by Doug Niles
“Klar!” he realized, appalled by the sudden, violent incursion. He looked down at Vale, felt the fading of his faithful servant’s pulse, heard the last bubbling of his breath, and knew that the crazed attackers had come with murderous intentions.
The clamor of panic-stricken voices outside of his house drew his attention. He ran to the front door and burst onto the street to discover a young Hylar, a youth still beardless, covered with blood.
“Help! Please, help me!” The young dwarf suddenly pressed his hands to his eyes and began to weep.
“What is it? Speak!” Baker demanded, surprising himself with the sharpness of his voice.
“The Klar! They attacked my house, killed my family! They came out of the ventilation shaft in the ceiling, dropping down with swords and axes! My mother! By Reorx, my mother!” The lad drew a ragged breath, but when he finally fixed his eyes upon Baker they were clear and cogent. “My family is House Ferrust.”
Baker nodded. He knew the house just around the corner from his own.
He heard more noise—commotion and violence—down the streets. Gradually the truth began to sink in. The Klar were attacking all across Level Twenty-eight, dropping onto the top of the Hylar city from the ancient passages that honeycombed the interior of this whole mountain range. But why?
“Come to the lift! We’ll have to gather there!”
They joined a great mass of citizens running through the streets, instinctively converging where the King’s Wall surrounded the great lift station. Here Baker was relieved to find that Axel Slateshoulders was arriving with the upward cage.
“What’s going on?” Axel roared from within the shaft. Moments later the veteran warrior clumped into the lift station, accompanied by dozens of armed Hylar.
“We’re being attacked,” Baker summarized. “Small bands of Klar are coming through the ceiling of Level Twenty-eight. There’s lots of fighting in the blocks, but survivors are making their way to the lift.”
“Good. We’ll start by holding our positions here, then.”
Axel was already shouting orders. He wore a heavy broadsword at his belt, a weapon Baker recognized from the Wall of Honor in the Thane’s Atrium. Hastily more armed dwarves spilled off the lift that had been filled to capacity. From the surrounding streets, others shouted incoherent details about “bloody Klar.” Sounds of battle came from everywhere and many of them were the cries of wailing and anguish far more suggestive of a massacre.
A wild-eyed Klar dwarf, his sword and hands red with blood, rushed from a nearby house and was soon followed by several of his fellows. Wild eyes lighting up at the sight of the Hylar, the mad dwarf uttered a shriek of delight followed by a shrill, keening howl that was like a noise from the Abyss.
Axel Slateshoulders whipped his broadsword downward in a lightning-quick slash, cutting the first Klar down in an instant. Limping on his bad foot, the veteran Hylar stepped forward to meet the next attacker with the point of the blade. Other dwarves of Hybardin rushed forward, swarming down the street while more reinforcements came on the next shift of the lift. Other citizens of the Life-Tree continued to emerge from the long stairways and cargo tunnels that connected to Level Twenty-seven.
“My lord, stay back,” cried a Hylar. Baker recognized him as his bushy-bearded scribe. The scribe brandished a sword he had grabbed from somewhere.
Now the young dwarf used the blade to pierce an axe-wielding Klar who had burst from a gap between two house façades. The scribe cut the maddened invader deeply, but the Klar seemed unaffected by the wound. He brushed the scribe out of the way and roared at the stunned and immobile Baker.
More Hylar appeared, rushing to protect the thane, and knocked the Klar with a barrage of blows. Still, the crazed dwarf did not so much as stagger until several fatal wounds marred his heaving torso. The gleeful look of triumph on the corpse’s face sent a chill through Baker Whitegranite’s shoulders.
The bold young scribe had dashed off before Baker could say anything. Axel returned, limping awkwardly, then leaned against a stone pillar as he tried to catch his breath. The elder’s face was flushed, but his eyes were alive with a martial gleam that Baker found strangely exhilarating.
