Dragons of the Dwarven Depths

by Margaret Weis

  Realgar sneered. “As for determining who will be High King, axes, swords, and spears will do that, not some rusty hunk of metal.” The Thane scratched his neck, plucked off a flea and squeezed it between his fingers. He tossed it aside.

  Dray-yan was patient, as he continued his questioning. Emperor Ariakas was vitally interested in obtaining this hammer. Dray-yan doubted very much if the emperor cared who was king of the dwarves. “But the hammer is reputed to possess magical powers.”

  Realgar gave the draconians a sharp glance. He thought he knew what this was about now. “The dragonlances. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “I can see where that might interest Verminaard.”

  Dray-yan and Grag exchanged glances. Grag shook his head.

  “His Lordship knows nothing about dragonlances,” said Dray-yan.

  “They’re lances used to kill dragons—and other lizards,” Realgar added with an ugly grin.

  Dray-yan looked grimly at the Theiwar. He would have liked to have throttled the stinking little maggot. He had to be conciliatory, however. Their plans depended on him.

  “I will inform His Lordship about these dragon-lances,” Dray-yan said. “In the meantime, the hammer is said to be located in the …” He forgot the name and glanced at Grag for the information.

  “Valley of the Thanes,” Grag supplied.

  “Two dwarves have gone seeking it—”

  “Let two hundred go. They won’t find it. Even if they do, what will it matter?” Realgar leered at Dray-yan. “Or perhaps you see yourself as King Beneath the Mountain, Lizard?”

  The aurak answered in draconian for the benefit of Grag. “Trust me, you filthy little weasel, I have no plans to become High King of a bunch of hairy, vermin-infested rodents. Being slave-master will be punishment enough. Still we all must make sacrifices for the cause.”

  Grag’s tail twitched in agreement.

  Realgar, who didn’t understand draconian, looked irritably from one to the other. “What did you say to him?”

  “I told Grag I dare not dream of rising to such exalted heights, Thane,” said Dray-yan. “To serve my Lord Verminaard is the extent of my humble ambitions.” He paused, “I cannot say the same for Lord Verminaard, however.”

  Realgar’s bushy brows came together over his squinty eyes, causing them to nearly vanish from sight. “What do you mean?”

  Dray-yan looked at Grag. “Should we tell him?”

  Grag nodded solemnly. “The Thane has been of great help to us. It is right that he should know.”

  “Know what?” Realgar demanded.

  “Let us consider what might happen if Lord Verminaard obtained the Hammer of Kharas and became High King of Thorbardin. He would control the iron ore production. He would receive the profits.”

  “No human can be High King!” cried Realgar, swelling with fury. “The hammer is a hunk of metal. Nothing more.”

  “Her Dark Majesty does not consider the hammer a ‘hunk of metal,’” said Dray-yan. “She might also have an interest in these spears.”

  “Lances,” said Grag. “Dragonlances.”

  Dray-yan shrugged. “If, as you say, the hammer is nothing but a ‘hunk of metal,’ then you have nothing to fear. If the hammer does truly possess magical powers, then Emperor Ariakas, in the name of Her Dark Majesty, will reward the person who brings it to him and make that person High King of Thorbardin. And that person will be Lord Verminaard.”

  “Verminaard has no right to rule us!” Realgar declared sulkily.

  Dray-yan sighed deeply. “His Lordship’s ambition is vast, as are his appetites. Not that this in any way diminishes his greatness,” he added hastily.

  “I asked for his help in making me king,” Realgar stated. “If I had known he planned to claim the throne himself, I would have never brought him in on this deal. I will be king, no one else, especially no human.”

  He brooded awhile, then regarded Dray-yan with speculative interest. “You seem to be intelligent—for a lizard, that is.”

  Dray-yan didn’t dare glance at Grag, for fear they’d both burst out laughing.

  “I am grateful for your good opinion, Thane,” said Dray-yan. He added, with a sigh, “I wish His Lordship shared it.”

  “You speak as though you were willing to switch allegiance,” said Realgar, “serve a new master.”

  “Grag and I might consider it,” said Dray-yan, “depending on what was in it for us.”

