"An arrow, and poisoned too!" he hissed through clenched teeth, immediately turning to scour the heights.
He could see no sign of the mysterious attacker as the other gully dwarves gathered around.
"Poor Rocco," Regal said sadly. "At least he got to walk right in front of you. That what he wanted."
"And he was shot right after I stumbled," Tarn realized, the knowledge bringing a prickle of alarm.
He didn't speak the rest of the deduction aloud, but it was a certainty in his own mind. That deadly arrow had in fact been intended for Tarn Bellowsmoke, not the unfortunate Aghar named Rocco. But who had shot at him, and why? He wondered if his mother had sent an assassin after him after she had discovered the escape. But he couldn't believe that she would stoop to something so evil as killing her own son.
Again he studied the rising ground behind them, seeing no sign of the attacker. They started down again, but now Tarn led them through some of the deepest trenches and urged the group into a ragged trot when they had to cross the occasional stretches of open ground. They could see several boats along the nearer section of the shoreline, as well as a few more pulling this way as their crews strived to reach the dark dwarf city. The "Main Street" took a dramatic downhill turn, becoming indistinguishable from a natural ravine, and Tarn felt some relief as they were able to follow the deep cut steadily toward the lake shore.
Finally they reached a shelf of rock directly above the flat stretch of Daerforge's docks. The water of the Urkhan Sea, still roiling from the Chaos storm, smashed against the solid stone bulwark of the wharf a short stone's throw away. Several rock piers jutted like stubby fingers into the water, but there were no boats docked close by. However, this section of the waterfront was concealed from the view of the rest of the city by the sloping pile of rubble that had been spilled by the collapse.
"Look! Here comes a boat!" cried Regal, standing up and pointing until Tarn grabbed his shoulder and quickly pulled him back to cover.
But the Aghar's observation had been correct, and now Tarn saw a long-hulled lake boat, propelled only by a half dozen oars, fighting its way through the pitching waters. After its crew had time to observe the crowd and the tangle of watercraft at the main portion of the docks, this boat veered away, making landfall near the isolated and relatively empty section of wharf where Tarn and the gully dwarves lay in wait.
"I'm going to sneak over there and try to get as close as I can," the half-breed whispered softly.
"We sneak too!" cried a dozen Aghar, not softly at all. Fortunately, the sound seemed to be swallowed by the general noise of storm and activity.
Tarn wasn't at all confident of his companions' stealth, but he quickly realized that there would be no dissuading the excited gully dwarves.
"Be careful," he warned, exasperated.
"We good sneakers!" Regal proclaimed, and, sure enough, the Aghar all but disappeared as they followed Tarn down the steep slope. They were indeed good sneakers.
Crouching at the foot of the embankment, Tarn scrutinized the dock, watching as the longboat lurched slightly in the swell and then glided up to the side of the solid wharf.
One dark dwarf hopped out of the boat before it had come to rest. "You wait here," he called over his shoulder to the others. "I'll find out our orders."
There was some loud grumbling from the rest of the crew, but ultimately they remained at their benches, holding the boat in the swell next to the dock while their compatriot scrambled over broken stones and soon passed out of sight.
Tarn looked skeptically at the boat. There were at least a dozen battle-hardened fighters sitting at the oars, ready to row or to fight. With the half-breed were perhaps twice that many Aghar, but he had few illusions about the fighting capabilities of his motley band. It was far better, he decided, to wait for a chance to take an unoccupied boat or one with only one or two dwarves on guard.
Regal Everwise, however, had other plans.
"Get boat!" he cried, leaping to his feet. He hopped down to the dock while the other Aghar, gaping in stupefaction, watched.
"Hey, you! I want boat!" Strutting like a lord, Regal ambled toward the craft. Tarn held his breath, realizing that none of the rest of them had been spotted. Instead, all the dark dwarves' attention was fixed upon the small, rotund Regal, who spoke with such annoying arrogance.
All but spitting in their rage at such insolence, several Daergar dropped their oars and scrambled onto the dock, stumbling over themselves in their eagerness to teach this gully dwarf a permanent lesson. Regal stopped his sauntering advance but made no effort to retreat back to safety.
