Dark Thane

by Jeff Crook

  "He's a new father, my dear," Auntie said in soothing tones, patting her on the shoulder.

  "No, it's more than that. I can't put my finger on it. I don't know what to think anymore," Crystal sighed.

  "You listen to old Galena, now, like you used to do," Auntie Needlebone said. "You know Tarn, but there is something about him that you have to realize. You know it in your heart, but you never really considered it. He's lost everything he's ever loved—his mother and his father, his first betrothed, his good friend Thane Bloodeye, all his fine young army that you and he trained, and most recently, his right arm, Mog Bonecutter. Why, those two were inseparable even before we came to the mountain."

  "I know all that," Crystal said sullenly.

  "So what's he looking at now? He's got you, Tor, and this place. Every day, that insufferable one-eyed prig steals just a little more of this city from him, turns the hearts of a few more of his subjects away from him. The dwarves he sacrificed everything to save now look at him with suspicion."

  "Not all of them. Not even half of them. It's just that the few who hate him seem to be the only ones talking," Crystal said.

  "And then there's the two of you. He knows you can take care of yourself, lass. You are better than he is with the spear and staff, if truth be told, and you can command in battle nearly as well as he. But how did that Belicia Slateshoulders die? Restoring Hybardin, that's how. They weren't married, yet she was actively involved in rebuilding the kingdom. Are you?"

  "I do my part," Crystal said defensively.

  "Were you with him at Qualinost?" Auntie snapped back. "She would have been. He keeps you here, inside the Fortress where it is safe."

  "I train his guards," Crystal protested. "I fulfill a vital role."

  "There's no one else in all of Norbardin who can train his guards, then?" Aunt Needlebone asked. When Crystal made no response, she continued, "You see what I mean. He wants to keep you safe. And now he has Tor to look after and worry over, too. Never has a father loved a child so dearly. I've never seen the like in all my years. Tor is so very young, and dwarf babies die every day of one malady or another. As king, he knows that better than any of us. He grieves along with the mothers and fathers."

  Auntie stood and dusted the knees of her tattered woolen nightgown. "It's living shut up in this mountain!" she finished, swearing. "The clean air can't get in here to flush the place out. Pestilence breeds in the dark, and it is so very dark here sometimes. This place could use a good dose of sunshine. A bolt of lightning wouldn't do it any harm, neither."

  "I'd better go see what Tarn is doing," Crystal said as she started for the door.

  "You mind what I told you, girlie," Auntie called after her. "He's suffering inside, but he can't let it out or he won't be a leader of his people anymore, he thinks. But don't you coddle him. You'll ruin him for sure if you coddle him. He needs a swift kick more than a soft word."

  The halls were still filled with milling, overwrought servants. Crystal did her best to calm their fears. It had only been a small tremble, not even enough to knock the tapestries off the walls. Yet a groundquake was such a rare occurrence in Thorbardin that no one could remember the last one. For a people whose lives were measured in centuries, this meant no such event had occurred here in a very long time. Despite her assurances, the servants remained edgy. "What does the king say about it?" many asked.

  When she reached her bedchamber, she found the door closed and Ghash Grisbane waiting in the antechamber, nervously pacing the floor with an axe in his fist. "Put away your weapon, Captain," Crystal said in what she hoped was a friendly voice. She attempted a laugh. "What good is it against a groundquake?"

  "I feel better with a weapon in my hand," the young Klar warrior responded sullenly. But he returned the battle axe to its place on the wall.

  "Where is the king?" she asked.

  "Inside." He nodded toward the door.

  "Call the king's escort, then. Have them ready," she said. "Tarn will need to go to the Council Hall."

  "He said he was returning to bed," Ghash said, a worried look passing over his face. "And he has the young prince with him."

  "The king must go to the Council Hall," Crystal said firmly. "Summon the guard at once."

  The young captain's features brightened at her assurance, and he hurried off to do her bidding. She waited until he had gone before opening the door. The light from the antechamber spilled into the darkened bedchamber, illuminating a large hump on the bed covered in blankets. Sighing, she took a candle from a sconce beside the door, entered the room, and began lighting candles on the walls and shelves.

