Dragondoom

CHAPTER 23

Late Spring, 3E1602

[This Year]

Far to the east and south, on the austral slopes of the Grimwall Mountains, in the Dwarvenholt of Kachar, two brothers sat and spoke of the trove and a treasure that once lay within Blackstone.

“And these Riders, they let you see the hoard?” The speaker was Thork.

“Aye,” growled Baran, now DelfLord of the Châkkaholt. “They paraded us before our stolen riches as would a marauding gang of jeering reavers show their plunder to the victims of their depredations.”

The two of them sat in Brak’s workshop-they still referred to the chamber as Brak’s workshop even though their sire was slain-and prepared for the battles to come.

“And what of the horn? Did you see aught of it?” Thork polished his new-made Dragonhide shield with a soft flannel cloth, the blue-green light of Dwarven lanterns shattering upon the scintillant scales, sparkling and scattering, winging to the eye.

“Nay,” grunted Baran. “Though we looked long and hard at the trove, we saw it not. Yet that does not mean it was not there. It is small, and easily could have been hidden under the piles of silver and gold.”

“Mayhap it is at the bottom of the sea,” mused Thork, “for Tarken said that the Jordians claim most of the hoard had gone to join the Madûks in the Great Maelstrom.”

“Mayhap, Thork. Mayhap.” Baran ran the oiled cloth across links of his black-iron mail. “And mayhap it was destroyed in the dire spume of Sleeth, though Mastersmith Kaor says that it is reputed to be made of starsilver, and even a Drake’s drip would not mar its surface, at least so he surmises.” Suddenly Baran slammed his fist to the table. “Arr! This musing, this speculation is useless! When we bring the Riders down then we shall know, for then we shall recover that which is rightfully ours. . then we shall be certain.”

Silence reigned between them for long moments. “It would not do for that trump of doom to fall into the wrong hands,” said Baran at last, his voice grim.

Of a sudden the door burst open and a grime-spattered scout appeared, his feet ringing upon the stone as he strode forward. Approaching the DelfLord, he bowed. “King Baran, I have come at haste by the secret ways from the northern slopes. The Riders approach the Grimwall. They will debouch from Kaagor Pass by mid of day on the morrow, and their numbers are vast.”