Dark Thane

by Jeff Crook

  "Bad news. I hear that Ferro Dunskull was captured," he blurted out.

  Hextor winced and placed a finger to his lips. Astar paused, then bowed in gratitude for the warning. "Our troops are nearly all in their positions," he said, swiftly changing the subject to more positive matters. "Once word of Tarn's demise… oh!" His face flushed red. "I mean…"

  "Oh, he says," Jungor snarled. "Yes, it finally dawns on him that we can hardly move to take control of the city if the king is still alive and in command. And Ferro might betray us after all. He is Daergar."

  "I warned you not to take any dark dwarves into your confidence," Hextor said as he sipped his brandy.

  "Your tongue will cost you your head one day, Hextor Ironhaft," Thane Brecha Quickspring cautioned from the dark corner where she had been sitting the entire time, a spellbook open upon her lap. "Just as Thane Delvestone's cost him his."

  "My lord, are you going to allow this Theiwar witch to threaten me, a Hylar of your own clan?" Hextor protested.

  "This Theiwar witch is a thane of the Council," Brecha haughtily responded. "For forty years, we Theiwar have scraped and scratched for our rightful place here. We will not be ignored."

  "Fine words," Hextor snapped back. "How much did Tarn Bellowgranite pay you to say them?"

  "Do you dare accuse me of double-dealing?" the Theiwar thane cried as she leaped to her feet. She turned to Jungor. "My lord, I demand—!"

  "You will demand nothing!" Jungor roared, leaping to his feet. With one swipe of his long arm, he sent her crashing back into her dark corner, her spellbook flying from her grasp to land in a disordered heap. Two long strides brought him to the couch. Hextor Ironhaft cowered before him.

  Jungor bent over him and shrieked into his face, "Shut up! Shut up! The both of you must end your bickering, or I will end it for you! I cannot think clearly for all your endless prattle!" He spun and stalked away. Nursing a bruised jaw, Brecha climbed to her feet and righted her chair. Neither she nor Hextor dared to speak, much less apologize.

  "None of you seem to realize our imminent danger," Jungor said as he walked to the window and looked out over his garden. As swiftly as it had flared, his anger disappeared. He realized what he must do, and now spoke calmly, rationally.

  "Shahar Bellowsmoke will demand the right to question Ferro, once he is informed of the attempt on Tarn's life. If he is allowed to exercise the full talents of his interrogators, Ferro will confess everything that he knows and probably much that he doesn't know. We cannot let that happen. The problem of Ferro must be solved."

  "Of course," Hextor Ironhaft said.

  "We cannot rescue him," Brecha said cautiously. "That would only incriminate us in the assassination attempt."

  "Who said anything about a rescue?" Jungor asked with a shrug.

  "What, then? We can't kill him, for the same reasons. And if he has already confessed, it won't matter what we do," Astar said.

  "Exactly!" Jungor exclaimed. "We must assume that he has already told everything. I want you to concentrate your efforts on securing the dungeon where they are keeping him. We'll need those cells. But do not touch him yet. He has disappointed me for the last time. I want that miserable Daergar for myself."

  Astar's face grew pale and he dropped the sheaf of reports he'd been holding. "Take the dungeons? Now? But that means…"

  "War," Jungor said, his scars flushing red. "The time of Daergar plots is ended. We fight now for control of Thorbardin. Our soldiers were trained to quell a civil war, not start one. But they are ready and willing, and the populace supports us. After Tarn is defeated and dead, or driven from our sacred home, the people will embrace my rule. Those who do not love us will learn to fear us. But they will embrace our rule."

  33

  The third watch of the morning had just been called when Tarn strode into the courtyard. Fully armored now, his sword at his hip, long golden beard brushed and braided for battle, he looked every bit a king. A roaring cheer went up from his soldiers gathered along the walls and mustered in the courtyard.

  Tarn greeted them with a joyfulness that he did not feel in his heart. Word had come within the hour of fighting in the Daergar quarter of the Anvil's Echo, in the Hylar and Daewar markets of the first and second levels, in the Klar quarter of the second level, around the Council Hall, and at all forges and dungeons on the first and second levels. Jungor's followers had struck everywhere at once, it seemed, in a marvelously coordinated assault that achieved many of their objectives with little or no loss of life.

