by Doug Niles
The Hylar on the waterfront made a well-ordered retreat to the four stairways. Only Belicia and the few of her troops skilled with the heavy crossbow waited, concealed among the debris near the edge of the water. The Hylar captain noted with suprise that Hoist Backwrench bore one of the shiny steel weapons and had a quiver of lethal looking darts slung on his back.
“Glad to see you,” she said quietly, as the two of them crouched beside a crate that had just been emptied of its cargo of steel.
“Looks like you were right,” the shipper said grimly, squinting at the line of hulls that edged forward out of the darkness of the Urkhan Sea. “Can’t say I’m glad, but I’d like to think I’m big enough to admit when I’ve been a fool.”
Belicia smiled grimly. “Not a fool. And I’m grateful for your crossbow.”
“You’ve got my strong right arm, too,” Hoist said, closing his fist around the hilt of a broad-bladed shortsword. “Don’t fergit, this is my dock those bastards are trying to take away from us!”
She looked closely and was surprised to see tears in the corner of the burly Hylar’s eyes.
The white wakes curling ahead of the Daergar prows were now visible. These were long-hulled lake boats, each of them with a sharp prow, and propelled by a dozen or more oars. Beyond the leering figureheads Belicia could make out fully armored dark dwarves, tightly packed in the hulls and staring grimly toward the land.
A rank of archers hid behind the rampart above and behind Belicia. The veteran crews at the ballistae were waiting for her sign. She took out her flint and used her dagger to scrape a spark into the small, oil-soaked torch she had prepared for this moment. Instantly the wick flared into yellow flame, a bright flash shining all across the waterfront. In less than a second she heard the loud crack and thrum of the two nearest ballistae as they cast their missiles.
The first arrow clanged off the prow of a Daergar boat, knocking the vessel sideways so that it collided with a neighboring craft in a tangle of curses and splintering oars. For a moment the advance was delayed by confusion, but Belicia grimaced when she saw the two prows quickly swing shoreward again. The great shaft from the second ballista had flown over the bow of a long, narrow-hulled craft, directly into the tightly packed crew. A chorus of screams vanished under the cheer that rose from the shore as that boat veered to the side and slowed to a halt, oars akimbo.
By the time the great weapons were loaded again, at least a hundred assault boats were visible, pulling up to the docks and to the broken rock of the shore. Two more ballista missiles rocketed out and downward at a steep angle. Each pierced the hull of a boat, sinking the metal-hulled vessels immediately. Shrieking Daergar splashed and floundered in the black water.
Belicia knew these dwarves were doomed. Although the boat sank but a stone’s throw from shore, not one of the dwarves would be able to swim that distance. The dark dwarves hated the water every bit as much as the Hylar and their heavy armor drug them thrashing and burbling to the bottom of the sea. This time there was no cheering. Even for an enemy, death by drowning was a fate as cruel as any known to Thorbardin’s dwarvenkind.
More boats swept closer, and now Belicia stood up. “Shoot!” she cried. “Give them a full volley!”
Arrows and darts hissed through the air, a deadly barrage that found targets in many of the crowded hulls. But the missiles couldn’t stop the relentless onslaught, and in moments dozens of the longboats were pulling alongside the stone fingers of Hybardin’s docks. Reloading once, Belicia took another shot, dropping the captain of one of the lead boats. Despite the barrage of arrows, the Daergar were swarming ashore in great numbers.
“Fall back!” she shouted, the command echoing among the dwarf archers still on the docks of Level One.
More arrows, light but lethal missiles which arced outward and down from the ramparts above, began to shower the gathering phalanxes of invaders. Belicia and her advance guard fell back in orderly fashion. The line of the shield wall at the base of the stairs parted to allow their captain through.
“You were right about this, too,” Hoist said, indicating the Daergar that were swarming across the dock. “We’d have been surrounded before half of us could have made it back to the stairs.”
She nodded curtly. It had been obvious to her all along, but she was glad that he had finally seen the truth.
