As it was, Dray-yan was able to keep the iron ore flowing, and provided the Dragonarmies with excellent weapons.
The draconian army had already entered the secret tunnel. Realgar had been about ready to launch his attack when the opening of Northgate and the arrival of outsiders derailed his plot. He had tried to kill the Talls himself, hoping to get rid of them before anyone else found out. Draconian engineers had repaired and rebuilt the murder holes above Anvil’s Echo. Their work was supposed to be secret, for the draconian commander intended to use the murder holes in case the Hylar army invaded.
Realgar had no time for secrets. He sent his Theiwar up there with orders to roll the boulders down on the bridge.
This turned out to be not nearly as easy as Realgar had imagined. The Theiwar were not physically strong, and they had difficulty wrestling the boulders into position. They could not see their targets—the magical light of the wizard’s staff blinded them whenever they peered over the edge of the murder holes—and they let the boulders fall rather than trying to aim them. The Talls escaped, and Realgar found himself in trouble with the draconian commander, a detestable lizard named Grag, who railed at him that he had given away one of their best strategic advantages.
“You may have cost us the war,” Grag said to him coldly. “Why did you not summon me and my men? We would have dealt swiftly with this scum. In fact, you would have been rewarded. These criminals were the instigators in the revolt of the human slaves. There is a bounty on their heads. Because of your bungling, they are now deep in the heart of Thorbardin, beyond our reach. Who knows what mischief they will cause?”
Realgar cursed himself for not having summoned the draconians to help him kill the Talls. He had not known that there was money to be made out of these Talls or he most certainly would have.
“These slaves are coming to Thorbardin,” Grag had gone on, fuming. “They plan to seek a way inside. There are eight hundred humans out there, practically on your doorstep!”
“Not eight hundred warriors?” Realgar asked in alarm.
“No. About half are children and old people, but the men and some of the women are stout fighters, and they have a god or two on their side. Weak gods, of course, but they have proven a nuisance to us in the past.”
“I hope you are not saying you are afraid of a few hundred human slaves and their puny gods?” Realgar asked with a sneer.
“I can deal with them,” Grag returned grimly, “but it will mean dividing my forces, fighting a battle on two fronts with the possibility of being flanked on both.”
“They have not yet entered the mountain,” Realgar said. “They would need the permission of the Council to do so, and that will not be easily granted. I have heard it said that they have brought with them a cursed artifact known as the Helm of Grallen. Not even Hornfel is so soft or so stupid as to permit eight hundred humans to come traipsing inside Thorbardin, especially when they’re cursed! Do not worry, Grag. I will be in attendance at the Council meeting. I will do what must be done to insure that our plans go forward.”
Realgar had sent out his informants to spread the word that the strangers brought with them the cursed helm of a dead prince. Everyone knew the dark tale, though speaking about it in public had been outlawed by the Hylar for three centuries. Having done what he could to turn the people against these strangers, Realgar went to the meeting of the Council.
The Theiwar wizard did not wear robes. Realgar was a renegade, as were most dwarven wizards. He knew nothing of the Orders of High Sorcery. He did not even know that his magic came to him as a gift of the dark god, Nuitari, who had taken a liking to these dwarven savants. Realgar had no spellbook, for he could neither read nor write. He cast the spells his master had cast before him, having learned them from his master before him, and so on back through time.
Realgar wore armor to the Council meeting, and his was excellent armor, for the Theiwar had a gift for crafting steel. His helm was made of leather specially fitted with smoked glass over the eyeslits to protect his light-sensitive eyes. The mask had the additional advantage of preventing anyone from seeing his face, which resembled that of a weasel, for he had a long narrow nose, small squinty eyes, and a weak chin covered with a scraggly beard.
Realgar had not even entered the Court of Thanes before Rance accosted him.
“What do you know about these Talls?” Rance demanded.
“Not so loud!” Realgar hissed, and he drew Rance off to one side.
“I hear that these Talls entered the Northgate and came through your realm! They have with them the accursed helm. There is a wizard among them and a Neidar! Why did you let them in the gate? Why did you allow them to get this far? What will this do to our plans?”
