by Doug Niles
And then the monster was gone, leaving an eerie, smoking silence. A great cavern yawned in the wall, marking the passage of flaming Chaos.
“My thane, we must hurry!” hissed Garimeth. “Our only chance is to keep climbing, to find Zarak Thuul.”
“But, my baubles, my coins, my gems!” moaned Darkend.
“She’s right.” Slickblade was suddenly back at his side, oddly speaking in agreement with Garimeth. “We must go!” he urged.
“Why? What’s the point?” Darkend looked at the singed and soot-covered survivors of his troops. He wanted nothing more than to have them executed slowly, while he sat and watched.
“There will be other treasures, I promise you. And your life means everything, does it not?” asked the assassin.
Darkend looked back once to see the vault shrouded in the same red smoke that permeated so much of this city. “What of Tarn Bellowgranite?” he demanded. “Tell me: is he dead?”
“No!” spat the assassin. “He is lost in the maze of this dying city. I have not been able to find him.”
“Then come with me as we climb,” snarled the thane. “We must catch the daemon warrior and stop him!”
“How can you hope to do that?” Slickblade asked.
“How should I know?” demanded Darkend. He pointed at Garimeth. “You may as well ask her!”
“I don’t know!” she screamed wildly, irrationally. “But he’s right. We have to try. Can’t you see that?”
“What does it matter? What does anything matter? We’re conquering a mess here! By the time we do anything, all that will be left of Hybardin is rubble, dust, and smoke!”
“We will catch him, but not until we can get to a higher level in the city,” Garimeth said, her tone growing calm and surprisingly soothing to the agitated thane. “If necessary we will climb to the top of this miserable Life-Tree and find him there. We must stop him before it is too late!”
Darkend cursed but knew he had no choice but to follow her.
“Let’s go, then,” Garimeth said, fixing him with a steady glare. “But my lord, first I have a demand.”
“How dare you!” Darkend’s temper flared again, but he forced himself to listen. “What is it?”
“I need your promise—a bonded word—that you will not kill me when this is over.”
“Very well, as Reorx is my witness, you have my word.” Darkend gave the oath reluctantly, knowing the strength of the god’s name. He might still choose to renege upon his word, but if he did so his treachery would surely cost him. It galled him to admit that he still needed Garimeth, needed the power she possessed with her artifact, the power that gave them their only hope of arresting the insane havoc of Zarak Thuul.
Love and Chaos
Chapter Twenty-five
“By Reorx, I thought I’d never see you again,” Tarn declared weakly, embracing Belicia with one arm while he held the rung of the ladder with the other.
Similarly suspended, she returned his hug without speaking. Tarn could feel her shuddering and could hear her soft sobs as they desperately clung together.
Above them the Aghar, all of whom had scampered up the ropes without difficulty, were making great progress climbing the shaft. Playing leapfrog, swinging by single hands, and otherwise acting in a fashion more like monkeys than dwarves, they moved steadily away from the ruins of lower Hybardin. Hooting and jeering, clambering over each others’ backs and shoulders, they bounded quickly and eagerly upward—though at any moment it seemed to Tarn that at least half of them were a hiccup away from a fatal plunge.
“I think we’d better do some climbing ourselves,” Belicia said, indicating the enraged dark dwarves swarming below. The two were still at the bottom of the shaft with the long transport tunnel extending straight above them. A thirty-foot drop to the crest of the rubble pile yawned beneath them. “We’re out of sword range, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two of them have crossbows.”
“You go first,” Tarn insisted, then followed as Belicia hastened up the ladder.
One missile knocked into the heel of his boot and several more clattered off of the walls nearby, but in moments the two dwarves were safely above the lower terminus. Looking around, Tarn realized that this must have been the route for a small cargo lift. The tunnel was only ten feet or so in diameter and was marked by rails in all four corners as well as these rungs that formed a permanent ladder.
“How high does it go?” he asked. “Are the Hylar making a stand on Level Three?”
