Dark Thane

by Jeff Crook

  "Forgive me, my lord," Hextor cried, bowing low, almost to the floor.

  Jungor turned to the doctor, smiling with his face like a mask of death. "Again, I thank you for your services. Forgive me if I was impatient."

  "Not at all, my thane," the doctor answered nervously. He clutched his surgeon's bag to his chest as Astar led him to the door.

  When the doctor had gone and the door was shut, Jungor spun back to face Hextor. "Fool!" he hissed. "Do you want to give everything away? Leave us! Astar, clear those people away from the door and await me at the stair."

  Grudgingly, the two Hylar departed, leaving the thane alone with Ferro Dunskull.

  Jungor returned to the examination table. Kicking over the bucket that still contained his lost eye, he sat down wearily and leaned his head against the leg of the table. A few drops of blood trickled down his face like teardrops from his gaping socket. Ferro came closer and stooped beside him, his hand nervously fluttering over Jungor's shoulder as though he were afraid to touch him.

  "Is everything prepared?" Jungor asked in a low, tired voice.

  "It is, my lord," Ferro whispered eagerly. "My scouts on the plains report that Tarn has left Pax Tharkas with a small party of guards. Everything is in readiness."

  "Be careful," Jungor cautioned. "If anything should go awry, you know what must be done. It cannot be traced back to me."

  "Nothing will go wrong, Thane Stonesinger. Tarn Bellowgranite will not reach Thorbardin alive."

  8

  Captain Ilbars Bleakfell stopped before the tent and muttered a curse as he scraped a clod of clinging black mud from his boot. Around him, half a dozen campfires burned wanly in the misty twilight, each with its company of five or six miserable dwarf warriors huddling near it against the damp and cold. Though still several hours before sunset, the sun had already been swallowed by the thick mist that hung perpetually over this place. Known as The Bog, this swampy region lay on the Plains of Dergoth north of Thorbardin, between the mountain and the ruined magical fortress of Zhaman.

  "They call this a road?" Ilbars swore. "If this is a road, I'm a gully dwarf."

  "You stand now on a wandering ridgeback of land that stretches from the plains in the north to Thorbardin in the south," Ferro Dunskull said as he exited the tent, wiping his mouth on the back of his dusky hand. The pungent aroma of dwarf spirits wafted before him, and he belched a contented sigh. Waving his hand at their gray, dripping surroundings, he continued, "To either side of this road stretch endless miles of sucking bogs, strangling mud, quicksand, and bottomless pools."

  "Bah! Ridgeback of land!" the Daewar captain snorted. "There's a pool of water under my tent. And the flies!" He swatted the air about him, momentarily scattering the humming swarms of tiny bugs that hung perpetually around his head.

  "You don't get out of Thorbardin much, do you?" Ferro commented in disgust.

  "That's funny coming from a Daergar," Ilbars said with a sneer. "I thought you and your Theiwar were going to melt in the sun this morning."

  "We suffer so that we may be the first to greet our king," Ferro answered dryly.

  "An honor guard of Theiwar, led by a Daergar, come to welcome a Hylar king back to the mountain!" Ilbars laughed. "Why didn't they send gully dwarves and make a parade out of it?"

  "You forget that Tarn Bellowgranite is half-Daergar by his mother," Ferro muttered as he pushed past the Daewar captain and edged close to their fire. Two Theiwar warriors grumbled as they made room for him.

  "Now we Daewar, I can understand sending us to welcome the king," Ilbars continued, nodding his shaggy head toward a squad of the doughty warriors squatting around the next fire. "We're loyal and trustworthy. By my mother's beard, I wouldn't trust a Theiwar any farther than I could throw a spear."

  Ferro spat into the fire and glanced at the two Theiwar warriors sharing their camp. They glared into the crackling flames, obviously holding their tongues firmly in their teeth. Because Captain Bleakfell had been ordered by the Council of Thanes to meet the king and escort him back to Thorbardin, they dared not challenge him directly. He was well known as a brash and arrogant commander of the Council Guard and a close friend of the Daewar thane, Rughar Delvestone.