  “Your own share of the profits.”

  Dray-yan and Grag discussed this proposition.

  “The weasel has taken the bait,” said the aurak in draconian. “As we discussed, when this hammer is recovered I will keep the Thanes distracted—or rather, ‘His Lordship’ will keep them distracted. Your troops will enter Thorbardin, take over and occupy key dwarven fortifications.”

  Grag nodded. “The troops are assembled in the tunnel, awaiting my command. If the hammer is found, the dwarves will take it to the location they call the Temple of the Stars. Once the Thanes have assembled, we can seal the exits, trapping them and the hammer inside.”

  “After his lordship has met his sad end,” Dray-yan said, “and the hammer is safely in my hands, I will have a little talk with the Thanes. I will let them know who is going to be in charge from now on.” He cast a baleful glance at Realgar.

  “We draconians will be the first in the Dark Queen’s service to conquer a nation of Ansalon,” Grag observed. “Emperor Ariakas cannot choose but to grant us the respect we deserve. Perhaps someday a draconian will be the one to wear the Crown of Power.”

  Dray-yan could almost feel that crown upon his own scaly head. He reluctantly tore himself away from his dream and returned to business.

  “Grag and I have spoken,” said Dray-yan to the Theiwar. “We agree to your terms.”

  “I thought you lizards might,” said Realgar with a sneer.

  “We have devised a plan to deal with His Lordship,” Dray-yan continued, “but first, Grag and I are concerned about these six assassins who have entered your realm. These men are in the pay of the elves. They were sent into Pax Tharkas to try to kill His Lordship. He survived the attack, but they managed to escape.”

  “You sound as though you’re afraid of these criminals,” said Realgar.

  Dray-yan’s claws twitched. He had something very special in mind for Realgar once he took over.

  “I do not fear them,” Dray-yan said. “I do respect them, however, as should you. They are clever, and they are skilled, and they have the blessings of their gods.”

  “And they are dead,” said Realgar smugly. “You need not worry about them.”

  Dray-yan’s tongue flicked in and out. He didn’t believe Realgar.

  “Dead? How?” he asked sharply.

  He was interrupted by a dwarf, who came running into the Thane’s sinkhole of a dwelling place. The dwarf began gabbling in his own language. Realgar listened with interest. His scraggly beard parted in a rotted-toothed grin. At almost the same moment, a baaz draconian entered. He saluted and waited for Grag to acknowledge him.

  The baaz made his report, who relayed the news to Dray-yan.

  “A small band of humans are approaching the North-gate. It looks like a scouting party.” “My fugitive slaves?”

  “Almost certainly. One of them is that extremely tall Plainsman who fought Verminaard. He leads others like him, all dressed in animal skins—six total. An elf lord travels with them. He was also seen at Pax Tharkas.”

  “I take it we have received the same news,” said Realgar, who was watching the draconians closely. “Human warriors have arrived at Northgate.”

  “Yes,” Dray-yan responded. “The same criminals who escaped us in Pax Tharkas.”

  “Praise Her Dark Majesty,” said Realgar, rubbing his dirty hands together in satisfaction. “They will not escape us here.”

  “I will send my forces to destroy them,” Grag began.

  “No, wait!” Realgar interposed. “They’re not to
be slain. I want at least two of them captured alive.”

  “A live enemy is a dangerous enemy,” said Grag. “Kill them and be done with it.”

  “Normally, I would agree,” said Realgar, “but I need this scum as proof to Hornfel and the other Council members that a human army is planning to invade us. I will bring these spies before the Council, exhibit them, and make them confess. Hornfel will have no choice but to close the Northgate, which will ensure that our secret dealings with the dragonarmy will continue. The Theiwar will grow rich and powerful. The Hylar will starve. I will soon be ruler under the mountain— hammer or no hammer.”

  “You know, of course, that there is no human army,” Grag said. “They are merely desperate slaves. Why should these humans say otherwise?”

  “When I am finished with them, they will not only claim they are leaders of an army sent here to attack us, they will believe their confessions, and so will all who hear them. In the meantime, you and your troops will go down into the forest, track down these other humans, and kill them.”