  Tarn reviewed his maps as the reports came in. Jungor had moved to cut off the third level at all the transportation shafts, isolating Tarn from his food supplies and his armories. The Council Hall had fallen without a fight, the majority of its guards being loyal solely to the Council of Thanes. Since the majority of the Council were allied with Jungor, the guards had merely turned over control of the Hall to Astar Trueshield. Now, Jungor's captain was using it as a base of operations and communications center to coordinate the takeover on the southern half of the second level. The northern half—containing the largest concentration of Hylar and Daewar in Norbardin—was already under control. Those council guards still loyal to Tarn had slipped away before Astar's appearance on the scene and now had joined their king at the fortress. Among them was General Otaxx Shortbeard.

  Tarn was heartily glad to see his old friend, even under such difficult circumstances. They greeted one another with a boisterous embrace before Tarn pulled him aside for a brief exchange beneath an arch. "Old friend, I honor your loyalty, but you risk much in defying your own clan in this."

  The old general burst out laughing, shaking his gray beard. "You should know that the Daewar are divided now that Rughar Delvestone is dead," he said. "Some remain loyal to Jungor and would have him select the next Daewar thane. How that can be considered loyalty, I'll never know. Others have sided with you, but they are scattered and confused. It will take some time for them to gather their wits and come along here. Some fool has even suggested that I would make a good thane! Hah! So now my fortunes rise or fall with you, my king. If you fail, then so do I."

  Tarn greeted this news with a fierce smile. "Good! I knew I could count on you," he said. "Ever have you come to my aid in time of need, Otaxx Shortbeard."

  "And may it ever remain so," the old general responded.

  Clasping hands, they returned to the courtyard. There they found Crystal Heathstone and Thane Glint Ettinhammer surrounded by a band of the thane's handpicked Klar guard. Tarn shouted to them in greeting. Tarn and Crystal embraced briefly. She had changed into a shining mail hauberk and leather greaves, with a mail coif. She carried a stout spear in her fist. Glint wore his usual battle-scarred plate armor and carried a black mace resting on bis massive shoulder. Rather than a helm, he wore a gleaming ivory-colored bear skull on his head, with a bearskin cape dangling at his heels. Like all the Klar gathered around him, Glint's face was coated in dull white clay, but the circles of his eyes and his lips were stained deep purple, almost black, giving him a terrifying, death-like visage.

  After clasping hands with his loyal thane in greeting, Tarn surveyed the courtyard, taking a swift mental count of their forces.

  "So few?" he asked with dismay, under his breath.

  "We were caught unprepared," Glint answered frankly. "We have this many ten times over, but they range throughout the three levels, many of them bottled up in their neighborhoods. Thane Stonesinger knew what he was doing, that's for sure, when he cut them off from us here."

  Tarn smiled grimly, slapping the hilt of his sword. "We'll have to make do with what we have for now. But we need reinforcements to help us break out and relieve our allies. Shahar Bellowsmoke has sent word pledging the support of the Daergar if we can reach him. Jungor has him cornered in a tight place in the Anvil's Echo, and he can't break out. If we can join up with the Daergar, we can march through the city and take on Jungor's forces in small groups before he has a chance to consolidate them."r />
  "There are Klar aplenty in the ruins," Thane Ettinhammer suggested.

  "No one is supposed to be in the ruins," Tarn admonished him. "Are they under your command?"

  "Strictly speaking, they aren't under anyone's command," Glint said. "They're feral Klar, beyond any law or loyalty. But if we can get word to them that there is fighting to be had in the city, they'll come out of kinship, and they'll come for the sheer love of violence."

  "Hmm. But how will you control them once they are here?" Crystal asked. "They could prove a double-edged sword."

  "Oh, they'd better follow me," Glint bellowed, eyes glittering dangerously from his death mask face. "But I'll have to be there to meet them when they arrive, else they'll join up with the first force they meet."

  "That means we have to get control of the south transportation shafts on the second and third levels. And at the same time, we'll have to try to retake the Council Hall," Tarn said. "Who can you send to rally these feral Klar?"

