"Remember, your shield protects the dwarf to your left. If he falls, you have to move quickly! If you let an enemy do what I just did, we're all doomed. Now, are there any questions?"
The chagrined young dwarves, some three dozen in number, were too thoroughly cowed to so much as raise a hand.
"Good. You're learning," Belicia barked. "Now, by twos, get yourselves going on the sword and shield drill. And I want to see some sweat!"
Quickly the recruits paired off. Tarn smiled as he noticed that Farran was quick to find a partner other than the still disgruntled Raggat. In moments the dockside rang with the sounds of blades striking shields.
Tarn didn't know that Belicia had ever taken her eyes off the company, but as soon as the mock combats began she sauntered over to Tarn and plopped down on the small mound of coal.
"Come to join up?" she asked him with a wink.
"Do you think you could use me?" he asked, straight-faced.
She sighed. "No offense, but we could use just about anybody with a warm body and at least one eye."
"I'm sure you'll whip them into proper dwarven warriors in no time."
"It's not only here that we need them," she replied, meeting his gaze with a look that was all seriousness. "But it's all over Hybardin. Thane Hornfel took every able-bodied fighter we have."
"Almost," Tarn replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
He was looking for pity, but he met with no success as she replied curtly. "It was your choice, no one else's, that kept you behind. You know damned well he could have used you and would have welcomed your enlistment."
Tarn shook his head belligerently. "With all that talk about Hylar purity, he might as well have called me an ill-bred bastard. He can wage the Solamnian war without me." His temper was lousy, and he felt acutely defensive. He had not come to see Belicia so they could discuss the Hybardin military situation-or lack thereof.
"I guess you haven't heard then," the dwarfwoman replied, her tone softening. "There's a rumor that the Hylar are no longer fighting the army of Takhisis. It's said they're sailing north of Ansalon to campaign against some new threat."
"Sailing? By Reorx! You mean away from the continent?"
"That's what I've heard." Belicia tried to be casual, but she couldn't entirely suppress a shudder of discomfort.
"Where did you hear that news?"
"A courier came from the army just a few hours ago. He went directly to your father but then talked a little bit to the staff of the barracks cooking hall. You know how word gets around, even in an untrained army."
Tarn grunted. The topic of his father was another he had little interest in pursuing.
"Have you seen your father at all, recently?" she probed.
He snorted. "Two weeks ago, but all he wanted to talk about was some silly tale of the Graygem and a platinum egg in that cursed Grotto of his! I swear, I hope he finds the place, just so he shuts up about it!"
"Well, go find out for yourself about the latest news, then. I've got to get back to my company," Belicia snapped in exasperation.
"Wait. I'm sorry," the half-breed interjected. "I wanted to talk to you, to see if perhaps we could get away for an interval. Maybe take one of the freeboats across the lake."
She sighed and shook her head. "Timing: that's always the problem with us, isn't it?" she said, not unsympathetically. "I can't right now. These buffoons will kill each other in a minute-by accident, of course; I don't think any one of them could kill something on purpose-if I'm not there to keep an eye on them."
Tarn nodded, trying to conceal his disappointment. He wanted to tell Belicia about his mother's departure but knew that she wouldn't share his distress. Indeed, most of Hybardin was likely to regard Garimeth Bellowsmoke's return to the Daergar as cause for celebration. Instead he lurched to his feet and gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. "You'll do just fine with them. Maybe, after they finish their first series of drills?"
"Maybe," she said with a smile.
Knowing he would have to be content with that, Tarn was still discontented.
Why did she have to mention his father?
Chapter Five
Dark Daerbardin
"I ask the question in the presence of all the clan: where is the challenger? Produce him, or the thane's chair is rightfully mine!"
Darkend Bellowsmoke was addressing a great gathering of Daergar. He stood upon a dais in the middle of the Arena of Honor, the large, lightless assembly hall that was the grandest chamber in all Daerbardin. Shaking his great, spike-headed mace at the masses of his countrymen, he spun through a circle, his voice a screech that pierced the farthest reaches of the chamber.
