The Last Thane

Chapter Twenty-six
Reunion

"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, his 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."

Belicia drew a sharp gasp at the news, and Tarn remembered a young recruit, freshly knocked in the shins by his stern teacher.

"What word of the thane?" asked Tarn.

"Came through here before on the main lift shaft. He and Axel Slateshoulders were with the last group to take the lift." The dwarf cleared his throat, shaking his head in awe.

"What is it? What happened?" demanded Tarn.

"The lift jammed fifty feet below. There was a bunch of them shadows crawling up after it and then the whole tunnel collapsed. Cage was pinched tight, but Baker Whitegranite held off the shadows with his sword until everyone got off. They called him a hero, those survivors. Now you can see even the lift station is buried. They had to climb up like you did. Word was they barely got away!" he concluded.

"Let's get to the Thane's Atrium," Tarn said urgently.

"A lot of the stairways are still open," advised the axeman. "They'll be less crowded farther from the lift stations, I'm guessing."

"Hurry!" Tarn shouted for the attention of the gully dwarves, a few of whom had already wandered off. Together with about eight or ten of his original crew of Aghar, they ran along the street, dodging blocks of stone, broken timbers and beams, and a tragic number of bodies. Several stairwells were nearby, but each of these was thronged by dwarves seeking to flee upward, so they kept running, making their way into the emptier reaches on the periphery.

"Here's one!" Belicia cried, finally discovering an entrance to a servants' stair in an alley behind several great houses. Kicking stones out of the way, she got the Aghar to help move a heavy beam, and finally they cleared enough space to get into the constricted passageway.

They rushed upward, gasping for breath as they emerged onto the street again at Level Ten and made their way toward the thane's headquarters. Even here, the avenues were filled with smoke and flame. Most were abandoned and empty. The few live Hylar they saw were running, stricken by panic, hastening to find escape still higher in the Life-Tree.

A great smoking cave gaped in the floor of a broad intersection, clear sign that the fire dragon had bored through here as well. There was no corresponding hole above them, Tarn pointed out. "That could mean the daemon warrior and the dragon are still around here somewhere."

There was no immediate sign of the horrific invaders, nor was there any indication that the dark dwarf vanguard had made it this far. Nevertheless, Tarn suspected the next phase of the invasion would only be a short time in coming. Trotting despite their fatigue, they hurried toward the Thane's Atrium which stood intact with several grim Hylar on guard outside the doors to the ceremonial chambers.

"Is my father the thane here?" asked Tarn.

"Aye. And he'll be glad to see you," replied the guard captain who stood aside to let them enter. The Aghar, meanwhile, willingly took up positions with the guards outside the atrium, though the Hylar sentries seemed less than thrilled at the these grubby reinforcements.

Belicia and Tarn started down the wide hall at a trot, not noticing at first that Regal Everwise had tagged along. They raced toward the large office where Baker had spent most of his time. Even before they got there, two elder dwarves emerged, shouting aloud in astonishment and relief.

"Father!" cried Belicia, stumbling into the welcoming embrace of Axel Slateshoulders. The old warrior's eyes were shut, but they leaked streams of tears.

"Tarn! My son, you're alive!" Baker's eyes were moist as well, but his features were chiseled, hardened in a way Tarn had never seen. His father's glasses were missing, but he was alert and clearly overjoyed. "My son!" he repeated, as if he couldn't believe the evidence before him.

Tarn clasped his father in a warm hug. "By Reorx, Father, I'm glad to see you. And I'm sorry!"

"Me, too-but enough of that. There's been too much sorrow."

"But our city… it's dying!" Tarn declared despairingly as he broke free from his father's embrace. He halted, dimly realizing that only days before he had been ready to turn his back on the Life-Tree and all things Hylar. How long ago had it been? He didn't know, couldn't even begin to reckon. If anything, the recollections seemed like a memory from another epoch.