“If you’ll shut up for a moment, I’ll tell you,” said Realgar. “I didn’t ‘let’ them in. They destroyed the gate, which already marks them as criminals. As for the helm, it may be a curse for the Hylar and a blessing for us. Keep your mouth shut, and follow my lead.”
Rance did not like this, for he did not trust his Theiwar brother in the slightest. Had they been alone, he would have hounded Realgar until he had answers, but Hornfel had arrived and he was casting suspicious glances in their direction. They could not be seen to be too cozy. Muttering beneath his breath, Rance stomped into the Court and went to take his seat on the Throne of the Daergar. Realgar went to take his place on his throne.
The Council of Thanes was about to convene.
11
The Helm of Grallen speaks.
Flint makes a wager.
he Court of Thanes was an imposing structure located on an outer wall of the Life Tree. Hylar soldiers in full regalia marched the companions through double doors of bronze and into a long, imposing hallway lined with columns. At the end of the hall was a curved dais on which stood nine thrones. The thrones were carved of striated marble, each a different color, ranging from white to gray, reddish brown to green. The throne belonging to the Dead was carved of black obsidian. The ninth throne, standing in the center, was larger than the rest, and it was carved of pure white marble and adorned with gold and silver.
The soldiers formed two rows along the line of columns. Arman Kharas brought the companions forward to stand beneath a rotunda in front of the thrones. So placed, a person addressing the Council would address the High King, whose throne stood in front, with the other Thanes looking on from either side. Since there was no High King, the speaker was relegated to the middle of the hall in order to face all the Thanes at once or he had to constantly turn this way and that to talk to all the Thanes, thus putting the speaker at a considerable disadvantage.
Flint walked in front of his comrades. He carried the Helm of Grallen in his hands. There had been a brief altercation between him and Arman outside the Court as to which of them should carry the Helm. Truthfully, Flint didn’t want anything to do with the cursed thing and he would have been glad to relinquish it, but his pride had been hurt and he wasn’t about to let the Hylar have it. Then, too, the promise of Reorx was always at the back of Flint’s mind.
Arman Kharas did not want the helm either. He had asked to carry it because he felt honor bound to do so and he graciously did not press the issue, stating that he feared an altercation might lead to bloodshed.
Tanis came behind Flint with Sturm at his side. Raistlin and Caramon followed, keeping Tasslehoff between them. Raistlin had threatened to cast a sleep spell on the kender if he opened his mouth, and while ordinarily Tasslehoff would have found being “magicked” quite a charming prospect, he didn’t want to miss anything that might happen with the dwarves and thus he was torn. He eventually decided that he could be magicked any day, while appearing before the Council of Thanes was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so he determined to make a heroic effort to keep his mouth shut.
The Thanes sat on their thrones, maintaining an outwardly calm demeanor, though the unsealing of the gate and the arrival of the accursed helm had been a shock. The only one who was truly
unfazed was the Thane of the Aghar, Highbluph Bluph of the Bluph clan, who was sound asleep. He continued to sleep through most of the proceedings, rousing only a when a particularly prodigious snore shook him awake. When that happened, he blinked, yawned, scratched himself, and went back to sleep.
Flint took note of the Thanes, as Arman Kharas introduced them, marking which might be friendly and which were dangerous. Hornfel of the Hylar was a dwarf of stately mien and noble bearing, grave and dignified. His intelligent gaze fixed intently upon each one of the companions. His expression grew troubled as he looked at Flint and went grim at the sight of the helm.
The Theiwar, Realgar, whose throne stood in the darkest of the dark shadows, eyed them with frowning dislike, as did the Daergar Thane, Rance. Flint was not surprised by this—dark dwarves hated everyone. What made him uneasy was an air of smugness about the Theiwar. Flint could not see Realgar’s eyes behind the smoked glass of his helm, but there was a sneering curl to the lips which Flint found unsettling, as though Realgar knew something others did not. Flint determined to keep his own eyes on the Theiwar.