  “I do not take my orders from you—” Grag began, his clawed hand reaching for the hilt of his sword.

  “Patience, Commander,” Dray-yan counseled, adding in their own language, “This Realgar may be a weasel, but he is a cunning weasel. Do as he commands in regard to the slaves. Take them alive. We will let him think he is in control for the time being. Meanwhile, I want you to make certain he is telling the truth. Find out if the assassins have been slain, as he claims. If not, you deal with them.”

  “Stop hissing at each other! From now on, you’ll speak Common when you’re in my presence. What did you just say to him?” Realgar demanded suspiciously.

  “What you told me to say, Thane,” Dray-yan replied humbly. “I relayed your orders to Grag, telling him his men are to capture the Plainsmen alive.”

  Realgar grunted. “Take them to the dungeons once you have them. I will be there to question them.”

  “Commander, you heard the Thane’s orders,” said Dray-yan in Common. He glanced back at Realgar. “You have no objection, I take it, to allowing Commander Grag to view the bodies of the six assassins?”

  “Nothing easier,” said Realgar. “I will send some of my people to escort him.” He gestured to a couple of Theiwar, who stood lurking in the shadows.

  “I suppose this Grag is capable of handling my orders?” Realgar added, casting the draconian commander a disparaging glance.

  “He’s very intelligent,” Dray-yan replied dryly, “for a lizard.”

  16

  Duncan’s Tomb.

  Yet another Kharas.

  he helm was cursed,” Arman said, his voice trembling with anger and fear. He rounded on Flint. “You have lured us to our doom!”

  Flint’s gut twisted. He imagined for one terrible moment what it would be like to be imprisoned here, left to die, then he remembered touching the stone hand of the Prince, the feeling of peace that had stolen over him.

  “You didn’t expect to walk in and find the Hammer lying on the floor, did you?” he asked Arman. “We’ll be tested, like as not, before we find it. We might well die, but we weren’t sent here to die.”

  Arman considered this. “You are probably right,” he said more calmly. “I should have thought of that. A test, of course, to see which of us is worthy.”

  Sunlight edged in through the slit windows. Arman reached into a leather pouch he wore on his belt and drew out a folded piece of yellowed parchment. He carefully opened the folds, then walked over to the light to study it.

  “What have you got there?” Flint asked curiously. Arman did not reply.

  “It’s a map,” said Tasslehoff, crowding close beside the dwarf, peering over his elbow. “I love maps. What’s it a map of?”

  Arman shifted his position so that his back was to the kender.

  “The tomb,” he answered. “It was drawn up by the original architect. It has been in our family for generations.”

  “Then all we have to do is use the map to find the Hammer!” said Tas excitedly.

  “No, we can’t, you doorknob,” said Flint. “The Hammer was placed in the tomb after Duncan was buried here. It wouldn’t be on the map.” He eyed Arman. “Would it?”

  “No,” said Arman, studying the map, then glancing around at their surroundings, then going back to the map.

  “Mind if I take a look?” Flint asked.

  “The map is very old and fragile,” said Arman. “It should not be handled.” He folded the map and slid it back into his belt.

  “But at least it will show us the way out,” said Tas. “There must be a front door.”

  “And what good will that do when we’re a mile in the air, you doorknob?” Flint demanded.

  “Oh,” said Tas. “Yeah, right.”

  The magical archway through which they had passed would also have been added after Duncan’s death, undoubtedly put there by the same powerful force that had ripped the tomb out of the ground and hoisted it into the clouds. The same force that might still be lurking inside the tomb, waiting for them.

  Arman paced the chamber, peering into shadowy corners and glancing out the arrow slits to the ground far below. He turned to Flint. “The first thing you should do is search for the exit.”

  “I’ll search,” said Flint grimly, “for what I came for—the Hammer.”

  As if conjured up by the word, the musical note sounded again. The note was no longer faint as it had been below, but rich and melodious. Long after the sound ceased, the vibrations lingered on the air.

  “That noise goes all the way through me. I can even feel it in my teeth,” said Tas, charmed. He stared at the ceiling and pointed. “It’s coming from up there.”

