Dragons of the Dwarven Depths

by Margaret Weis

  Apparently Reorx grew weary of this, for when the Cataclysm struck, the ceiling of the temple caved in, blocking all the entrances. The dwarves attempted to remove the rubble, but every time they shifted a boulder or a beam, another crashed down, and eventually they gave up.

  It was Duncan, High King, who reopened the temple. He hoped to find Reorx by doing so, and he devised a plan to use the great Ukhar worms to chew through the rubble. His detractors said the worms would not stop there but would chew through the temple walls as well, and the worms did in some places before the worm wranglers could stop them. These holes were easily repaired, however, and dwarves could once more enter the temple.

  King Duncan did not find Reorx there, as he had hoped. Legend has it that the king flattened himself on his belly and peered into the pit, hoping to see the famed stars. He saw nothing but darkness. Still, he held that the temple was a sacred place and the memory of the god was here, even if the god himself was gone. He banned the tossing of stones into the pit. Once again, important ceremonies and functions were held in the Temple of the Stars and thus it was deemed to be the most suitable place for the Thanes to witness the recovery of the Hammer of Kharas. Hornfel prayed it might happen soon, for already the mountain kingdom was in turmoil.

  Word of the monstrous winged lizard-man had spread rapidly throughout all the realms, creating a sensation. A laconic race, dwarves are not given to rumor-mongering. They do not embellish stories or exaggerate the facts, leaving that to humans. A dwarf caught dressing up a tale is not to be trusted. One lone draconian leaping off the lift in a human community would have turned into six hundred fire-breathing dragons invading the kingdom. The dwarves who had seen the draconian jump off the Life Tree and fly over the lake told the astonishing tale to their neighbors and relatives, and they told it accurately.

  None of the dwarves knew what to make of this creature, except that it was undoubtedly evil, and each dwarf had his or her own idea on what it was and how it came to be in Thorbardin. All agreed on one thing—no monster like this had been seen in Thorbardin as long as the gate was sealed. This was what came of opening their doors to the world beyond. Tanis and the other “Talls” were viewed with even more suspicion than before.

  Hundreds of dwarves were already clogging the Ninth Road in an effort to reach the Temple. There had already been several fistfights, and Hornfel feared that worse would happen. Riots would break out and dwarves would be hurt if they were allowed to crowd into the temple and its environs. Hornfel decided to close the Temple to the public. Only the Thanes and their guards would be present to witness the Hammer’s return.

  Having seen the draconian for himself, Hornfel came to believe that Tanis had been telling the truth—the Theiwar had betrayed Thorbardin to the forces of the Dark Queen. Hornfel feared that Realgar, knowing his perfidy had been discovered, would choose this time to attack. The Theiwar army, being little more than an armed mob, did not overly concern Hornfel, whose troops were highly trained and well disciplined. But the half-elf had warned Hornfel that an army of these dragon-men might well be prepared to invade. If that happened, they would likely attack the Temple first, in an effort to seize the Hammer. Hornfel wanted armed troops surrounding the temple, not an unruly crowd.

  Hornfel was also worried about the Daergar. If Rance sided with Realgar, and they were backed up by the forces of darkness, Hornfel despaired that even the Hammer of Kharas could save his people.

  The Thane of the Hylar was a dwarf of courage and nobility, whose worth was proven in these dark hours. Hornfel readily admitted that he had been taken in by Realgar’s lies. He had misjudged Tanis and the others.

  “I have lived too long sealed up inside the mountain,” Hornfel said sadly. “I need to see the sunshine once again, breathe fresh air.”

  “What you need,” Sturm advised, “is to look for Reorx. You won’t find him at the bottom of a pit.”

  Hornfel thought this over. Like most dwarves, he had sworn many an oath by Reorx. The Thane had never before prayed to Reorx, however, and he wasn’t certain what to say. He had been told of the words of the strange dwarf who had appeared in the entrance to the Valley, how the fate of Thorbardin hung by a slender rope. In the end, Hornfel’s prayer was simple and heartfelt, “Reorx, grant me the wisdom and the strength to do what is right.”

