hand was talking about.