Dark Thane Read online

  He wished now that he had listened to the Council of Thanes and waited to see how the elves' conflict with Beryl and the Dark Knights would shake out He had argued that they could not afford to wait, for if the elves were defeated, there would be nothing standing between Thorbardin and the green dragon Beryl. Yet he had never had much hope that Beryl could be stopped. So why had he aided them?

  That was the question revolving in his mind as he climbed the broad marble stairs leading up to the old temple of Reorx. His wound bothered him little, if truth be told, but he found the climb arduous. The North Gate's old temple had been converted into a new Council Hall for the Council of Thanes. Its steps were as broad as a dwarf is tall and rose over forty feet to the columned portico that surrounded it Six marble walls white as milk rose up to form a towering hexagonal structure, which supported a dome of rose quartz from Qualinesti—likely the last standing structure of that material left on Krynn, now that Qualinost was drowned and destroyed. Each of the six walls contained an entrance into the Grand Gallery, which, like the portico, ran the entire circle of the structure, but on two levels. In the portico and Grand Gallery, dwarven philosophers had once expounded on the mysteries of creation and the nature of law; now they were crowded with dwarves awaiting Tarn's arrival at the Council of Thanes.

  Word had spread quickly through Norbardin. There were no celebratory cheers or derogatory jeers at Tarn's arrival. The citizens watched in silence as Tarn climbed the steps. Tarn had led them successfully for forty years and the people had trusted his judgment. Without widespread support, especially the support of the younger generation, he couldn't have mounted such a large operation—delving tunnels beneath Qualinost to aid in the elves' evacuation from their city. He had betrayed his supporters.

  Tarn seemed to have aged a century in the fortnight he had been away from Thorbardin. Though his footsteps never faltered, they were slow, as though each boot were soled with lead. Behind him walked his captain of the guard, Mog Bonecutter, grizzled and wary, with bloodshot eyes staring out of his half-mad Klar face. He bore some large, disk-shaped object wrapped in a travel-stained blanket. The two were accompanied by a strange pair—the Daewar captain of the Council Guard, Ilbars Bleakfell, and a Daergar that most recognized as the master of scouts, Ferro Dunskull. Captain Ilbars seemed oddly nervous, searching the silent crowds as though expecting to see an enemy awaiting him, while Ferro walked slightly behind with his dark eyes glued to Ilbars's back.

  As Tarn reached the top of the stairs and passed into the torchlit portico, the crowd parted, opening the way to the Hylar door into the temple. Each of the clans had its own door—Hylar, Daewar, Daergar, Theiwar, and Klar. The sixth entrance was not an entrance at all—it was actually a false entrance meticulously carved to represent a partially opened door. So cunning was its craftwork that even dwarves often felt compelled to touch it just to disprove the illusion. This door was for the Kingdom of the Dead, and through it only the dead could enter. The door faced the Road of Thanes, a road that led directly from the new Council Hall in Norbardin to the Valley of the Thanes, where the dwarves of Thorbardin buried their dead.

  The Aghar, otherwise known as gully dwarves, merited no recognized entrance of their own, though some said that the entrance to the catacombs beneath the temple counted as a seventh door. Certainly, gully dwarves came and went from the Council Hall at will, and through no door that anyone could observe.

  Tarn entered the Grand Gallery from the portico and found it thronging with restless dwarves of every clan. The new Council Hall was considerably smaller than the old hall at the South Gate. That place had been built to house thousands of dwarves, while the new hall did well to contain more than five hundred. Those who were too poor or of too low a rank to obtain a seat within were forced to stand in the Grand Gallery or the portico outside and there they could listen to the Council's proceedings from afar. Tarn had started a new Council Hall beneath the first level of Norbardin near the Shaft of Reorx, but it was not yet complete; in majesty and scope, it was intended to eventually rival the old Council Hall.

  The hall was constructed like a great bowl, with six sets of stairs leading down from each entrance to a circular dais at the center. Concentric rings of benches surrounded the dais, climbing up the bowl's sides. The six stairs divided the Council Hall into sections, and each section was occupied by the most important members of the six clans. Wealthy merchants and craftsmen, generals and captains, guild leaders and dwarves who had won fame or renown filled the benches. The Aghar section, however, was first come, first seated.