  Tarn looked up from the pillow, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Tor can go back to sleep between us. There's plenty of room." He gazed down at the boy peacefully sleeping beside him.

  "He can go back to sleep, but you're not," she said brusquely, as she moved about the chamber, lighting still more candles. She wanted the room brilliantly lit. "You're going to hurry down to the Council Hall."

  Tarn sat up carefully, so as not to wake Tor. He pushed back the hair from his face and watched his wife, a puzzled expression on his face. Crystal saw him out of the corner of her eye, and his bafflement only made her angrier. She plopped the candle down on a dressing table so violently that hot wax splashed on her hand. Hissing, she slapped the droplets from her skin, then sucked the back of her burned thumb.

  "Tarn, we've just had a groundquake. The people need to be reassured by your presence. You have to go out and survey the damage. They need to see you in the street, unafraid, seeing to their needs and wants, and trying to solve their problems. You are their king. Even your own servants are frightened, and here I find you cowering in bed," Crystal said in disgust.

  The injured look on Tarn's face nearly broke her heart, but she continued as Tarn reluctantly folded back the covers. "What's the matter with you, Tarn Bellowgranite? I shouldn't have to say these things to you. I've never had to tell you what to say or do before. Most of the time, darn it, you act without even seeking my advice. But lately… "

  "I had the dream again," he said in a low voice. He remained seated on the edge of the bed. Tor stirred and sighed, and Tarn turned to look at his son, at his small round sleeping face. "I can't help it. Every time I leave this house, I wonder if it is the last time I will ever see him."

  Crystal crossed the chamber and joined him on the edge of the bed. When she lightly touched her husband on his broad, muscular back, he jerked slightly as though startled. She realized that his whole body was alive with jangled nerves. His violet eyes darted nervously under drooping lids. A muscle along his jaw writhed, setting his beard into motion.

  "Tor's a strong, healthy boy, like his father," she said gently. "There is nothing to fear."

  "I never feared anything in my life," Tarn said angrily. "Until now. Until I became a father. Something terrible is going to happen. I can feel it in my bones, in the roots of my teeth. And it has to do with this boy, our boy, our only son." He rose from the bed and walked to the dressing table. He stood before the table a moment, looking at the cosmetic bottles and vials of perfume that had been upset by the groundquake. He raised his hand as though about to sweep them all to the floor, but he stopped himself at the last instant. His hand sank to his side. He turned.

  "And now the groundquake and the crack in Tor's nursery. It's all straight out of my dream, but what does it mean?" he moaned in frustration.

  "That's a question for the philosophers and the engineers," Crystal said. "The only thing you have to worry about now is making sure your people are safe, their fears dispelled. Now get dressed and prepare yourself to do your duty. You can't let your fears show." A bustle and rattle of armor outside the door announced the arrival of Ghash Grisbane and Tarn's escort of guards.

  "Tor and I will be fine," she said. "I won't let anything happen to him."

  Surrendering to her will with a nod and a sigh, Tarn began to dress.

  26

&n
bsp; His escort of six Klar guards followed him to the gate. Ghash ordered it opened, and outside they found a crowd already gathering. The relief of seeing their king emerge spread visibly though the crowd, like a pebble thrown into a pond. Young and eager to prove himself, Ghash barged forward to prevent anyone from coming too close to Tarn.

  Yet the crowd greeted him with friendliness that barely covered their nervousness. Tarn resented them only a little, because in his heart he knew the fear that they felt. Yesterday, most of the people at his gate wouldn't have wished him a good morning. Now they were gladly shouting his name. There was no getting through them easily. Tarn ordered Ghash to wait while he heard them out. The Klar captain sighed and nervously fingered his axe while standing close behind his king, his eyes scanning the crowd.

  "First of all, is anyone injured?" Tarn asked in a booming voice.

  A chorus of cries answered him.

  "Grinder's mother cut her foot on a piece of broken crockery."

  "I've bruised my hip from where I fell out of bed. I thought it was only my husband snoring!"