"I'm afraid you're right," the thane concurred sadly. "We're encouraging the survivors to move upward to the highest levels of the city, but I don't know what else we can do. We could fight the dark dwarves alone-but with the army of Chaos? I fear they are too much for us."

"But Father, listen. I have this!" Tarn declared, pulling the Helm of Tongues from the bag. "In Daerforge I watched Mother use it to control the creature who rides the fire dragon."

Baker's eyes lit up at the sight of the artifact, but then he shook his head as he looked at Tarn. "I don't think so, not with this. At most, the creature was toying with her, perhaps attracted by the magic of the artifact. No, no. She could perhaps communicate, but never control. But tell me, what did you see?"

Tarn described the scene he had observed on the balcony of Garimeth's Daerforge manor house. "I swear the daemon bowed to her! And after that he left them alone, unharmed, and then flew away when Mother gestured with her hand."

"I see why you would think it was influenced by Garimeth, but that story doesn't shake my certainty that such a daemon creature would never allow itself to be controlled by a mortal being. These dark and shadowy manifestations come from Chaos, we know that now. And Chaos cannot be commanded or disciplined. I'm afraid this daemon creature was merely having fun at Garimeth's expense and doing just what it intended all along."

"Then you can't use it to stop the attack?"

Sighing, Baker shook his head. "Certainly not." He brightened again almost immediately. "However, there is something that it might be able to do to help!"

"What?"

"Come here, my son. I have something to show you!" urged Baker, his tone surprisingly enthusiastic.

Inside the Thane's Atrium there was a litter of scroll tubes and parchment, scrolls that had been tossed and thrown everywhere around the large room. Tarn was startled, recognizing these as the treasures that his father had valued above all others. And now some of them were torn while others lay unnoticed on the floor.

Absently Tarn took note of the wall beyond that had once displayed an array of great artifacts and weaponry from Hylar history. Now that surface had been picked clean of all the blades except for a single, long-hafted battle axe; undoubtedly the other weapons had gone toward the city's desperate defense.

The great stone chair, the throne of the Hylar thane, sat like a useless weight next to the wall. The seat was buried in scrolls and parchments, documents piled haphazardly there as everywhere else in the room.

"Remember something I told you, Son? You know the legend, that some portion of the Graygem's power was imprisoned in a platinum dragon egg and left in the Grotto?"

"Yes." Tarn remembered something about that, though he had dismissed it as part of his father's impractical daydreaming.

"This is the next part!" Baker was saying, waving one of the sheets of parchment. "These are the oldest of Chisel Loremaster's scrolls. And you can see there is arcane script right here!"

"Yes, but again I ask: what does that mean?" asked Tarn.

"The Grotto, my boy! The Grotto!" explained the thane as if it was the happiest discovery in the world. He indicated a small circle on the page, a roundel that was marked with a small dash at the bottom. "This is the symbol right here. I just translated it!"

Tarn felt as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. He physically forced down the urge to take his father by the shoulders, to shake some practical sense into him. Instead, the son merely nodded sadly, wondering what possible usefulness his father saw in the ancient cavern-especially now, in the midst of this historic crisis, even if it was true that finally he had found a way to locate it.

"I've been wrestling with the rest of the translation for too long; it's beyond my poor talents. Now, with the Helm, I'll be able to read it."

"I suppose you will," Tarn answered absently. He felt completely, utterly defeated. There would be no help from the artifact, no help from any source.

Baker pulled the Helm of Tongues over his head and picked up the ivory scroll tube. He squinted, then beamed excitedly.

"Yes! Yes! I was right! It's here-the key to the Grotto! I know what it means! And what's more, I know how to find it!"

Bloodcurdling shrieks pierced the air from outside the throne room. The thick stone of the floor shuddered underfoot, trembling repeatedly from the thud of great weight. The chamber was rocked by a savage roar, a sound of physical force that battered Tarn's eardrums and nearly drove him to his knees. The thunderous bellow was followed by the sound of a powerful crash. Dust and plaster broke from the ceiling to shower across the throne room.