“Are you ready here, Farran?” she asked the young dwarf responsible for commanding this detachment.
“Aye, captain,” replied the warrior. Just a short time earlier, Farran had been learning the rudiments of a shield wall while Belicia had banged his shins with a stout staff. “Bring ’em on!”
“That’s the spirit!” She clapped him on the shoulder and offered a silent prayer to Reorx. She wanted to stay here on the front line, but with her company dispersed into five detachments she had to maintain her own freedom so that she could move around and observe.
“Reckon I’ll stay here, too,” Hoist said, with a casual salute to the female captain. She saw that he had picked up a shield from somewhere. It relieved her somewhat to have the capable old Hylar standing in the shield wall. “At least I can keep an eye on my shipyard,” he added with a growl, as the dark dwarves began to spread across the waterfront.
The Daergar wore black armor adorned with spikes, blades, and images of bestial faces. Full helmets protected their heads, each with faceplate down and locked. The dark dwarves swarmed across the dockyard by the hundreds, scattering among the barrels and bales of what had once been a prosperous waterfront. Now they howled in outrage as they saw that virtually everything of value had been cleared away. From their positions on the stairways and ramparts the Hylar hooted jeers and derision, and a small group of infuriated Daergar rushed impetuously at the shield wall which blocked their passage up the stairs.
“Steady there, wait!” roared Farran, in the voice of a natural sergeant. The Hylar line had formed across the sixth stair so that the enemy would have to climb to reach them. The rank was three dwarves thick and now Belicia could only hope that it would hold. It had to hold.
The first of the dark dwarves scrambled up the steps, many of the attackers stumbling before they even reached their enemy. The others were quickly cut down, their bodies left to bleed on the stairs and create an additional obstacle for the much larger number following.
On the docks, the bulk of the Daergar were now forming into companies. Still harassed by the arrows showering them, they cursed and howled at the defenders, promising slow deaths and worse when they had won the fight. Bristling with axe and spear and sword, the teeming mass charged the stairway, scrambling over the corpses of their comrades. Scores of fanatical dark dwarves smashed with full force into the desperate Hylar’s thin line.
“You archers, shoot double time,” bellowed Belicia. “Let them have it!”
The young dwarves along the parapet showered their missiles down from the ramparts. Nearly every arrow found a target in the tight-packed army of dark dwarves, though many of the well-armored attackers were protected from serious wounds by their shoulder plates and steel helms. Still, the darts caused many wounds and added to the general confusion of the infuriated, battle-crazed Daergar.
No matter how many of the enemy rushed forward, only a small number of them could reach the shield wall of Hylar. The clash of sword and shield rang across the waterfront as the charging mob funneled onto the stairway and met the firmly standing line. Anchored by the rear ranks of their comrades and benefitting from holding the higher position, the Hylar shield wall did not waver from the shock of the first clash. From her position still higher above, Belicia saw that Hoist had taken on the role of anchoring the right end of the line while Farran displayed the poise and confidence of a veteran as he shouted encouragement to his troops.
Quickly the attack bogged down. Some dark dwarves at the foot of the stairway hacked at the backs of their own comrades out of sheer frustration. Despite the attackers’ best efforts, the shield wall held. The enraged Daer
gar fanned out across the wide dockyard, large companies spreading to the right and left as they sought another route up to the plaza from where the archers continued their barrage. Roaring with fury, the Daergar hastened along the waterfront and Belicia knew it would only be a matter of minutes before they pressed the attack against the other stairways.
The Hylar captain stopped long enough to take stock of the archers who had been posted on the ramparts all along the market. Arrows still showered upon the attackers. Fortus Silkseller had taken command of one of these detachments and stopped shooting long enough to answer her questions. She urged the troops keep shooting, but to make sure that the archers were taking careful aim.
“Make each shot count!” she shouted, and the wielders of the dwarven short bows nodded in understanding.