  "There's a crack in my wall and now my door won't close."

  Tarn raised his hands for silence. "We can deal with the damages later. The main thing now is to see to the injured and to make sure everyone is accounted for. Send Grinder's mother to the healers. Do you need someone to look at that hip?"

  "It's nothing serious, my lord," the matronly dwarf woman answered with a smile and a curtsy. She gathered her children and turned away. "I'll go check on my neighbors."

  "That's an excellent idea," Tarn shouted. "Everyone see to your neighbors. If no one is hurt, check your own homes for damage. I am going to the Council Hall now. If you have any problems or concerns, bring them to me there and I'll address them swiftly."

  The crowd began to break up. Tarn and his guards slowly made their way through the people until they were into a clearer street. All along the way, in every neighborhood and market, they attracted a crowd. Again and again, he stopped and urged the citizens to see to the welfare of their neighbors, to take care of one another until some order and plan could be put into place. If they had serious and immediate concerns, they should follow him to the Council Hall. And though crowds gathered around them wherever they went, Tarn was relieved to see that only a few were following him to the Council Hall, and these seemed mostly to be the curious and the bored.

  Tarn saw few signs of serious damage anywhere along the way; a toppled lamppost here, a jagged crack in the pavement there. One street near the Council Hall had flooded when the sewer pipe backed up, but engineers were already busy effecting repairs. At another place, the way was blocked by a herd of lowing cave oxen who had escaped their pen when its walls crumbled. Children stood in doorways, staring around sleepy-headed but excited by all the commotion; their mothers and fathers hovered near, reliving their experiences with their neighbors.

  Tarn took the straightest route possible to the Council Hall, but all the interruptions and detours meant a considerable delay. By the time he arrived, he found Jungor Stonesinger there ahead of him, already holding audience on the Council steps outside, a throng of dwarves filling the plaza. Tarn heard Jungor's voice, deep and resonant, even before he saw him.

  "There is nothing to fear," Jungor was saying. "All indications are that it was only a small groundquake. Such things are to be expected, every once in a while, even here in Thorbardin. Everyone should just go home and go back to bed. We'll take care of everything."

  Growling a curse, Ghash Grisbane cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "The king is here! Make way for the king!"

  The crowd split apart like the wave before the bow of a boat. Here at the Council Hall, the faces that greeted the king were not so friendly as those in his own neighborhood. Many stared at him as though he were an unwelcome intruder rather than the king. What was more, Tarn was the last of the Council Members to arrive. All the other thanes were already gathered on the steps—even Grumple Nagfar, the wayward thane of the Aghar.

  As Tarn approached the steps, a wry smile twisted Jungor's acid-deformed face. "Ah, good! The king has come at last," he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "I just sent my master of scouts, Ferro Dunskull, to look for you."

  "You needn't have bothered," Tarn answered coldly as he mounted the steps. Glint Ettinhammer greeted him with a smile and an apologetic shrug. Shahar Bellowsmoke ignored him, while Brecha Quickspring glanced at him briefly before haughtily turning away. Rughar Delvestone sat on a step at Jungor's feet, scribbling like a secretary in a large black logbook spread upon his lap. The Hylar thane stood above them all in his usual tattered robes and wizard staff and one-eyed hideousness. Unlike the other thanes, Tarn included, whose hair and beards were still rumpled from sleep, Jungor looked like he had never even gone to bed. Indeed, it made Tarn wonder, what had the Hylar thane been doing that he should still be up at this horn- of the night?

  Tarn climbed to a step higher than where Jungor stood, then swept his eyes round, casting a swift glance over the crowd before turning his attention to Jungor. Though he said nothing, his baleful gaze told Jungor to step aside. Jungor returned his stare with a cold eye, then bowed, moving aside for the king. But the smirk on his face promised that he would not always do so.

  Satisfied, Tarn crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Now, what do we know? Were many folk injured? Anyone seriously?"

  Thane Ettinhammer stepped up, elbowing past the Hylar thane. "So far, there have only been reports of minor injuries. The houses of healing are still taking a count, but to this point, we seem to have come through this relatively unscathed."