  “There are stairs over here, leading up,” Arman reported from the far side of the chamber. He paused, then said stiffly, “I’m sorry I lost my nerve. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

  Flint nodded noncommittally. He intended to conduct his own inspection of the room. “Where does the map say we are?”

  “This is the Hall of Enemies,” said Arman. “These trophies honor King Duncan’s battles.”

  Various weapons, shields, and other implements of war were on display, along with etched silver plaques relating the triumphs of King Duncan over his enemies, including his exploits in the famous war against the ogres. There were no trophies from the last war, however, the most bitter and terrible war fought against his own kind.

  Flint caught the kender in the act of trying to pick up a large ogre battle-axe.

  “Put that down!” Flint said, incensed. “What else have you stuck in your pouches—”

  “I don’t have any pouches,” Tas pointed out sadly. “I had to leave them behind to put on the dwarf armor.”

  “Your pockets, then,” Flint spluttered, “and if I find that you’ve stolen something—”

  “I never stole in my life!” Tas protested. “Stealing is wrong.”

  Flint sucked in a breath. “Well, then if I find that you’ve ‘borrowed’ anything or picked up something that someone’s dropped—”

  “Stealing from the dead is extremely wrong,” Tas said solemnly. “Cursed, even.”

  “Would you let me finish a sentence?” Flint roared.

  “Yes, Flint,” said Tas meekly. “What was it you wanted to say?”

  Flint glared. “I forget. Come with me.”

  He turned on his heel and walked to the corner where Arman had reported finding the stairs. Tas sidled over to one of the displays and put down a small bone-handled knife that had somehow managed to make its way up his shirt sleeve. He gave the knife a pat and sighed, then went to join Flint, who was staring intently at several hammers stacked up against a wall.

  “I guess it’s all right if you steal from the dead,” said Tas.

  “Me?” Flint said, incensed. “I’m not—” He paused, not sure what to say. “What about the Hammer?” Tas asked. “That’s not stealing,” said Flint. “It’s … finding. There’s
a difference.”

  “So if I ‘find’ something I can take it?” Tas asked. He had, after all, found that bone-handled knife.

  “I didn’t say that!” “Yes, you did.”

  “Where’s Arman?” Flint realized suddenly that he and Tas were alone.

  “I think he’s gone up those stairs,” said Tas, pointing. “When you’re not shouting, I can hear him talking to someone.”

  “Who in blazes could he be talking to?” Flint wondered uneasily. He cocked an ear, and sure enough, he heard what sounded like two voices, one of which was definitely Arman’s.

  “A ghost!” Tas guessed, and he started to race up the stairs.

  Flint seized hold of the kender’s shirttail. “Not so fast.”

  “But if there is a ghost, I don’t want to miss it!” Tas cried, wriggling in Flint’s grasp.

  “Shush! I want to hear what they’re talking about.”

  Flint crept up the narrow stairs. Tas sneaked along behind him. The staircase was steep, and they couldn’t see where the steps led. Soon, Flint’s breath began to come in gasps and his leg muscles started to cramp. He pressed on and suddenly came to an abrupt halt. Two of the stone stairs jutted outward at an odd angle, leaving an opening about the size of a large human. Light glimmered from within.

  “Huh,” Flint grunted. “Secret passage.”

  “I love secret passages!” Tas started to crawl inside.

  Flint grabbed hold of his ankle and dragged him out.

  “Me first.”

  Flint crawled into the passage. At the other end, a small wooden door stood open a crack. Flint peeked through. Tas couldn’t see for the dwarf’s bulk, and he squirmed and wriggled to wedge his head in beside him.

  “The burial chamber,” said Flint softly. “The king lies here.” He removed his helm.

  An ornate marble sarcophagus stood in the center of the room. A carven figure of the king graced the top. At the far end two immense doors of bronze and gold were sealed shut. The great bronze doors would have been opened only on special occasions, such as the yearly anniversary of the High King’s death. Statues of dwarven warriors ranged around the tomb, standing silent and eternal guard. Light gleamed off a golden anvil placed in front of the tomb and on a stand of armor made of gold and steel.