“You’re out of touch,” she said sadly, looking down at him from the rungs immediately over his head. “And so am I, I’m afraid. I know we’re going to have to climb at least as far as Level Five before we get off this ladder.”
“You lead the way.”
“Actually, your friends are leading the way. Those are your friends aren’t they?” Belicia asked, pausing while several Aghar swung, apelike, from the rungs just above her.
“And good friends, too,” Tarn confirmed.
Grimly the half-breed labored upward. They soon reached a small lift station leading to Level Three, but the terminal was masked from the area beyond by steel doors that had been bolted and barred shut from the inside. The air was thick with pungent smoke, and there were no distinguishable noises coming from beyond the heavy metal barrier.
They stopped here only long enough to rest and catch their breath. Tarn tried to find out what had happened to the dwarfwoman, but Belicia’s descriptions were curt. Her company had retreated from the plaza when the Chaos horde had swept into Hybardin. Many dwarves on both sides had been killed when the bottom of the Life-Tree had collapsed and sent tons of rubble cascading onto Levels One and Two. The rest of the Hylar had tried to fight on Levels Three and Four but had been expelled with heavy losses. Breaking into this transport shaft, Belicia and a handful of survivors had been prepared to risk a climb to safety when a sharp-eyed scout had noted Tarn and his companions trapped below. The half-dozen Hylar remaining from her band had already made their way upward, she explained, preceding the Aghar in the ascent.
Level Four was another hundred feet, with the fifth a similar distance beyond. The gully dwarves continued to scamper merrily into the higher darkness, while Tarn needed all of his concentration to keep his grip and move his cramped hands and aching arms upward. Periodically he stopped, linking his elbows through the rung before him while he panted for breath. Even this restful position quickly became uncomfortable, so he followed Belicia higher and higher.
“Soon now. Close,” Belicia finally said, the effort of the climb audible in the staccato delivery of her words.
Tarn saw a gleam of illumination up above, and he watched the gully dwarves scramble off the ladder and disappear from his view. Obviously they had reached another lift station, and he allowed himself to anticipate the blissful sensation of a solid floor under his feet.
“Hey! We good guys!” came one indignant cry, followed by a volley of Aghar insults and the deeper, stern tones of Hylar guards.
“Ouch! You stoppit!”
“Get outa here, you runts!”
Finally Tarn and Belicia reached Level Five to find Regal Everwise locked in a furious argument with a burly Hylar who seemed quite ready to pitch the gully dwarf and his scruffy companions right back down the shaft.
“No, don’t! They’re on our side,” Tarn explained hastily, climbing off the ladder to join the others on a small, crowded lift platform. He turned to Belicia, glad to have both his feet planted on solid stone. “Without them I never would have made it back from Daerforge.”
“Then we owe them a lot,” Belicia said. “Now, let’s find your father and see how things stand. I’m sure he can use us somewhere.”
“Wait. There’s something else,” Tarn said, blurting out the idea that had been taking shape in his mind ever since he had heard of that unholy war conference in Daerforge. “My mother took something from my father—an artifact that I think she’s using somehow to control that daem
on who’s leading this whole attack. She brought it here to Hybardin.”
“What can we do about it?”
“I saw her with the elite guard of the dark dwarves. Her brother is the thane, and no doubt he’s leading the charge. I saw them with the attackers pouring into that dragon tunnel down below.”
“You’ve come to the right spot,” declared the Hylar guard. His grim tone was underscored by the bloody bandage on his right arm and the singed, sooty state of his beard. “That very fire dragon came through here not long ago, burning a big hole through the floor. Haven’t seen any Daergar yet, but I’m pretty sure they won’t be far behind.”
“The dragon already got this far?” Belicia seemed stunned by the news.
“Level Five’s all but gone—just a few places left, like this station. We’re holding out ’til the last of us move up. Fact is, I was about to start the climb myself before your lot came along.”
The dwarfwoman seemed immune to grief; she merely shook her head in despair. “Do you want to try and waylay your mother?” she asked Tarn.
