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the exhaustion. It feels good because it makes us feel alive.” A throaty, hoarse chuckle came from the dwarf, and Ren realized it was the first time he had ever heard one laugh.
    “For all eternity, we will make sure the Valley of the Falls belongs to you and your children, Ren. On this you have the promise of the dwarves.” The dwarf spoke so solemnly that the ranger couldn’t doubt the sincerity of his new friends.
    Ren exchanged hearty handshakes with the dwarves and mounted his war-horse. He galloped through the woods without looking back. He would return in a few weeks after finding Shal and Tarl and enjoying a long, peaceful visit. His mind told him he would find them safe and well, but his heart nagged that something was terribly wrong in the city of Phlan.

3
City of Unrest
    In the war-torn streets of Phlan, residents were busy with last-minute shopping and trading. Evening approached. Although night and day were artificial in the gods-forsaken cavern, the citizens knew darkness might mean a new battle at the city walls. They wisely observed a self-imposed curfew and rarely ventured out after dark.
    Among the hustling villagers was a tall, white-haired man. The whiteness of his hair belied his age, but his muscled frame erased any question of his youth. He had spent the day inspecting the city walls, troops, and weapons.
    He ducked into a bakery, accidentally slamming the door behind him with a bang.
    “Afternoon, Tarl. You sure know how to make an entrance,” chuckled a slender, elderly woman. “Usually the bell above the door is enough for us to know you’re here.”
    Tarl smiled, embarrassed. “Sorry about that, Celie. I’ve got a lot on my mind lately. But I’ll sleep better knowing our troops are well-equipped and morale is high. Now, do you have any tarts left to improve my morale?”
    The woman behind the counter rattled off the list of her remaining baked goods. Tarl made his selections, and Celie began to load them into his basket. “You really should be heading home, Celie, while people are still on the streets. A woman your size could be carried off in a hurry by one of those fiends that attacked a few days ago.” Tarl never failed to wonder how a woman who had been a baker all her life could stay so thin.
    “You’re my last customer, Tarl. Once you’re on your way, I’m going to bolt the shutters and head for home. My cats will probably be wondering where I am.” Celie added up Tarl’s purchases.
    Without a word, Tarl went to latch the bakery’s shutters. Their stout oak wouldn’t be much good against fiends or magical fire, but bolting the shutters somehow felt right amid the chaos of life in the cavern. When Tarl was finished, Celie scolded him. “Now, you know you didn’t have to do that. I’d have gotten to it.”
    “Can’t have anything happen to the best bakery on the Moonsea, now can we? And I’ll be walking you home, Celie. No arguing.”
    Celie made a face, though she knew Tarl was right. Tarl paid for his purchases, then Celie asked if he wouldn’t mind locking the back door for her. While his back was turned, she slipped a large poppyseed cake, his wife’s favorite, into his basket.
    They locked the shop together, then headed into the streets. Celie’s home was a little out of the way, but Tarl didn’t care.
    As they walked, Tarl told Celie of his pleasure at the readiness of the troops. He could see the relief on her face as he described the city’s condition.
    “Phlan has never looked stronger. We may be stuck in some magical hole, but we’re prepared for any type of battle. The priests have all been blessing buckets and buckets of arrows and crossbow bolts. They’re the best thing next to magic to destroy fiends.
    “The walls are solid and weren’t damaged at all when we were transported here. We lost less than two dozen men and women during the first attack. Our food stores look good. I’m certain we can weather this disaster like we have the other