The leader of the Daewar, Gneiss, was a very imposing figure, decked out in his war panoply, but that seemed about all that could be said for him. Tufa, of the Klar, had the same wild-eyed look that characterized all the Klar, even those who were sane. Tufa kept flicking uncertain glances at Hornfel, as though waiting to be told what to think. Rance of the Daergar would be the Neidar’s enemy just because that was how it had always been and always would be. The question was whether the Daergar were allied with the Theiwar in whatever mischief they were plotting.
When all the Thanes had been introduced, Flint made a respectful bow to the empty throne of the Kingdom of the Dead, and he bowed defiantly before the other empty throne, that belonging to the Neidar. Hornfel looked grave at this. Realgar snorted loudly, waking the Highbluph and causing him to grumble before curling back on his throne and dozing off again.
Flint began his own introductions. “I am Flint Fire-forge.” He turned to Tanis. “This is—”
Realgar rudely interrupted. “Why aren’t these criminals in chains and leg irons? They destroyed the Northgate. They are assassins and spies. Why aren’t they in the dungeon?”
“We are not spies,” said Flint angrily. “We bring urgent news and a warning from the world beyond the mountain. Queen Takhisis, whom we dwarves know as False Metal, has returned from the Abyss and brought her evil dragons with her. She has created dragon-men, fearsome warriors led by Dragon Highlords, who are waging war on the world. Many realms have already fallen to the darkness, including Qualinesti. Thorbardin may be next.”
All the Thanes began talking at once, shouting and gesticulating, jabbing fingers at each other and at Flint, who shouted and jabbed right back.
“Our priests would have certainly known if False Metal had returned,” Gneiss said scornfully. “We have seen no signs.”
“As for this claim of dragons and dragon-men, are we children to believe such tales?” Rance cried.
The Highbluph, jolted out of his nap, looked around in bewilderment.
“What’s going on?” Sturm asked Tanis, who was the only one beside Flint who spoke Dwarvish. The knight was accustomed to the stately formalities of the Solamnics, and he was shocked at the turmoil. “This is a drunken brawl, not a meeting of kings!”
“Dwarves do not stand on ceremony,” said Tanis. “Flint told them that Takhisis has returned. They’re disputing his claim.”
“I will prove they are spies!” Realgar’s voice was thin and rasping and had a whining quality to it, as though he considered himself perpetually ill-used. “My people tried to arrest this lot, but they were driven off by Arman Kharas and his thugs, who had no right to be in our realm.”
“I had every right to deliver my brother from your dungeons,” Arman countered hotly.
“He broke our laws,” Realgar said sullenly.
“He broke no law. You kidnapped him in order to try to extort ransom—”
“That is a lie!” Realgar jumped to his feet.
“Is it also a lie that we had to run for our lives across Anvil’s Echo?” Arman Kharas thundered. “Your people dropped boulders down through the murder holes in an effort to crush us to death!”
“What is this?” Hornfel also rose from his throne. He fixed a baleful gaze on the Theiwar Thane. “I had not heard of this until now!”
Tanis translated the Dwarvish for his friends. Flint did not take his attention from the Theiwar. He had been trying to steer the conversation back to the reason why he and his friends had come but was not making much headway. Suddenly Flint knew what the Theiwar was going to say and he realized in dismay that he and Arman had both been cleverly manipulated.
“I admit that we did attack our Hylar cousins,” said Realgar. “My people were trying to stop these criminals from entering our realm. The Talls are spies. They tried to sneak into Thorbardin unseen, bringing with them the accursed helm in order to destroy us. They would have succeeded, but their crime was foiled by my people.”
“Spies? Criminals?” Hornfel repeated, exasperated. “You keep saying this, Realgar, but what basis do you have for such accusations?” His voice took on an edge. “That also does not explain why you tried to kill my son and Hylar soldiers.”
Flint knew what was coming. He saw the pit before him, but by the time he saw it, he was already lying helpless at the bottom.