And Tarn saw only one thing he could possibly do.
"Charge!" he shouted, drawing his short sword and leaping down to the dock. He didn't stop to see whether the rest of the Aghar followed. Instead, he raced at full speed toward the foremost Daergar, a hulking one-eyed axeman who had been quick to lead his comrades onto the dock.
The scarred warrior halted in surprise when Tarn appeared, then raised his axe with a look of enthusiasm, ready to meet this new opponent. But the sprinting half-breed was too fast, and he stabbed first, dropping the Daergar with a fatal piercing into the heart. Tarn's momentum momentarily staggered the rest of the dark dwarves, who were close together at the edge of the dock. With another swift hack and shove, Tarn sent a shrieking dark dwarf tumbling into the deep water beside the dock.
Then he fell back as more enemy fighters moved to his right and left, eager to surround him and cut him down.
"You leave my pal alone!" demanded Regal, advancing to take a place at Tarn's right side. The gully dwarf's long dagger snicked out, the quick slash driving the first of the Daergar back.
Dark dwarves swerved the other way, but Tarn was elated to see Duck Bigdwarf and Poof Firemaker counter to his left. The bigger gully dwarf cheerily swung a torch he had somehow ignited, while Duck dropped low and stabbed upward with a sharp, long-bladed dagger.
More of the Aghar were racing around, and now it was the Daergar who were surrounded and harassed on all sides by darting, taunting enemies. Poof's torch flared at the dark dwarves, who cursed its brightness. Swords and clubs flailed, fists and feet pummeled, and the press of the charging gully dwarves was just enough to check the advance of the enemy crewmen. Some of the Daergar still scrambled to get out of the boat while others fought, precariously balanced at the edge of the dock and terrified of the black water surging against the wharf behind them.
Duck crawled between the legs of a burly Daergar, and when the gully dwarf stood up the sharpened crown of his helm propelled the dark dwarf right off the dock. The armored warrior sank like a stone in the dark water, his screams unheeded by his crewmates who were still trying to scramble ashore. Then the Aghar were swarming over the boat, picking up oars-dropping several overboard before Tarn could stop them-and punching, kicking, and biting the few hapless dark dwarves.
Tarn leaped into the boat and was immediately startled by a loud clang from the hull beside his head. A steel arrow had just missed him. He whirled around, seeking the shooter. Judging from the force of the shot-the arrowhead had left a sizeable dent in the boat-he knew that the deadly archer must be nearby. But there were only gully dwarves in the vicinity.
"Look out!" Duck Bigdwarf shouted the warning, pointing toward one of the dwarves in the boat behind Tarn.
The half-breed whirled, realizing that the huddled figure beside him was no gully dwarf but instead a small-sized imposter who had rushed across the dock in the wake of the Aghar charge. The fellow moved with lightning speed, and the silver blade of a short sword darted from the shadows straight toward Tarn's throat.
"No you not!" Duck leaped from the dock, and the stab intended for Tarn instead caught the gully dwarf in the chest.
The attacker tried to pull back for another attack, but now Tarn reacted. His sword came down against the Daergar's weapon, knocking the blade out of the dark dwarf's hand. With a hiss of rage, the cutthroat scrambled to the dock a
nd raced away.
Tarn had no time to pursue. The few surviving Daergar made a charge to retake their boat. His sword caught one fellow in the forehead, dropping him in the hull of the boat. The gully dwarves made a splendid game of seizing the others and riding them into the water. After a great splash, each of the Aghar popped to the surface, while the armored and water-hating dark dwarves were not seen again.
Reaching down, Tarn pulled the assassin's weapon free from Duck, dropped the blade into the hull of the boat, and laid the motionless gully dwarf on a bench. The short sword was clean and gleaming, an insubstantial fire flickering along the razor edge of the blade. The hapless Aghar who had been pierced by the weapon was already dead.
"That was Slickblade!" gasped Regal Everwise, pointing to the disappearing assassin and then to the glaring skull embossed upon the silver hilt of the weapon. "He kill loads of Aghar!"
