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  "Lie still and quiet," Tarn said as soothingly as he could. "We've come to rescue you."

  He and Ghash each took the injured dwarf by one arm and tried to lift the poor fellow to his feet, but as they stood, his skin slipped loose from the flesh of his arms and he toppled to the floor again, groaning pitifully.

  "This is hopeless!" Ghash cried in horror as he shook the loose folds of skin from his fingers. "He's as good as dead already We must leave, my king."

  "King!" the dying dwarf shouted deliriously. "Must warn… !"

  "Warn of what?" Tarn demanded. "What happened to you down here?"

  A gurgling sigh was his only answer.

  "He's dead, m'lord. We must go now," Ghash insisted. He began to pull at Tarn's arm, dragging him away from the bodies.

  Tarn lashed out and struck the Klar's hands aside. "We'll go when I say," he shouted angrily. But almost as soon as he said it, Tarn regretted having not listened to his captain.

  For behind them, a great red glow began to swell. A hot rising wind scorched their faces and started their beards to smoking as they turned toward the light. Now they saw this was no tunnel. It was a vast subterranean chamber, many times larger than the new Council Hall, but of similar proportions. It was like a great bowl that had somehow been burned out of the rock. The walls and floors were smooth as glass, except where the crack above their heads broke through, forming this tiny ledge high up the wall of the chamber. Had they not tripped over the bodies of the dwarves, they might have walked blindly over the edge and fallen hundreds of feet to their certain deaths.

  But even this was preferable to the horror filling the bowl of the chamber below them. A vast winged serpentine form, seemingly composed of molten rock yet somehow alive and stirring, came into view. Its sinuous, catlike movements appeared to stoke the fires of its flesh, for it began to glow even hotter and brighter as they watched, abruptly heedless of the smelting furnace heat that assaulted their flesh. The two dwarves felt suddenly very naked and small. A deep, rumbling purr trembled through the stone beneath their feet as the dragon settled back to its slumber. And its fire began to dim.

  By their dying flames, Tarn saw ropes dangling over the ledge, still tied to several pitons hammered into the stone. As he backed away from the ledge, he began to understand what must have happened to the engineers. They must have discovered the ledge and tried to descend into the chamber beyond, only to be overcome by the heat of the slumbering dragon's body.

  For this was no ordinary dragon, nor one of the feared dragon overloads, like Beryl and Malys, who had appeared after the Chaos War. This was a chaos dragon, a creature of living fire, maybe even one of the very chaos dragons that had attacked Thorbardin during the Chaos War. Tarn had thought them all banished or destroyed when the gods defeated Chaos. But apparently, one had survived, spending the past decades slumbering away unsuspected in the heart of their mountain. Or had Chaos returned, and with him his minions? Either way, Thorbardin was in grave danger. The gods were no longer here to save them from Chaos, and all the dwarves in Thorbardin couldn't hope to defeat one of his fire dragons.

  A terrified-looking Tarn, battered, scorched, and pale with fear, burst into the nursery, nearly frightening Aunt Needlebone half out of her frowsy, moth-eaten nightgown. "Where is Crystal?" he demanded.

  "In the next room with your son. He just finished his breakfast. You're lucky Tor wasn't asleep. You come storming in here with your beard all in a knot, looking half crazy and dead, demanding this and ordering that at the top of your voice," Tor's nanny scolded the king.

  "Shut up, old woman! Start packing Tor's things. Take only the essentials," Tarn ordered as he crossed the floor toward the door Auntie had indicated.

  The humor vanished from the old hill dwarfs face. "So it has begun, has it? The beginning of the end? We're under attack?"

  "No. Worse than that," Tarn said as he jerked the door open.

  "What could be worse?" she asked after him. "And what happened to your face? You look all sunburned."

  Tarn found Crystal in the sewing room bending over a piece of needlework, Tor playing at her feet She looked up, smiling to see him, but the smile quickly faded from her face. "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "We have to leave. We have to go, now. Pack only what we cannot live without," he said.

  "Where are we going?" Crystal asked as she tossed aside her needlework and picked up the baby. She clutched Tor fearfully to her breast, afraid because she saw the same emotion clearly writ in her husband's face. "You always said we'd be safe here."

