by Doug Niles
Axel growled in exasperation, but gave up on trying to get Baker to climb to safety. “Twoscore feet, closing fast.”
The last of the Hylar scooted up to the trapdoor as the two old dwarves stood with drawn blades beside Capper Whetstone and a few volunteers from the royal bodyguard as they waited for the onslaught. The dark shapes shifted, and Baker found himself looking at sharply focused images from his own nightmares. Indeed, one of the shades resembled his former wife, wickedly grinning at him, taunting and jeering.
But this image was tightly focused, unblurred, and in a flash of insight Baker understood that without his glasses he couldn’t really see such a thing. It was entirely in his mind! He laughed out loud as he stabbed at the nightmare that no longer had the power to frighten him. He felt the silver blade cut through the shadows, and he heard a howling maelstrom somewhere in the distance.
And the shadow went away. Another stretched forward a tendril of darkness, and that too vanished after a quick jab of his sword. Again and again he stabbed with the blade, shouted curses at the unfeeling shadows, dispatched them one after another. He heard cheers and knew that the other Hylar had escaped, that his leadership had saved them.
Another rumble shook the mountain, jarring the lift so harshly that Baker thought for a moment perhaps the chain had broken and they were falling. Instead, the latest tremor merely released a shower of pebbles and boulders. Then a bigger quake shook the mountain, and even to the thane’s blurred vision the crack in the shaft wall grew wider. With a splitting, grinding noise, the lower part of the transport shaft fell away, leaving the lift cage dangling freely in the air. Massive slabs of rock collapsed, breaking away from the bulk of the Life-Tree to tumble below onto the remains of the waterfront.
Baker looked up, seeing the lowest rungs of the ladder still secured to the side of the upper transport shaft.
“This cage isn’t going anywhere,” said the young engineer who had stayed behind. “That last rockfall pinched it in here like cement.”
“Come, my thane,” urged Capper Whetstone. “It’s time for us to get out of here.”
And Baker Whitegranite climbed with strength, knowing that the hopes of the Hylar climbed with him.
Chaos Falling
Chapter Twenty-three
For long minutes Tarn lay on the smooth rock of the shore, struggling to draw air through the raw, constricted passage of his throat. He knew he was in dangerous surroundings. But even if a company of dark dwarves had come along screaming for his blood, the half-breed would have been unable to so much as look for a hiding place. The lingering horror of his immersion in water—the nearness of death—had drained him. The fight to survive had utterly exhausted him. And even when he found the strength to lift his head, there was nothing within his range of sight to encourage him.
Around him the gully dwarves chattered and explored, though there was an uncharacteristic hush to their voices. Regal sniffed something, then called some of his comrades to help him move a large boulder. The industrious Aghar toppled the large rock to the side, but after several minutes of rooting around in the muddy crater they trudged glumly back to Tarn.
“Nuthin!” groused one.
“No food, not a bite,” said another.
“No beer,” Regal added mournfully.
Finally able to sit up and look around, Tarn tried to get a fix on their surroundings. He was startled to realize he was totally lost. Though he knew the Hybardin waterfront like he knew the hilt of his sword, he was now unable to recognize a single landmark. A pile of broken rock rose like a mountain before him, and to either side he saw a splintered wreckage of slabs, beams, fabric, and other debris. Looking straight up, he could see the bottom of the great stalactite that was the Life-Tree suspended overhead, though whether they could reach it or not was another question entirely. And even so, could they somehow work their way into higher regions of the city? It was inconceivable that the lift still functioned.
From his low vantage he was able to see enough to make several assumptions with a fair level of confidence. It seemed that all of Level One and Level Two of Hybardin had been buried beneath rockfalls. Obviously the Chaos horde had struck far more savagely here than in Daerforge. It was impossible to imagine that anyone could have lived through such a horrific devastation. Belicia Felixia Slateshoulder had been here, and Tarn faced the reality that she must certainly be dead.