  "Well, at least we don't have any arrogant Hylar to deal with on this trip," Ilbars said, laughing.

  "That is a blessing," Ferro agreed. The two Theiwar snorted appreciatively but continued to say nothing. Ferro picked up a damp stick and began to poke at the fire, stirring up a plume of sparks that rose a few feet into the damp air before they died. Ilbars pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders and shuddered.

  "Is it summer yet?" he asked.

  "It's hard to say," Ferro sighed.

  "What a miserable place. I hope the king arrives before dark, if it ever grows completely dark here. I think it is never dark nor light, just this miserable interminable gray."

  The mist seemed to have drawn closer, fading to ghostly outlines of the stunted trees lining the opposite side of the road. Wisps of fog crept along the ground like ethereal serpents, nosing into the scattered tents of the Theiwar and Daewar guards.

  "Haven't we a Theiwar sorcerer who can dispel this fog?" Ilbars asked.

  Ferro shook his head in exasperation then looked up as they heard a sentry shout in challenge. After a few moments, a Theiwar scout hurried toward their campfire. Long strands of dank gray hair hung over his face, and droplets of oily water clung to his beard. His boots were spattered with black mud, his cloak tattered and filthy. He knelt beside Ferro to deliver his report, ignoring Captain Ilbars for the moment.

  "A large force is approaching from the north—" the scout said in a hurried whisper.

  "I am in command here," Ilbars angrily interrupted.

  The scout glanced disdainfully at the captain, but Ferro nodded his head. His lips curled in a sneer, the scout continued his report, now to Captain Ilbars. "They are not more than a league away."

  "How many?"

  "I could not tell in the mist. It was a large force, more than two score," the scout answered.

  "That will be the king's company," Ferro said, rising from the fire and straightening the short sword hanging at his belt. "I anticipated his arrival within the hour."

  "You might have told me that you had information as to the king's schedule," Ilbars said to Ferro.

  The Daergar ignored him, instead dismissing the scout and ordering the Theiwar guards to prepare for the king's arrival. Before he had finished, several tents were already being collapsed and packed away.

  Ilbars watched the activity in a confused fury. The Council of Thanes had sent him, after all. Ferro Dunskull was merely an advisor of scouts attached to his command by Thane Jungor Stonesinger. Yet ever since they had left the north gate of Thorbardin, the insufferable Daergar had acted as though he were in command. Ferro had chosen the location of their encampment in what Ilbars suspected was the most sodden and desolate part of The Bog, long leagues from Thorbardin. They might have awaited the king's arrival back in the foothills surrounding the mountain, high up above the stink of the bog and with good solid stone to rest their backs against. Against his better judgment, he had allowed the Daergar to lead them into this reeking morass, to make their camp amid the mud and the flies and the serpents.

  Ferro reappeared from the mist, followed by Ilbars's personal guard of six Daewar warriors. The captain approached him angrily, thrusting out his curly beard.

  "I am in command here," he said.

  "Of course you are, Captain. I shall see to the arrangement of the Theiwar troops while you take your warriors to greet our king and show him the way to our encampment," Ferro said hurriedly. He ducked into a tent then reappeared wearing a steel helmet with a bronze nasal and silver rivets.

  "I shall go ahead and welcome the king while you remain here," Ilbars said to him.

  Ferro bowed deferentially then hurried off to continue his supervision of the packing. Satisfied, Ilbars ordered his six guards into line and march
ed off into the mist.

  When they had gone, Ferro paused, listening. At a sharp word, the other Theiwar ceased their bustling activities and lined up in defensive ranks, hands on their weapons, faces staring grimly along the path Captain Ilbars and his guards had taken.

  Ilbars marched at the head of his company, his heavy boots slogging through the muck, pleased to have left Ferro Dunskull behind. He didn't like sharing the glory with anyone, especially a Daergar—not that there was much glory to be gleaned from this ceremonial duty. Still, the king would probably welcome the sight of a friendly face appearing unexpectedly as if by magic out of the gloomy mist, welcoming him home from his long and dangerous journey.

  He was within earshot of Tarn's company before he remembered why the king had gone in the first place—to rescue the Qualinesti elves. Ilbars reminded himself to be sure and ask the king how everything had gone. Not that it really mattered. The elves were no concern of his.