  "Nowhere is safe now," he barked. "Be ready for when I come back. Be ready to leave immediately."

  "But where are we… are you going?"

  "To see Jungor," he answered grimly as he stared at his infant son in her arms. For a moment, she saw his resolve waver. She clutched her baby tighter and hardened her heart.

  "Tarn, tell me what has happened so that I can know how to advise you," Crystal demanded. "What is happening? Where are you taking us?"

  Quickly but without sparing details, Tarn recounted his discovery of the chaos dragon in the crack beneath the Council Hall. "Reorx help us!" Aunt Needlebone, standing behind him, exclaimed.

  "Reorx is gone, old woman," Tarn snapped. "We have to help ourselves now. We're leaving the mountain before the dragon awakes. There's no time to spare, but I must warn the other thanes, beginning with Jungor."

  "How can we leave a mountain sealed from the outside world?" asked Auntie Needlebone.

  "Not by standing here flapping our gums, but first Jungor must hear this news from me and listen to reason."

  "He won't, and you know it. But I'm going with you," Crystal said as she handed her son to his nanny. "We have servants to do the packing."

  29

  Jungor pushed hack his empty plate, sighing contentedly. That was the first decent meal he'd eaten in weeks, and he couldn't remember the last time he slept. He missed his meals sorely, but the lack of sleep was a mere nuisance. All he had to do was imagine himself wearing the crown of Thorbardin and the weariness slid from his shoulders like oil from a hot anvil. The crown seemed almost within his grasp now. His preparations were complete, his forces hovering.

  Certainly, the groundquake had forced him to act more quickly than he had originally planned. The discovery of explosive mines in the sewers beneath the Anvil's Echo was unfortunate, but perhaps inevitable—not really so huge a disaster that it couldn't be overcome. Everything was already in place. All he lacked was the catalyst to set things in motion. And that would come soon enough. Whether Tarn challenged him of his own initiative, or events allowed Jungor to assert his right to rule in Tarn's place, the crown of Thorbardin would be his.

  Having finished his repast, Jungor nodded to a servant waiting beside the dining room door. "Let them in now," he said. The servant bowed and opened the door, allowing those waiting in the antechamber beyond to enter.

  The first to enter was Rughar Delvestone, thane of the Daewar. In preparation for this day, he had changed to battle gear and wore a warhammer at his side. Next came Brecha Quickspring, her dark eyes burning with fervor even as her skin seemed to have only grown more pallid. Behind her, Hextor Ironhaft entered, wearing the robes of a Hylar thane. Jungor raised his eyebrows in alarm at the portly merchant's premature assumption of the seat promised to him, but decided to let the fat old dwarf enjoy himself. He was in too good a mood to reprimand anyone, not even Ferro Dunskull, who entered next, followed closely by one of his trusted assassins, a female Daergar who interested him not only for her mastery of the deadly arts.

  Jungor usually didn't show much interest in the opposite sex. To his mind, women were for marrying and improving oneself politically and financially. But this Daergar minx had long ago caught the Hylar thane's eye. Not that he would ever disgrace himself by dallying with a dark dwarf, but even he had to admit that she was a singular creature upon which to rest his gaze. As she entered, he stared at her, and she caught Jungor's eye,
returning his frank appraisal with a haughty coldness that he found particularly appealing. He pummeled his brain to remember her name—Marith something.

  Astar Trueshield entered last and closed the door, dismissing the servants after they had cleared the table of the breakfast dishes. Jungor remained seated at the table, contentedly picking the last bits of his breakfast from between his teeth with the nail of his pinky finger, making the others wait. The conspirators settled into chairs along either side of the long dining table, only casually pausing to admire the fineness of the wood paneling covering the walls or the tapestries hanging between marble busts of Jungor's grandfathers.

  When all were seated, Jungor at last stood and pushed hack his chair. "Please, remain seated my friends," he said patronizingly, when they started to rise as though to follow him. "Do not trouble yourselves." He strode slowly around the corner of the table and thoughtfully placed his hand on the first marble bust standing on its granite pedestal beside the wall. Rughar was the first to notice that this was Jungor's own, almost-forgotten image, carved before the vitriol attack in the arena that had destroyed his right eye.

