The Last Thane

by Doug Niles

  The thane could see nothing beyond the piercingly bright image of that fiery dragon that had been scarred into his mind. His feet were loosely touching the hull of the boat, but that tenuous support was completely submerged and sinking fast. Frigid waters rose past his face, spilling into his mouth, choking, gagging him. He felt himself sinking deeper and deeper.

  And then the boat was gone from underneath him, and he was surrounded by a suffocating presence. His hands broke the surface momentarily, clawed futilely at the air, and then he was sinking faster into the vast and murderous nothingness of deep water.

  Abruptly a hand reached down to sieze him by the wrist, and Darkend found himself being hauled roughly into the hull of another boat. He was tumbled onto the deck with an utter lack of ceremony, and for several minutes he could only cough and gasp at the feet of his rescuers. Shivering, retching, he clung mindlessly to life. Finally he caught his breath and sat up, glaring around him with eyes that had begun to regain some semblance of darksight. Each inhalation was still a horrible, bubbling effort.

  He couldn’t stand to face the brightness of Hybardin’s docks, so he examined the dark dwarves in the boat with him. The Daergar crew that had rescued him was a veteran lot, many scarred from decades of battle. No doubt each of them had seen and worked considerable mayhem and bloodshed during those years. Yet now they glanced uneasily toward the shore, then looked at Darkend with expressions of pleading, of uneasiness … of fear.

  His anger had settled somewhat, stifling his instincts of rebuke and rage with the realization that he was lucky to be alive. There was no sign of his original boat, nor of the dozens of dwarves who had served as their thane’s loyal crew. Somehow the crew of this boat must have seen him go down and acted with desperate haste to grab him and save his life.

  He forced himself to look at the shore, squinting against a much greater illumination than had existed when the attack began. Steam in great clouds wafted across the surface of Hybardin. In places the mist swirled away from the bedrock with a churning force and crimson glow. He sensed the raw heat that lay behind these eruptions. With another curl of moving air he saw that a great slab of the overhanging cliff was aglow with inner warmth.

  “It’s lava … melting rock,” he breathed in awe.

  “Aye, lord, and much has already flowed away.” One of the nearby rowers spoke up, his own voice hushed. “Look there, if you please. Them was the docks where we first landed.”

  Darkend saw a smooth slab of stone, sweeping evenly to the edge of the water—an edge that was still bubbling and steaming as the liquid contacted superheated rock.

  “A hundred dwarves was standin’ there when the heat came. My thane, I swear by Reorx they were burned into ash as I watched!” declared another rower.

  “What was that … that … flying monster?” asked the thane, addressing the gray-bearded coxswain at the rudder of his boat. “The living fire that came out of the water and took to the air like a dragon?”

  “Never saw the like,” declared the fellow. “But it sank a dozen boats in the blink of one eye. Then it touched the rock there—” He pointed at the hot surface of the cliff, which had poured away to reveal a shallow, black-walled cave. “—and just vanished. Like it was diving into water, it just flew into the cliff.”

  Another wave surged through the water, rocking the boat and reminding Darkend of the peril of his current position. Gusting winds, a strange and unnatural phenomenon in Thorbardin, whipped the water around him into spray. He saw some boats that had capsized and others that were half-swamped. And even with a quick count he guessed that at least a score of his vessels had already plunged to the bottom of the underground sea.

  “You, there—and you!” He stood tall in the hull and pointed to two boats that still had full complements of warriors and were captained by seasoned leaders. “Get to shore and pass the word. I want the docks held! There is to be no retreat!”

  “Aye, Lord Thane!” chorused the pair of warriors, immediately urging their men to press oars.

  Before they got very far, however, the loudest explosion Darkend had ever heard rocked through Thorbardin. A great section at the bottom of the Life-Tree gave way. Massive slabs of rock tumbled downward and smashed across the waterfront and plaza. A cloud of dust swept outward, thick and choking, followed quickly by a surging wave raised by the debris that crashed into the water. Echoes rocked the air, mingled with the screams of crushed, dying dwarves and the exultant braying of the fire dragons that still circled and dove through the fringes of destruction.