  Hearing the clank of armor approaching through the fog, the captain stopped his company and searched the road for a dry spot in which to kneel before the king. There wasn't one, and he supposed that a sweeping bow would have to satisfy the demands of protocol. He planted himself in the center of the road, his warriors arranged in a line behind him, their weapons held in salute, while he twitched his cloak out of a puddle and tried to brush the mud from his leather vest.

  Looking up with a broad smile splitting his beard, he saw a large group of shadowy figures approaching through the mist. Being Daewar, he did not share his Daergar and Theiwar cousins' ability to see the outline of heat that surrounded any living body, and at first he couldn't put his finger on it, but then it occurred to him that they were too tall, considerably taller than most dwarves.

  "Elves!" he muttered in disgust. "I hope the king hasn't brought a bunch of elves along. He's too generous, really."

  His warriors shuffled nervously. One of them cleared his throat and said, "Captain, I'm not so sure…"

  His voice trailed off as the mist parted, revealing a rank of armored reptilian creatures with leering faces and loaded crossbows poised for firing. At sight of the dwarves, they loosed a volley, cutting down half of Ilbars's force in one swipe.

  "Draconians!" the Daewar captain shouted, stumbling over one of his fallen guards.

  He fell facedown in the muck as another volley of crossbow bolts shrieked over his head. He struggled to his knees and tore frantically at his sheathed sword. Suddenly, a silver-scaled, clawed foot sank into the mud between his knees. Ilbars looked up, his sword half drawn, blinking through the muddy water running into his eyes, as the screams of his dying comrades shrilled in his ears.

  9

  Ferro turned and watched the faces of his Theiwar soldiers as the first cries of battle sounded through the thick mist. He was pleased to see sly grins spread across many of their faces, though a few looked as though they suffered a bad taste in their mouths. He had selected this band because he knew they could be trusted so long as they were sufficiently compensated. Among his own clan, Ferro couldn't be sure who might be on the payroll of their thane, Shahar Bellowsmoke. Shahar would not approve of what he was doing this day, not that the thane had a weak stomach for assassination. He was Daergar, after all, and Daergar drank intrigue with their mothers' milk.

  No, Shahar would oppose it because Tarn's premature death would help Jungor Stonesinger. Jungor wanted to return Thorbardin to its old ways, to its old hierarchies of the clans. For centuries, the Hylar had been the lords of Thorbardin. With the support of their Daewar lackeys, they had relegated the powerful and ancient Daergar clan to an inferior status, even calling them "dark dwarves," along with the magic-using Theiwar.

  Two things had changed all that. The Chaos War had so decimated the population of Thorbardin that no clan was powerful enough to rule over the others, and had any tried, they might have warred their race into oblivion. The Daewar revolt and exodus back to the ancient dwarf home of Thoradin, led by Severus Stonehand several years after the Chaos War, had left the remaining Hylar without their strongest allies. Historically, the Theiwar and Daergar had been too suspicious of one another to band together against the Hylar and Daewar. With most of the Daewar gone, the Hylar were left even more vulnerable than before.

  After the Daewar exodus, Tarn had welcomed dwarves of all clans to join him in the new city he was carving from the ruins of the North Gate complex—the least-damaged portion of Thorbardin after the destruction of the forces of Chaos. Most dwarves had gladly accepted. The Chaos dragons that had attacked their mountain stronghold had so undermined the foundations of all the dwarven cities that they were literally crumbling around their ears. Even Hybardin, the great city of the Hylar, carved from a huge stalactite that hung over the Urkhan Sea, had been abandoned after large sections had broken off and fallen, taking hundreds of Hylar to their deaths—including Belicia Slateshoulders, Tarn's betrothed.

  Ferro knew that his thane would oppose his actions on behalf of Jungor Stonesinger. He also knew that with Jungor Stonesinger as high thane of Thorbardin, there might be a new thane of the Daergar. He nodded to his Theiwar mercenaries and drew his own blade before turning back to the road.

