The Last Thane cw-1

by Douglas Niles

  "You head right. I'm going left," Axel called.

  The rushing Hylar reached the pair of narrow lanes that diverged from the main road. "Split up!" cried Baker, pointing to the right and left. "Half go each way!"

  The retreating dwarves quickly veered off, and the Klar kept going straight ahead down the wide street. A few of the crazed attackers tried to turn into the narrow alleys, but their way was blocked by several burly Hylar. The rest of the Klar were happy to charge onward, rushing down the street with howls of bloodthirsty frenzy.

  And the shadows met them in dark but exultant silence.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A Scheme and a Treaty

  Accompanied by his assassin and a handful of warriors he had gathered from the returning boats, Darkend started up the long road that climbed toward his sister's house. One of his escort quickly hoisted the thane's banner, and he was startled when, as the pennant of the Smoking Forge passed, he heard hissing and jeers from behind the closed doors of several buildings. Darkend's mission was too urgent to allow him to take time to discipline these traitors, but he took note of the addresses. He would be certain to take appropriate actions later.

  Slickblade took matters into his own hand when one citizen dared to hurl a clump of rotten fungus from an upper balcony. The assassin and three Daergar warriors broke down the door to a private inn and went upstairs to grab the young dwarf. They hauled the struggling, barely bearded youth into the street where he was cast to the ground before Darkend.

  "Is this the respect you show to your thane?" demanded Slickblade, drawing his short sword and prodding the fellow hard enough to draw blood. "Now wretch, beg for your life!"

  "Thane!" the rebellious Daergar said, angry enough to conquer his fear. "Thane of what? My house was destroyed by Chaos. My family, gone! And now I look into a room that shows a woman's hand, and I cannot even tell you the name of that woman!"

  "Kill him," snapped Darkend, moving on as the assassin carried out his order with a quick stabbing movement.

  He stalked onward with regal dignity but was far more concerned than he dared show. How quickly they had turned against him! Now every doorway seemed to offer an ambush, and each shuttered window concealed conspirators and rebels.

  And what was the nature of this new supernatural enemy? How could they steal thoughts and memories, affect the very minds of the survivors? They attacked and destroyed on a level that was almost impossible to comprehend!

  The thane's party passed the Second Level and moved steadily higher, toward the twin towers of House Bellowsmoke. One of the thane's bodyguards uttered a sharp gasp and fell forward, the steel dart of a crossbow missile jutting from his back. Others in the band immediately closed around the thane. There was no one who doubted that the arrow had been intended for Darkend himself.

  Slickblade led a half dozen warriors off the road, climbing through steep alleys and lanes, searching for the would-be culprit while the rest of the party hastened onward. Soon Darkend heard shouts and a brief clatter of weapons. Shortly afterward, the men-at-arms brought a battered Daergar and cast him to the paving stones before the thane. This one, too, would not grovel or beg. Instead he spit a stream of bloody saliva that very nearly touched Darkend's boot.

  "Kill this one, too," ordered the thane. "But make it slow, very painful."

  A thrust by Slickblade's silver blade brought forth a long, lingering scream. That mournful wail trailed off into slow gurgling as Darkend and his henchman once more started climbing.

  "A deep, twisting belly stab," Slickblade explained smugly. "Inevitably fatal, but terribly slow to finish the job. It will be a good lesson for anyone else who's contemplating another act of insolence."

  "Are you sure you got the right dwarf?" asked the thane.

  "Not at all," the assassin replied calmly. "But the same purpose is served in any event, don't you agree?"

  "Indeed."

  For just a moment the thane paused to look over the Urkhan Sea. From here he could see for miles. Explosive lights burst through the darkness in many places. Columns of steam rose from the water, hissing and boiling into the air. Fires still raged on Hybardin, and several of the meteoric dragons, trailing their clouds of smoke and sparks behind them, circled in the air a long way off.

  Darkend banged on his sister's entry drum, the sound of his mailed fist pounding through the pillar of stone and echoing in the solid bedrock beneath. Within moments the bridge dropped, and the portal was opened by a servant, who bowed deeply and skipped out of the way as the thane stalked over the drawbridge into the manor's courtyard.