  "I have just the fellow," Glint said with a fierce grin. Reaching out, he grabbed one of his guards and pulled him toward the king. His painted face and beard could not hide his youthful features. "Captain Garn Bloodfist, one of my very best. Bow to the king, boy!" The young captain managed a clumsy bow without dropping his axe.

  "The Captain and I have met already," Tarn said with a ferocious grin. "How is your head?"

  "Better, my king. It was only a scratch," the young captain answered quickly.

  "You know what we need of you?" Tarn asked, more than ever keenly aware of how much the young Klar looked like his old friend, Mog Bonecutter. "Gather as many as you can, spread the word, and return before the day is out. Delay is death for us. We must strike a blow today or strike none at all."

  "I will not fail you," the captain said, bowing again to both the king and his thane. He hurried away, already wiping the paint from his face and stripping off his heavier armor.

  A cry from the gate brought them round. The gate opened a crack to allow a party of scouts through. Several bore strange wounds, burns and scores that were caused by no sword or steel arrowhead forged by dwarves. One was shown straight through to the king to give his report. He bowed, clutching his side to ease a cramp. His chest heaved like a bellows.

  "Theiwar battle mages have seized the transportation shaft south of the fortress," he said. "Their magic is taking a terrible toll. We can't get near them."

  The four experienced leaders glanced at one another, all sharing the same thought. Jungor had anticipated that they might seek help from the feral Klar and thus had moved to block their path. Tarn and Crystal shared a grim glance. Otaxx nodded solemnly while stroking his beard. Glint growled in frustration. "Everything we think of, he's a step ahead of us."

  "Jungor began this game months ago, I now see," Tarn said. "I underestimated his ambition. The groundquake was a coincidence, but he has used the confusion and chaos it caused to his advantage. If only I had been paying closer attention instead of lollygagging!" Once more, his violet eyes met the cool gray eyes of his wife. Silent words passed between them.

  "I need to stay here," Crystal suddenly said. Tarn sighed in relief. He could think of no safer guardian for his son, and felt grateful that his wife, a formidable warrior who wanted to fight the coming battle as badly as any of them, had read his mind; she would stay behind and protect their child.

  "I hadn't considered the Theiwar," Tarn continued grimly. "After forty years, I had grown accustomed to discounting their weakened magic. I should have remembered our lessons from the Chaos War, when Theiwar battle mages decimated our ranks with their fireballs."

  "When wizard practices his art, archer loose thy feathered dart!" Glint quoted from ancient dwarven wisdom. "What we need are dozens of archers to go against wizards. But you have too few here, I fear, my king." The courtyard was filled with foot soldiers. The only archers in the fortress were posted on the walls, and these could not be spared from the defense.

  "There's a Daergar enclave on the second level near the transportation shaft," Tarn said. "If we could break them out of their siege, they could join us in an attack against the Theiwar. The Daergar have plenty of archers. They do not consider it a cowardly weapon, unlike some."

  Tarn turned to the general. "Otaxx, you take a third of our forces and move to within sight of the transportation shaft on this level," he said. "But approach no closer and do not threaten them immediately. Fortify your position. They will think you plan to hold them there. Meanwhile, Thane Ettinhammer and I will take another third of our dwarves and descend to the second level by way of the stairs. When you see the Theiwar dissolve in disorder, you'll know we are threatening their rear. Launch your assault then. The last third will remain here under command of Crystal Heathstone.

  Otaxx nodded, beginning to order his troops. Tarn addressed the company. "Kill only those you must, take captives when you can," he implored, his voice rising above the din. "These are your neighbors, your own kin that you are fighting, and when this is over, you will have to live with them again." But even as he said it, he knew his words were pebbles tossed down a well.

  34

  Tarn and Glint waited in the dark alley, soldiers crowding around them. Orin Bellowsmoke, younger brother of Thane Shahar Bellowsmoke, knelt at Tarn's side, repeatedly stabbing a dagger into the dirt between the cobblestones at his feet. The two limbs of his crossbow jutted up behind his back, and a battered quarrel box hung by a thin leather cord from his shoulder.

