Baker nodded, having heard many reports of this menacing but mysterious being. "What did he do? Was he the leader?"
"Aye, lord. He seemed to summon others, sending them against both Daergar and our own Hylar!"
"What 'others'? What kind of troops did you see?"
"They were like shadows, lord, but shadows with an insatiable hunger and a lethal touch. A whole rank of my comrades fell dead, falling like empty sacks of flesh, drained into nothingness by a touch from these beasts. I could see their armor there, their weapons-but by Reorx, they were gone! And I don't even remember who they were! Men and women I had trained with for weeks, had shared the battle line with all day!"
Thornwhistle lowered his head into his hands and sobbed. Awkwardly Baker patted him on the shoulder, though his own grief felt every bit as heavy.
"Yours is confirmation of other experiences, even my own."
"Captain Slateshoulders rallied us. We tried to stand. By Reorx, her courage was the stuff of song and legend-and we failed her!"
"No. There is no failure in fleeing from these creatures, my young warrior. But tell me of your captain, Belicia Felixia Slateshoulders. Did you see her fall?"
"No. The shadows were too thick." Wretched and miserable, Farran looked at his thane with an expression of utter despair. "They came up the stairs and through the rock. Everyone was running for their lives. I was afraid, my lord-I was a rank coward, and I deserve to be punished!"
"We're all afraid, son. There's no shame in that. Were you still down below when the bottom of the Life-Tree caved in?"
"No. We were climbing by then, fighting on the stairs leading up to Level Three. But those shadows were after us, coming from everywhere!"
"You get some rest now. And eat something." Baker was thoughtful, trying to seize on a tiny ray of hope that he had discerned in these reports. He felt profound admiration for this young warrior and deep pity for the dwarves who had faced this ungodly threat. "You'll have to fight again, Reorx knows, but not before you have a chance to recover."
The thane left the young warrior with several matrons who promised to look after him. Baker's step was strangely buoyant, however, as he returned to the lift station. If truth be told, he felt better, more hopeful, than he had since the Chaos horde had first attacked.
He found Axel at the station and he embraced his astonished friend firmly, fiercely holding him against his chest.
"Is there news? Did you hear how Belicia fell?" asked the grieving veteran.
"No news, except this: we still remember her, don't we? What she looked like? Who she was?"
"Aye. It's all we have now," Axel declared bitterly.
"No it isn't," Baker insisted. "It dawned on me while I was talking to a young survivor just now. The story is always the same. Those who fall to the Chaos creatures are not only killed, but their memories are blotted out from all who remain as if they never existed."
"I know that!" snapped Axel.
"And you just confirmed it-you and I both-even that young warrior! We all remember Belicia vividly, don't we?"
"Aye." Axel's eyes flashed, suddenly sharing the insight that had uplifted Baker.
"Exactly! And if we remember her, then there's a very good chance that she's still alive!"
Chapter Twenty
Sailors on the Ocean Black
"Have any of you ever been on a boat before?" Tarn asked, trying to keep his tone casual as the vessel took a sudden lurch to starboard.
"First time, by guff!" Regal boasted, with a chorus of assent from the gully dwarves who were shifting and bickering on the rowing benches. Somehow, three or four of them-all on the portside posts-had managed to get their oars wet and move the boat away from the dock. Now, with a clatter of lumber, the boat was moving with surprising speed.
"And by the way," Tarn added, bracing himself and raising his voice over the din of a dozen arguments. "I think you're supposed to row on both sides at the same time!"
The craft twisted back to port as the starboard oarsmen all dipped their boards into the water and pushed with something approaching unison.
"What fun that? We just go straight then," groused Regal.
Somehow, despite the best efforts of the gully dwarves, the boat continued to move away from the dock. Water heaved all around them, and the slender vessel rocked back and forth, but the Aghar seemed utterly unperturbed by the tumult. Tarn tried to take some inspiration from them, though he still clutched the tiller for security.