The roar of battle filled the air, rising to the upper levels of the Life-Tree. From the balconies of the Third Level which overhung the waterfront by a significant distance, a shower of garbage, stones, and occasionally a flask or two of fiery oil fell upon the attackers. Small blazes sprang up here and there, and the Daergar howled, infuriated as much by the flaring brightness as they were by the heat and flame.
Belicia checked her reserve detachment, sixty dwarves under the command of a one-eyed veteran named Tenor Ironwood. He was anxious to bring his dwarves into the fray, but growled in grudging acquiescence when she explained the need to keep his warriors ready for the crisis that would inevitably come.
Finally Belicia hurried to the western staircase and saw that the shield wall was standing firm. She cautioned them that the Daergar were on the way, then headed back to the east to find the battle already joined. Here, too, the Hylar on the stairway held firm and the dark dwarves suffered under the arrows from the ramparts. The crowding forced their vast numbers into a narrow and deadly channel. A peg-legged mercenary captain called Broadaxe was profanely exhorting the Hylar of his shield wall into a killing frenzy.
The sounds of battle echoed throughout Hybardin and carried far across the Urkhan Sea. The main thrust still came at the southern stairway. Belicia was proud to see that Farran’s line had only backed up five or six steps and each foot of ground gained was costing the Daergar dozens upon dozens of warriors. The lines at the east and west stairs, facing less pressure from the attack, had not been forced to give any ground, and the Daergar made no effort to circle all the way around the island to attack from the north.
Belicia was pretty certain why they were leaving the last route alone and her suspicions were confirmed an hour later by the shouts of lookouts posted on Level Three. She raced across the plaza to see that the lake was obscured by an unnatural bank of fog. The mist seethed across the black waters like a living thing, rolling steadily closer to the Hybardin waterfront. She was not surprised to see the Theiwar fleet appear. A long rank of slender hulls slid forward from the fog to the north and west.
The boats emerged from a barrier of mist far thicker than the shadows of the underground sea. She shivered at this first evidence of Theiwar magic. The vaporous barrier had concealed their approach until the dark dwarves were already well within bow range, and now the defenders had time for only a single, lashing volley. Still, a hundred crossbows snapped and a barrage of silvery arrows darted into the Theiwar mass.
But most of the missiles fizzled into ashes before they reached their targets as Theiwar magic again shimmered in the air, robbing the volley of most of its strength. The attackers hooted and jeered as the harmless dust fizzled into the sea, and the boats swept forward quickly. Belicia had no choice but to order her defenders onto the stairs, the Hylar abandoning the docks to make their defense at the bottleneck of the approach to Level Two.
She heard strange words, weird chants that seemed to writhe and twist across the waterfront, and then a barrage of flaming balls sparked outward from the boats. The dots of flame drifted easily across the docks, settling among the crates and barrels abandoned by the archers. In another second the entire area was obscured by fire, crackling sheets of flame that erupted from the deceptively gentle balls to seethe among the wooden obstacles.
Theiwar warriors, staring horridly with their wide, milky eyes, quickly swarmed the waterfront and rushed to the base of the north stairway where Belicia’s last detachment soon had carved a bloody battle line.
The dark dwarves cast more spells. Hissing, sparking arrows suddenly began to shower into the Hylar. Some of the magic missiles were deflected by shields and armor, but others seared into skin and flesh. Dwarves screamed, but there was more anger than pain in the sounds as the vengeful defenders wielded their axes and swords with fury and skill. Even a magical cloud of stinking gas didn’t break the line. When the vapors seemed to choke as many Theiwar as Hylar, the attackers finally set about the onslaught with the physical tools of war. Swords clanged against shields, and the Theiwar invaders hurled simple, brute strength against resolute Hylar stubbornness.
More Theiwar swarmed to the west and the Hylar captain watched with grim amusement as these newcomers set upon the Daergar, driving their fellow dark dwarves away from the base of the stairs. The defending Hylar took the chance to catch their breath, until the Theiwar rushed to take the place of the attackers they had just dislodged.