  The thane couldn’t see the base of the city, but he was certain that hundreds, maybe thousands, of dwarves on both sides had been crushed to death in the collapse. Dark dwarves and Hylar had been locked in battle directly under the massive rockfall, but all sounds of combat had been overwhelmed by the thunder of crashing stone.

  As the dust slowly settled, the watchers on the sea saw that the landscape of Hybardin’s waterfront had been drastically changed. What had once been a region of warehouses and docks was now buried under mounds of rubble that jutted like hills and mountains across a landscape of utter destruction. Here and there antlike dwarves scrambled across the wreckage, but these seemed dazed and hesitant, no longer vigorous warriors in the midst of a campaign.

  “Get me back to Daerforge immediately.” Darkend didn’t recognize his own voice as he directed orders at the coxswain of his own boat. His face was pale with shock and uncertainty.

  “As you command, lord.” The dwarf immediately set his crew to rowing. If any of them wondered about the propriety of their leader deserting his army on the crumbling shore of Hybardin, they were smart enough to keep such thoughts to themselves. A temporary retreat made sense to everybody.

  The sea was smoother once they pulled away from the Life-Tree, though high waves rolled past at measured intervals. Such waves were heretofore virtually unknown on the Urkhan Sea, and their surging rhythm added to the growing sense of fear. Fortunately, the crew was skilled and seasoned enough to keep their bearings, and very little water spilled over the gunwales as the boat pitched and churned across the surface. The rowers drove hard, but it was a long voyage, made eerily longer by the group’s silence and the flashes of light that regularly pierced the comforting darkness.

  At last they neared Daerforge, and the thane saw with dismay that parts of his own realm had suffered destruction, though not on the scale that had struck Hybardin. There were no longer any signs of the creatures who had caused the damage, and repairs were already under way here and there. As they drew closer he looked up at the cliff, saw that the twin towers of his sister’s manor still stood watch, and wondered about his own palace. Had the creatures struck Daerbardin too or just the cities on the lake? He would have to wait to find out.

  As the thane peered at a small section of waterfront buildings, he realized that they had been knocked down by forces of amazing strength and violence. Walls had been flattened and iron beams twisted into knots. He shivered, strangely exhilarated by evidence of such overwhelming power. Who, or what, had invaded Thorbardin?

  He would have to confer with others and ponder his next move before regrouping and returning to Hybardin. In the meantime it was important that he show no signs of indecision or weakness. He was still the thane of the Daegar, after all, and still determined to conquer the city of the Hylar.

  Regaining his composure, Darkend accepted no help as they pulled ashore at the wharf. Instead he scrambled ahead and began to issuing orders.

  “Get back to the Hylarhome. See that our positions are held and the attack pressed while I collect further reinforcements!”

  “Aye, lord,” the coxswain assented, but he couldn’t help but looking disappointed at his orders. He cast off in haste with a longing look at the shore of his homeland. The other dark dwarf faces were likewise forlorn.

  Once on the dock, Darkend had to wait only a short time before a shadowy figure in a black robe emerged from a pile of rubble and debris. At f
irst Darkend tensed, not recognizing the newcomer and was suddenly aware that he was without his usual phalanx of guards.

  “You should take better care of yourself, my lord.” Slickblade’s voice was an unmistakable hiss, though Darkend could not recognize the face of the speaker within the deep-hooded robe. “There are known ruffians about.”

  “Indeed,” the thane replied dryly. “But tell me, what news of events in my cities? Tell me of this mysterious scourge. How was it manifested in Daerforge? And did it strike Daerbardin as well?”

  “Your city here fares well enough. A few houses were taken down, and there is wreckage such as this throughout the city. As to things inland, there has been no word of occurrences there. Aside from the fiery dragons you no doubt observed, the attackers were strange creatures, cold and dark as our own shadows. They killed some, but no one seems to remember much about the fallen. It is as though the killing takes all thoughts, all memories of the slain when their life essence is destroyed.”

