More Daergar spilled into the Grotto, and now they stood in a line along the far wall. Several had crossbows, and these were held unwaveringly upon the four dwarves in the center of the cavern.
"Take aim," said Darkend Bellowsmoke. The thane of the Daergar spoke to his victims calmly. "Now, do you wish to die quickly, or would you prefer to writhe in excess pain?"
He advanced toward the nest. "A platinum egg of great power for the true ruler of the dwarves?" Darkend all but cackled. "Perfect timing! I will take the egg, and my conquest shall be redeemed!"
Chapter Thirty
War's End
Tarn tensed, ready to make a leap at Darkend, but Belicia's hand on his arm restrained him. The thane of the dark dwarves scrambled into the nest while Baker and Regal stood helpless off to the side.
"This is a bauble of some size. But what are its hidden powers? Let me see."
Darkend seized the egg and then screamed in such agony that the others fell back as a sudden light pulsed brightly from within his body. Darkend flopped and gasped, pulled and twisted, doing every thing he could to break his grip on the Platinum Egg, but he seemed glued to the stone. His hair stood on end; his mouth worked noiselessly. No sound emerged, but a beam of white, pure light suddenly flashed from the depths of his mortal coil.
The others could only watch as his skin began to burn.
He screamed in unspeakable agony for minutes.
The Daergar warriors didn't wait to see the end. Every one of them fled back through the hole in the wall of the Grotto, running without a backward glance. Finally Dark-end simply shimmered and burst, his armor, mace, and body all vanishing without a trace.
"A false leader of dwarves, that one," Regal murmured dryly, after a long silence.
"Perhaps I should give it a try," Baker said, tentatively stepping around the residue of ashes that was all that was left of his rival.
"Father, don't! You saw what happened!" Tarn said.
"Listen to me, my son. I must try. And you must do as I commanded you. Right now. It is our only chance, the only chance to stop Chaos from destroying Thorbardin forever."
The half-breed was silent, miserably afraid but compelled to agree.
"Go! Take Belicia, the Hylar, and all the Aghar you can quickly find! But get out of here as fast as possible!"
"But-" began Tarn. He stepped closer to his father, spread his hands helplessly. "Come with us! Don't do this. You don't have to do this."
"But I must. I am the last thane. Son, it is time for our paths to part. You must understand this!"
"Your father is right," Regal, who was also Chisel Loremaster said calmly. "Now, go-and quickly! The power of the ancients will be released if your father is successful. And you must be gone!"
"Go upward, out of Thorbardin," Baker commanded his son. The thane turned his attention to Belicia. "Take care, my child, and know that your father was very brave and very proud of you."
"And I was… am proud of him," Belicia said through her tears.
"You!" She took Tarn by the arm. "Listen to your father!"
Dumbly he followed her as they climbed down from the nest, crossed the cavern, and climbed toward the hole in the wall of the Grotto.
Baker and Regal watched Tarn and his woman depart.
"You're doing the right thing," Regal said, patting the thane on the back.
"I know." The thane of the Hylar sighed. It seemed to Baker that his whole life had been building toward this moment.
"Tell me, how did you learn the last lesson?" asked the gully dwarf who was really a scion of the ages.
"It was in my readings, the scrolls left by Chisel Loremas-by yourself," Baker explained softly. He looked around at the Grotto and imagined the great stalactite outside. "The power of the Graygem in this egg is the raw power of Chaos."
"Aye, it is."
"And only that power can match the forces that beset our realm. Only Chaos can reach out to destroy Chaos."
Baker Whitegranite took the Platinum Egg, placed his hands carefully, lightly upon it, his eyes unwavering.
He pictured the great stalactite around him, the shaft of stone that had been suspended here for more than ten thousand years. Perhaps he should have been feeling fear or sadness, but he remained strangely peaceful. His thoughts tinged with melancholy as he remembered the deaths, the suffering, the killing that had been the legacy of his time in the thane's chair.
And he knew that the saga was not complete.
"Do you think they have reached safety?" asked Baker Whitegranite.
"I know they have," Regal replied.
"Reorx forgive me, it is the will of Paladine himself." He murmured a soft prayer and felt the peaceful presence of his god, of the god who watched over all dwarvenkind.
As his grip slowly tightened, he felt the egg of platinum rotate smoothly in its socket. Light welled up, a soothing and cool light that embraced Baker Whitegranite and spread through the Grotto, seeping into the solid stone beyond.
Then it began, first as a slight tremor, a wobbling in the floor, in the walls, in the very air. Cracks spiderwebbed through the walls, and pieces of stone began to break loose and topple from the ceiling.
Brilliant white light burst from the egg, shining from the rock, from Baker himself. Yet he felt somehow outside of the experience, watching proudly as if from a distance, cherishing this moment, this place, his people.
And he became the light, streaming outward, rushing through the rock of the Life-Tree.