  Eight chairs were arranged in abroad circle around the edge of the dais, facing inward—six for the thanes of the six clans, one chair for the king, and an empty chair for the unseen representative of the Kingdom of the Dead. Each of the six thanes' chairs faced their own clan's section across the dais, and each thane sat with his back to another clan. From the highest to the lowest: the Hylar thane, Jungor Stonesinger, sat with his back to the Aghar section of the audience. Looking like an old bag of dirty laundry, the Aghar thane, Grumple Nagfar, filled the chair before the Hylar section. Shahar Bellowsmoke, thane of the Daergar, nervously sat with his back to the unpredictable Klar audience, while the Klar thane, Glint Ettinhammer, cleaned his nails with a dagger and studiously ignored the black glares of the eighty or so Daergar behind him. Thane of the magic-using Theiwar clan, Brecha Quickspring sat in a chair which was within an easy axestroke of the Daewar clan. The Daewar thane, Rughar Delvestone, sat half turned in his chair so that he could keep one eye on the Theiwar behind his back.

  The chair of the king of Thorbardin sat at the bottom of the Hylar stair and faced the entrance of the Kingdom of the Dead, to remind him that all dwarves are mortal. The eighth chair, the empty chair reserved for the dead, sat at the bottom of the stair leading from their door and faced the Hylar entrance and the king. This unique arrangement of chairs, with each thane sitting with his or her back to their traditional clan enemy, was the only new part of the design of the Council Hall and had been imposed at Tarn's insistence, as a show of faith and brotherhood among all clans.

  The ancient altar to Reorx—a great iron anvil on which a flame burned continually, remained at the center of the dais, not because the dwarves expected the temple to be used again one day (Reorx, like the other gods, had willingly departed Krynn in order to save it from Chaos), but because Tarn had never intended to make permanent use of the temple as the new Council Hall. For that reason, he had made no other alterations to the temple, and it stood much as it had since it was first built, uncounted centuries ago. And this was one of the few places that the forces of Chaos never defiled in their attack some forty years ago.

  With regret swelling within his heart, Tarn passed through the Great Gallery and entered the Council Hall through the Hylar entrance. He paused at the top of the stairs for a moment. Five hundred silent dwarf countenances were intently turned upon him. He would rather have walked into the fire.

  13

  Jungor Stonesinger looked up from his musing as the crowd in the Council Hall grew silent. For the first time since he began his rise to the thanedom of the Hylar clan, his spies and informants had failed him. No one had been able to tell him what news—dire or otherwise—Tarn brought home with him from Qualinost. There were rumors aplenty, but Jungor knew that rumors were about as useful as a third boot. His own analysis of the situation as he understood it offered no firm conclusions.

  He knew only that Tarn had returned with a small force mostly made up of soldiers from Pax Tharkas; he knew that Tarn brought with him several dozen dead and injured dwarves, and that he himself had been injured in some way, though not severely. But one could draw two completely contradictory conclusions from this:

  That Tarn and the elves had been utterly defeated and Tarn was returning with his tail between his legs, bringing the few survivors and the bodies of those survivors who had died along the way. Or:

  That Tarn and the elves had been utterly vict
orious, as evidenced by the low number of returning casualties. So great had been the victory, perhaps, that Tarn had replaced much of the garrison at Pax Tharkas with soldiers from his expeditionary army, and returned to Thorbardin with the Pax Tharkas garrison, many of whom had not been home in many months.

  If the first was true, then where were the other dwarves of Tarn's army? Jungor had a low opinion of Tarn Bellowgranite, considering him nothing but a vile half-breed. Daergar blood had never ruled Thorbardin until Tarn Bellowgranite sat on the throne. The Hylar blood that flowed in Tarn's veins did nothing to offset the Daergar taint, at least in Jungor's opinion. Tarn's own mother had been a leader in the revolt against the last true thane of Thorbardin, Baker Whitegranite, Tarn's own father, no less! Jungor's opinion of Tarn was deeply colored by his clan prejudices, but even he did not believe Tarn so incompetent that he could lose his entire army. He dared not believe it. Such a disaster had not happened since the Dwarfgate Wars.

