Dark Thane Read online

  "Interesting?" Ferro Dunskull snorted. "I fail to see what could possibly be entertaining about watching some dull-witted Daewar lawfully slaughter a gully dwarf."

  "You've already made up your mind who will win this battle then?" Jungor inquired with a taunting lilt of his basso voice.

  Ferro started and stared at the Hylar thane. "You don't mean to suggest… " he cried. "That gully dwarf could never…"

  "Of course not. He's only a gully dwarf, after all. I simply wanted to give you an opportunity to recover your losses from the previous battle," Jungor said quickly, finishing with another oily grin. His smile only deepened the impression of the predator in his hawkish features. His beard did little to hide the craggy angles of his face, the beaklike projection of his nose. Yet for all the fierceness of his imposing countenance, his taunting smile bore a certain charm.

  "You want me to bet against that gully dwarf, don't you?" Ferro asked, his dark violet eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  "I'll give you three-to-one odds," Jungor said solicitously.

  Ferro glared down into the arena in time to see the gully dwarf nearly impale himself on his own spear. The Daewar warrior stood at the far side of the arena, respectfully waiting for the forms of combat to be completed. His bearing and demeanor spoke of supreme confidence, and his previous display of swordsmanship left no doubt as to his ability.

  Ferro darted a quick glance at Jungor Stonesinger.

  "Well?" the Hylar thane asked.

  "It seems a sure thing," the Daergar began slowly, as though still pondering his decision. "Which makes me doubly suspicious."

  "It's only a friendly wager," Jungor said innocently.

  The Hylar thane's hurt tone only provoked the Daergar. "If I don't take the bet and your gully dwarf falls at the first blow, I'll look like a fool. So I'll take your bet, and this time I'll make you suffer for it! Five hundred steel coins is my wager! There! Ha!"

  Astar Trueshield's eyes widened in alarm at the extravagance of the Daergar's bet, but Jungor's smile never wavered.

  "Five hundred, then," Jungor said as he rose to his feet. Ferro shrunk back in his chair, worriedly gnawing the ends of his beard.

  Jungor turned and faced the arena, and, seeing him rise, Uurk Straightbeard strode to the center of the arena and began to address him. The crowd slowly became quiet as the Daewar's words filtered through.

  "…demand vengeance. This is my right! But according to the Law of Redress enacted by our high thane, Tarn Bellowgranite, blood feud and revenge killing outside the arena is forbidden. Therefore I ask the President of the Arena of Justice, Thane Jungor Stonesinger, to sanction this combat between myself and the Aghar dwarf known as Shnatz Ong."

  "The council recognizes your right to redress, and I affirm the legality of this forum," Jungor answered, his basso voice resounding in the thick air. He spoke with a natural authority, so that even the most intoxicated dwarf in the crowd paused for a moment to appreciate the Hylar thane's command of the forms and procedures of law so dear to many a dwarven heart. "You have chosen weapons combat, knowing that your contest may result in serious injury or death. Let it be known that no one may claim the right of revenge for that which happens in the arena here today."

  He lifted his hand in sudden invocation. "Let the spirits of our ancestors witness these events and be pleased by the honor and courage displayed by the combatants, and let them curse those who dishonor these rites."

  Many of the dwarves in the crowd turned and stared up at the thane's box, for these words were not part of the official ceremony prescribed by law. Uurk Straightbeard seemed momentarily taken aback by this unorthodox departure from the recognized rituals. He shuffled uncertainly, waiting for the Hylar thane to finish with the usual invocation of a blessing from Reorx, the traditional god of the dwarves.

  Without doing so, Jungor summarily completed the ceremony, and, dropping his hand, shouted, "Let the combat commence!"

  For another moment, Uurk stared up at the box then turned and shuffled ominously toward his gully dwarf opponent.

  With many eyes upon him, Jungor resumed his seat, his beatific smile unchanged. Ferro leaned close to the Hylar thane and whispered, "What in the blazes of Chaos was that all about? Did you forget the invocation to Reorx?"

  "Not at all," Jungor said absently, leaning forward in his seat to watch the combat. "Ouch! Looks like you might win that bet after all."