Wherever that light touched, the shadows of Chaos ceased to exist, wisping back to the nothingness that was their origin. Fire dragons sizzled to ashes; slithering creatures spasmed and vanished.
Where dwarves lay wounded or cowering in terror the light caressed them, and as they died the folk of the under-mountain felt the tender embrace of their god.
The light rained downward, streaming through all the levels of the great city, probing into each ruined chamber, seeking, finding the beings of Chaos wherever they tried to hide. It found the suffering dwarves as well and carried them away more gently.
In the air over the Urkhan Sea, Zarak Thuul was shocked by the first wave of light. He emitted a long, tortured wail, screaming his defiance. The power of the light seared his flesh and burned hotter even than the fires of his eyes. The daemon warrior writhed under the onslaught of that magical assault, shaking his fists, howling in fury as the power of Chaos tore at him and drove him down, surrounding him and quenching his power. Primus, too, cried in surreal pain. The white light embraced the fire dragon, drowning the brightness of his pure flame and tearing him into shreds of chaos that settled toward the lake waters in a flurry of dying sparks.
The daemon warrior tumbled through space, still howling, striking out against nothing and everything as the power of the platinum artifact swept him away. The dark waters of the lake were all around him. And then they were gone. Still the magic drove him, smashing and pounding, irresistible and overwhelming. The planes of darkness whirled past, and shreds of aether tore at his burning flesh until once more Zarak Thuul tumbled into the bleak-prison of the Abyss.
All of Thorbardin was illuminated as if it had been opened to the sky on a sunny day. In their cities on the shores of the underground sea the surviving Daewar gazed in awe while the Theiwar and Daergar howled, clasping hands to blinded eyes. Baker Whitegranite, who was the light, continued to expand outward. Knowing he was the tool of the gods and the ancient dragons, he embraced his destiny, spreading across the cool, dark waters of the Urkhan Sea.
When those waters finally took him, Baker accepted his end. The darkness that closed over his head brought him a renewed sense of calm.
And at last, peace.
Epilogue
Tarn had expected that his first daylight in two decades would be painful or, at the very least, uncomfortable to his dark-tuned eyes. Instead, he and Belicia emerged into the Valley of Thanes during the ghostly blue of pre-dawn, with the sight of the sky overhead the most
beautiful thing he had ever witnessed.
There were thousands of other dwarves here, Hylar and Aghar and even many Klar, all of whom had escaped the Life-Tree and found their way through the mountain to the surface. This was only a percentage of those who had lived and died in Hybardin, but these dwarves were safe-at least for now.
He and Belicia had walked and crawled for a long time. Sometimes they had been alone, other times with nameless others, all seeking refuge. They had followed instinct and guesswork as they sought escape out of the mountain. And finally they had come here, to the ancient burial grounds of the kingdom, the lofty valley cradled among vastly higher summits.
Tarn was startled as a wild-eyed Klar rose to his feet from behind a nearby rock. The half-breed's hand went to his weapon, but something in the other dwarf's manner held his hand from the instinctive attack.
"What do you want?" he growled, stepping protectively in front of Belicia.
"Here," said the fellow, his gaze flashing between the two refugees. He extended a small object, and Tarn heard the splashing of water. "Drink," suggested the Klar.
"Thank you." At once Tarn noticed that he was terribly thirsty. He uncapped the flask and sniffed the odor of sweet water before taking a small drink. He then passed the drink to Belicia. She took a sip, then he slaked his own thirst before handing it back. "Who are you?" he asked.
"Tufa Bloodeye, thane of the Klar," declared the bedraggled dwarf, allowing a hint of pride to creep into his voice.
Tarn noticed that his eyes were shot through with crimson, so stark and red that they might in fact have been filled with blood.
"We're at peace again, your clan and mine?" asked Tarn hesitantly.
"Peace with you. You Hylar, right?"
"Yes, we're Hylar," Tarn replied. For the first time in his life he felt he really belonged to his father's clan. He and Belicia left Tufa Bloodeye, continuing into the vast valley and looking at the dwarves who were huddled everywhere.
"Did any of the Daergar survive?" asked Belicia numbly. "What about your mother?"
Tarn shook his head sadly. "I doubt it."
"And Regal-or Chisel. What about him?"
Tarn forced a rueful smile. "Him I wouldn't be so sure about."
"What is left of Thorbardin? What do we do now?" asked Belicia, slipping her hand through the crook of his elbow and pulling him close. She was numb and grieving, but her eyes were dry and her chin strong, high, firm. "The hill dwarves will help us," Tarn said, with more confidence than he felt. "The time for war between the clans has passed."
"And Hybardin-will we go back there some day?" "Perhaps we shall; certainly our children will." "Until then, we'll have each other," his beloved concluded. And from the sky, low on the horizon after sunset, there came the gleaming twinkle of a lone red star.
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The Last Thane cw-1 Page 26