"If not for Duck Bigdwarf, he would have killed me as well," Tarn said, with a pang of grief for the courageous gully dwarf.
"You one hot fighter! You knock Slickblade's sword down!" Regal declared, looking at Tarn with eyes wide as saucers.
Tarn pushed his way forward, using his sword to cleave the last of the Daergar crew members. The bodies were unceremoniously dumped over the side. Tarn assigned two gully dwarves to each rowing bench, knowing that they had to put to sea swiftly.
At the same time, a roar of alarm went up.
Chapter Nineteen
Hybardin Hold
The lift rattled to a stop and the cage doors opened upon another of Hybardin's levels. Before the passengers could disembark, however, Baker Whitegranite slumped onto a bench and spoke weakly.
"Wait just a minute, now." Baker held up his hand. The band of Hylar who served as his bodyguard stood at attention while the thane hissed through clenched teeth and bent double, his hands clasped over his stomach. "It won't be long-just until the worst of the pain passes."
"Are you wounded, my lord?" asked Capper Whetstone in real concern.
"No. It's just a pain in the belly. All too familiar, I'm afraid. Just give me a minute and I'll be fine." He tried to smile into the blurred, concerned faces, but the agony was too acute.
For all his reassuring words, it was all Baker could do to keep from falling down in utter collapse. The fire in his stomach had afflicted him with increasing frequency as the defense of embattled Hybardin had progressed.
He tried to think, to divert his mind from the physical pain, but every memory seemed instead only to enhance his suffering. He thought of Axel Slateshoulders, laid low by the news of his daughter's fate, and Baker couldn't help but wince at his own culpability. It had been he who had assigned her to the post of ultimate danger, he who had been unable to provide her with the reinforcements and recruits that she had so desperately needed.
And what of his son? Was he on the lake, in the midst of the army of dark dwarves? The more Baker thought about it, the more convinced he became that Tarn, like Belicia and so many others, must be dead. The thought grew into a wave of melancholy so powerful that it seemed to almost overwhelm him.
The thane of the Hylar pinched his eyes shut, fighting a most undwarven onslaught of tears. Finally he gave in, holding his head in his hands and sobbing. All these deaths. So much of Hybardin destroyed-and destroyed by an enemy they couldn't even fathom! It was too much tragedy for one dwarf to bear. After his body was seemingly drained of all tears, he felt no better. His spirit was empty, and everything about the future seemed hopeless. How could any leader, any people, be expected to cope with such a relentless and deadly onslaught?
The dark dwarf attack had been treacherous and violent, but also predictable in light of the long, bloody history of Thorbardin. Baker reminded himself that he had tried to plan for it.
The Chaos horde was something that seemed impossible to defeat, or even to resist effectively. Instead, the Hylar could only flee or die. The parts of the city that had fallen to the creatures of shadow and destruction had been completely destroyed.
The only bright spot had been the diversionary tactic that had pitted the large attack force of Klar against the soldiers of Chaos. But Baker was under no illusions. This was not a tactic they could repeat with any regularity nor did it gain them any ground against the shadowy power that had claimed so much of the Hylar city.
Whole blocks of buildings were gone, gardens wilted, waters fouled. They were somewhere around the middle of the Life-Tree now, having stopped for a look and a report at each of the lift stations on the way down. Snatching at hope, he tried to formulate some kind of plan. At least his stomach pain had eased somewhat.
"All right. I think I can move again." With an effort he raised his head from his hands, embarrassed by his display of weakness. "Let's go."
"This is Level Ten, my lord. Our first reports were that it has not yet been attacked," explained Capper Whetstone, overseer of the thane's ten personal bodyguards. Now they formed two ranks, one to each side of the thane, while Capper himself walked at Baker's side.
The thane looked around, not really seeing much. The onetime blacksmith had long since noted his leader's visual problems. Now he described their surroundings without being prompted. "No damage visible so far, Sire. There's a couple of bridges linking the roads to the Kings Walls, both intact.".
"Good." Baker tried to detect some cause for optimism in the report, but his despair was too great to be eased by this news or any other.