The half-breed looked to shore and saw a boat full of Daergar warriors. The deadly assassin called Slickblade, his eyes expressionless in the slit of his black mask, stood rigidly in the bow as the pursuing craft pulled away from shore. The bow was aimed straight toward the Aghar pirates, oars striking the water in precise cadence and churning white waves before the sharp prow.
"Row! Fast!" he urged.
A splashing froth rose along the port side, and their boat wheeled grandly to starboard. The valiant gully dwarves frowned, and their oars skipped over the water as their concentration was interrupted. Tarn, in the stern, tried to shout instructions and encouragement, which mainly had the effect of causing his voice to grow exceedingly hoarse.
The other boat drew closer, and Tarn saw that Slick-blade had armed himself with a long spear. The assassin seemed focused on Tarn. Fueled by memories of the dead Rocco and Duck, Tarn felt more than ready to meet that challenge.
"Come on!" he murmured.
The Daergar craft drove closer, aiming to ram the stern of the Aghar craft.
"Turn!" cried Tarn, adding his weight to the tiller. The boat heeled slightly, lengthening the distance from the enemy, but still their pursuers dogged their heels.
A spear soared at them, and Tarn knocked the weapon aside just before the two boats collided. Tarn straddled two benches, holding his balance in the lurching water-craft. Keeping his weight low, he lunged toward the gunwale, thrusting his sword and striking a solid blow against Slickblade's spear. The assassin hurled his weapon suddenly, but the rocking boat made his aim go wide. The Daergar boat pitched again as Slickblade snatched up another spear.
"You'll sink us both! You're mad!" one of the dark dwarf rowers shrieked, casting a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder.
That gave Tarn an idea. If he could tip the dark dwarves' boat, every armor-clad warrior would sink straight to the bottom of the lake. The half-breed lunged, landing on the edge of the enemy boat, which tilted sickeningly under his weight.
Both hulls rocked wildly. The gully dwarves whooped and grinned while the panic-stricken Daergar rowers tried to pull away. Tarn himself would have toppled into the sea had Regal not seized his belt and pulled him back.
Ignoring Slickblade's hysterical commands, the dark dwarf rowers pulled away, making for the shore with all possible haste. The curses of the infuriated assassin were quickly drowned out by the tumult.
The choppy waters of the sea began to rock the boat. The forces of Chaos were wreaking havoc on the normally placid waters of the lake. The harbors of Thorbardin had been constructed without the breakwaters that Tarn knew were common protection for ports of the surface world. After all, why should the dwarves build a barrier to stop waves that had never before existed?
Tarn heard screams and saw one of the Daergar lake boats pitching dangerously against the docks. Pushed by a surge of water, the metal hull crushed several of its passengers and dumped more of them into the frigid and surprisingly deep waters. The armored dwarves immediately disappeared beneath the surface. Their panic-stricken crewmates made no effort to rescue them.
The Aghar, however, seemed utterly oblivious to the prospect of real danger.
"Whee! Ride waves!"
"Faster! Higher! Bigger!"
"This real ride!"
The gully dwarves howled with glee as the boat moved into the full swell of the Urkhan Sea. Tarn was sickened by the lurching and uncontrolled motion of their boat, but the Aghar seemed to enjoy the rollicking ride. Perhaps it was
good that none of them had been on a boat before. They didn't understand how unnatural this roiling swell was on the enclosed underground sea.
On the other hand, the gully dwarves would have probably whooped with delight if they'd been faced with a hurricane. Tarn felt his heart skip a beat every time another wave sloshed into the hull. He recognized the imminent danger: every wave brought more water spilling over the bow and sloshing down the length of the long keel.
"Bail!" cried Tarn, seizing a Daergar helmet and scooping the water that sloshed around his boats. Several gully dwarves immediately joined him in that game, though it took many pointed instructions to get them to pour the water out of the boat instead of over their comrades at the rowing benches.
After much shouting and yelling, most of the little dwarves had begun to bail vigorously while those at the rowing benches-except for two or three who had already dropped their oars overboard-maintained something like a rhythm in the strokes of their blades. True, the boat never maintained a direct heading toward Hybardin, sometimes bearing to port and otherwise to starboard of the Life-Tree, but Tarn figured that as long as they held to the general direction they could get close and worry about the finer points of navigation later.