  "My brother, what an unexpected pleasure," said Garimeth, emerging from her own dressing chambers. She was wearing a gown of Hylar design, shimmering silver foil embroidered with large diamonds. The gems winked and glittered almost as brightly as her eyes as she took in Darkend's scowl. Oddly, the thane noted, she was also wearing a helmet of bronze, an affectation of fashion that the thane decided he didn't care for. With a polite curtsy his sister waited for him to speak.

  "Unexpected, to be sure. As for pleasure, we'll see what you say in a few minutes."

  "It is always a pleasure to be in your presence and to hear your wishes, Brother."

  "It is my wish that emissaries from the other thanes be shown directly to me, not imprisoned in the houses of my relatives. It is my wish that those who bring me important news are not impeded in the performance of those tasks."

  If she was shocked by his knowledge, Garimeth was shrewd enough to give no sign. Instead she frowned slightly the delicate and feminine pout that had been in her arsenal of expressions since girlhood.

  "My dear Brother, I had every intention of arranging a meeting between you and my only son. Unfortunately events have conspired against me. This affliction of Chaos has struck my own house. Surely you noticed the debris in the courtyard, the wreckage of stone, the grieving of the servants?"

  In fact, Darkend had been studying his sister too intently to pay attention to his surroundings. She had a point, but he would not be distracted.

  " understand that this emissary-your half-breed son! — could have provided us with warning of this threat, the very Chaos that you claim so afflicts you. Yet he was drugged and held here until it is too late. Why?"

  Garimeth's eyes narrowed, and Darkend knew she was trying to decide how he could have gotten such detailed information. No other sign of discomfort disturbed her graceful features as she replied.

  "Tarn was worn and shaken by the journey. I merely gave him something to help him sleep. Apparently he was confused when he awakened and fled away from here before I could give him an explanation. Indeed, my lord and Brother, if my actions have in any way cause you difficulty, I extend my most humble apologies."

  "You may extend your neck under my executioner's blade, and that will still not recompense for the harm that has been done," declared Darkend.

  He thought about telling her the rest of what he knew, that Tarn had been a prisoner here for several days, that his drugging had nothing to do with the rigors of the trip from Hybardin to Daerforge. But for now he decided to hold his tongue. After all, there might be future need for his spy in this house, and it would not do to endanger his sources of information.

  "Tell me this: where is Tarn Bellowgranite now?"

  "He departed abruptly," Garimeth said smoothly, impressing Darkend with the ease of her dissembling-no admission that he had been a prisoner or that he had escaped! "I believe he intended to seek you, though no doubt he expected to find you at the Life-Tree. In fact, it was this agent here who summoned him and told him to await your pleasure." She pointed at Slickblade.

  "She lies, Sire!" cried the assassin, his eyes widening behind the slit of his robe.

  "Why do you deny this?" asked Garimeth smoothly, blinking in what Darkend took to be a reasonable facade of surprise. "Could it be that you-? But no, I don't understand!"

  "There is no truth in her words! I did not come for the half-breed. Why woul
d I?" Slickblade's tone was shocked, his manner grim.

  "Indeed, why would Slickblade do such a thing?" asked the thane.

  "Who knows?" Garimeth shrugged. "Perhaps he wanted to make you believe that I was betraying you."

  "Lies! Let me kill her now, my lord," said Slickblade, his voice dropping to a soft and deadly hiss.

  Darkend seriously considered the request, then shook his head. "No. There is more here than I know, and I will have some answers. Do not kill her. Not yet, anyway."

  "Of course I am worried about my son, too. Where did you take him?" Garimeth asked Slickblade innocently.

  "What?" The assassin's rage exploded. " beg you, Sire. Please let me put the blade to her! Or to her bastard son!"

  "Perhaps you have an idea," Darkend replied dryly. "In light of the recent, unforeseen events, he is probably no longer useful to me. Yet if I could find him, he could still serve one purpose admirably."

