Dark Thane Page 22

  Jungor continued, "Are you sure it isn't Beryl?" he asked the crowd. "No, we've heard not a peep from the great green bitch, despite the king's most dire prophecies. Maybe it was Malystryx, then." The crowd began to roar with laughter.

  "It was a chaos dragon I tell you!" Tarn shouted, his voice cutting through the levity like an axe stroke. "My captain and I discovered its lair beneath the new Council Hall. You can go and see for yourselves, if you don't believe me. It is asleep now, but stirring. It may awaken at any moment. We must evacuate the mountain."

  Jungor glared at Tarn for a few moments, his misshapen face writhing. "A chaos dragon? But the chaos dragons were all destroyed. As you yourself have attested, all the minions of Chaos were destroyed, and by your own father when he released the power of the Platinum Egg. May the name of Baker Whitegranite," he added quickly, "be forever praised!"

  "Go and see for yourself, I tell you!" Tarn responded. "But I warn you, when that beast awakens, it will be the horrors of Chaos all over again."

  Jungor ignored the king. "So now you would have us abandon our homes once more, to make your father's sacrifice a vain and empty one!"

  "Are you the only one who has seen this supposed dragon?" Rughar Delvestone asked accusingly.

  "No, Ghash Grisbane, Captain of the King's Guard, also saw the dragon," Glint said as he stepped nearer the Daewar thane.

  "And where is he, pray tell? Not here to confirm the king's words, I notice," Rughar sneered. "There is only you, Tarn's ever-loyal lackey."

  "I'll only warn you once to keep a civil tongue between your teeth, Thane Delvestone," Glint growled.

  "Don't speak to me of civilities Thane Ettinhammer. How many innocent Hylar and Daewar did you slaughter during the Chaos War? Their blood still cries for vengeance!" Rughar shrieked.

  "Very well then," Glint said as he calmly hefted his axe.

  "You wouldn't dare," Rughar hissed as he fumbled at his own sword.

  "I told you I would only warn you once," Glint said.

  "Glint! Wait!" Tarn cried as he leaped for the Klar thane, but too late. Glint's huge, double-bladed axe swept up, cleaving through armor, bone, and flesh. Rughar's head leapt from his neck in a spray of blood that doused both Jungor and the Theiwar thane.

  Tarn swore furiously as madness seemed to erupt. His guards retreated to within a few steps below him, forming a defensive barrier of steel to protect their king. Jungor's forces poured in from every side of the plaza and fought their way through the frenzied crowd. Glint swung again and cut down one of Rughar's bodyguards even as Crystal drew her dagger and slammed it into the throat of another. As the dwarf fell, blood spurting around the blade in his windpipe, she snatched the spear from his fist.

  The third bodyguard drew his sword and attacked Tarn. His own sword still in its sheath, Tarn managed to dive beneath the blade and slam his shoulder into the dwarfs belly. Standing up suddenly, he lifted the Daewar warrior and flung him down the stairs, ripping his sword from its scabbard at the same time.

  He turned as a sibilant whisper of magic froze his blood. Jungor now filled the doorway behind Brecha Quickspring, his face contorted with hatred. Lost in the ecstasy of her magic, Brecha seemed not to hear Jungor's warning shout. Her words shivered the air, drawing power as the spell found shape and substance around the amber rod in her hand. But the spell died on her lips as Jungor grabbed her by the belt and pulled her through the doorway an instant before Crystal's spear would have skewered her dark Theiwar heart. Instead, the missile thudded into the doorframe and stuck quivering in the wood, just as Jungor unceremoniously slammed the door.

  Tarn leaped after him, but as his hand closed around the ornate bronze knob, a bolt of electricity arced from the metal to his fingertips. He jerked his hand away and wrung his numb fingers.

  "That witch has magicked the door," Glint shouted over the din of battle. "We have to get out of here before she has time to do worse."

  Tarn nodded as he switched his weapon to his left hand. Crystal jerked her spear free and dropped in behind Glint as he strode down the stairs, bellowing orders to Tarn's guards. They quickly formed up in a defensive wedge, with the Klar thane at the point, and drove into the first of Jungor's soldiers to reach the stairs. So ferocious was the assault of the battle-mad Klar warriors that they easily clove through the disorganized resistance they met.