“We have little choice but to try. We’ve got to get that helm back for Father.” He paused, then shifted his gaze to the guard. “Is my father—I mean, the thane—is he all right?”
“He’s fine, young fellow, and what’s more, he’s proved himself a good thane too. Now if you want to find that dragon-tunnel I was talking about, head down First Granite Road. Though I don’t know what you can accomplish with them helping!” He looked askance at the gully dwarves, but then added, “Good luck.”
When they left the lift station, they couldn’t help but stare in horror at the devastation of Level Five. The place was no long recognizable as a city. Instead, it was more like the ruins left in the wake of a volcanic eruption. Rocky edifices had puddled into slag while molten lava still trickled from the piles of several ruins. Steam and choking vapors swirled through the air, sometimes thick enough to reduce them to choking and gagging.
“Look out!” cried Regal as a dark shape suddenly moved near them.
The shadow-wight reared back, tendrils of darkness coveting Belicia, who stared transfixed at the lightless visage. Tarn struck quickly with his silver sword, slashing through the intangible shape and quickly reducing it to evaporating mist.
“Wh–what was that?” asked the shaken female.
“Pure chaos,” Tarn answered, “and I sent it back to where it came from. Now, this must be what’s left of First Granite Road.”
The yawning cave was unmistakable, even from a block away, for every one of the nearby buildings had been utterly destroyed. They could see little through the swirling smoke, yet the cadence of marching dwarves was audible as they drew nearer to the dark hole. Flames still flickered along the rim, and it felt as though they were entering an oven.
“Those marchers are coming this way,” Belicia said, after listening for a careful moment. “They’ll be here soon.”
“Take cover,” Tarn suggested, pointing to a shadowy alcove a short distance back from the street.
He, Belicia, and the dozen or so gully dwarves slipped into the yawning doorway of a ruined inn. The building had been shattered, walls and ceiling collapsed, but they were able to find hiding places with good views of the dragon-excavated passage. Eyes on the mouth of the tunnel, the half-breed waited for the appearance of the first ranks of the ascending dark dwarves.
The first black-armored Daergar came forth in a skirmish line, many with crossbows ready or swords drawn. Right behind them was a robed figure that Tarn stared at, then recognized.
“Slickblade!” whispered the half-breed, feeling a rush of hatred. Beside Slickblade were two other familiar figures.
“And there she is—your mother!” hissed Belicia, her hand tightening on his arm.
“Also Darkend Bellowsmoke, the Daergar thane,” Tarn added in a whisper. “My uncle.”
More of the Daergar warriors moved past the trio to work their way through the ruined streets. Fortunately, none came to check the smoldering hole where Tarn and his companions were huddling. The half-breed hunched as low as possible, keeping an eye fixed to the narrow crack between two rocks.
The assassin, the thane, and the dwarfwoman were next out of the tunnel. Immediately behind them marched rank upon rank of armored Daergar.
“First company, take that road!” shouted Darkend Bellowsmoke, sending two hundred Daergar charging along the street toward the lift station. In quick fashion more dark dwarves were dispersed in all directions as they emerged onto Level Five. Tarn had to drop out of sight, then strained to hear as more and more of the enemy marched past. He dared to steal another glance when he recognized his mother’s voice.
“Zarak Thuul must have gone that way!” Garimeth declared, pointing through a series of buildings that had been flattened by the wings of the fire dragon.
“By Reorx, there’s no catching him!” wailed Darkend, obviously distraught.
“There might be, but we’ve got to move fast!” she urged.
“Hurry, then!” barked the thane of the Daergar. Accompanied by Slickblade and his sister, he started along the rubble-strewn path. They moved right past Tarn’s hiding place. “Find him before he goes any higher!”
So frantic were the trio in their pursuit that they didn’t notice the half-breed and his companions slinking through the wreckage of a nearby building. As soon as they were out of sight of the dark dwarf legions, Tarn and Belicia led the gully dwarves over a wall and around a pair of columns. They paused a moment only before swarming against the trio of Daergar from three sides. Several Aghar tackled the assassin while Tarn drew his silver sword and lunged at the thane.