  All the alleys on either side of the street were similarly packed with anxious soldiers. Nearly a third of their number was made up of newly liberated Daergar, eager for a chance to strike a blow against the forces of Jungor Stonesinger, who had bottled them up in their small enclave and besieged their thane in the Anvil's Echo. Tarn had promised to help them lift that siege, and so they eagerly followed him.

  Orin Bellowsmoke was about as untrustworthy a Daergar as had ever lived, but Tarn needed all the allies he could muster. This Daergar was a creature of Norbardin's dungeons, having spent a good part of the past thirty years occupying them for one crime or another. The "enclave" that Tarn and his forces had rescued was really nothing more than a band of cutthroats, murderers, and thieves loyal to Orin Bellowsmoke because his brother, the thane, could offer them some protection from Tarn's law. But every one of them could pin a cockroach to a wall from a hundred paces. Some of them poisoned their arrows. Tarn pushed this knowledge to the back of his mind along with a hundred other issues he had neither the time nor the luxury to ponder.

  Word had reached him that Jungor's forces had secured the first level dungeons. That meant the draconian assassin was now in Jungor's hands. Tarn couldn't be sure if Jungor had taken the dungeons for this purpose, but he had come to learn that nothing the Hylar thane did was by accident. Tarn's last resort for dealing with Jungor was now no longer even an option. Feeling desperate, he wished now he had not thrown it away so carelessly.

  But Jungor had foolishly divided his forces into numerous small sieges scattered throughout the three levels of Norbardin. If he could attack these one at a time but in rapid succession, he could defeat them all with a smaller force than Jungor's combined army. But success depended on three things—speed, access to at least one transportation shaft, and the arrival of the feral Klar. Without the feral Klar, he wouldn't have enough reinforcements. Without the transportation shaft, he couldn't move large forces rapidly from level to level. He'd be forced to send his forces down the numerous small stairs that led from level to level. And the stairs, being narrow and steep, were marvelous places for ambush and disaster.

  With each delay, Jungor had the opportunity to intuit his strategy and respond by massing his force for a single decisive onslaught. Tarn couldn't allow that to happen. Speed was imperative, too much delay spelled doom. And now the street leading to the transportation shaft was blocked by some kind of invisible wall of force. The Theiwar had indeed grown powerful in their magical abilities in the past
months. Tarn sent scouts into all the alleys ahead to see if they could find a way around the invisible wall.

  Glint Ettinhammer ground his teeth in frustration. He knew the futility of assaulting the Theiwar's magical defenses, but at the same time he hated all this slinking about. He preferred a straight battle, nose-to-nose with his enemy, and longed to crush some skulls. He didn't share Tarn's desire for minimal bloodshed, nor did he have the patience to take captives. The king probably planned to pardon their captives when all this was over, anyway. It was simpler and easier to come to grips with your enemy as quickly and directly as possible, then kill him. That way you didn't have to fight him twice.

  The Klar thane's warriors were as restless as he was, and they did not enjoy sharing the cramped alley with a bunch of Daergar brigands, either. Old feuds between their clans threatened to boil over at any moment Only their shared danger kept them from slitting each other's throats.

  Glint cracked his knuckles impatiently. Tarn smiled and shook his head, putting a finger to his lips even as he leaned around the corner of the building to make sure their force had not been spotted by the Theiwar garrison less than a hundred years away. A low murmur erupted at the other end of the alley. Glint stood and glowered over the heads of the soldiers packed like gully dwarves into the cramped passage. The soldiers grumbled as they were forced to make way for a returning scout. Tam eagerly awaited his arrival. Glint tested his mace's weight for perhaps the hundredth time.

  The short, pasty Daergar crouched at his master's side, quickly delivering his report. Orin nodded, then turned to Tarn. "All the alleys are blocked or guarded, but he has found another way," he said.

  "It's about time!" Glint growled.

  The Daergar scout led them via twisting alleys and through empty courtyards about a hundred yards farther north of the transportation shaft, out of sight of the Theiwar guards. Next, he took them by a cross street to a road that ran parallel to the one they had just left. Then, he started south again. Glint jerked him to a stop.