  Fleeing the shrieking Klar charge, the crowd was met on the other side of the plaza by Astar Trueshield, leading a large force of Hylar and Theiwar warriors—the best of Jungor's troops. Swirling in confusion, the crowd coiled upon itself for a moment, then turned and fled back the other way, quickly colliding with Tarn's small group of warriors. In seconds, he and Crystal found themselves separated from their bodyguards. Glint's voice roared about the din of the mob as he was carried away, axe flailing. Crystal clung desperately to Tarn's arm to keep them from being pulled apart, even as he laid about with the flat of his blade, to little avail. Soon, they found themselves swept into a close, cramped alley stinking of garbage, pressed murderously on all sides by the panicked mob and Jungor's troops. While clinging to one another and fighting to keep their feet beneath them, the tide swept them along, but to where, they did not know.

  31

  Having at last escaped the mob as it dissipated into the maze of streets and alleys of Norbardin, Tarn and Crystal hurried along a darkened street, hand in hand, each encouraging the other to greater speed.

  Their fortress home was near enough now that they no longer kept to the shadows. The section of the third level nearest the fortress had remained loyal to Tarn through all the difficulties of the past year. Perhaps it was the inherent nature of neighbors to support their own. Dwarves were fiercely loyal to clan and family, but in Norbardin, many of the families had been forced to live in different sections of the city due to space limitations. There were, for instance, four Klar quarters of Norbardin and seven small enclaves of the Daergar clans. In some places, especially around Tarn's fortress, Klar and Daergar, Hylar and Theiwar lived side by side, shopped at the same markets, drank in the same taverns. Over the course of nearly forty years, they had begun to feel the same fierce loyalty for their neighbors that they had formerly reserved only for clan and family.

  This had been Tarn's dream for his people all along, but it had only been manifested thus far in a few scattered portions of the city. Now the dream seemed lost. Jungor had succeeded in polarizing dwarven society into its ancient castes. But more important, he had brought together the disparate clans in a way Tarn could only dream of doing, though not for the mutual good of all. Though Jungor longed to return the Hylar to their place at the top of dwarven society, his followers were united by their mutual hatred. Tarn wondered if the whole world hadn't gone completely mad.

  Here in his neighborhood, at least, things still seemed sane. Jungor's revolt had not spread, and the people, worn out with worry over the groundquake, had finally returned to their beds to catch an hour of sleep before the morning watch announced the new day. The street leading to the fortress's main gate was empty, but not completely silent. A child wept behind some door, its mother's soft voice crooning a lullaby. An alley behind a bakery grumbled with the snoring of contented gully dwarves.

  Across the way, in the shadow of a tannery wall, something crouched on the ground, mewling pitifully. Tarn and Crystal skirted it warily, hands on their weapons. Probably it was only some drunken gully dwarf crawling home from his beer-mopping job. At the far end of the street they could see the torches burning beside the entrance to the fortress, and the guards in their hauberks and iron helms walking their watches.

  A soft cry from the miserable creature stopped them. Tarn peered into the shadows for a moment. "That's no gully dwarf," he hissed. "It's too big. Stay here."

  "Call the guards first," Crystal hissed after him.

  But Tarn had already approached the creature, sword drawn. He nudged it with the toe of his boot, causing it to writhe like a snake. "What's the matter with
you, old one? Too much dwarf spirits?" Suddenly, Tarn dropped his sword and fell to his knees with a cry. Crystal rushed to his side.

  Tarn knelt on the walk, hugging Ghash Grisbane to his breast. The Klar warrior's body shuddered with spasms, bloody foam poured from his mouth. He clutched at Tarn's shoulder, finger's digging into the king's flesh. His distended, bloodshot eyes rolled in their sockets. Horrible purple veins streaked the flesh of his throat from beard to breast.

  He tried to speak, his words a long tortured groan. "I came back for you, but you had already gone. Someone—"

  "What happened, son?" Tarn cried. But Ghash was already gone. His wracked body slowly relaxed, his head sank back, the mouth open in a horrible, silent scream. "Ghash!" the king wailed, rocking back and forth with the corpse in his hands.