  He held his troops in readiness, as did the Thane of the Daewar, Gneiss, whose thinking had agreed with Hornfel on all points except Reorx’s return. If the god had come back, he would have made himself known to the Daewar first, since they had been the ones to build and tend his shrines. As of yet, Gneiss had seen no sign of him.

  Tufa, the Thane of the Klar, had seen the draconian and been eager to kill it. He envisioned these monsters creeping into Thorbardin along dark and secret paths, and he sent his people, who knew their way around the darkness and the labyrinthine tunnels, to investigate.

  The Thanes assembled in the Temple of the Stars, each bringing with him heavily armed guards. Hornfel had also invited the Talls to join them in the Temple. A large square building, the Temple had four entrances, one at each of the four compass points. Wide halls ran straight from the four doors to intersect in the inner chamber. This was the altar room and it was circular in shape, for it had been built around the pit—a round pool of starlit darkness beneath a domed ceiling. A hole in the ceiling was placed directly above the pit, matching it in shape and size and symbolizing the idea that the realm of the god had no beginning and no end.

  The altar of Reorx, which had been considered ancient in King Duncan’s time, had never been removed. Made of red granite carved in the shape of an anvil, the altar stood at the end of the platform that extended out into the pit. The dwarven Thanes eyed the altar uncomfortably, wondering if they should make some offering to acknowledge the god’s return. None knew what they were supposed to do or say, so rather than risk offending the god, who was known to be touchy, they stood before it, doffed their helms, and then looked uncomfortable.

  The rest of the large altar room was empty. There were no thrones, chairs, or benches. Those who entered the altar room were in the presence of the god and were meant to stand in respect. Hornfel, Gneiss, Tufa and Klar were the four Thanes in attendance. They came together, talking in low and worried voices. Tanis and his friends stood apart, saying little. The dwarves had placed torches in sconces around the walls, but the flames did little to light the vast room. Darkness seemed to flow out of the pit and drown them, for though the air was still and calm, the torches constantly flickered and went out. Even the light cast by the staff of Magius seemed dimmer than usual, shedding its light only on Raistlin, illuminating nothing else.

  “Two of the Thanes are missing,” said Sturm, “those of the Theiwar and the Daergar.”

  “The fact that Realgar is absent is no surprise,” said Tanis, “but it is beginning to look as though the Daergar have joined forces with their dark cousins.”

  The Aghar Thane was also missing, but no one noticed.

  The tension mounted as everyone waited for the Hammer. Nerves stretched taut. Conversation dwindled. No one had any idea what was going to happen, but most believed it was going to be bad. The strain proved too much for the leader of the Klar, who suddenly threw back his head and let out a hideous shriek—a feral, heart-stopping howl that echoed throughout the chamber and caused the dwarven guards to draw their weapons. Sturm, Caramon, and Tanis clapped their hands to their swords. The Klar merely snarled and waved his hand, indicating that he’d meant nothing by it, he was simply easing the tension.

  “I hope he doesn’t do that again,” said Caramon, thrusting his sword back into its sheathe.

  “I wonder what is taking so long,” said Sturm. “Perhaps they were waylaid—”

  “We don’t even know for certain that the news about the Hammer is true,” Raistlin observed. “For all we know, this may be a trap. We might have been sent here to keep us away from the Hammer.”

  “I don’t like this any bett
er than the rest of you,” said Tanis. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “I say that Tanis and I should go to Valley of the Thanes and look for Flint,” said Sturm.

  “No, you and I should go, Sturm,” said Raistlin.

  Sturm hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes, Raistlin and I should go.”

  Tanis was so amazed at this sudden strange alliance that he nearly forgot what he was about to say. He had started to suggest that perhaps they should all go to the Valley when suddenly there was Tasslehoff, right in front of him.

  Tanis had never been so glad to see anyone. Risking the loss of his personal possessions, he gave Tas a hug. The others greeted the kender warmly, then immediately bombarded him with questions.

  “How did you get here? Where’s Flint? Does he have the Hammer of Kharas?”

  “A magical rune made by a golden woolly mammoth,” Tas answered them all in jumble. “Flint’s here and no, he doesn’t have the Hammer. Arman has it.”