  "I am glad you have come," Jungor said, somewhat distracted in contemplation of his own bust. Sighing with perhaps a tinge of regret, he turned toward the others. "Because the time has come to make our move. Last night's groundquake is a clear sign of the revolution sure to shake the mountain to its foundations." The Hylar thane returned to the end of the table and stood, leaning forward on his fists, his one eye glittering excitedly. "Thane Quickspring's mines beneath the Anvil's Echo have been discovered, unfortunately, but the groundquake has given us the opportunity to display the quality of our leadership while showing everyone how weak and ineffectual is the king. We have won many friends today. The people will support us, especially after Tarn is dead… at the hands of his cousin, the Daergar thane."

  "What!" Hextor exclaimed. "Do you mean to say Shahar Bellowsmoke has chosen to join us?"

  "Quite so," Jungor said with a predatory smile. "Only he doesn't know it yet."

  Ferro Dunskull made a show of tossing a small, ornate dagger on the table. The others stared at the dagger, little more than a handspan in length, its narrow blade tapered to a needle point. Its hilts were decorated with skull and rose motifs, for Shahar Bellowsmoke had taken it from the body of an emissary of the Dark Knights of Neraka who had come some years ago to try to recruit the Daergar to their side. "I have borrowed this dagger from my thane's personal treasury. You are all familiar, I am sure, with the story of how Shahar Bellowsmoke killed the ambassador from Neraka. When Tarn Bellowgranite is found with this dagger in his throat and its poison in his veins, no one can but doubt that it was the Daergar thane who executed the deed. Nor will very many care to investigate the king's fate, for we feel confident the populace has turned against Tarn, thanks to our careful work."

  "Good! Very good!" Hextor chuckled to himself. "I compliment you on a master stroke, Master Dunskull." Ferro returned the praise with an appreciative nod.

  "Are you prepared, then?" Jungor asked.

  "We are," Ferro answered, rising from his chair. He picked up the dagger from the table and returned it to his belt. His comely companion joined him as he strode from the dining hall, only pausing once to cast a curious gaze at the others before quietly closing the door behind her.

  When they had gone, Jungor turned to Brecha. "And are the Theiwar prepared?"

  "We are, my king," she answered fervently. "A nursery has been prepared for the young prince. When Tarn and his witch wife are dead, I will take Tor and raise him as my own child, with you acting as regent until he reaches the age of majority. That should pacify any skeptics until, of course, the child succumbs to a mystery illness or tragic accident"

  "Excellent. Well then, we have only to wait for news from Ferro…" Jungor's voice trailed off as he caught sight of the dour expression on Captain Trueshield's face. The Hylar warrior seemed to have swallowed something that disagreed with him.

  "Whatever is the matter with you Astar?" Jungor asked.

  "Forgive me, my lord," the captain answered without meeting Jungor's eye.

  "Are you sick?"

  "Only of dark dwarves, my lord." Brecha shot the Hylar captain a murderous glance, which he returned with the frigid glare that was the birthright of his clan.

  "Well, that cannot be helped for now," Jungor said, a trifle disconcerted.

  "But my lord—" Astar started to say. A knock at the door cut off his words. Rising from his chair, he crossed to the door and opened it.

  Jungor waited impatiently while the captain conferred in low voices with one of Jungor's servants. After a few moments, the captain returned. "Glint Ettinhammer is in the street outside, demanding to see you, my thane," he announced.

  Jungor's remaining eyebrow rose in surprise.

  30

  As Tarn and his wife neared Jungor's residence, they could hear the voice of Thane Ettinhammer bellowing about something. Crystal glanced at Tarn in surprise, and they quickened their steps, forcing their company of bodyguards to hurry after them. Crystal had insisted upon the escort despite Tarn's protests, and it was well that they had brought along the twenty wild-eyed Klar warriors. This was, after all, the center of Jungor's realm of influence, and the dwarves they met on the streets here looked upon the king practically with murder in their eyes. Without their bodyguards, they probably would not have made it this far.

  Rounding the corner, they entered the plaza that lay between Jungor's splendid mansion and his warehouses. At the far side, Glint Ettinhammer stood upon the steps leading up to Jungor's door. Two steps above him, the Daewar thane, Rughar Delvestone, held his ground, backed by three of his personal guard. Glint was alone, but one look at his massive arms and the double-bladed axe in his hands was enough to keep the others at a safe distance.

