The hammering blows echoed in the great chamber. The mace and axe sparked as the two dark dwarves fought like berserkers. Their weapons were a ringing blur of gray steel, whistling in from one side and then the other. Gludh was apparently content to let his foe exhaust himself with a fruitless series of attacks. When one of Darkend's blows finally swung wide, Gludh struck, bringing his axe down on his enemy's forearm with ringing force. Darkend gasped as he felt his arm go numb. Once again he stumbled away, trying to buy precious seconds to recover.
But Gludh Kolgard was clearly ready to end the fight. He stepped forward, swinging again and again, forcing Darkend inexorably across the dais that suddenly seemed terribly small. Soon the back of Darkend's boot had reached the edge, and Gludh's attacks still came without ceasing.
Darkend swung his mace wildly, merely to hold his opponent back for a fraction of a second so that his left hand could reach into his belt pocket. He quickly found the small stone and rubbed it hard between his fingers.
Gludh brought his axe up, holding the weapon in both hands as he readied himself for a skull-crushing blow. Darkend hurled the stone down to the dais, closing his eyes in the split second before impact.
Even through his tightly shut lids Darkend saw the bright flash of light. The shouts and cries of thousands of Daergar assailed his ears. The assembled masses had been painfully shocked by the sudden blast of brilliant illumination.
Gludh blinked stupidly as he brought his axe down in the spot that Darkend had just abandoned. The sharp blade bit into the floor. Drawing back for another blow, Gludh revealed his vulnerability: his face plate swung wildly. It was a simple matter for Darkend to hiss a cry of victory as he masked his mouth with his flattened hand and thereby make the sound seem to originate from a place several paces to his right. Fully blinded, Gludh spun on his heel and faced the area where he thought he had heard his enemy.
He never fully appreciated his mistake. Darkend's mace came down so hard on his head that Gludh Kolgard was dead before he felt the blow that killed him.
For long moments Darkend stood weakly drawing ragged gasps of breath as he stared down at the corpse of his last challenger. At first he was surprised at the lack of loud reaction from the vast gallery, but it soon dawned on him that the Daergar in the arena had undoubtedly been as stunned and momentarily blinded as Gludh Kolgard himself.
"Foul!" One bold watcher cried. This was soon echoed by hundreds and then thousands, of voices. The cries rose to a wall of sound as the blinking dark dwarves gradually regained their sight and witnessed the unfair result of the duel.
"Magic!" hissed one burly patriarch, a stubborn and lifelong rival whom Darkend recognized as Berest Elfslayer. "The duel is void!"
"The challenger is dead! I am the new thane of the Daergar, and I claim my eminence before you all!"
The bodyguards of the new thane had already scrambled onto the dais, forming a protective ring around their leader. Darkend stood in their midst, hands on hips and bristling chin jutting forward as he pivoted to face the Daergar. These were the crucial moments he knew-moments when the remembrance of his cheating was fresh and glaring in the minds of all. But his power was convincing as he stood with a rank of armored dwarves facing a comparatively unarmed populace.
"Nay! Let the matter be re-opened. The pretender must face another challenger!" cried Berest Elfslayer bravely.
Trying to ignore the voice, Darkend looked around impatiently. Where was Slickblade? Surely he would silence this rude dissent.
"Foul and cheat!" Berest shouted again, trying to whip up the support which was beginning to grow through the crowd.
"Watch your tongue, Elfslayer!" snarled Darkend. "Lest I remove it from your mouth."
"I will not-"
The response was interrupted by a gagging retch as Berest Elfslayer toppled forward, the hilt of a dagger jutting from his back. Garimeth Bellowsmoke calmly reached forward, retrieved her weapon with a sharp tug, and wiped the blood on the dead dwarf's tunic before straightening up and looking around in cool triumph.
The auditorium was deathly silent. Many recognized Darkend's long-absent sister. Darkend counted off ten heartbeats while he savored the imminence of his victory. Finally he spoke. His voice was clear, calm, and forceful enough to quell any lingering sounds of dissent.