  But if they had won and Beryl was defeated, why did Tarn seem so strangely subdued, like a vanquished hero returning home in disgrace? Jungor had received word of the curious reception at the gate, or lack of one. Tarn had personally seen to the disposition of the wounded in the houses of healing, meanwhile keeping the Council of Thanes and thousands of anxious dwarves awaiting his tidings. Why? Truly, a king must love the soldiers who follow him into battle, or he is not a king. But a king must also send soldiers to their deaths, knowing they will die. He cannot unhinge his mind in mourning for those who fulfill their destiny on the field of battle.

  If there was one thing Jungor abhorred, it was uncertainty. He liked to have everything neatly ordered and planned. His own plan was to take the throne and unseat Tarn Bellowgranite and that had been in place for years, all carefully ordered, all neatly scripted with a patience to rival the gods' own. Jungor was in no rush. He knew that, in time, he would be king.

  Apparently, however, the first step had already gone awry, for Tarn had returned alive to Thorbardin. Thus Ferro Dunskull had failed him, and Jungor was deeply disappointed. Failure was not entirely unexpected, and he would not have been much of a thane if his entire scheme had hung on the competence of one Daergar, would it? Still, he was disappointed.

  But even Jungor Stonesinger was not prepared for what he saw as Tarn entered the Council Hall, followed by Mog Bonecutter and Ilbars Bleakfell. Ilbars Bleakfell? The Daewar captain should have been the first to die in the ambush, according to the plan. So how had he survived? Had Ferro turned against him and informed Tarn of Jungor's plot? It would be just like a Daergar to stab him in the back. Was that why Tarn was so subdued, because he knew that he must confront Jungor before the Council of Thanes and accuse him of the ultimate crime—treason?

  Jungor's eyes narrowed when he spotted Ferro enter behind the thane and his escort. The wretched Daergar traitor was purposefully not looking at him. Jungor almost sprang out of his chair in his anger, but he checked himself and covered his upset by crossing his legs, forgetting Thane Quickspring's staff leaning against his thigh. He had only recently taken to walking with it, after the battle in the arena and the loss of his right eye. It clattered noisily to the floor at his movement, breaking the pall of silence that had gripped the audience. Slowly, then, the people arose to greet the return of their king. Jungor looked up at Tarn and saw the king glance at him, a look almost of thanks on his worn and weary face. Jungor picked up his staff and rose as well, joining his fellow thanes, except for the Aghar thane, Grumple Nagfar, who was asleep, or drunk; it was hard to tell which.

  Tarn reached the bottom of the stairs and paused a moment to bow to each of the gathered thanes. Mog remained at his side, but Ferro slipped past him and made his way to the Daergar section. As he did so, he met Jungor's eyes for a flicker of an instant. What Jungor saw there was not betrayal, but what was it? Something too brief to assess, but the Daergar thane was closely watching his subject. Meanwhile, Ilbars Bleakfell seemed at a momentary loss as to where to sit. Jungor thought this extremely odd, but few noticed it other than Ferro, the rest being absorbed by the actions of the king. Finally, someone in the front row of the Daewar section made room for Ilbars, and awkwardly he took his seat among them.

  Tarn bowed first to the Hylar thane. Jungor was taken aback by this sly maneuver. It was clearly intended to catch him off guard, and it did—it was a moment before Jungor remembered to return the bow. He noticed that Tarn did not seem at all surprised or horrified to see that he had lost his right eye, and he wondered if the king's spies had kept him so well informed of everything going on in Thorbardin during his expedition to Qualinesti. Jungor had already gotten used to, and even begun to enjoy and make use of, the surprise and horror of those seeing him for the first time since his injury.

  But more importantly, Jungor's hesitation had made him seem discourteous. He made up for his hesitation with the depth of his bow. He then made it a point to watch the other thanes as Tarn greeted them.

  Next was Tarn's cousin, Shahar Bellowsmoke of the Daergar clan. Shahar returned the king's bow with a cool nod, which seemed to indicate that he was not, after all, in alliance with Tarn. Jungor's agents had yet to wring a confession from any of Vault Forgesmoke's accomplices, and Jungor had already begun to suspect that Shahar had acted alone in the attempt on his life in the arena. The frostiness of the Daergar's greeting only confirmed his suspicions, though he did not discount the possibility that Shahar was merely acting indifferently to throw Jungor off the scent.