  "We should begin taking an account of the damages to buildings," Tarn said.

  "We had already begun to do so before you arrived," Jungor said briskly, turning to the Daewar thane sitting on the step below him. "Thane Delvestone, please continue to record the reports as they come in."

  Tarn glowered at Jungor for a moment. "Then perhaps he could read to me what he has recorded so far," he said through gritted teeth.

  The Daewar thane looked up at Jungor, who nodded his assent. This, more than anything else, infuriated Tarn— that Rughar should seek permission from Jungor to follow the king's order. Tarn's cheeks flushed scarlet to his heard, and the hot blood throbbed so loudly in his ears that he barely heard Rughar's voice.

  "Engineers are still inspecting the transportation shafts. The entire Klar quarter of the Anvil's Echo has been flooded to a depth of several inches, we're not sure why. We've sent a team of engineers down to the first level to investigate a report of damage to the site of the new Council Hall, which is still under construction, as you know. Other than that, we seem to have suffered widespread but only minor damage to streets and buildings."

  "Thank you, Thane Delvestone," Tarn growled. He stroked his beard for a moment, pondering his next move, then addressed the crowd. "I'm ordering that the engineers' office remain open throughout the night, to assess damage reports and begin to recommend repairs. Anyone in need of medical assistance should report to the houses of healing on their level. I will remain here to observe and assist as needed."

  The crowd milled uncertainly, many of them staring up at Jungor, who silently leaned on his staff, his head bowed as though in thought. Tarn's blood began to pound in his ears again. "Everyone, I order you to return to your homes," he said a little too shrilly.

  Jungor lifted his head and raised his hand, drawing everyone's attention. The crowd grew silent. "Anyone in need of any assistance whatsoever should come by my warehouses in the Hylar quarter of the second level. I have been storing food, water, medicine, bandages, bedding, tools, and other supplies in preparation for just such an emergency as this. Those in need may draw from my stores free of charge."

  A cheer went up from the crowd. "I suggest that the other thanes return to their own quarters of the city to see to the needs of their people, especially Thane Ettinhammer, whose realm has been flooded. Everyone else should return home as the ki
ng suggests. What can be done is being done. We'll know more in the morning." Another cheer went up. The crowd began to disperse and the thanes hurried away to their homes.

  Jungor turned and smiled up at the king. Tarn ground his teeth in frustration, but there was nothing he could say. Once again, Jungor had not directly challenged him, but had still somehow managed to wrest control from his grasp and leave him gaping like a landed fish. The people weren't in serious need of medical supplies, food, or water. It had been, after all, only a minor groundquake. But by offering them that which they didn't even need, Jungor had both managed to create a need in their minds and then satisfy it at the same time. Meanwhile, the king's thorough, efficient, and practical manner of resolving this crisis had been greeted with less favor.

  Seeing the king's frustration, Jungor climbed to the step just below Tarn's. Still smiling innocently, he said, "Perhaps you should return home as well, my king. There is nothing more for you to do here."

  Tarn clenched his fists, his beard quivering, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Crystal warning him—strike him and you give him the excuse he wants to act more boldly. Slowly, Tarn relaxed, and with a last baleful glare at the Hylar thane, he began to descend the steps, his thoughts already returning to his son. But a question niggled in his mind, like a worm on a hook. Why had Jungor been stockpiling supplies? What sort of disaster was he preparing for? Food, medicine, water, bandages, bedding—these were all things needed by refugees.

  Or an army.

  27

  Ghash met Tarn at the bottom of the stair, his face grim. "Where to, m'lord?" he asked.

  "Home," Tarn answered shortly. Though most of the crowd had already left, a few remained behind in the temple courtyard, gathered in small groups talking about what had happened. Most fell silent as Tarn and his captain passed, and not a few shot disdainful glances their way. Ghash made a point of haughtily ignoring them, even when one group burst into laughter behind their backs. For once, Tarn wished his Klar captain would forget his manners and crack a few heads.