“Yes, we tried to kill them, in order to protect Thorbardin. These Talls”—Realgar jabbed a finger at Tanis and the others—“and their Neidar toady opened the gate in order that an army of humans, which now lies hidden in the foothills, can launch at attack against us!”
The Thanes were stunned into silence. All of them, Hornfel included, cast dark, suspicious glances at Flint and his friends.
Realgar sat back on his throne. “I hate to tell you this, Hornfel, but your son is part of the plot. My people were going to place the Talls under arrest. Your son rescued them. He has revealed our defenses to them.” Realgar paused, then said smoothly, “Or perhaps you already know all this, Hornfel. Perhaps you are in on the plot as well.”
“That’s a lie!” Arman shouted angrily. He lunged at Realgar. The soldiers, weapons drawn, quickly surrounded him and, for good measure, also surrounded the companions.
“This is how Hornfel plans to become High King,” Realgar cried, “by selling Thorbardin to the humans!”
The Highbluph was now adding to the confusion by standing on his throne and shrieking at the top of his lungs that they were all about to murdered by the Talls. Gneiss, the Daewar thane, was on his feet, pompously declaiming rules of order to which no one was listening. The Klar Thane was on his feet, too, with a knife in his hand.
Tanis gave up translating. He simply told everyone what was going on.
“This is terrible!” Sturm said grimly. “Now they will never let the refugees inside!”
“The question is: how did he know about the refugees?” Raistlin hissed. “Tell Flint to ask him that.”
“I don’t see how that matters?” Sturm said impatiently.
“Of course, you don’t,” Raistlin returned caustically
“Ask him, Flint.”
The dwarf shook his head.
“They won’t listen,” he said grimly. “We walked into Realgar’s trap. Not much I can do about it now.”
Hornfel was forced to defend himself, strenuously denying the charges leveled at him by Realgar. Arman Kharas denied them, too, stating that he had come upon the companions by accident, adding that he himself had placed them under arrest and brought them before the council.
“Along with the curse of Grallen,” Realgar shouted.
“Silence, all of you,” Hornfel roared and, finally, the other Thanes ceased arguing. He glared at them until they all resumed their seats. The soldiers released Arman, who smoothed his beard and glowered at Realgar, who regarded the young dwarf with a leer.
Turning to Flint, H
ornfel said in grim tones, “Answer me, Flint Fireforge of the Neidar. Are these charges true?”
“No, the charges are not true, great Thane.”
“Ask him about the humans hiding in the valley!” Realgar snarled.
“We do come in the name of a group of humans,” Flint said.
“He admits it!” Realgar cried in triumph.
“But they are not soldiers. They are refugees!” Flint countered angrily. “Men, women, and children. Not an army! And we did not try to sneak into Thorbardin. The Northgate opened for us.”
“How?” Hornfel asked. “How did you find the gate that has been hidden these three hundred years?”
Flint answered reluctantly, knowing this was exactly the wrong thing to say, for it played right into the Theiwar’s hands, yet there was no other explanation he could offer. “The Helm of Grallen led us here and opened the gate for us.”
Raistlin was at Tanis’s side, his hand closed over Tanis’s arm.
“Tell Flint to ask the Theiwar how he knew about the refugees,” Raistlin urged.
“What does it matter?” Tanis shrugged. “Once the gate was open, his people probably went to investigate.”
“Impossible,” Raistlin countered. “The Theiwar cannot abide sunlight!”
Tanis stared at him. “That’s true …” “Hush, both of you!” Sturm cautioned. Hornfel had taken a step forward. He raised his hand for silence.
“The charges made against you and your friends are very serious, Flint Fireforge,” he stated. “You have entered our realm without permission. You have destroyed the gate.”
“That wasn’t our fault,” cried Tasslehoff, and he was immediately half-smothered by Caramon’s large hand.
“You bring among us the accursed helm—”
“The Helm of Grallen is not cursed,” Flint said wrathfully, “and I can prove it.”
Lifting the helm, he jammed it onto his head.
Dragons of the Dwarven Depths Page 32