  At these words, Ferro's attention snapped to the arena floor, where Shnatz Ong was now fleeing for his life, shrieking like a murdered peacock. Ferro leaned forward and gripped the edge of the box, his eyes beginning to flame with the bloodlust native to the dark dwarves of Thorbardin. Even if it promised to be a quick slaughter of a lowly gully dwarf, the sight of violent combat stirred his blood, as well as the blood of the crowd. They had quickly forgotten about Jungor's departure from tradition in their lust to see blood spilled onto the thirsty arena floor.

  The hapless gully dwarf had long since abandoned his weapon and was running in ever-tightening circles around his opponent, his rags flapping about his knees as he ran. Uurk Straightbeard continued to jab at his opponent and close the distance, even as his fury exploded at the way Shnatz Ong managed to stay just out of the reach of his silver sword. Although in prime physical condition, the Daewar couldn't match the dizzying speed of a gully dwarf running in crazy circles.

  Shnatz stumbled. The crowd roared. Ferro surged from his seat. Uurk lunged, and the tip of his sword sank into the gully dwarfs thigh just before the small fellow rolled out of reach. Squealing in agony, Shnatz crumpled in a quivering heap, clasping his wound with his filthy hands and trying to staunch the flow of blood.

  "Ha! I've beat you this time, Jungor Stonesinger," Ferro exclaimed as he leaped onto the edge of the box. "Fifteen hundred steel coins! That's what you owe me. Three-to-one odds."

  Jungor shook his head and smiled.

  On the arena floor, Uurk Straightbeard hovered menacingly over his fallen opponent, his longsword raised to strike. Meanwhile, he taunted the crowd, many of whom were shouting for him to spare the gully dwarf. Suddenly, two gully dwarves dropped over the wall and crawled toward him, weeping and crying. Females, by the looks of them, they begged him to spare their father's life.

  Uurk threw back his head and laughed. Lowering his weapon, he strode toward them, spitting insults and curses. "Worthless Aghar!" he screamed, his voice rising even over the tumult of the crowd. "I should kill the lot of you."

  "Do it! Kill them all!" Ferro shouted, pounding his fist on the rail box. Suddenly, his voice stuck in his throat and his mouth dropped open in surprise.

  Shnatz Ong rose quickly and silently while his opponent's back was turned. Streaking across the floor, heedless of his injury, he launched himself onto Uurk's broad back. One grimy hand whipped over the top of the startled dwarfs head, looping under his beard in one quick motion, before coming together with the other hand behind his neck.

  Uurk's eyes started from his face as the steel garrote tightened around his throat. His longsword fell from nerveless fingertips, and he clawed weakly at the instrument of his murder even as his knees buckled and he sank, the fiercely grinning gully dwarf riding his back all the way to the ground.

  Shnatz maintained his hold long enough to be assured of his opponent's death then slipped the steel wire free and turned grandly to accept the accolades of the crowd. The two female gully dwarves rushed out and swept under his arms, helping to support him on his injured leg even as they wantonly lavished kisses on his filthy face and beard.

  Ferro turned and gaped at Jungor Stonesinger, his mouth champing soundlessly.

  "They aren't his daughters, I assure you," the Hylar thane chuckled.

  6

  Jungor bellowed with laughter at his Daergar companion's mute bewilderment. Ferro could hardly believe what he had just witnessed. Gully dwarves were universally stupid, cowardly, and craven, utterly worthless for anything but the most menial of tasks. As warriors, the
y were more dangerous to their allies than their enemies. The only thing that kept the gully dwarf population under control was their inability to maintain even the most rudimentary hygienic habits. If a gully dwarf infant somehow managed to survive his own parents through the first year, he was considered unusual. Many died within a few months of birth from a variety of maladies and accidents, from smothering in their family's communal bed to being devoured by the rats that shared most gully dwarves' warrens.

  To see a gully dwarf defeat a skilled Daewar warrior in single combat beggared belief, even for Ferro Dunskull. Words evaded him as he glared at Jungor Stonesinger's smirking face. At the same time, a new dwarf entered the box and took the empty seat next to Jungor and opposite Ferro.

  "Will these young fools never learn?" the new dwarf gloated as he rattled a bag of coins hanging at his belt. "I made quite a haul on that last fight, my thane."

  "Uurk Straightsword won't be the last dwarf to underestimate The Flea," Jungor answered. He turned back to Ferro. "Isn't that right?"

  "You fooled me!" the Daergar spluttered.