"Look out!" shouted one of the bodyguards.
The thane whirled to see a dark shape rearing above another of the Hylar warriors. The dwarf moaned in terror as the tendrils of darkness slammed together-and then he was gone, in a shocking instant. Empty armor tumbled to the floor like a useless shell.
Capper Whetstone lunged and swung his axe with crushing force, but the weapon passed right through the vaporous apparition. The captain of the guard stumbled back an instant before a lashing limb of darkness could reach him.
And then the shadow was coming straight at Baker. The thane had drawn his sword-he didn't remember when-and he stabbed ahead blindly, striking into the center of the shade and feeling the darkness part before the edge of his blade. He cut again, feeling a shivering sensation in the air around him.
The shadow creature was gone.
"My lord, are you all right?" asked one of his men.
Baker nodded.
"How did you do that?" asked Capper. "I struck the thing square to no effect at all!"
"It was this sword," Baker said, looking at the short sword he held in his hand, "this sword from the wall of my Atrium, blessed by Reorx in the old days of Thorbardin like all the rest of those weapons." He was struck by an inspiration. "There's more of them there, all of them likewise blessed and enchanted. Come, we'll take them and use them in this fight!"
They quickly made their way to the Thane's Atrium. Soon they had removed all of the treasured artifacts from the wall except for a huge, long-hafted axe that was simply too heavy to carry. His bodyguards and a number of other Hylar warriors were thus armed with short and broadswords, axes and hammers great and small. If Baker's assumption proved correct, these weapons might cause some harm to the lightless attackers.
By the time the inspection of the next few levels was completed, Baker's "gut fire" had settled into a dull ache, a discomfort he was able to conceal as he passed the hopeful throngs of his people who had gathered on word of the thane's arrival. They were strangely silent, these worried dwarves, but Baker could sense the trust in their shining eyes. He silently vowed to prove himself worthy of his role as their leader.
Finally the lift rumbled into Level Five, the lowest station still controlled by the Hylar. Baker was heartened to see that the forges were still burning, encouraged to hear the hammering of smiths and the shouts of foremen as the dwarves worked hard in defense of their city.
But his mood darkened quickly as he remembered that it was not far below here, on the broad marketplace of Level Two, that Belicia and h
er valiant company had made their last stand.
"My Lord Thane," declared a young but battle-scarred Hylar, his head and one arm wrapped in bandages, "I was with the company in the plaza, below. I was told that I should give you a full report."
"Yes. Please, sit down." Baker gestured to one of the street-side benches, and the two dwarves sank together onto its stone surface. "What's your name? Can you tell me what happened down there when the Chaos horde attacked?"
"Thornwhistle, my lord-Farran Thornwhistle is my name. At first we were holding the bastards, lord. Captain Slateshoulders's plan was a good one. We beat back every one of the Daergar attacks-and the Theiwar's when they came ashore a few hours later. I can't say how many we killed, but it was hundreds, maybe more than a thousand."
Baker encouraged him to continue, the thane trying without success to imagine the bloody horrors that this young Hylar had survived.
"I had been wounded once or twice, lord like all the fighters. But still we held! I heard the songs of our ancestors, felt the drums pounding in triumph, and knew that the dark dwarves would rue the day that they attacked us. We bled, but we slew many of them, and our shield wall held!"
Farran took a deep breath, and suddenly his eyes were wild, haunted with memories. "And then-" Farran Thorn-whistle's voice caught, and he shook his head in disbelief. "It was like the sea caught fire. It spread to the bedrock. I saw the south dockside just melt away, running like sludge from heat. My lord, I wouldn't even expect you to believe me-but the rock was melting, I swear it!"
"Did it seem as though the fire was aiding the dark dwarves, perhaps controlled by Theiwar magic-users?" This was one of his greatest fears.
Thornwhistle scowled, thinking deeply. "No, lord. I don't think so. I saw more than a few of their boats go down. Some were melted, some capsized by the waves. And even on shore, the dark ones were running for their lives-especially those fleeing that fire dragon and the black one who rode it."
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