  "Come, my love. It's too dangerous here," Crystal said softly, gently trying to pry Tarn's hands from the dead Klar's body. "We have to leave. We can come back in force to recover his body. But whoever killed him is probably still around."

  A low, murderous chuckle seemed to answer her suspicions. Two figures slunk out of the alley opposite, one short and powerfully built, the other taller, leaner, and obviously female. "Indeed, we are still around," the shorter figure laughed as he advanced toward Tarn and Crystal. His female companion followed just behind and to his right, sword drawn.

  Tarn rose to his feet with a roar. He snatched his sword from the pavement and lunged toward the two. Crystal spun her spear around into an attack stance. "So the two of you murdered him," she shouted angrily. "Let's see how you fare against the king and his woman."

  The tall female dwarf lifted her sword and charged. The shorter figure only laughed and raised a hollow tube to his lips to shoot a poisonous dart. His cheeks puffed out and he expelled a breath of air in a sharp cry, however, as his companion's sword unexpectedly cleaved through his shoulder, ribs, and heart to wedge itself in his spine. His dart, weakly blown and knocked askew, bounced off Tarn's hauberk and fell with a ping to the paving stones.

  Already dead, the shorter dwarf fell between the strange female and the king. Crystal circled to her right, spear ready for throwing or thrusting at this turncoat. Dumbfounded by this turn of events, Tarn waited. He knew that Daergar were treacherous, but he sometimes forgot how treacherous they could truly be, and this could be a trick. The dead dwarf had fallen, face up, and Tarn recognized him as one of Jungor's most trusted advisors—Ferro Dunskull. But the female dwarf was a stranger to him.

  "Why did you kill him?" Tarn asked.

  "He betrayed me," the female dwarf answered simply. "I've waited a long time to avenge my companions. Now was a good time."

  "If he betrayed you so, I am surprised he allowed you behind his back," Tarn said. "Ferro Dunskull was never one to make a mistake about his friends."

  "He thought I was someone he could trust," she answered. She folded her arms across her breasts. "The price I paid for that trust has only fanned the flames of my revenge."

  "I thank you for saving us." He stamped his boot over the tiny silver needle, shattering it and driving its point between the paving stones.

  "My only thought was vengeance. I am sorry your friend had to die, for he was not part of my designs," she said, nodding toward the body of the Klar captain.

  Tarn's face darkened. "Yes, my friend. And what are those designs?" he asked suspiciously.

  "Our fates are intertwined, Tarn Bellowgranite. I was hired to kill you by this dwarf, but he betrayed me before I could finish the job," she said.

  "I knew it—Ferro was working for Jungor!" Tarn cried excitedly. "If you will tell your story before the Council, Jungor'll be exiled for the traitor that he is!"

  But the female dwarf only shook her head and laughed. "They will not believe me," she said.

  "Why not?" Crystal demanded. She stepped closer, threatening the Daergar with her spear.

  "Because I am not a dwarf," Zen answered. Both Tarn and Crystal stepped hack in alarm as the female dwarf transformed into a gleaming, seven-foot-tall sivak draconian.

  "I killed the woman Marith Darkforge so that I could take her form and get close to Ferro. My revenge is now complete. What happens next is no concern of mine. I only want to get out of this madhouse," Zen said, his voice a reptilian growl.

  "No, you killed Ferro in my presence for a reason," Tarn said, sheathing his weapon. "You wanted me to see you do it. You could have murdered him a dozen times before now, I imagine."

  "Yes, it served my purpose to gain a powerful ally, should I need one," Zen acknowledged. "Only a king or a thane can order the gates of Thorbardin opened, and I'm sure that Thane Stonesinger won't oblige me once he learns I have killed his assassin and exposed his plots to the king."

  "Tarn, you can't let this monster go free," Crystal urged in a low voice.

  "Be quiet, woman!" Tarn snapped, then immediately regretted his words.

  Crystal grew livid. "How dare you! I am not some scullery maid to be ordered about." Glaring at him, she cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted for the guards. Her voice carried down the length of the street. Several gate guards paused in their patrols and stared, pointing.

  Hurriedly, Tarn said to the draconian, "I will order the gates opened, but there is a price."