Despair dragged his head down onto his arms. For a while he lay like a corpse, unthinking, uncaring, aware only of the black wave of hopelessness that swept over him. Very gradually he became conscious of an insistent tugging, something that had him by the elbow and was trying to lift him from the ground.
“Leave me alone!” he growled.
“Come on! Look up!” replied a voice that he remembered as Regal’s. “We try to get to Hybardin—not stop now!”
Tarn whirled on the Aghar, his face twisted into a snarl.
“What Hybardin?” he demanded. “Look around, you imbecile! Can’t you see that my city doesn’t even exist anymore? Now do what I told you: leave me alone!”
“No!” insisted Regal, with surprising stubbornness. “You look around! City’s up there!” The gully dwarf pointed a blunt finger at the dangling massif overhead. “Let’s go see, okay? Kinda boring down here.”
“Not boring no more,” noted another little Aghar, who was squatting just above. The fellow pointed to the side. “Here come some guys.”
Fighting through his despair, Tarn wriggled around to follow the direction of the second gully dwarf’s stare. His heart pounded at the sight of several dozen Daergar poking through the rubble along the shore of the lake. They were a long way away, but coming in his direction.
Instantly the half-breed’s malaise vanished as he realized that the gully dwarves, who had risked so much to get him here, would be easy prey for the villainous dark dwarves. Cursing his selfish melancholy, he looked around for some avenue of escape. Immediately he saw a large, flat slab of rock tilted up against the steep slope of the rubble.
“Get behind that!” Tarn whispered urgently. “Stay low and quiet!”
He realized that his latter commands were superfluous as the Aghar once again demonstrated their natural instincts for stealth. The score or so of his shipmates were already out of sight as Tarn crawled behind them into the low shelter, fairly certain that the Daergar patrol had not spotted them.
“Now climb!” he urged. “Get as high as you can!”
The makeshift wall served as good cover, and Tarn found that he could stand upright behind it and crawl upward towards the top of a rubble-strewn slope. For minutes there was no sound except for the gasping and panting of scrambling dwarves. The incline was very steep, and in many places Tarn and the Aghar had to pull themselves up with their hands and scramble on their knees to negotiate the grade. As they climbed still higher, Tarn was able to see great companies of dark dwarves marching up a neighboring mound of stone. Groups of shadowy creatures visible just beyond. It did not seem to the half-breed as though the Chaos creatures were menacing the Daergar and Theiwar formations. Indeed, he saw with despair that the two forces were actually advancing in concert.
“Look, there!” hissed Regal.
Tarn witnessed the black daemon straddling its fiery mount as the dragon spread its wings and flared into the air. The half-breed watched in fascination as the monster flew directly into the side of the overhanging rock, boring a hole right into the bedrock.
“Let’s keep going,” Tarn said. “And try to stay out of sight!”
For once the infamously curious gully dwarves agreed with his warning, and the party continued its surreptitious climb.
By now the half-breed could see that this pile of rubble ended dozens of feet below the overhanging terminus of the Life-Tree. From the top they were high enough to see that the whole lower reach of Hybardin was nothing more than a wasteland. Everywhere the ruins were crowded with dark dwarves and Chaos shadows. In one place Tarn saw a gre
at column of enemy dwarves moving into the wide tunnel the fire dragon had excavated on the bottom of the Life-Tree. He caught a glimpse of a bronze helm at the head of the file of black armor.
Looking around, Tarn saw that more of the dark dwarf companies were spreading out along the waterline. They were poking and probing through the rubble, undoubtedly searching for survivors or treasure. Once more he turned his attention above and saw a gaping black hole in the underside of smooth rock, perhaps thirty feet overhead. Probably that was the remains of some transport shaft to Level Three, but there was simply no way to reach it—even from the highest pinnacle of rock on their little summit.
“Look! Now they comin’ up our hill!” snorted a gully dwarf indignantly.
Tarn saw that the Daergar had spotted them and at least a hundred of the dark dwarves were beginning to converge at the base of the mound. The Daergar took their time, spreading out to form a ring around the conical hill. Then they began a slow and methodical climb toward the dwarves trapped at the summit.