  In the misty distance, the horrible sound of slaughter gradually diminished. Soon, dark figures appeared on the road, crouching and slinking forward through the fog. In a low voice, Ferro ordered the Theiwar to hold their ground but take no further action. After a few seconds, the draconian scouts disappeared. Silent minutes passed, during which the dwarves could only hear the dripping of water or the sigh and gurgle of marsh gas escaping from the mud.

  A shadow appeared from the mist, followed by another, then a dozen. Tall, gangly creatures, reptilian, with batlike wings and long, powerful tails, the draconians approached the dwarves' camp warily, curved swords in their hands and crossbows at the ready. They were a mixed group wearing a motley collection of armor, shields, and helms scavenged from a dozen battlefields. Their weapons represented nearly every race on Krynn, from a straightbladed Solamnic broadsword, to a dwarfs heavy battleaxe, to a massive club once wielded by an ogre. A few even wore remnants of blue dragonarmor of a style not seen since the War of the Lance.

  Their leader stood out among his lesser companions. Unlike the darker-scaled draconians, this one was covered in silvery-gray scales that looked almost white in the foggy twilight. He was taller than any of the others by more than a head, powerfully built, with the scars of countless battles visible on his arms and nightmarish reptilian face. He was dressed in black armor, with an ironblack breastplate covering his chest, but his armor had obviously been made at great cost to fit him snugly. Interlocking leaves of black steel protected his flanks and back while allowing full range of movement for his large silvery wings. He was a sivak, one of the most dangerous of the five races of draconians.

  Ferro warily watched the draconian brigade approach, softly encouraging his warriors to hold their positions and to make no sudden moves. As they neared the camp, several of the smaller draconians disappeared into the swamp to either side of the road. Ferro guessed that they were good swimmers, as these wore no armor and carried daggers clamped between their razor-sharp teeth.

  This rendezvous was extremely dangerous for the dwarves. The draconians outnumbered the dwarves by almost three to one, and Ferro had no way of knowing how many draconians there truly were. Perhaps there were many others out there in the bog watching them. The foul creatures might decide to go back on their agreement, in which case Ferro and his dwarves would likely be killed to the last dwarf for their armor, weapons, and clothes. Or one of his dwarves might speak something out of place, offend one of the draconians, and start a battle that had no end. He was thankful he'd had the forethought to hire Theiwar mercenaries, who did not share the hotheaded nature of their Daergar cousins.

  The sivak leader of the draconians stopped a spear's throw from the camp and peered ahead with his black, soulless eyes. No one spoke, and the draconians made no move to appr
oach closer. Finally, Ferro sheathed his sword and swallowed in a throat suddenly parched dry as the Plains of Dust then stepped toward the draconians, empty hands raised palms outward. At his movement, a dozen crossbows were turned to train their sights on him. His step hesitated for only a moment before he muttered, "Ah, to the Abyss with it," and walked boldly forward.

  "Welcome, General Zen. I trust you had no trouble on the road," the Daergar said in affected friendliness.

  The sivak hissed in amusement and stepped out to greet Ferro, reaching out one huge clawed hand to clasp the dwarfs smaller one. Ferro winced at the draconian's strength, but continued to smile through gritted teeth.

  "It was as you said it would be," General Zen said in a voice that slithered like scales scraping over stone. He released the Daergar's grip and made a sharp motion with his hand toward his company of draconians. Ferro tensed until he saw them lower their weapons and appear to relax, though they remained well outside the camp. The ones who had slipped off the road still hadn't reappeared.

  "I killed the loud one," Zen said as he stepped past Ferro and approached the fire near the Daergar's tent.

  "Excellent," Ferro said nervously as he followed the draconian. Zen stopped near the fire and spread his huge powerful wings, stretching them out to catch the heat from the glowing coals. Ferro ducked under the draconian's wings and moved to the other side of the fire.

  "Won't you come into my tent so that we may discuss… things," he said.

  The lids of the draconian's eyes lowered, and his black eyes seemed to grow somehow blacker. Folding up his wings, he stooped through the low opening of the tent. Ferro squeezed in behind him and tugged a cord, loosening the flap and allowing it to fall over the opening, closing them in.