  "You fooled yourself," Jungor countered seriously. The change in his tone was familiar to those who knew him well. The Hylar thane was fond of instructing those around him, and they did well to listen, for he was both wise and cunning.

  "Uurk Straightbeard underestimated his opponent," Jungor continued, "because he was a gully dwarf. There are more than three thousand dwarves in this arena tonight, and if he had bothered to ask even one of them, they would have advised him to be wary of tricks and to never turn his back on The Flea.

  "But Shnatz knew Uurk, knew the weakness of his arrogance, and he waited patiently to use it against him. That's why The Flea is one of the best fighters the arena has ever known. He's never lost a bout, and I've never lost money on him, while I've made a fortune on those who, like Uurk Straightbeard, believed that when they'd seen one gully dwarf, they'd seen them all."

  "It only took once for me, my thane," the newcomer dwarf admitted with a rueful smile. Captain Trueshield snorted appreciatively.

  Jungor nodded solemnly and peered from beneath his bushy brows at his Daergar companion. "Ferro, I believe you know Hextor Ironhaft?" he asked.

  Ferro tilted his head in acknowledgement "Everyone in my profession knows Master Ironhaft. He is one of Norbardin's wealthiest merchants, a scion of the Hylar families."

  Hextor Ironhaft accepted this compliment by stroking his long, blond beard. "What is Master Dunskull's profession, if I may be so impudent?"

  "Ferro is a merchant of information, shall we say," Jungor answered for the Daergar. "Though he bears the brand of the thief…"

  Ferro unconsciously lifted his hand to cover the small scar above his left eyebrow.

  "Still, he has recently turned his talents to more profitable ends," Jungor finished.

  "Most commendable," Hextor said with undisguised conceit.

  "Moreover, he is our eyes and ears in the court of Shahar Bellowsmoke, thane of the Daergar clans," Jungor added. "On our behalf, he spends most of his time in the service of his thane. Thus his knowledge of the arena and its most successful combatants was incomplete. I am confident he will not be so easily misled in the future."

  Jungor clapped one large, heavily scarred hand on the Daergar's shoulder, drawing him closer in a gesture of friendliness.

  Ferro bowed his head. "I am in the thane's debt. I fear I do not have the means at present to honor to our wager," he said.

  "There are other coins of the realm," Jungor said in a low voice. "Now, tell me, what passes with my cousin, the thane? Is his loyalty to Tarn firm, or—"

  His questioning was cut short by a bellowing roar.

  "Jungor Stonesinger!"

  The Hylar thane paused and peered through the smoke toward the source of the disturbance. The arena grew nervously silent as hundreds of bearded faces also craned to see. On the floor of the arena near the exit door, a lone dwarf stood with his hands on his hips and his pale face turned arrogantly toward Jungor's private box high above. His beard, split into two plaits, lay over his belly almost to his belt, and he wore a vest of fine silver scales over his barrelchested frame. A heavy curved sword hung at his hip. His sallow, well-muscled arms were bare except for a pair of jeweled bracers protecting his forearms.

  "I see you, Jungor Stonesinger," the Daergar warrior roared. "You can't avoid me any longer. I demand justice!"

  "Vault Forgesmoke!" Hextor Ironhaft exclaimed. "What's he doing here?"

  "If you are not a coward, come down here and face me!" the dwarf shouted in derision, eliciting an excited roar from the previously silent crowd.

  "I should have warned you," Ferro said quickly as Jungor rose to his feet, "he's been talking about challenging you for weeks."

  Seeing the Hylar thane rise, the crowd roared its approval. It wasn't every day that the formidable Jungor Stonesinger returned to the arena. A veteran of its bloody floor, he had never been defeated in the five years since its construction. He was its undisputed ruler, judge of all contests of arms under the council's laws. Almost a hundred warriors had tested his skill in the wild early days of the arena, before Tarn Bellowgranite usurped its forms and traditions in an effort to limit the clan battles and blood feuds that had reigned in dwarven society since the first dwarf carved stone.

  "Allow me to deal with this rogue, my lord," Astar Trueshield snarled as he drew his sword and pushed toward the stair.

  Jungor jerked him back. "In this place, I fight my own battles," he barked.