Smoke from coal braziers filled the air, the acrid vapors bitter in his nostrils, but the dark dwarf stood in a posture of triumph, feet planted firmly, one hand on his hip while in the other he held his weapon aloft. Even in the pitch darkness he was visible to the gathered throng, for the Daergar, like their Theiwar cousins, could see very well even in the deepest heart of lightless Thorbardin.
"Is the challenger drunk, sleeping off the revel of his last feast on Krynn? Or perhaps he is afraid?" sneered Darkend.
There was no reply, nor was one expected. Bellowsmoke was tall for a Daergar and a strapping warrior in his own right. Now he wore his battle armor, plates of black steel that covered his chest, belly, and groin. Supple links of chain mail rippled smoothly over his limbs and his back. His head was almost completely concealed beneath a grotesque helm, the faceplate scored by the image of a leering beast. Long fangs, honed on both edges to razor sharpness, jutted forward from beside his jowls. Darkend's pale, bright eyes flashed through the narrow slits of vision holes, and his hand was clenched around the shaft of the wickedly studded mace. Now he raised the weapon, pumping his hand up and down as his voice once again cried his public challenge.
"Khark Huntrack! I say you are the spawn of a gully dwarf, the dribbling bastard of a diseased whore! I say, show your face to me now, and die like a dwarf or else you shall be known as a coward, and your spleen will nourish the soil of the food warrens!"
Soft gasps were barely audible in the chamber. Darkend's insults had stepped even beyond the usual bravado of dueling dark dwarves. Everyone knew that if Khark Huntrack were alive he would have to come forward and face these accusations or never show his face in Daerbardin again.
Thus everyone knew what they had already come to suspect: Khark Huntrack must already be dead.
Darkend waited a decent interval so that his intended opponent would have plenty of time to appear. The great audience hall lapsed into silence, but no one looked toward the doors in anticipation of Huntrack's late arrival. Instead, all eyes remained fixed upon the strutting figure that paced back and forth across the rounded dais.
Finally a dark dwarf from the front row, a sturdy warrior in the black, bat winged helmet that characterized Darkend's personal guards, leaped to his feet and thrust his fist into the air.
"All hail Darkend Bellowsmoke!" he cried. "All hail the new thane of the Daergar and the banner of the Smoking Forge!"
A rumble of assenting cries rose through the chamber, but it was not the thundering acclamation Darkend desired. Instead, there were mutters of resentment from many quarters, and even a few outright hisses of disapproval. One of the latter was interrupted by a scream, and the aspiring thane smiled grimly behind the mask of his helmet, knowing that one of his agents had just knifed another obstacle to his throne.
"Hear me, dwarves of Clan Daergar! Khark Huntrack is dead!"
The voice came from the shadows in the back of the chamber. Darkend whirled to see a robed Daergar advancing in the middle of at least two dozen bodyguards. The dwarf's protectors had blades drawn, and their guarding posture formed steel-barbed walls before, behind, and to either side of the bold speaker. There would be no knife blade to swiftly silence this dissenter, Darkend saw with a grimace of frustration.
"Gludh Kolgard? Is that you?" demanded the lon
e figure on the dais.
"You know it is-just as you know that your toady Slickblade killed Khark in the last hours before his ceremony."
"If Khark Huntrack has met an untimely death, then I withdraw my unflattering remarks," Darkend replied, with a bow of facetious graciousness. "Though I certainly had no foreknowledge of the manner nor the agent of his demise."
The hisses and clucks from the gallery were very muted and swiftly faded away. No one believed Darkend, of course, but neither did anyone think it worth a possible knife in the ribs to state a universally held opinion.
"Now to the business of this day." Darkend cleared his throat, wheeling around in a full circle so that his luminous, dark-seeing eyes could pass over the entire crowd. A hush settled again as the Daergar waited, knowing that before long they would have a new thane or the prospect of further public bloodshed. In either case, there was promise of fine entertainment in the air.