  Next, Tarn greeted the Daewar thane. The Daewar were the weakest of the six clans. Most had followed that visionary fool, Severus Stonehand, off into the blue, trying to reclaim the lost kingdom of Thoradin. The Daewar had long been the Hylar's greatest ally, but now there were so few of them that Jungor had been forced to recruit among the other clans in order to consolidate his power. Still, Rughar Delvestone maintained the traditional Daewar loyalty to the Hylar clan, and to their thane. Thane Delvestone was also a purist, and like most Daewar, suffered fanatical tendencies that clouded his judgment at times. Jungor had long ago learned to exploit those tendencies, and so the Daewar thane greeted Tarn with haughty reserve.

  Next was the Klar thane, Glint Ettinhammer. Jungor didn't give the Klar a second thought. If the Daewar tended toward fanaticism, the Klar embraced it wholly and without reserve. After the Chaos War, Tarn had won the Klar's undying loyalty by unconditionally forgiving them for joining in the Daergar revolt, led by his mother and his uncle, Darkend Bellowsmoke. Their thane at the time, Tufa Bloodeye, had pledged undying loyalty to Tarn and Tarn alone, and his successor, Glint Ettinhammer, had renewed that pledge in the usual grisly Klar manner, by slicing open his hand and smearing his blood on Tarn's sword hand. Jungor had never even tried to woo the Klar to his side. They were a scattered, disorganized clan, anyway. More than half of them didn't even live in Norbardin. They still lived out in the ruined cities, preferring darkness and the constant danger to the light and safety of civilization. Jungor had plans for the Klar once he became king.

  Tarn then greeted the other thanes by rank of seniority. Naturally, this offended the entire Theiwar clan, since he chose to bow to the suddenly resuscitated gully dwarf, Grumple Nagfar, before greeting Brecha Quickspring, thane of the Theiwar. Brecha was reckoned the youngest of the six thanes. Although no one could be entirely sure of the age of any gully dwarf, Grumple Nagfar certainly looked old enough to predate the mountain itself (as the saying goes).

  Jungor knew that he could count on the support of Brecha Quickspring. The staff in his hand was hers; it had saved his life in the arena, and she had pledged the support of her clan soon after. Jungor suspected that the crazy dark dwarf sorceress might even be in love with him, and if that aided him in his efforts by assuring the support of the Theiwar, he wouldn't actively discourage her aspirations. Neither would he encourage her, as the thought of a Theiwar wife literally made his stomach churn. He had no time for wives or thoughts of marriage. When he was king, then he'd ne
ed a wife because he would need an heir to solidify Hylar supremacy on the Council of Thanes. But by then, he'd have his choice among the most powerful Hylar families. He could always deal with the Theiwar after he was king.

  As for the gully dwarves, Jungor never even considered them. Few did.

  Last of all, Tarn bowed to the empty chair of the Kingdom of the Dead. Jungor noticed that Tarn's gaze lingered perhaps a moment too long on that place, as though the king's thoughts were preoccupied with the dead. Glancing around at the crowd, Jungor noticed that many were now looking at him, and waiting for him to speak, or act.

  A mystique had begun to surround him after he defeated Vault Forgesmoke in the arena. Without really knowing why, he had cursed his dead opponent's soul, speaking in the heat of his anger and his pain. Brecha Quickspring had built upon this incident by claiming to have seen the spirit of the dead dwarf bow in obedience. Dwarves who met him on the streets of Norbardin now shrunk from his scarred cyclopean visage, not out of fear, but from reverence. People whispered that he could speak to the dead and they obeyed his commands. Only a few days had passed, but already a cult had begun to grow around him. Its mistress was Brecha Quickspring.

  After honoring the Kingdom of the Dead, Tarn sank into his chair. For a few moments, his chin rested on his bandaged chest. With a deep sigh, he then pulled himself erect and gripped the ornately carved arms of his chair. At his movement, Thane Rughar Delvestone rose from his own seat and spoke in tones rich with formality but empty of true feeling.

  "The Council of Thanes welcomes King Tarn Bellowgranite home from his travels and adventures, and begs that he delight us with the tale of the honor and glory he won while abroad," Rughar said, then resumed his seat. Though the phrases were nothing more than mere formality, Tarn's face blanched when he heard the words "honor and glory." His will seemed to waver for a moment.