Abruptly a crack shot through the great wall and pieces of stone tumbled free, toppling onto the sturdy floor. Another part of the wall started to lean inward, sending the dwarves scrambling toward the far side of the chamber. As more of the barrier broke down, Tarn caught sight of a black body, eyes of fiery crimson that transfixed him through the smoke and the dust. An obsidian fist pummeled the stones, smashing a wide opening. The figure of the daemon warrior, surprisingly manlike in its purposeful stride, advanced into the room. The black head tilted back, and the mouth uttered a roar of bizarre laughter.

Axel was already moving, broadsword raised in both of his hands. He swung the weapon at the daemon warrior's chest, but the fell creature grabbed the blade and, with a wrenching twist, snapped it like a toy. A casual backhand slap sent the venerable warrior tumbling across the floor. Again came that horribly incongruous laugh.

Then the figure changed, shifting and growing before the dwarves' astonished eyes. The daemon rose into a great shape, a huge shadowy form that writhed at the edge of the throne room. Two Hylar guards charged through the hole in the wall, trying to attack it from behind, but the creature merely leaned down and tore them apart as casually as if it had been rending a piece of parchment.

Now the beast of Chaos loomed above their heads, flesh-less jaws gaping to reveal teeth the size of knife blades. Wings bare of skin or any other membrane spread wide, supported by bones of stark white. Skeletal ribs outlined a massive body, and strips of rotted flesh draped those bones in a gory bunting. The monster had massive talons, great fangs, and all these instruments of death were crimson with Hylar blood.

"Try the helm!" shouted Tarn, turning to see that Baker still wore the artifact. "At least see if you can make it respond!"

"Halt!" cried the thane, his tone bold and full of command.

But the monster took a few steps forward and reached for Baker Whitegranite with talons of sharp bone. The thane stood still, his face white, teeth clenched as if fending off an onslaught of great pain. Tarn grabbed his father and frantically pulled him behind the throne as the monster's claws slashed through the air where Baker had been standing.

Baker gasped in agony as he tore the bronze helmet off of his head. With a groan, he clapped a hand to his sweaty forehead. "That thing was in my mind searching, trying to destroy. It would have killed me!"

Tarn drew the silver sword he had taken from the assassin, feeling as though the weapon was no more than a toothpick in his hand.

"Get out of here! All of you, flee!" cried Axel, pushing Belicia out the door. He grabbed Baker, who was still clutching the scroll and the helmet, and shoved him too. "Use what you learned! You'll know what to do!"

The monster roared, fetid breath reeking like death through the vast chamber. The taloned foot set down heavily, and the floor shook as if under the compression of a monstrous weight.

Tarn, sword in his hand, ran to Axel's side as the older warrior pulled the huge axe down from the wall. The elder's face had a martial gleam, a gleeful battle-fury brightening his eyes. He pushed his horned helmet down tightly onto his scalp, raised the long weapon, and all but growled at the hideous creature.

"I'll try to distract it, draw its attention over here!" shouted the half-breed. "You can get after it from behind!"

With another roar, the monster advanced a step closer. Dust rose in clouds from the floor as the thunderous crash of its footstep caused cracks to shoot through the walls and spiderweb up the walls. The beast took another step and a beam across the ceiling cracked, bending downward with a piercing shriek.

"No!" cried Axel, staring at Tarn, his face crazily distorted. The great axe, taller by far than the Hylar warrior, gleamed brightly in his hands. "You stay with my daughter and your father! They will need you!"

"But-"

"Do it!" snarled the elder in a voice that brooked no argument.

Tarn backed to the door, as Axel, with the massive axe in his hands, advanced to battle the beast of Chaos. Again it bellowed, darting forward, then pausing.

The axe swung through the air, a dazzling display of silvery light.

And then the roars of the beast rose to a stone-shaking crescendo, echoing in Tarn's ears as he urged Baker, Belicia, and Regal to go and go fast.