The battles raged at each of the four stairways, and each step of advance was purchased at a heavy toll in blood. Belicia held her reserve detachment at the ready, wondering how long her brave defenders could hold out.
More and more attackers swarmed from the darkness to all sides. Even if the battle waned, there was no denying the ultimate truth. The Hylar were surrounded by enemies and any hope of survival would have to be found within the hearts of those who were ready to give their lives in defense.
Interlude of Chaos
The fire dragons were joined by shadows of purest darkness. All around the cosmos, from every place where the beings of wildness and destruction had been held, the creatures of Father Chaos arose and heeded the call. They swarmed through the stuff of worlds, howled in the vast silences of space, and rushed toward the poor vault of dirt and stone and sea.
But Krynn itself could not even acknowledge the presence of danger. A mere piece of ground in the cosmos, that place of men and dwarves and dragons could only whirl in its appointed place and allow the dwellers upon and within it to face the host of horrors that swept in with the tide Chaos.
Already many of the realms under the sun had felt the sweep of undoing, for the creatures of Chaos had begun their war against the rulers of Ansalon. But soon the attackers and their waves of destruction swelled beyond the visible world, moved past the places that could be seen. Some of the horde soared through the skies and others moved into the bedrock of the world.
And these last flew through the rock and stone as if it was wispy smoke. They followed the beacon of Primus, who in turn was guided by his dark master. They flew, climbed, and swam in the world until the shell of that planet fell away to reveal a great underground sea, teeming cities—some bright with light and others inky black. They also found peoples of blood and flesh, victims for the coming of Chaos.
Zarak Thuul led, and the horde of Chaos followed.
Coming of Chaos
Chapter Thirteen
Though the lesson was painful, Tarn learned it quickly enough. The best thing to do was to try to breathe through his mouth. The air in the escape shaft had been tolerable, but when Regal had led him to an adjoining tunnel the stench had become fetid, the air almost unbreathable. By Tarn’s best guess, their current passage was one of the sewage drainage tunnels underneath Daerforge. When he took a careless breath, this supposition was vividly confirmed.
“This Street Number One,” Regal proclaimed proudly as he strolled down the great pipeway with no apparent discomfort.
“Street? Of what?” wondered Tarn, looking for anything that might distinguish the dark shaft as anything other than a big drainage pipe.
“Of Agharhome!” The gully dwarf seemed perplexed at his thickness. “
This Number One Main Street of city!”
“Does it smell this bad everywhere?” Tarn asked, still breathing through his mouth.
“What smell?” Regal took a loud, wet sniff, and shook his head in mystification. “I smell no smell. Maybe you smell?” He fastened a look of calculated appraisal on his companion, but then shrugged forgivingly. “Oh, well. You not smell too bad.”
Regal continued to lead him down the long, damp tunnel. He finally turned into a different shaft, then crawled into a narrower pipe that forced the reluctant Tarn onto his hands and knees as well.
“This Main Street Number Two,” the Aghar informed him.
Despite his resolve not to breathe through his nose, Tarn periodically found himself accidentally catching a tiny whiff of Agharhome. Each time he gagged on the stench, and they were forced to halt while Tarn drew desperate, rasping mouthfuls of air.
At first each assault of tainted vapor seemed like a toxin powerful enough to blacken his vision. But he was surprised to note that, very gradually, the hideous stench seemed to become somewhat less offensive. It was not that the smell was any less vile or any less intense. Instead, it was more like his nostrils had become desensitized, so that the occasional waft that passed through the guard of his closed palate ultimately brought no more than a sensation of mild distaste.
Regal Everwise—or was it Wise-Always?—continued to lead the way as the two of them moved through a series of tight passages that sometimes descended and sometimes proceeded in a more or less lateral direction. The passages were narrow and smoothly made, but nothing like a city in Tarn’s mind.
“What’s that?” the half-breed asked as they passed a wider passage and heard sounds of laughter and sociable conversation.