“Tarn!” cried Garimeth, surprisingly glad to see her son—at least her voice sounded glad.
“Give me the helm, Mother!” he demanded, his sword poised at Darkend’s throat.
The Daergar leader sputtered in fury. Slickblade squirmed nimbly, killing a gully dwarf with a blow from his long dagger and breaking free to stand next to the thane. Tarn aimed a stab at Slickblade, who frantically twisted out of reach, and the distraction gave Darkend a chance to break from the scene. The thane ran back through the rubble at full speed.
“Help us! Over here!” Darkend Bellowsmoke’s panicked cries drew a phalanx of warriors scrambling to his aid. Tarn looked around wildly, realizing that his mother and the assassin had sprinted away.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” cried Belicia.
So Tarn and his companions ran, scuttling through the ruins, spinning down a side lane, and darting through partially ruined buildings until they had left the dark dwarves—and, unfortunately, several of the gully dwarves—behind.
“I must have been mad!” groaned the half-breed. “To think I could just snatch it away from her in the middle of her brother’s army.”
“We had to try,” Belicia consoled. She put an arm around him.
“But I was doomed to fail!” Will I always fail? He wanted to ask that question of the gods, but he had neither the strength nor the time to rail against fate.
“Is this what you wanted?” asked Regal Everwise, swinging a leather satchel into Tarn’s arms. “I hope so. You carry big heavy thing. Too much for me.”
Pulling the drawstring to open it, the half-breed looked down into the bag to see the Helm of Tongues.
Reunion
Chapter Twenty-six
“Are we too late to do anything?” asked Tarn in dismay as they emerged onto the ruins of yet another level. They thought they were somewhere around Eight or Nine, though all familiar landmarks had been obscured by rubble, smoke, and soot. They passed through a place that might have once been a garden, but the fungus and ferns had been smashed into compost and spattered with a mix of muddy, ash-stained water. Nearby was the shaft of the Great Lift, filled with rubble from which jutted the twisted wreckage of girders and one of the transport cages.
Stunned and dismayed, the half-breed shambled through the remains of the city of his birth, h
is youth, and his home. Hybardin had been ravaged beyond recognition. Guilt tore at him; anger clouded his eyes. With a growl of fury he kicked at a broken beam and looked around for some enemy he could smite with steel. But there was no one, nothing but this seemingly endless devastation.
“We’re losing the city from below as the dark dwarves advance into the levels that the dragon has already burned,” Belicia said gently, bringing him back to his senses. “Our only hope is to get ahead of them and mount a concerted counterattack.”
“What if the Klar are attacking Level Twenty-eight again?” groaned Tarn, who had learned of that incident from Belicia. “What if the top of the city has suffered as much as the lower levels?”
She didn’t answer. There wasn’t really any answer, the half-breed realized.
Smoke was thick in the air, and not the clean coal smoke of a roaring forge. Instead, it was a choking vapor of thick, reddish hue, like nothing the half-breed had ever experienced before. They found a few Hylar warriors picking through the rubble. These battered veterans looked up as the newcomers approached. They were dazed, though they showed no sign of fear. But neither did they have the air of dwarves who were ready for a fight. Tarn sensed that these Hylar had already admitted defeat.
One grizzled dwarf, a veteran who had a wooden peg in place of his left leg, stood with a large battle-axe near a hole in the floor. “The dragon went on upward an hour ago. No telling how many levels are bored straight through.”
“And the dark dwarves?” Belicia asked.
“Haven’t made it this far yet. I heard there was a young warrior called Farran Thornwhistle who somehow got a few Hylar dwarves into a shield wall across the mouth of the cave one level down. He held for a long time, but last I heard they’d been overrun and killed to the last dwarf. Now we’re trying to get the rest of these Hylar up to safety.”