"I will begin my audit of the treasury immediately," he announced, claiming his right which was every new thane's most urgent duty. "My victory feast shall be laid for all the Two Cities at the start of the following cycle. The heralds will cry the word as soon as I am ready to entertain your audiences."
He was greeted by silence, though he heard one solitary grumble of disgust. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Steelcut Gutterblood-a young noble with nearly as much influence as Berest Elfslayer-all but spitting on the floor in his outrage. Yet when Darkend confronted the sturdy hothead with a direct look, young Gutterblood merely dipped his head in the proper bow.
With the eerie silence ringing louder than any echoes of clashing steel, the new thane of the Daergar marched to the center of his phalanx and out the gates of the arena into the broad, deserted streets of the city that was now his rightful domain.
Chapter Eight
A Throne Made Easy
"I have two jobs for you: Steelcut Gutterblood, Younger and Elder. Fortunately, Berest Elfslayer has already been dealt with by my sister."
His rage slightly pacified by his triumph, Darkend Bellowsmoke issued these orders to his assassin, known only as Slickblade.
"Your commands are my life, lord," replied Slickblade with a slight inclination of his head.
For this brief interval the two Daergar were alone, though the shouts of the thane's lieutenants could be heard throughout the halls of the great palace, hiding from the sounds, the search of the premises was proceeding smoothly.
"May they be both your life and the death of my enemies!" Darkend replied, chuckling grimly. Now that he was sitting in the thane's throne, surrounded by the opulence of his position, his mood was beginning to brighten. The throbbing in his leg was gone, the wound itself cleansed and further healed by some ointment found in the thane's pharmacologies.
The assassin made his farewells with formal politeness then exited through one of the secret passages that had quickly yielded itself to Darkend's inspection. As time passed in this great palace, he knew that he would undoubtedly discover more such passages. Momentarily he cursed Halt Blackmetal, his predecessor, for not maintaining a blueprint or some other kind of written directions to the maze of this place.
A knock suddenly thudded onto the great steel doors of his vaulted chamber, reminding him of more pragmatic concerns.
Garimeth Bellowsmoke, alone and clad in a cape of shimmering silver foil, was admitted to the throne room by an unseen doorman. She curtsied with great formality before rising to approach the great chair.
"Ah, dear sister, thank you for responding to my invitation with such alacrity."
"You impress me, Lord Thane, with your command of language. Where have you been 'matriculating,' that you should use a word like 'alacrity'?"
"There are many things about me that you do not know, though we are bound by blood. It would do you well to remember that it may be best to keep some matters in the dark."
"Ever I shall, lord-or may I call you 'brother'?"
"As you will. Your return to our city is fortuitous, for it is my intention that you serve me in many ways, in positions of power and influence, at my right hand."
"My brother knows that he has but to speak, and I will obey."
"My first command is this: You are to insure that my coronation feast is the most memorable in the lifetime of our clan's most venerable elders. The menu shall consist of only the finest blindfish from the depths of the Urkhan Sea. There is to be a plentitude, enough to stuff the belly of even the most lowly footman among my armies."
"A wise choice, Lord. A full stomach is the best way to still a complaining tongue."
"
Indeed. As for beverage, you are to buy the finest barrels from every brewer in Daerbardin and Daerforge. Every dark dwarf shall be invited to drink and I want none to grow surly from sucking at an empty spigot."
"Naturally my brother. And may I suggest the pear fungus from the south warren. The crop has just ripened, and I am told that the mushrooms are the largest and most flavorful in recent memory."
"Good. Buy the whole crop. We'll have it fried, baked, and carved-prepared every tasty way known to the clan's chefs."
"May I inquire as to the funding, Lord Brother? Doubtless you realize that the expense will be enormous."
"The coins will come from my own treasury. I don't want it generally known, but Blackmetal was a cursed old miser. It turns out that there's more steel in those vaults than anyone could have imagined. Heed me, sister. You are to spare no expense. I want every Daergar in the Two Cities to recognize my beneficence, and to feel indebted to the new thane."