  “But the monsters did not stay in our city?”

  “No. It seems that they move through air and water with equal ease. Those that struck Daerforge soon moved into the lake. They seem to be gathering in the direction of the Life-Tree.”

  “And what of the fiery dragons?”

  “We saw some over the sea,” replied Slickblade. “One of them came to Daerforge, bored a tunnel that destroyed a few smithies and apartments, then emerged into the air again and—I am happy to say—flew away.”

  “This may yet become a matter we can turn to our own ends,” Darkend speculated. “But I must know more about these strange beasts. What are their origins, their nature, and their ultimate intentions?”

  “I am not privy to these facts, but there may be one in Daerforge who could answer your questions.”

  “Speak.”

  “Ironically enough, he is your own nephew, come here upon the orders of his father, the Hylar thane. He was sent to carry word to you about this mysterious threat. A ‘Storm of Chaos,’ so he said.”

  “Where is he?”

  “It seems that he went to his mother’s house. Garimeth Bellowsmoke drugged him and imprisoned him there, ensuring that he could not bring his message to you.”

  “What?” The thane’s pulse raced with the news, the familiar sensation of betrayal rising to create a red film over his vision. His sister would be tortured and executed according to an excruciating method.

  Yet at the same time he had to admire her deviousness. Garimeth had made herself invaluable to him, had presented him with real intelligence about the Hylar defenses, and had assured him that the Hylar army was absent for an extended interval. For some reason she must have decided to conceal the true reason for that absence. Darkend was impressed by her ruthless tactics. She even betrayed her own offspring! If the opportunity arose, she wouldn’t think twice about betraying a brother. What was her ultimate goal?

  “Your information is good?” he asked Slickblade.

  Slickblade sniffed disdainfully. “You don’t need to ask that. But yes, drawn from a source within her very house. And there is more, as well.”

  “More?” Darkend was truly curious.

  “I have learned within the past hours that your sister’s plan has miscarried. Her son, held prisoner in the house of his mother, has escaped.”

  “No!” The thane forced a chuckle, but the sound was dry and menacing, utterly devoid of any humor. “That is not good news. Especially for my sister. She will have much to explain, much to account for.”

  Darkend took a deep breath, bringing his raging emotions under control only with great difficulty. He trusted no one, expecting duplicity and betrayal at every turn, and yet the fierce urge for vengeance was almost overwhelming.

  But finally he calmed himself.

  Across the water he could see the inverted mountain of the Life-Tree, crackling with spots of flame, dripping and glowing and shimmering. More boats were making their way back to Daerforge, some of them pretty banged up. All were filled with cowed and bedraggled Daergar. Darkend was certain that the survivors among his landing force were holding on to their position in Hybardin. But how many had survived? How many had avoided being crushed by the massive rockfall?

  These cowards currently arriving would be sent back to the fray, packed into boats, and he would lead them toward the foe, toward ultimate victory.

  But first he had a personal matter to take care of.

  “Come, Slickblade,” he said in a voice that was a lethal whisper. “Let us pay a call to the house of Garimeth Bellowsmoke.”

  The Weight of a Throne

  Chapter Sixteen

  Somehow in the chaos of the battle Baker Whitegranite had lost his glasses. He crouched next to the garden wall of a fine Hylar manor, feeling along the ground, trying to find the place he’d fallen when the bizarre shadows had first attacked. It was then that his spectacles had been knocked off of his face, though in the grip of confusion and terror he hadn’t noticed the loss immediately. Still frightened, he tried to stay low as he scooted along the ground, hearing screams and shouts and clashing weapons nearby.

  Finally the sounds faded, and Baker crept back to the place where he had first fallen. Through his blurred vision he saw a hint of crystalline gleam and finally put his hands over the familiar golden frame. Touching the twin lenses, he breathed a sigh of relief as he discovered that they were unbroken.