“There were seven of the bastards in there. They fought to the death, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Baker agreed, though in fact he was shocked by the thought of such brutal warfare. “And the Hylar family and servants?”
“All dead. Looked like six and twelve in the house.”
Everywhere reports came from similar dwellings. Small bands of Klar were visible darting along the streets, but were quickly killed by the vengeful Hylar.
Baker looked around, took stock of the teeming mob of dwarves gathered and the others that continued to pour out of the lift. He saw many Hylar from his own palace, including all the cooks, many of whom had armed themselves with an impressive array of cleavers. Many of the maids were there, from local houses as well as royal, and they had gained steel from kitchen and shed.
Young females and males, as well as some venerable white-beards who nevertheless carried weapons, marched along the street with every evidence of spry good health. An impressive proportion were armed with honest-to-Reorx weapons of war. After all, even the meanest Hylar hearth generally boasted some such martial implement displayed in a place of honor. True, some of the broadswords seemed heavier than the wielders who trailed their scabbards across the floor. One frail veteran—probably of the Dwarfgate War—was hard pressed to keep his shield from dragging on the ground.
But they were Hylar defending their city, their clan, their homes. Grimly, purposefully, the dwarves set about reclaiming the massive blocks of Level Twenty-eight. In many places, they found that the houses had suffered no incursion. In others the occupants had closed and locked their doors against the bands of Klar that roamed the streets.
In the worst cases, the Klar had burst into the homes of Hylar families, emerging from ventilation ducts and private passages that led into the upper surface of the Urkhan Vault. They had wreaked havoc, with many families suffering total annihilation. The Klar, who rarely numbered more than a dozen or more in a single band, inevitably fought to the death when the enraged Hylar cornered them.
By the time most of the skirmishes had run their course, Baker found himself in front of his own house. Accompanied by several sturdy dwarves, he ventured inside his place. Other than Vale’s cold body there were no signs of battle here. But the sight of his faithful servant nearly brought Baker to tears. Ignoring the flaring ache in his belly, he helped the others carry Vale back to the lift station where he could be taken down for entombment.
There, he found Axel and several burly helpers dispatching another band of suicidal attackers. Here, again, a few of the Klar hurled themselves on the weapons of the more numerous and disciplined Hylar.
“Why do they scatter so much, attacking with just a few here and there?” Baker asked, wincing as he watched the last of the attackers writhing on a blade of Hylar steel.
“Actually, that’s pretty well coordinated for Klar,” Axel replied. “We’d do just as well to wonder what has brought them here now with so many of them attacking at the same time.”
That was a question with disturbing implications, the thane quickly realized. “I need to get word to the waterfront.”
“Let’s go,” Axel declared.
As they approached the lift, Baker was startled to see the young scribe from his quarters. The Hylar’s right arm ended in a bandaged stump, but nevertheless he approached the thane deferentially. Baker was aghast at the wound. It was a horror that struck home, even in the midst of this nightmare.
“My lord, I am glad you are safe.”
“With thanks to you. But what happened? Your hand …” He was suddenly aware that he didn’t even know who the young dwarf’s name. “Please, tell me your name!”
“It’s Sandhour, my lord. They call me Squinter Sandhour.”
“Well Squinter Sandhour, I owe you my
life.”
“It was an honor to defend you, my lord. But all these Klar! What does it mean?”
“I have a feeling it means trouble, my good son. Terrible trouble. But come with me. Let’s get you down to the healer.”
By the time the lift clunked downward, the sounds of fighting had faded away and Level Twenty-eight was securely in the hands of the Hylar once again. Yet all the rest of Hybardin seemed alive with unusual noise. The echoes of panic and terror resonated deep into Baker Whitegranite’s heart.
War on the Waterfront
Chapter Twelve
Belicia looked out over the water, unable to ignore a rising feeling of disquiet. For one thing, the chain boats from both Daerforge and Theibardin were long overdue. Both the pulley and the gear systems had become disabled within a few hours of each other, each crippled by an unknown and therefore undiagnosable problem. Breakdowns in the chain ferry system were routine enough, but she didn’t like this unusual coincidence. And then there had been the news from Level Twenty-eight. So far, they were nothing more than a series of wild rumors, but she was steadily growing more concerned.