"It shall be done."
Garimeth curtsied again, but before she could turn to depart her brother spoke again.
"In your long years in Hybardin, it occurs to me that you must have come into contact with dwarves from all the five clans. Is that correct?"
"Indeed, brother."
"The Theiwar and the Klar? Did you have cause to take note, to learn their ways and their customs?"
"Their comings and goings were frequent in Hybardin and their leaders well known to me. Indeed, I made contacts among both clans. I came to know them nearly as well as I learned the ways of the arrogant Hylar themselves."
"Including their secret speech?"
"Ah! Fortuitously, there is something I have brought from Hybardin, a mere toy to my husband, but I guessed it would prove very useful to myself and to those I choose to aid. It seems I was prescient in this regard. It is an artifact that renders all languages an open slate to me."
"Splendid. Know this, my sister: When my feast has been done, there will be great matters before the clan. I shall rely on your counsel for much of this and your ear shall be my proof against treachery."
"As ever, brother, I am yours to command."
Garimeth's curtsy was deep, her words humble, but even these manners could not conceal from Darkend her tight smile of pure, gleeful ambition.
The feast was a grand success. However, as he leaned on the great veranda of his palace and digested his belly full of food, Darkend was still aware of an undercurrent of distrust lurking in the city of his people. Naturally, he had heard no mention of his use of magic during the duel, but he was well aware that the majority of his subjects regarded his tactic as little better than cowardice.
Still, they had seen him win several duels quite fairly and none could dispute his prowess as a warrior. Furthermore, the subtle presence of Slickblade-who had appeared in many guises throughout the three cycles that the feast had lasted-insured that the least loyal Daergar carefully watched their tongues, even when they thought they were among their oldest and most faithful friends.
For now, Darkend would content himself with the grudging acceptance of his people. Soon enough he would show them beyond any doubt that he was the dark dwarf who should rule them, that he was a thane who would bring them to a glory never before attained by the clan Daergar in all the history of Thorbardin.
From his lofty elevation he could see the blocky structures flanking the beginning of the Fifteenth Road. Great warehouses and apartments rose like cliffs from the straight and precise boundary of the road. The numerous crenellated battle platforms along the walls gave the impression of fortified bulwarks overlooking one of the main roads that connected the two cities of the Daergar. Each of the platforms was the stronghold of one or another of the city's warrior-gangs, and was constantly garrisoned by at least a small troop of armed dwarves.
Darkend's eyes rose to inspect the vast blackness of the straight tunnel leading to Daerforge. Daerbardin, the largest of the kingdom's seven cities, lay at the terminus of the long, lightless avenue. Natural illumination was neither sought nor welcomed by this dark-dwelling clan.
For once Darkend found himself wishing that he could see the Life-Tree of the Hylar. That great stalactite-city hanging from the cavern's ceiling like an inverted mountain, occupied so much of his thoughts, plans, and desires. He would have readily tolerated the hateful expanses of lanterns, lights, and flares that clearly marked the Hylar as a separate people from the Daergar and Theiwar. It was beyond his sight now, he reminded himself, but soon enough he would lay his eyes on that dazzling monument to corruption, wealth, and power.
Before then other matters required his attention. The first of these commenced as Thistle came out through the balcony doors.
"The thanes of the Theiwar and the Klar are here, my lord."
"Good. I expected them shortly, and I am pleased that they have honored me with promptness. Have my own robe prepared."
"Aye. But, lord… I beg leave to speak to you on a matter of delicacy and importance."
Darkend looked at his mistress with interest. She was hesitant, allowing her dark hair to curl over her face, masking her eyes for a moment. But then she flipped her locks out of the way and glared at the thane with an expression of determination.
"It is about the feast, lord. There have been some complaints that have reached my ears. Funding was provided for many kegs that were not delivered, and no one knows where the steel coin has gone."