"I have stood upon this dais each of the last six days, since the untimely demise of our esteemed leader, the bold and wise Thane Halt Blackmetal. Six times has a challenger named himself, and six times that challenger has failed to leave this dais alive."
Darkend paused, allowing his words to settle over his listeners. Four of those challenges had resulted in spectacular duels on this very platform, ending only when his Daergar opponent lay bleeding his life away at the feet of the triumphant Darkend Bellowsmoke. Indeed, the armored dark dwarf still felt the soreness in his ribs, the bruising of his shoulder, and the poorly healing cut on his thigh that were his own souvenirs of those fights. On the other two occasions-most recently in the case of the unfortunate Khark Huntrack-the challenger had met with an unfortunate accident on the eve of the contest, and Darkend had been spared the grueling necessity of public battle. Of all those challengers, Khark Huntrack had been the most esteemed fighter, so Darkend judged it particularly good fortune that the assassin had done his work so well.
"Now, as is the custom of Daergar law, I proclaim I have faced every challenger who dared to name himself, and I announce my ascension to the throne of our clan." He drew a breath, knowing there was one more part to this ritual, and praying to Reorx that his next words would be greeted by silence.
"I await only the announcement of a challenge, of one more dark dwarf foolish enough to throw his life away before this issue is resolved!"
He waited, allowing the echoes to ring through the huge chamber. For a moment he thought that the matter was finished, that he had won.
"I challenge Darkend Bellowsmoke's right to the throne!"
The mass exhalation, a communal sigh of anticipation, washed from the crowd like the wind that so often coursed across the surface of the world above. The words came from behind Darkend, but he knew the speaker well; indeed, he was not surprised Gludh Kolgard had spoken out. Still, the confirmation fell upon his shoulders like a weight of iron ore, and Darkend almost slumped under the prospect of another battle. It took all of his powerful will, as well as the concealment of his armor, to mask any sign of his weakness from the gathered clan. He spun, the twin tusks gleaming darkly, almost as if they were already stained with blood, and glared at the dark dwarf who had spoken. Gludh stood utterly still. He was surrounded by henchmen. Slowly the simmering tension in the vast room bubbled toward release.
"I accept the challenge." Darkend broke the impasse at last, he thought with just the right tone of bored acknowledgment. " will stand here after the interval of one day, that Gludh Kolgard shall have the pleasure of tasting my steel."
Now a roar of acclamation went up from the throng, and Darkend held his martial pose, though his sore arm throbbed from the weight of his mace. He wished he could bring the weapon down right now on the insolent challenger's unarmored skull.
It wasn't fair! He was clearly the master of any one, even any two, of his accursed challengers. Yet Daergar custom demanded that at least seven dark dwarves should have the chance to face him for the throne. Gludh's reputation was well known. He would be among the most dangerous, and he had been clever enough to wait until the last day, when Darkend would inevitably be wounded, battered, and fatigued from the long ordeal of challengers. Of course, should Gludh triumph, he himself would have to face up to six more possible challengers, but that would be little consolation to Darkend, moldering in his tomb.
The throng quickly filed out of the four massive gateways leading from the Arena of Honor, itself located in the heart of Daerbardin's great royal palace-the palace that should already be mine, Darkend groused to himself. Gludh Kolgard was protected by his followers as he left for his own quarter of the great subterranean city, one of the two great centers of the Daergar in Thorbardin. There would be another night of feasting and celebration, though no doubt this time some of the bodyguards would be certain to seal off the ventilation shaft.
"Come, my thane. It will be but a short time before you attain your rightful throne."
The voice was whispered by one of the cloaked figures beside him, and he prayed that Thistle was right. She was his favorite mistress and one who dared to speak to him when all others held their tongues. Yet now even she was a bother, and Darkend had to forcibly resist the temptation to bring his mace down hard upon her head.
Turning, he regarded her coldly, hating the confident light that brightened her milky eyes, yet knowing he would take no action against her now, not when he needed the loyalty of all his followers to see him through the next interval.
"Summon my healer, and see that a hot bath is drawn for me," he demanded, taking some satisfaction by giving her orders as though she were a common servant.