  Baker quickly wiped his spectacles on a corner of his stained tunic, then put them back onto his face. His sight was still bleary, and one of the lenses seemed to have been permanently scuffed, but they were clear enough to confirm that things on Level Twenty-eight looked as bad as they sounded.

  And that was very bad indeed.

  The fight had moved on from here, though the echoes, smells, and gore still lingered heavily in the air and on the ground. He saw dead dwarves who had been locked in combat with each other, Hylar and Klar intermingled, mouths gaping and eyes bulging in mute testimony to the horror of their last moments. In other places he saw empty lumps of armor and clothing, weapons lying nearby. There was no sign at all of the dwarven flesh that had worn the pathetic remnants only minutes—or was it hours?—before. These were the places where the horrifying chill shadows had slithered past.

  Baker heard shouts and screams and the occasional clash of a sword or shield coming from down the street. Looking up, he saw a hint of the shadowy attackers, manlike beings of pure darkness that moved steadily away from him.

  He tried to reconstruct the last few minutes since the wall had melted and the wave of horror had surged into Thorbardin. But details were curiously vague in his mind. He recalled dark and shadowy beings, intangible but very deadly nevertheless. They had emerged in countless numbers, breaking right through the stone walls to sweep into the ranks of the battling dwarves.

  One thing was certain. The shadowy invaders were no friends of the Klar. The crazed dwarves, already frenzied from battling the Hylar, had turned with fresh fury to fight the dark forms. The dwarves had been swept aside, eradicated like a nest of pesky rats. Although the mere touch of the shadow beings proved instantly fatal, this did not prevent the maddened Klar from pressing home their suicidal attacks.

  Hylar had also fallen victim to the horrific onslaught, and Baker had seen many of his countrymen slain before his eyes. At least he thought he had—though when he tried to recall the battle, to put faces on those brave fighters, everything was terribly confusing. He looked at the wrecked Ferrust house. He clearly remembered old Blackbeard Ferrust, the prominent coal seller. Beside that ruin had stood another once-great house, emptied without visible damage by the shadow attack. It was a mighty edifice, and Baker was pretty sure that a very influential clan of Hylar had lived there. Yet that family had been annihilated by the shadow warriors, and now the thane couldn’t recall their names, their roles in the city, or anything else about them.

  Slumping against the stone in weariness, he wondered about his son. Was Tarn dead too?
Was he caught in the onslaught of Chaos? Or had he joined ranks with the dark dwarves? Angrily the thane shook his head at the last notion. He refused to believe that Tarn’s loyalties would be so easily twisted. Closing his eyes, he breathed a silent prayer to Reorx, pleading that the young dwarf remained unhurt.

  Leaning against the wall, feeling the familiar burning in his stomach, Baker felt like giving up. But instead he listened again to the growing silence and then again heard the hint of sounds. Groans came from beneath a section of the wall that had fallen flat into the street. Baker hurried to the place and tried to move the heavy slab. Though he tore off one of his fingernails in the attempt, he could not budge the heavy weight. Once more he heard a fading moan.

  Standing up, he was able to spot an elder Hylar kicking through the rubble of a nearby building. From his silk vests, shiny leather boots, and the magnifying eyepiece he wore on a gold chain, the thane deduced that the fellow was a gem cutter.

  “Help!” he called, and the other dwarf hastened over to lend a hand with the flat piece of stone. But after they had moved it, they could only look down helplessly at the blue-faced corpse of a young dwarfmaid.

  “She suffocated before we could get her free,” Baker said, feeling horribly guilty.

  “There were more noises over there,” reported the jeweler, pointing to the nearby rubble where Baker had first seen him.

  The thane accompanied the gem cutter, and they were quickly joined by more Hylar, young and old, males and females, who seemed to appear from nowhere. In a few minutes they had freed a mother and two children who had been buried alive, saved from being crushed by an overhanging shelf of what had once been their ceiling.

  “Let’s get them down to safety,” Baker suggested, wondering if in fact any place in Hybardin was free from danger right now. “Does the lift still work?” he asked the group.