Darkend kept his face impassive. He well knew what Thistle was implying. After all, Garimeth Bellowsmoke had been in charge of the budget for the entire celebration and only the thane and his sister had complete access to the treasury. But this was not the matter of most concern to Darkend. Indeed, he would have been surprised if Gari had not found some way to amplify her personal fortune during the course of the task.
Rather, the thane found it curious that Thistle had bothered to call this news to his attention. She's jealous, he suddenly realized with a grim thrill. She fears that her status is in jeopardy now that my sister has returned.
"Thank you for speaking so frankly," he said, his voice as soft as silk. "I know what must be done."
"I am grateful, lord," replied the dwarfwoman, who then withdrew to see to the matter of his royal robe.
Darkend took one last look at the stretch of dark road, then turned toward the great doors. Before he could take a step, a figure emerged from the shadows beside the wall, causing the new thane to stiffen with instinctive alarm. His gaze attempted to penetrate the gloom, and he recognized the shrouded nature of the black-clad form.
"Slickblade?" Darkend's fingers tightened around the haft of his dagger until he received confirmation.
"The same, lord. I am here to report success in the matter of your commands."
"Double success?"
"Of course." The assassin's tone was injured.
Darkened nodded, pleased with the news that certain significant rivals had been eliminated.
"But wait." The thane stopped Slickblade before the assassin turned away. "There is an additional matter… a thing I would like you to take care of…"
Darkend explained the additional task, which the assassin was more than happy to oblige. Finally Slickblade disappeared, though the ruler of the Daergar couldn't say exactly where he went. The dark-shrouded figure had simply vanished into the shadows at the base of the wall.
Immensely pleased, the thane went back into his throne room where he allowed his attendants to drape his black robe over his shoulders. The garment spread to either side of the great chair like the wings of an enormous bat while the black and red banner of the Smoking Forge was grandly displayed behind him. Garimeth took a seat at his side, and he saw with a tight smile that Thistle was nowhere in sight. The Daergar thane reclined with just the right amount of arrogance as two dwarves, each trailed by an entourage fitting to their royal stations, advanced and bowed.
"My lords, I bid you welcome," declared Darkend, rising and stepping forward as the cloak fanned wide behi
nd him. He took each of the two visiting thanes by the hand, exerting gentle pressure as he looked deep into their faces with eyes that saw well in the lightless vault.
Pounce Quickspring, thane of the clan Theiwar, met Darkend's look with frank, luminous orbs that seemed to swell out of his face. He blinked as the milky lenses of his eyes strained for focus. Darkend shivered, certain that the Theiwar had some item of magic concealed upon his person-typical for a member of his race. Fortunately, Pounce seemed more than happy to keep his private possessions to himself. A bristling head of straw-colored hair grew down the thane's forehead, and he muttered a reply to the greeting with a certain sense of contained agitation.
Beside Pounce, Tufa Bloodeye, long-time ruler of the wild Klar dwarves, squinted to penetrate the darkness. His eyes were flushed with spots of watery crimson that gave ample proof of the origin of his surname. Unlike the suspicious and quiet Theiwar, Tufa beamed cheerfully and shook Darkend's hand with unfeigned enthusiasm. The Daergar thane was pleased by the warm greeting, though he knew that the Klar's disposition could alter dramatically at a moment's notice. Like virtually all of his violent clan, Tufa Bloodeye was more than half insane.
"Allow me to present my sister," Darkend offered as Garimeth came forward. He accorded her a courtly introduction and she immediately escorted the visiting thanes to the banquet table that had been laid at the side of the huge room. Soon Daergar, Klar, and Theiwar were mingling easily as they sampled a variety of beverages and milled about the great throne room among a mixture of other nobles and their many bodyguards.
Abruptly a gong sounded and the stilted conversations faded away. "I have arranged for a trifle entertainment," Darkend announced from the platform before his throne. He indicated a stage at the far side of the room, and all saw that a rack had been placed there. "Please, be seated."
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