Moving air gusted past them, and even in his numbed state Tarn was startled by this bizarre phenomenon. He had heard of wind, had even experienced it when he had traveled on the surface of Krynn during the decades after the War of the Lance. Yet it was a bizarre and frightening occurrence here in the enclosed world of Thorbardin.
The air seemed to be gusting from the direction of Daerforge and propelled them toward Hybardin. Somehow the boat managed to stay afloat, aided by the frantically bailing dwarves. Tarn and Regal stood in the stern, taking turns holding the rudder-which at their limited speed was more of an ornament than a directional tool. Tarn tried to shout in a cadence that would enable the Aghar to row with some semblance of coordination.
"Pull!" chanted Tarn in slow rhythm. "Pull!"
After a while Regal took over, and he too shouted the beat to the rowers, "One, Two, One, Two," with real enthusiasm.
Poof Firemaker crouched in the bow, encouraging the rowers and often turning to look eagerly at the smoking, burning pillar of the Life-Tree.
When he wasn't urgently directing his crew, Tarn lifted his eyes and took a few moments to glance around. The dwarven kingdom, Tarn felt certain, would never be the same. Fires burned in many places, using nothing more than rock as fuel. Thunder echoed and steam wafted through the air in great clouds. Across the sea he saw a bizarre, funnel-shaped cloud, whirling along the far shore. Every so often it would pick up a lake boat and cast the vessel and its terrified passengers through the air. The mist was everywhere in Thorbardin. Tarn suddenly became aware that his skin was clammy and the temperature was preternaturally warm.
All of a sudden the half-breed heard a moan of terror coming from the bow of the boat. He saw a shadow crouching there, and even from this distance he could feel the chill of its presence. He watched as, impenetrable and shapeless, the form reached out with two black limbs and embraced the trembling form of Poof Firemaker.
And then the horrific creature held only a limp and bedraggled bundle in its shadowy arms. A little tinder box dangled from the belt of the ragged clothes. Tarn couldn't recall from where the bundle had come, but he had no time to ponder that mystery as the shadow-wight moved down the hull. Panicked gully dwarves tumbled over the rowing benches, pushing and kicking at each other in their haste to get away.
Tarn was already in motion. Drawing his sword, he pushed his way through the throng until he faced the shadow alone near the bow of the boat.
Waves rolled past and the hull shifted underfoot, but he held his balance easily as his battle instincts took over. But how to fight this thing? It had no weapon and was in fact so tenuous in appearance that Tarn wasn't even certain it had a physical being. It was as if the thing floated directly above the hull of the boat, not adding any weight to the watercraft.
But then he saw the eyes, and he was shocked at the depth of the return stare. He was looking at himself. His saw his mother and his father in those eyes, and the contrast of light and darkness made his brain hurt, numbed his senses and even loosened the grip of his sword hand.
"Don't look!"
With a loud thwack, Regal hit Tarn over the head with an oar. The blow broke whatever force that held the half-breed even as it sent a throbbing pain shooting through his skull. Remembering his enemy, Tarn raised his sword and held his vision below the level of those hypnotic eyes.
The creature was a totally lightless shape, though Tarn could make out a gaping mouth and two gaunt, clutching limbs. A clawlike tendril of pure black nothingness reached forward, and Tarn intuitively knew that he couldn't let the creature touch him. Sinew in both arms flexing, he swung the sword with all of his might.
The blade passed cleanly through the extended limb, but the monster only lifted its head and laughed coldly. The hand that should have been severed reached around and seized the blade of the sword. Immediately Tarn felt an icy pain in his hands, and he was forced to release the weapon before his arm froze.
The wight tossed the weapon contemptuously over the side and soundlessly drifted a step closer to the stunned half-breed. Tarn recoiled, nearly stumbling over a rowing bench in his haste to scramble beyond that lethal touch. With deliberate slowness the deadly monster moved after him.
Behind him the terrified moaning of a boatful of gully dwarves rose, interspersed with shouts of advice.