  Tas pointed to Flint standing on the platform before the altar of Reorx. Arman Kharas stood beside him, holding the bronze hammer in triumph over his head.

  “I, Arman Kharas, have found the Hammer of Kharas!” he thundered. “I return it to my people!”

  Tanis sighed. He was glad the Hammer had been recovered, but he was concerned for his old friend. “I hope Flint’s not taking this too hard.”

  “I was worried about that, too,” said Tas. “But Flint seems really chipper. You’d almost think he found the Hammer.”

  Sturm and Raistlin exchanged glances.

  “The gods be praised—” Sturm began, but his prayer was cut short.

  Hot flame erupted from the pit and exploded in their midst. The dazzling light blinded them, the concussive blast jarred the senses and knocked many to the floor.

  Half-blind and dazed, Tanis staggered to his feet, fumbling for his sword and trying to see what had happened. He had a vague impression of something monstrous crawling out of the pit. When his dazzled vision cleared, Tanis saw it was a man, fearsome in blue armor and horned helm, pulling himself with ease over the edge of the platform.

  Lord Verminaard. Very much alive.

  24

  Seeing is believing.

  True metal and false.

  erminaard was dead!” Sturm shouted hoarsely. “I stabbed him through the heart!”

  “Something’s not right!” Raistlin gasped.

  “Yeah, the bastard can’t be killed,” Caramon said.

  “Not that!” Raistlin whispered, felled by a fit of coughing. He tried desperately to speak, his lips were flecked with blood. “The light … blinded … a magic spell …” He doubled over, struggling to breathe. The coughing spasms tore at his frail body, and he could say no more.

  “Where’s Flint?” Tanis asked worriedly. “Can you see him?”

  “The altar is in the way,” said Sturm, craning his neck. “The last I saw, he was standing beside Arman.”

  The helmed head turned in their direction. Verminaard was aware of them; perhaps he had even heard them. He did not appear overly concerned. His attention was fixed on the Hammer of Kharas, and the dwarf who held it.

  Arman Kharas had not been felled by the magical blast. He stood stalwart and firm, the hammer clasped tightly in his hands, facing the terrible foe who towered over him, a foe who commanded the elements, who wielded fire and blinding light. A foe who had risen from the holy site that was the dwelling place of Reorx, mocking the power of the god.

  “Who dares defile our sacred Temple?” Arman cried. He was pale beneath his long black beard, but resolute and determined, and he faced his enemy without fear.

  “Verminaard, Highlord of the Red Dragonarmies. In the name of Ariakas, Emperor of Ansalon, and of Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, I have conquered Qualinesti, Abanasinia and the Plains of Dust. I now add Thorbardin to the list. Bring me the Hammer and bow down before me and proclaim me High King or perish where you stand.”

  Sturm said softly, “We should rush him. He can’t fight all of us.”

  The Dragon Highlord shifted his hand and pointed at the knight. A ray of light shot out from the Highlord’s hand, streaked through the air and struck Sturm on his metal breastplate. Lightning sizzled around the knight. He collapsed to the floor and lay writhing in agony.

  All the time, Verminaard had not taken his gaze from Arman, who was staring at the stricken knight in horror, his hands clasping the hammer in a convulsive grip.

  “Witness my power,” Verminaard said to the young dwarf. “Bring me the Hammer, or you will be next!”

  Tanis saw Caramon’s hand close over the hilt of his sword.

  “Don’t be a fool, Caramon!” Tanis said softly. “Go see to Sturm.”

  Caramon glanced at his twin. Raistlin sagged against his staff. He was weak from coughing, his hand pressed over his mouth. He shook his head, and Caramon reluctantly released his hold on his weapon. He knelt beside the stricken knight.

  Flint had been knocked off his feet by the power of the blast. He staggered back to the platform, coming up behind Arman. Flint could feel something sticky on his face, probably blood. He ignored it. The other Thanes were more or less on their feet, as were their guards. Between them all, they outnumbered the Dragon Highlord, but after seeing the damage inflicted on the knight, no one dared attack Verminaard.

  “Give him the Hammer,” Hornfel said to his son. “It is not worth your life.”