  "Tarn!" Crystal said in surprise.

  Tarn ignored her. "You can take Ferro's form and get close to Jungor, am I right?" In answer, the draconian swiftly shrank, his silvery skin taking on the pale hue of the Daergar's flesh. In moments, his appearance exactly mimicked that of his victim.

  Tarn nodded appreciatively, but Crystal gasped in horror. "Tarn, you can't mean to do this," she said, catching him by the arm. "You can't mean to hire this monster to stalk your rival."

  "As long as Jungor is around, the people will never leave the mountain."

  "This is wrong, Tarn. Jungor tried to have you murdered, and so you have decided to return the favor? What of your precious laws, Tarn's celebrated Laws of Redress? Will you now cast them aside?"

  While they argued, Zen conducted a swift operation on Ferro's corpse with the heel of his boot. Soon, the dead Daergar's face was an unrecognizable, bloody pulp. He removed the dagger that Ferro had intended to plant on Tarn's murdered body in order to implicate the Daergar thane. It was only a small blade, but deadly. He slipped it into a hidden pouch in his cloak.

  "This is our way," Tarn said, his anger rising. "So it has been for thousands of years in Thorbardin."

  "It's not my way," Crystal returned cooly. "And it won't be the way of our son. The Law is the same for both king and commoner, or it is no law at all."

  A company of twenty guards arrived at that moment. Their captain stared in wonder at the two bodies lying at the edges of the street, then at the king. Tarn glared at Crystal, but said nothing. She stepped close to him and fiercely pleaded, "You mustn't sink to Jungor's level. I beg you. For Tor's sake! Let's just gather what we can, take those loyal to us, and leave this place."

  Finally, Tarn relented. "But I do not care to expose the draconian yet," he whispered back. "I may yet need his assistance." Crystal sighed but nodded in agreement. She turned to the guards.

  "Ferro Dunskull and his accomplice have attempted to murder the king. Arrest him," she said. The guards surged forward and swiftly pinned Zen's arms behind his back. He didn't resist them. Instead, he focused all the hate of his draconian being onto the one who had betrayed him. Not Tarn—who turned his head away, but Crystal. She shuddered to look into his black, soulless eyes as the guards wrapped his arms in tough cords of mushroom fiber. She knew at that moment that this creature would stop at nothing to kill her.

  "Do not take him to the fortress," she declared, as they started to drag him away. The thought of the draconian locked up within the same walls as her family filled her with terror. "Imprison him in one of the first level dungeons." Nodding, the guards started in the other direction. Half the guards remained behind to escort the king the remaining distance home and to see to t
he bodies of the dead.

  32

  "Jungor's fist struck the table, splitting it down its I length. Glassware and crockery leaped into the air and crashed down, spilling their contents.

  "It all comes of trusting a Daergar," Hextor Ironhaft yawned. He righted his glass, then motioned for a servant to refill it and clean up the mess.

  The news had interrupted their breakfast. Jungor hardly looked at his food. Not that he ever ate much; he drank copious amounts of mushroom brandy, and took little else for nourishment. Since his disfiguration in the arena, the Hylar thane had lost weight, his already predatory features gone thin and gaunt. The flesh of the right side of his face looked as lifeless as wax that had melted and then hardened into a hideous mockery of flesh.

  But at times of extreme emotion, the curdled flesh flushed with blood and seemed almost to pulse. As the servants hurried forward to clean up the mess, Jungor grabbed the edges of the table and flipped it onto its side. Hextor sighed and stood, crossed the chamber to the fireplace, and took a crystal decanter from the mantle.

  "That fool of a Daergar has failed me for the last time," Jungor swore. He sank into his chair while servants scuttled all around him, collecting broken crockery and mopping up the mess. He watched them for a few moments, a sneer curling the left side of his face. Most took care not to come within his reach, but one young maid made the mistake of forgetting where she was. Jungor's boot lashed out, smashing into her hip and sending her flying across the room.

  Hextor stepped over her prostrate body on his way to the couch. A servant quickly dragged the weeping maid from the room so as not to disturb the thane any further. The others finished cleaning up and hurried away. As the last one exited the dining chamber, Astar Trueshield entered, a sheaf of papers tucked under one arm.