"Fight him!"
"Run!"
Tarn knew that he had to stop the creature or the entire crew was doomed.
Weaponless, Tarn looked frantically around, catching sight of a silver short sword lying in the hull of the boat-Slickblade's weapon, the blade that had killed Duck Bigdwarf. He hesitated as he noted the leering skull emblazoned on the metal hilt, but he had no other alternative.
Snatching up the sword, Tarn thrust the bright, flickering blade at the wight just as the monster lunged forward.
But this time Tarn felt resistance to the thrust of the blade. He pushed harder and the shadow-wight uttered a surreal scream-not so much pain as great anguish. Fiercely elated, the dwarf slashed with the weapon, hacking again and again. Abruptly the creature vanished in a cloud of rapidly dissipating mist.
"Yea!" Cheering Aghar instantly mobbed the half-breed, a move that sent the boat rocking precariously. The celebration ceased quickly as the gully dwarves remembered the empty clothes in the bow. One big nosed fellow sniffed loudly, the others were strangely silent.
"To your benches!" barked Tarn. "Row!"
"You kill that?" wondered Regal, his voice full of awe as the other gully dwarves reluctantly returned to their stations. "You one tough war guy!"
"It was this sword," Tarn said in wonder, holding the plain-looking weapon up for inspection. It was assassin's steel, cold and starkly reflective. And it was his own sword now.
Somehow he and Regal got the crew back to their stations without sinking the boat, despite the fact that the water in the hull had risen nearly to the level of his knees. He set the bailers went to work again, lending a hand himself. Few oars had been lost, and they were able to keep going at a steady pace. The busy Aghar bailers emptied gallons of water out of the hull.
They drew closer to the Life-Tree, and all of Tarn's thoughts focused on the looming horror before him. He could see more detail now, and the sight was another blow to his spirits. The First and Second Levels of the Hylar city where Belicia had been stationed were now a mass flaming rock. He groaned at the horrible sight, certain that no one could have survived such a wave of destruction. Other levels, higher above, dripped and melted and burned. Would they find anybody alive when they got there?
As they drew nearer to Hybardin, Tarn saw that many Daergar boats were floating in the water just off the Life-Tree docks. The watercraft bobbed here and there close to the shore but didn't seem to have any purpose
or formation. The crews had vanished.
And then, as if to punctuate the sense of gloom and disaster settling over Tarn, from the fully enclosed skies of Thorbardin came a shower of cold rain. Never before in the half-breed's lifetime had this happened. It never would have been thought remotely possible.
Their boat pulled toward the bleak shore, rising and falling on steep-sided breakers. With each stroke the pitching sea churned all the more. Waves rose, pushing them higher. Then with a thunderous crash the hull tipped and all the dwarves found themselves in the water.
Tarn felt the cold waters closing over his head. Then strong hands had him by the hair. He felt himself yanked violently upward, and then the grip had him by the ears and beard. He was bashed against a rock, pulled and twisted this way and that, until finally he was yanked ashore to gasp for breath on a ruined travesty of what had once been the proud city of the Hylar.
Chapter Twenty-one
A Council of Chaos
Garimeth knew four reasons Darkend Bellowsmoke brought his sister with him when he boarded a boat to journey back to Hybardin for the next phase of attack. First, her knowledge of the Hylar city was better than any other Daergar's. Second, the Helm of Tongues made her an invaluable translator. Third, the respect shown her by the daemon warrior had impressed the thane, even as it still caused her to shiver with remembered delight.
And finally, he had decided that he couldn't trust her out of his sight.
In the paranoid and scheming mind of the thane, no one could be trusted absolutely. She knew it was that universal suspicion that for now would keep Garimeth Bellowsmoke alive.
The Helm of Tongues allowed her to perceive all of this and more, though she was careful not to reveal the extent and depth of her awareness. She kept a safe distance from her brother, trailing to the rear of the party of warriors that marched back down from Daerforge's upper level to gather at the waterfront. There too she gave Darkend a wide berth, watching patiently as the thane's force made ready to depart.
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