Belicia climbed the wide stairway that led directly from the dockside to the great trading plaza on the second level of Hybardin. At the center of this wide space was the lowest terminal for Hybardin’s main transport, the Great Lift which led from the market plaza all the way up to Level Twenty-eight. The next higher lift station, at Level Three, was more than a hundred feet above and could also be reached from the waterfront by a long climb up several stairways or by one of the smaller lifts.
The stairs connecting the plaza to the docks were oriented to the four points of the compass and each was flanked by a pair of ramparts guarded by a low wall. Belicia took the time to walk around the perimeter of one such bulwark, observing that her archers would have a clear field of fire over any attacker. Because of the height and the crenelated defensive wall, the youngsters who made up the bulk of her missile troops would be well protected from direct contact with the attackers. As long as the shield wall held across the width of the stairs, the Hylar up above would be able to create a deadly distraction to the enemy trapped on the approach.
After a great deal of thought, she had decided to divide her shield company into five sections and place one group at each of the four stairways. The fifth group would include many of her best warriors and would form a reserve to garrison the trading plaza and also be ready to rush to the defense of any threatened quadrant. She had broken her archers into four bands, each with standing orders to garrison the ramparts of the stairways in the event of an attack. From here they would be able to direct a harassing fire onto boats approaching the docks, and Belicia was convinced that she could make an enemy’s efforts to land prove very costly indeed. Furthermore, she had stockpiled a huge amount of arrows at each archery station.
She took a few moments to inspect the final cornerstone of her defense. One of the heavy ballistae rested on a swivel mount just above the stairway rampart. A pair of these overlooked each set of stairs, and she nodded in greeting to the three grizzled veterans who operated this particular weapon. The ballista was like a giant crossbow, powered by a massive spring and shooting a steel-headed missile whose shaft was made from the trunk of a medium-sized tree. Though even a veteran crew could shoot only one shaft every few minutes, each great arrow weighed hundreds of pounds and was quite capable of puncturing or capsizing all but the largest of lake boats.
But if she made her stand at the stairs, that meant abandoning the waterfront in the face of the first wave of attacks. The announcement of that decision had stirred up a hornet’s nest. Now she turned to await the approach of a delegation of merchants and ship-owners, all of whom had spent most of the last two days demanding that Belicia’s defensive arrangements be overruled.
“My good captain,” declared Hoist Backwrench, a shipbuilder who did a significant amount of business along the Hybardin docks, “You must reconsider your plan! We can’t simply hand over the dockyards to our enemies, no matter how numerous their swords!”
“My plan is the only chance that gives an undersized force a fighting chance against a more numerous foe. Why can’t you understand that?”
“We understand perfectly!” retorted Sootmaker Dark-fern, a prominent importer of coal. “You’re willing to throw us to the dragons so you can keep your own troops alive!”
Belicia flushed, infuriated by the words. Before she could snap out a reply that would have done nothing to soothe the merchants’ fears, she bit her tongue and forced herself to take a deep breath. “You’ve heard the news from above?” she asked, knowing the whole city had been abuzz with news of the Klar attack.
“A few lunatics with more ale than sense, I’ll wager,” Hoist said. “No doubt we’ll find out that most of the stories are nothing but exaggerations.”
“Or it could be the start of an attack that’s bigger than anything we’ve ever considered,” Belicia said. Ever since she heard about the raid against the Level Twenty-eight, she had grown increasingly apprehensive about the vulnerability of the Life-Tree. “We have suspicious reports from three clans and clear signs of trouble afoot.”
“Bah! There could be a thousand reasons why the boats have stopped!” insisted Hoist Backwrench.
