The Last Thane

Chapter Thirty
War's End

Tarn tensed, ready to make a leap at Darkend, but Belicia's hand on his arm restrained him. The thane of the dark dwarves scrambled into the nest while Baker and Regal stood helpless off to the side.

"This is a bauble of some size. But what are its hidden powers? Let me see."

Darkend seized the egg and then screamed in such agony that the others fell back as a sudden light pulsed brightly from within his body. Darkend flopped and gasped, pulled and twisted, doing every thing he could to break his grip on the Platinum Egg, but he seemed glued to the stone. His hair stood on end; his mouth worked noiselessly. No sound emerged, but a beam of white, pure light suddenly flashed from the depths of his mortal coil.

The others could only watch as his skin began to burn.

He screamed in unspeakable agony for minutes.

The Daergar warriors didn't wait to see the end. Every one of them fled back through the hole in the wall of the Grotto, running without a backward glance. Finally Dark-end simply shimmered and burst, his armor, mace, and body all vanishing without a trace.

"A false leader of dwarves, that one," Regal murmured dryly, after a long silence.

"Perhaps I should give it a try," Baker said, tentatively stepping around the residue of ashes that was all that was left of his rival.

"Father, don't! You saw what happened!" Tarn said.

"Listen to me, my son. I must try. And you must do as I commanded you. Right now. It is our only chance, the only chance to stop Chaos from destroying Thorbardin forever."

The half-breed was silent, miserably afraid but compelled to agree.

"Go! Take Belicia, the Hylar, and all the Aghar you can quickly find! But get out of here as fast as possible!"

"But-" began Tarn. He stepped closer to his father, spread his hands helplessly. "Come with us! Don't do this. You don't have to do this."

"But I must. I am the last thane. Son, it is time for our paths to part. You must understand this!"

"Your father is right," Regal, who was also Chisel Loremaster said calmly. "Now, go-and quickly! The power of the ancients will be released if your father is successful. And you must be gone!"

"Go upward, out of Thorbardin," Baker commanded his son. The thane turned his attention to Belicia. "Take care, my child, and know that your father was very brave and very proud of you."

"And I was… am proud of him," Belicia said through her tears.

"You!" She took Tarn by the arm. "Listen to your father!"

Dumbly he followed her as they climbed down from the nest, crossed the cavern, and climbed toward the hole in the wall of the Grotto.

Baker and Regal watched Tarn and his woman depart.

"You're doing the right thing," Regal said, patting the thane on the back.

"I know." The thane of the Hylar sighed. It seemed to Baker that his whole life had been building toward this moment.

"Tell me, how did you learn the last lesson?" asked the gully dwarf who was really a scion of the ages.

"It was in my readings, the scrolls left by Chisel Loremas-by yourself," Baker explained softly. He looked around at the Grotto and imagined the great stalactite outside. "The power of the Graygem in this egg is the raw power of Chaos."

"Aye, it is."

"And only that power can match the forces that beset our realm. Only Chaos can reach out to destroy Chaos."

Baker Whitegranite took the Platinum Egg, placed his hands carefully, lightly upon it, his eyes unwavering.

He pictured the great stalactite around him, the shaft of stone that had been suspended here for more than ten thousand years. Perhaps he should have been feeling fear or sadness, but he remained strangely peaceful. His thoughts tinged with melancholy as he remembered the deaths, the suffering, the killing that had been the legacy of his time in the thane's chair.

And he knew that the saga was not complete.

"Do you think they have reached safety?" asked Baker Whitegranite.

"I know they have," Regal replied.

"Reorx forgive me, it is the will of Paladine himself." He murmured a soft prayer and felt the peaceful presence of his god, of the god who watched over all dwarvenkind.

As his grip slowly tightened, he felt the egg of platinum rotate smoothly in its socket. Light welled up, a soothing and cool light that embraced Baker Whitegranite and spread through the Grotto, seeping into the solid stone beyond.

Then it began, first as a slight tremor, a wobbling in the floor, in the walls, in the very air. Cracks spiderwebbed through the walls, and pieces of stone began to break loose and topple from the ceiling.

Brilliant white light burst from the egg, shining from the rock, from Baker himself. Yet he felt somehow outside of the experience, watching proudly as if from a distance, cherishing this moment, this place, his people.

And he became the light, streaming outward, rushing through the rock of the Life-Tree.

Wherever that light touched, the shadows of Chaos ceased to exist, wisping back to the nothingness that was their origin. Fire dragons sizzled to ashes; slithering creatures spasmed and vanished.

Where dwarves lay wounded or cowering in terror the light caressed them, and as they died the folk of the under-mountain felt the tender embrace of their god.

The light rained downward, streaming through all the levels of the great city, probing into each ruined chamber, seeking, finding the beings of Chaos wherever they tried to hide. It found the suffering dwarves as well and carried them away more gently.

In the air over the Urkhan Sea, Zarak Thuul was shocked by the first wave of light. He emitted a long, tortured wail, screaming his defiance. The power of the light seared his flesh and burned hotter even than the fires of his eyes. The daemon warrior writhed under the onslaught of that magical assault, shaking his fists, howling in fury as the power of Chaos tore at him and drove him down, surrounding him and quenching his power. Primus, too, cried in surreal pain. The white light embraced the fire dragon, drowning the brightness of his pure flame and tearing him into shreds of chaos that settled toward the lake waters in a flurry of dying sparks.

The daemon warrior tumbled through space, still howling, striking out against nothing and everything as the power of the platinum artifact swept him away. The dark waters of the lake were all around him. And then they were gone. Still the magic drove him, smashing and pounding, irresistible and overwhelming. The planes of darkness whirled past, and shreds of aether tore at his burning flesh until once more Zarak Thuul tumbled into the bleak-prison of the Abyss.

All of Thorbardin was illuminated as if it had been opened to the sky on a sunny day. In their cities on the shores of the underground sea the surviving Daewar gazed in awe while the Theiwar and Daergar howled, clasping hands to blinded eyes. Baker Whitegranite, who was the light, continued to expand outward. Knowing he was the tool of the gods and the ancient dragons, he embraced his destiny, spreading across the cool, dark waters of the Urkhan Sea.

When those waters finally took him, Baker accepted his end. The darkness that closed over his head brought him a renewed sense of calm.

And at last, peace.