  He turned to Slickblade, who had moved to glower from the shadows near the door. "You must find the half-breed and kill him. When you are done, I command you to bring his head here, so that his mother may admire his likeness for as long as she desires. His head will serve as a reminder of the price of treachery against Darkend Bellowsmoke."

  "With pleasure, lord." His eyes flashed with delight.

  Garimeth's face whitened as she heard the death sentence, but she was obviously shrewd and selfish enough not to betray her feelings. Instead, she merely stared after the dark figure of the royal assassin as Slickblade nodded and glided smoothly out the door.

  "You don't believe me?" she asked sadly. "I tell you, your killer dwarf was here and came here with-according to him-a message for my son."

  Darkend shrugged, then chuckled cruelly. "If you speak the truth, he will have no trouble finding the lad."

  "Perhaps. But Tarn is resourceful."

  Suddenly they were interrupted by a distant rumble. Quickly, Garimeth led Darkend outside to the vast balcony that overlooked the sea and the lower city. Columns of steam curled and twisted through the air. They watched as one of the fiery serpents veered away from the center of the cavern and started winging closer and closer to the two Daergar.

  A great missile of fire, like a blazing meteor, coursed through the air over the Urkhan Sea and angled downward toward the balcony and the two dark dwarves.

  Darkend turned his eyes away, wincing against the blinding light. He was only vaguely aware of a stark black figure amid the brightness of the fire dragon.

  The great dragon flexed its broad flaming wings and came to rest in a cloud of sparks and smoke. Darkend still held a hand before his eyes to shield against the painful glare, but even so he could discern the tall, regal creature, manlike in visage, with skin that was smooth and featureless. The black figure dismounted and stalked forward to loom over him. Fire hissed and crackled with excruciating brilliance, a burning heat that felt painful against Dark-end's face.

  The thane knew with certainty that he was about to die.

  Interlude of Chaos

  Zarak Thuul felt a profound attraction, a compulsion that drew him across the vault of space and sea. Thoughts beckoned to him. A presence reached inside his head and touched him like no being-not even Primus-ever had.

  He was astounded to see before him a she-dwarf and to know that it was her will that had drawn him. He could tell she felt awe at his beautiful appearance and that she coveted his mighty power. These twin emotions were immensely pleasing to the daemon warrior.

  Laughing aloud, the harbinger of Chaos seized the female and lifted her into an embrace. She became one with him in spirit, desire, and mind. This was a worthy being, he knew, so different from the pathetic insects that were the rest of these mortals.

  He put her down again and fell on his face before her, overcome with wonder and keen, soaring delight.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Assassin's Mate

  "Just suppose I agree with you. How would we go about stealing a boat?"

  Tarn decided to ask the question, though he was pretty certain he would regret following this gully dwarf plan. Perhaps the rank air, the sticky goo on the floor, and the odor of the pungent grog-which he had thus far avoided sampling-had combined to cloud his judgment. Even so, he admitted to himself that the notion was better than anything he had been able to come up with.

  "We just goes there and takes it-a boat," Regal explained.

  The others in the dark and smelly saloon agreed with a whole hearted chorus of nods and belches.

  "Lotsa boats!" proclaimed one expansively.

  "Get big one!" urged a comrade.

  "No, a fast one!" insisted another.

  "I like a boat with lotta legs," explained Duck Bigdwarf, giving Tarn a bleary but scrutinizing look.

  "Legs?" Tarn was taken by surprise, until he thought for a moment. "Oh, you mean oars, I suppose. Yes, we have to get one with legs. Reorx knows the chain boats aren't going to get us there."

  Accompanied by a boisterous mob of gully dwarves, Tarn rose and made his way outside of the dingy inn. He took care this time to avoid smashing his head on the outcrop of rock. Surrounded by a chorus of voices-"What boat that? Go see! Your boots make good boat!" — they climbed to the crest of a large rock where they could get a view of the Daerforge waterfront. Dozens of gully dwarves had appeared, and the whole party was gathered along the steeply sloping surface of Agharhome.