  Tarn arrived in time to hear Rughar angrily shout, "He doesn't have time to see you now! Come back tomorrow when you are sober, Thane Ettinhammer."

  "By the gods, I wish I were drunk. You won't see tomorrow if you don't let me in!" Glint roared as he surged up the steps. The Daewar retreated in alarm.

  Leaping up the steps, Tarn caught the Klar thane by the arm before he could swing his axe. Wild-eyed, Glint turned on him and nearly struck him before he realized that it was the king.

  "Ah, forgive me, my lord!" he shouted, half laughing as Tarn ducked the blow that probably would have broken his jaw.

  "King Tarn!" Rughar angrily cried. "Take this drunken fool away before he gets himself killed. The Hylar thane has no patience for Klar antics today."

  Glint spun, spittle flying from his bearded lips as he shouted, "The only fool likely to die today is this pathetic toady."

  "Be quiet, Glint!" Tarn ordered. "We've no time for this."

  "Bah!" Glint spat in frustration. "That fool wouldn't know when to wipe his own arse if Jungor Stonesinger wasn't there to tell him."

  Crystal climbed the steps and quietly slipped a hand under the Klar thane's arm. The effect was remarkable. At her touch he gave a start, but then he looked down at her and smiled. His berserk fever seemed to cool.

  "Where is Captain Grisbane?" she asked the Klar thane in a low voice as Tarn climbed the steps to the door.

  "Looking for you. He brought me the news and I came here at once, but he insisted on going back to the Fortress to find Tarn," Glint answered.

  Tarn had reached the door to find it still blocked by Rughar Delvestone and his cadre. "Out of my way, Rughar," he growled. "I must speak with Jungor."

  "Thane Stonesinger is indisposed," Rughar stubbornly maintained. "Come back tomorrow."

  "Listen, you miserable dog—" Tarn began, his blood rising into his cheeks, but a voice from behind the door cut him off.

  "It's all right, Thane Delvestone. The king has honored us with his presence. We mustn't refuse to see the king." With these words, Jungor appeared in the doorway, leaning upon his staff as though the weight of the mountain rested upon
his shoulders. Rughar bowed and slipped to the side, pulling his guards with him. Crystal glanced around and saw that a crowd was gathering behind them. She noticed that a fair number were warriors armed for battle. Clutching the Klar thane, she pulled him up the steps to stand with their king. Meanwhile, Glint eyed the Daewar thane and fingered his axe.

  Jungor stepped over the threshold and greeted Tarn with a bow that was all but an obvious mockery of respect. Tarn ignored the insult. "I must speak with you," he said in a low voice, even as Brecha Quickspring appeared in the doorway behind Jungor. "Alone," he added.

  "Come now, we can speak freely here, can we not?" Jungor asked solicitously as he stepped past Tarn and spoke so that his voice would carry to the crowd below. "We have nothing to hide from the people of Thorbardin. And unless my eye betrays me, we have a majority of the Council of Thanes in attendance as well. How very convenient."

  Glowering, Tarn said, "Very well then. I have come to say that we must put aside our petty differences because—"

  "I couldn't agree more!" Jungor loudly interrupted.

  Tarn raised his voice and continued, "… because we are all in grave danger!"

  Jungor looked at him in genuine surprise. "Grave danger? What kind of danger? Is the king having more bad dreams?" he asked.

  "That was no groundquake that shook the mountain last night!" Tarn said angrily. "It was a fire dragon slumbering in the depths of Thorbardin."

  Silence descended on the plaza as everyone stared up at the king in shock. It was as though a spell of fear had been cast over everyone, fear born of their memories of the Chaos War. Even Jungor seemed momentarily taken aback, until he shattered the silence with a hideous peel of laughter. "A fire dragon!" he shrieked. "By Reorx's bones and boots, that must be some fire dragon if it can shake the whole mountain!"

  Slowly, others began to chuckle, none with more smug glee than Rughar Delvestone. Growling deep in his throat, Glint's fingers tightened around the haft of his axe. Crystal slipped her hand from his arm to the dagger secreted in her sleeve. The Klar thane glanced down at her, and she returned his gaze with a grim expression.