Thistle only bowed, then turned to elbow her way through the press of bodyguards to see that her master's wishes were obeyed. Darkend allowed himself to be escorted out, trusting his henchmen to see no ambush awaited him in the shadowed lanes of Daerbardin as the procession made its way through the huge city of the dark dwarves.
Even as he brooded on the coming duel, he couldn't help but admire the galleries, the wide avenues and looming, fortified buildings that made up this, the greatest city in all Thorbardin. The arena lay at the opposite end of the city from his great manor. Both of these locales were on the highest of Daerbardin's three levels, but the roadway they followed curved downward until they walked along an esplanade that was open to the great ceiling, two hundred or more feet overhead. The middle and upper levels of the route formed balconies lined with dark dwarves who gazed down in solemn curiosity at the one who aspired to be their next leader.
Occasionally a single Daergar or a small group let out a cheer as Darkend passed, but for the most part these watchers were silent, uncaring as to which of the noble dark dwarves would win the fight on the next day.
"You should all cheer me, fools!" Bellowsmoke hissed through the mask of his helmet, "For I am the one who can raise our clan to new heights! Look at me now and see the image of your future greatness! See, and be awed!"
These boasts he spoke mainly to himself, though a few of his nearest bodyguards heard his words and exchanged worried glances. The strain of the seven challenges was wearing on him, Bellowsmoke knew. It was a relief to let the great stone gates of House Bellowsmoke crash shut behind him. Once secure behind those barriers, he stalked to his own apartments, waiting only long enough for one of his minions to perform a thorough search.
"The chambers are safe, my lord, and nearly unoccupied," said the sergeant to Darkend as Bellowsmoke waited impatiently in the lofty anteroom. "There is only Thistle there; she tends your bath and awaits your pleasure."
Without a word the noble dark dwarf stalked into his sumptuous chambers, turning at the portal to address his sergeant. "Send for Slickblade at once."
"Aye, lord," replied the gnarled dwarf, paling at the mention of the name. Darkend's hand was on the door, ready to slam the iron portal, but before he could move he was startled by a voice from within his room.
"My heart palpitates in anticipation of your every command, lord."
/> The words were hissed from the darkness behind him and Darkend whirled, seeing nothing except the familiar outlines of his couches and tables. Only after he stared for a moment did he see the assassin, still cloaked in his usual robe of utter black, rise from his comfortable position on one of the softest divans.
Immediately Darkend turned back to the anteroom, where his already pale sergeant had sunk to his knees, drooling in pathetic fear. "You told me that only Thistle was here, did you not?"
The man gibbered, unable to articulate a reply.
Darkend snapped his fingers, summoning another lackey from among his bodyguards. He pointed at the groveling sergeant. "You will blind him now, and cut his hamstrings for good measure. At dinner tonight he will be strangled for the entertainment of the house."
The replacement dark dwarf stepped forward, drawing a long dagger. Willing helpers seized the thrashing sergeant, and though Darkend finally closed the door, even that heavy portal could not mask the sounds of the wretched sergeant's screams.
"Why did you make me do that?" Bellowsmoke demanded, addressing Slickblade as he started to remove his cumbersome armor. "The man was useful to me, if only because he was less treacherous than most."
The assassin shrugged, slumping back to his seat. "He owed me money."
Darkend stared. "He owed you money, and he refused to pay? Perhaps he was more stupid than I thought."
"He didn't refuse. The loan doesn't come due for several intervals. But it seemed a good time for a lesson, a reminder to those other Daergar who owe me money. I can assure you my next round of collections will be complete."
"And I've lost a capable sergeant," spat Darkend. "You know I had no choice, once you showed them all that he reported falsely to me."
"He deserved it," declared Slickblade dismissively. "In truth, his search was perfunctory. You deserve better protection, lord."
"Would that I could get it." The aspiring thane limped to a cabinet of polished black marble and withdrew a decanter of thick, syrupy liquid. He took a long swig from the bottle, then set it heavily on the counter as he turned back to his assassin. "You heard about events in the arena, I presume."
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