“And one of them is that the thanes of the Theiwar and Daergar wanted to cut us off from any chance of warning. When you’ve heard that the Klar are already making mischief, didn’t you think we would have to take this seriously?”
Before the argument could proceed any further, a pair of gray-bearded dwarves and their escort of palace guards approached the party. Despite her firm stance and utter self-assurance, Belicia was relieved to recognize her father and the thane.
“Ah, there you are,” said Axel Slateshoulders, giving his daughter a wide grin. “Why don’t you explain to these gentlemen what you told the thane yesterday? I’m sure they’ll see that your plan makes sense.”
“What makes sense is to hold the whole dock!” insisted Hoist as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“I’m surprised at you, Hoist,” said Baker Whitegranite. “You know better than that.”
The acting thane blinked at the dozen or so merchants who formed a glowering ring around them. His glasses were smudged, and Belicia wondered if he was having a little difficulty seeing.
“This is not about cowardice,” the thane continued, “or throwing anyone to the dragons. It’s about holding and protecting Hybardin if the worse comes to worst.”
“And what’s the news from above?” demanded a Hylar Belicia didn’t recognize. “There are tales of Klar run wild!”
“I’m afraid that’s true,” Baker replied, turning his attention to Belicia. “Several bands of armed Klar burst into manors on the highest level. The Ferrust family was killed to the last dwarf and several others took casualties before their house guards were able to prevail.”
“Then the attack was more than just an isolated raid?”
“Of course it was,” Axel answered. “Perhaps a hundred or more different routes into Hybardin were used, and the attacks were as carefully timed as you could expect from the Klar.”
“What about the King’s Wall?” Belicia asked.
“We held at all four gates,” replied Axel. “The fact is, they made a good barrier to hold the bastards away from the lift station.”
“And your father had them cleaned out in a few hours,” Baker added.
“Did you get my message about the halting of the chain boats?”
“Yes,” Baker said. “That’s what brought us down here.”
Now Belicia spoke decisively. “Then I believe we have to treat the situation as though we could be attacked here at any time.”
“I agree,” Baker said firmly. He addressed his young captain again. “What else do you need to make ready for an attack?”
“We need to close and block the short lifts that lead from the docks up to the Second Level.”
“You might as well close the markets!” wailed Fortus Silkseller, Hybardin’s most esteemed fabric dealer.
“We can’t use the stairs for cargo!” Hoist Backwrench added insistently.
“I have a feeling that the dark dwarves are going to be closing the markets for you,” Belicia replied, “but there must be two score lifts connecting these two levels. We must block them all. Otherwise, even though we might hold these stairways, it will just be a matter of minutes before they’ve got us outflanked.”
“And on the stairs you have four relatively narrow routes to hold,” Axel interjected, speaking sternly. “You know she’s right.”
Baker quickly ruled in Belicia’s favor, and Axel took on the role of insuring that the orders were followed. Each of the merchants was asked to provide materials—bales, barrels, crates, and coal—that would be used to fill the elevator shafts.
Though the merchants were still grumbling, Belicia got their attention before they clumped off to do as they had been told. “We all hope I’m wrong about this. All of us hope that nothing will happen. If so, in a few days the chain ferries will be running again and we can all be back to our regular tasks. But please listen to me. If the worst happens and we’re attacked, Hybardin needs the help of all of you.”
“What do you want of us?” growled Hoist Backwrench, who despite his surly expression seemed to be listening to her.
“I need you and all your workers. Take up whatever arms you have and join us atop these four stairways. There are places on the ramparts where those who are unable to wield a sword can join my archers. Or they can throw down oil, torches, even blocks of steel could do some damage. And the rest of you can help us make a stand that will make all of our descendants proud.”
“Aye. We’ll do that,” Hoist grunted. “For if yer right, and if we fail, then we might not have any children left to hear the tale.”
The Daergar came first, their boats appearing in a vast wave at the very fringe of Hybardin’s ring of lights. Immediately the shouts of alarm came down from Levels Three and Four where people could see farther out over the water.