“What we do now?” wondered Regal, with what Tarn thought was an impressive lack of panic in his voice.
“We can start by rolling rocks down on them,” the half-breed said, “while I try to think of something a little more long-term.”
The Aghar pitched into this new game with enthusiasm, and soon great chunks of jagged stone were bouncing, rolling, and ricocheting down the steep slope. Several of these hit individual Daergar, and the overall effect was a dramatic slow down of the climbers. But Tarn could see that their position would become hopeless within a few minutes.
“Gotta big one!” cried Regal, as several of his mates helped him to tumble a great boulder down the slope. While the Aghar shrieked and jeered, cursing dark dwarves scrambled to the sides to get out of the way of the deadly missile. A few of them were too slow, but that only seemed to solidify the grim purpose of the survivors as they once again resumed their implacable ascent.
“Psst! Tarn! Up here!”
At first the half-breed attributed the words to his fevered imagination, for it sounded exactly like the voice of his Belicia Felixia.
“Tarn!”
When she called again, he forced himself to look.
Now he discerned movement in the base of the tunnel leading upward into Hybardin. He saw several dwarves squirreled away in the far corners, and dimly realized that they were clinging to the rungs of a ladder mounted directly into a stone. With a flash of hope he saw that they were lowering ropes, three or four lines that dropped among the Aghar atop the hill.
And finally he recognized her, eyes shining as she looked at him from the dimness of the shadowy tunnel.
Belicia Felixia Slateshoulders was not only alive, she was hovering overhead like a messenger from Reorx, a vision of hope, promise, and rescue.
An Army Unleashed
Chapter Twenty-four
“Get into that tunnel, you gully dwarf-spawned bastards!” shouted Darkend, waving his mace over his head and menacing the file of Daergar warriors. Most were already advancing into the confined assault route, but their thane still cursed and lashed, uncaring of complaints as his spiked weapon gouged into the back of his warriors.
Still fuming, he whirled upon his sister who had just emerged with him from the tunnel that led up to Hybardin’s Level Four. All around him was a ruin of molten rock, rubble-strewn streets, and pulverized landscape. A whole sector of valuable smithies had been smashed into unrecognizable garbage and soot beneath the power of fiery wing and crushing talon.
“Why didn’t he wait here? Isn’t that what you told him to do?” the thane demanded.
“Yes, that is what I told him!” insisted the female dark dwarf. “But he clearly had ideas of his own!”
Even as she spoke, Darkend noticed that his sister looked fretful. The strain of the long climb and the frustration at finding events reaching beyond their control had tightened the nerves of both Bellowsmokes. For several moments the brother and sister glared at each other. Darkend’s gaze shifted, and as he fixed his stare at the bronze helm that gave Garimeth the ability to understand beings even as strange as the daemon warrior, he finally understood.
He was tempted to swing his mace against Garimeth right now, but some deep vestige of self control prevented him from taking the dire action. And he still could not be sure. Besides, Garimeth still had uses—or she would, if they could ever catch up to the rampaging daemon warrior.
Herein was the crux of his problem. Zarak Thuul had apparently taken to the thane’s orders with passion, using his great serpent to bore a wide hole through the bedrock of the Life-Tree. Already thousands of Daergar and Theiwar had advanced along that route. But these attacking dwarves had found the city already reduced to waste. There were no conquered Hylar to show him honor. All of them were either dead or had fled into the highest levels of the city. Even the vast silver smithies with their great vaults of precious metal had been burned so thoroughly that the stockpiles of the argent metal had melted like water and vanished into the porous rock. This had been one of the great treasures of Hybardin, and Darkend had planned to turn the minting process to his own uses. But now, like so much of this accursed city, it was nothing but ugly wreckage.