  "But you are our thane," Hextor Ironhaft pleaded and clutched at the hem of Jungor's cloak. "If you should fall to this Daergar's treachery…"

  Ferro glowered at the wealthy Hylar merchant, before turning to Jungor in concern.

  "He's a dangerous foe," he admitted.

  "Not as dangerous as I," Jungor growled obstinately. He pushed past his guard and tore free of the merchant's grasp, then quickly descended the stair to the arena floor, accompanied by the shouts and whistles and thunderous stamping of the gathered dwarves. As news of the challenge raced upward to the inhabited areas of Norbardin, dwarves began to pour into the arena to witness what promised to he a momentous battle. The leadership of the Hylar clan hung in the balance, and as its sworn protector, Astar Trueshield hurried down the stairs after his battle-fey thane, his face a blond-bearded knot of worry.

  Jungor slid over the outer wall and dropped to the hardpacked dirt floor. He slipped out of his black, fur-lined cloak of office and stripped off the golden silk shirt, baring a back rippling with well-toned muscles. His frame was longer and narrower than that of most dwarves, which made him look weak by comparison to his stouter compatriots. One look at the whipcord muscles of his arms spoke of hidden energies and deceptive power, however. His movements seemed slow and fluid, almost languid, but when he struck, it was like the strike of an adder. His hands were narrow and long, like a magician's hands, with long expressive fingers. He preferred a lighter sword to the heavy metal weapons favored by most of his opponents— axes, hammers, heavy maces, and broadswords. Yet his great reach gave him a distinct advantage.

  Unlike his opponent, Jungor wore no armor. He had not expected to compete in the arena this day, and in his anger, he had rushed to the arena floor without even bothering to grab a shield. Now he glanced quickly around the arena and shouted for someone to lend him a shield. A familiar face at the arena's edge greeted him—the Theiwar thane, Brecha Quickspring. Shouting his name, she tossed a battered steel buckler at his feet Dented and worn, it was still a serviceable piece of armor.

  Stooping, Jungor slipped the buckler over his left arm then drew his short sword as Vault Forgesmoke edged toward him, curved broadsword held in a guarded position, round shield pushed forward defensively. Nearly a foot shorter than the tall thane, the Daergar warrior respected Jungor's reach and skill well enough to make full use of his stout iron shield.

  "Six months ago, you murdered my brother in the arena after he begge
d mercy from you," Vault Forgesmoke formally pronounced, following the rules of the arena.

  "I offered your brother mercy, but he repaid my chivalry by trying to jab me with a poisoned needle as we clasped hands," Jungor responded.

  "That's a beardless lie!" the Daergar warrior shrieked as he leaped. He drove his shield against Jungor's side, trying to force his opponent back while at the same time stabbing under it with his broad blade. The tall Hylar thane spun past this obvious tactic, his lighter blade flickering in a quick succession of lunges that Vault barely blocked with his shield. As the two fighters separated, the crowd screamed in delight. Usually, the arena saw only clumsy brutality—entertaining, to be sure, but nothing compared to the artistry of two skilled sword wielders.

  The Daergar shook back his black mane of hair and dared Jungor to attack, taunting him by holding his shield aside and exposing his breast. Jungor circled grimly, his face expressionless, feinting half-heartedly at the proffered opening, while watching his opponent warily. The crowd grew restless and shouted for blood. An empty bottle sailed out of the stands and landed with a chink near the two warriors. For a split second, Vault's attention shifted, and as quickly Jungor launched his attack.

  The Daergar leaped back in response, easily avoiding the sword blade licking at his throat and laughing at his escape, only to find that the leather strap of his shield had been neatly severed just above his forearm. The shield dangled uselessly from his fist. He angrily tossed it aside.

  "Now we are more evenly matched," Jungor said to him.

  "A lucky blow!" Vault Forgesmoke blustered, but a note of fear had crept into his voice.

  The Hylar thane only smiled wolfishly and continued to circle. Now his movements were light and fluid, and his feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. He feinted untiringly, forcing his opponent to continually defend against a sword strike that never fell. The Daergar warrior's own movements grew desperate, his blows wild. Like most dwarf warriors, Vault sought to plant his feet and swing with all his might, to kill with a single blow, whereas Jungor's attacks were designed to chip away at his opponent's confidence and strength, to force him to wear himself out, to use his strength against him. He never remained in one place for long, moving east and attacking west, as the old military scholars liked to say.