  The docks of the dark dwarf port city were clearly visible along the curve of the shoreline. They all saw the wreckage created when a part of the second level had collapsed to spill across some of the waterfront. The farther expanse of the broad wharves behind the pile of rock and steel left in the wake of the collapse teemed with activity. There, dozens of boats freshly arrived from Hybardin jostled for position as their crews tried desperately to scramble ashore. Everywhere the place was teeming with agitated dark dwarves. Tarn didn't see any way he and the Aghar could even get close to-much less steal-one of the watercraft without being spotted.

  "See! Comes a fireflier!" cried one gully dwarf.

  Tarn stared in horror as the flaming outline of a massive dragon soared over their heads. He flinched unconsciously, though the mighty creature paid no attention to the insignificant specks on the ground so far below. Instead, as Tarn watched in astonishment, the beast soared toward the upper level of Daerforge, toward the twin towers high up on the cliff. With a flexing of those great wings the creature came to rest on the broad outer balcony of his mother's house.

  Tarn saw the black creature dismount from the dragon's back. With a sense of utter disbelief he spotted two small figures coming into view. He could recognize neither at a distance, but the bronze helmet on the head of one of them might as well have been a beacon proclaiming his mother's presence. Garimeth was wearing the Helm of Tongues, and she was greeting-now she was being embraced! — by this harbinger of Chaos.

  For a long time the monstrous warrior seemed to speak to the Daergar. It seemed to Tarn that his mother did a great deal of talking in return. And then he saw the strange being prostrate himself at the dwarfwoman's feet! Finally the black rider returned to its fiery mount and soared into the skies on a course for Hybardin. Tarn was certain of one thing: some kind of nefarious deal had been struck.

  Stunned, he tried to consider the ramifications of this development. Soon after, as Tarn watched, a party of dark dwarves, including the still-helmeted Garimeth Bellowsmoke, emerged from the house and started down the road toward the waterfront.

  "What now, Regal Wiseallatime?" asked Duck Bigdwarf patiently. He gestured at the expanse of stormy sea, blazing fireballs, and wracked Hybardin. "This boring!"

  "Wait for him, I say," Regal retorted, skeptically regarding Tarn. "He our leader. That is, if he ever do something."

  Angrily Tarn shook his head, thinking. Why was his mother heading to the boat dock and still wearing that helm? Looking out over the sea Tarn saw the inverted cone of the Life-Tree, now scarred by countless fires, po
cked by the ravages of destructive Chaos. The fire dragon must have returned there. In an instant of clarity he knew where Garimeth would be going with the treasure she had stolen from his father.

  "Okay you've convinced me," he said and turned to the gully dwarves, who erupted in a spontaneous cheer. Scrutinizing the dark dwarf city again, Tarn suddenly saw a possibility-not really an opportunity perhaps, but at least the ghost of a chance. "See there," he told Regal, "on the closest part of the waterfront?"

  "Right. Where rocks spilled, dock not so big on this side."

  "No, nor so crowded." He studied that part of Daerforge where the collapse had isolated a small section of the waterfront. There were some dark dwarves and a few boats along the edge but nothing like the crowds that thronged on the other side of the lakeshore. "It's cut off almost completely from the rest of the city," he explained, his pulse quickening.

  "Not so many boats there," Regal demurred. "We wanta choose from lotsa boats."

  "But not so many dark dwarves, either," the half-breed countered. "And believe me, once you've been in a few boats you realize that they're all pretty much the same."

  "I dunno." Regal was still skeptical, but he and his fellow Aghar nevertheless followed Tarn as he filed through the channels and ravines of the gully dwarf city. "Main Street Number One," noted Regal, though Tarn could see no way that this path was an extension of the subterranean pipe that had also been labeled as "Main Street Number One."

  Nearing the edge of Daerforge, Tarn started down a steep descent. Abruptly one of his boots slipped, and he skidded several feet down the tumbling ravine. Quickly he recovered his balance and, still muttering curses, climbed to his feet. Beside him was a motionless gully dwarf. For a moment he feared he had knocked and dragged the fellow down with his own clumsiness.

  "Sorry friend. Can I give you a hand?"

  Then he saw the arrow. A steel shaft had punctured the Aghar's neck from behind. Tarn knew the gully dwarf was quite dead.