  “The Hammer is mine!” Arman cried defiantly. “I am Kharas!”

  He shook free of the terror that had seemed to paralyze the others. Swinging the hammer, Arman Kharas sprang at the Dragon Highlord.

  As the dwarf bore down on him, the Dragon Highlord fell back a step in order to bring himself into better position to repel the dwarf’s attack. His foot went too close to the edge. He slipped and nearly fell, managing to save himself only by dropping his mace and grabbing hold of the granite altar.

  At about this time, Tasslehoff Burrfoot reached into his pocket in search of his spectacles.

  Kender, unlike humans, never doubt. Verminaard was dead. Tanis and the others had killed him, and yet here he was alive, and this made no sense, as far as Tas was concerned. Raistlin had said that something was wrong, and if anyone should know it would be him. Raistlin might not be the nicest person Tas had ever met, but the mage was the smartest.

  “I think I’ll just take a quick look,” said Tas to himself.

  He reached down into his pocket and pulled out something that might once have been a kumquat. This not being of much use, he tossed it away and after retrieving a prune pit and thimble, he located the ruby-colored spectacles and put them on his nose.

  Arman Kharas struck. The blow from the hammer broke Verminaard’s grip on the altar. Another blow knocked him backward. The Dragon Highlord tried desperately to save himself, but he overbalanced, and bellowing in terror and in fury, the Dragon Highlord fell into the pit.

  No one moved or spoke. Arman Kharas stared into the pit in dazed disbelief. Then the realization of his triumph burst upon him. He lifted the hammer and, crying out praise to Reorx, swung the hammer joyfully through the air. The Thanes and the soldiers began to cheer wildly.

  Caramon was propping up Sturm, who was dazed and in pain but alive. Caramon whooped and hollered. Sturm smiled weakly.

  Raistlin stared at the pit, his eyes hard and glittering. “Something is wrong with this …”

  “Raistlin’s right, Tanis!” Tasslehoff clutched at his friend. “That’s not Verminaard!”

  “Not now, Tas!” Tanis said, trying to shake loose the kender. “I have to see to Sturm …”

  “It wasn’t Verminaard, I tell you!” Tas cried. “It was a draconian who looked like Verminaard!”

  “Tas—”

  “An illusion!” Raistlin breathed. “Now it makes sense. Verminaard was a cleric, a follower of Queen Takhisis. The spell that blinded us and the spell that felled Sturm were both spells that only a wizard could cast.”

&n
bsp; The dwarven Thanes were cheering Arman Kharas, who stood on the platform cradling the hammer in his arms and basking in his glory.

  “A draconian?” said Tanis, glancing back at the altar. “Why would a draconian pretend to be Verminaard?”

  “I don’t know,” said Raistlin softly, “but this victory was too easy.”

  “Look!” Caramon cried.

  Clawed hands were reaching up out of the pit and grabbing hold of the edge of the platform. A draconian emerged from the pit, effortlessly pulling himself up onto the platform. Unlike other draconians, this one had no wings. His scales were a dull greenish gold. He was tall and thin with a short, stubby tail. He wore black robes decorated in whorls and runes. The draconian lifted his head, looked up at the ceiling, and raised arms as though signaling. Then he crept toward the unsuspecting young dwarf.

  Arman had his back turned. He did not see his danger. The Thanes saw it and cried out in alarm. Flint did more than that. He took hold of his Hammer and ran toward the pit.

  “Flint! Stop!” Tanis shouted, and he started to run to his friend’s aid, when he heard Sturm cry out a warning.

  “Tanis! Above you!”

  Tanis looked up to see armed draconians dropping down on top of them, leaping through the hole in the ceiling. At the same time, additional draconian troops entered from the south door. A group of Theiwar, armed to the teeth, ran in through the door to the east. Sturm, pale and shivering, was on his feet, sword in hand. Caramon positioned himself next to Sturm, in case the knight faltered. Raistlin’s lips were moving. Magic crackled on his fingertips. Tasslehoff, calling out jeers and insults and jumping up and down, waved his hoopak and yelled for the draconians to come and get him.