And, from the look of things, there was still no sign that the Chaos lord was planning to slow down his onslaught or that he had any intentions of cooperating with the dark dwarf assault. Instead, the daemon warrior continued to take matters into his own hands, forging upward and onward on his own. Though advancing companies of dark dwarves hastened in his wake, the stocky, short-legged warriors were climbing much more slowly than the fiery harbinger of Chaos. Now Darkend’s greatest fear was that he would conquer this city of wonders, only to find that the entire place had been destroyed beyond salvage by the depredations of his unpredictable, uncontrollable ally.
Worst of all, Darkend could think of no way to counter the daemon warrior’s power or his implacable will. He dared not take his frustrations out on Garimeth—at least not now, for he saw that his sister might be his only chance to somehow still rein in that capricious power.
“My lord thane! My lord!” cried a Daergar warrior in great excitement.
“What is it, man?”
“A royal armory, lord! And it’s still intact!” The dwarf pointed along the street. “We’ve set a guard on it, but it hasn’t been burned yet! And it looks like the Hylar cleared out too quickly to take any of their treasure.”
“This is more like it,” growled the thane, allowing himself to feel the first hint of conqueror’s pleasure. Darkend followed the other dwarf down a wide avenue toward a vast structure with a colonnaded portico and doors of reinforced steel.
“There’s a trove of coin in here!” shouted a captain of heavy infantry, clapping his fist in salute as Darkend strode up the steps. The thane stalked down a wide, marbled hall, past more saluting Daergar, all of whom grinned with anticipation.
“In here, my lord—feast your eyes!” declared the messenger, standing aside to allow his thane to proceed.
The great vault was encased in thick plates of solid steel, but the doors had been forced open; one of the great slabs lay on the floor while the other tilted awkwardly on its single remaining hinge. As Darkend reached the end of the hall and saw the great room opening beyond, he knew that here at last was one prize worthy of his conquering army.
The vault was as large as his own throne room and was crowded with neat rows of crates and boxes. Darkend beheld a wealth of riches, coin of steel, platinum, and gold. Several Daergar were already moving amongst the packages, prying off lids and shifting some of the heavier crates onto the floor. They snapped to attention as the thane arrived.
“See here, my lord,” cried one, who wielded a small axe. “They’re all like this!”
The dwarf smashed his blade into the side of a crate, breaking the boards and releasing a cascade of silvery coins.
“These are steel, lord—but there’s all kinds of coinage, imprints from
across the face of Krynn!” The speaker smiled crookedly. “We’ve even found a set minted in Palanthas, bearing the image of Gunthar Uth Wistan himself!”
“The Knights of Solamnia are making a contribution to my treasury,” Darkend declared, chuckling at the irony. “Do you have a count of the worth yet?”
“No, lord. But look over here! These bins are full of gems—diamonds and rubies of incalculable worth! And over there, emeralds—some of them bigger than your eye!”
“Indeed!” The thane, very pleased, was about to step into the vault when he heard cries of alarm. A blow shook the floor under his feet, and the air reverberated.
“What’s that?” he demanded, staring about.
There was another great smash, and this time the vault rang like the inside of a drum, a deafening resonance thrumming in the air. Darkend stared in disbelief as the steel wall at the far side of the great chamber bulged inward, then began to glow a dull red. The thane recoiled, feeling a blast of heat against his face. He watched in dumbstruck horror as the metallic barrier brightened to yellow, then to pure, hot white.
And then fire was everywhere, exploding into the vault, roaring in Darkend’s ears. He threw himself flat on the floor, crawled toward the doorway, and finally hurtled into the comparative coolness of the outer hall.
A tail of crackling oily flame lashed across the treasures—his treasures! Walls of steel and stone dissolved, and Darkend groaned in abject misery as he saw piles of coins turn to ash. A fire dragon surged past in an ecstacy of destruction, crushing a king’s ransom in gems to dust as its inferno of heat melted coins of steel and gold.
“Fight, you worms!” cried Darkend, sending more of his warriors into the path of that killing blaze. “Save my treasure!”
A few obeyed and died, burned to powder by the touch of wing or claw. Others threw themselves flat on the floor, cowering and miserable, risking the wrath of their thane rather than facing certain death from the infernal wyrm.