Margaret Weis - Dragons of The Dwarven Depths

“The fact that Realgar is absent is no surprise,” said Tanis, “but it is beginning to look as though the Daergar have joined forces with their dark cousins.”

The Aghar Thane was also missing, but no one noticed.

The tension mounted as everyone waited for the Hammer. Nerves stretched taut. Conversation dwindled. No one had any idea what was going to happen, but most believed it was going to be bad. The strain proved too much for the leader of the Klar, who suddenly threw back his head and let out a hideous shriek—a feral, heart-stopping howl that echoed throughout the chamber and caused the dwarven guards to draw their weapons. Sturm, Caramon, and Tanis clapped their hands to their swords. The Klar merely snarled and waved his hand, indicating that he’d meant nothing by it, he was simply easing the tension.

“I hope he doesn’t do that again,” said Caramon, thrusting his sword back into its sheathe.

“I wonder what is taking so long,” said Sturm. “Perhaps they were waylaid—”

“We don’t even know for certain that the news about the Hammer is true,” Raistlin observed.

“For all we know, this may be a trap. We might have been sent here to keep us away from the Hammer.”

“I don’t like this any better than the rest of you,” said Tanis. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“I say that Tanis and I should go to Valley of the Thanes and look for Flint,” said Sturm.

“No, you and I should go, Sturm,” said Raistlin.

Sturm hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes, Raistlin and I should Tanis was so amazed at this sudden strange alliance that he nearly forgot what he was about to say. He had started to suggest that perhaps they should all go to the Valley when suddenly there was Tasslehoff, right in front of him.

Tanis had never been so glad to see anyone. Risking the loss of his personal possessions, he gave Tas a hug. The others greeted the kender warmly, then immediately bombarded him with questions.

“How did you get here? Where’s Flint? Does he have the Hammer of Kharas?”

“A magical rune made by a golden woolly mammoth,” Tas answered them all in jumble. “Flint’s here and no, he doesn’t have the Hammer. Arman has it.”

Tas pointed to Flint standing on the platform before the altar of Reorx. Arman Kharas stood beside him, holding the bronze hammer in triumph over his head.

“1, Arman Kharas, have found the Hammer of Kharas!” he thundered. “I return it to my people!” Tanis sighed. He was glad the Hammer had been recovered, but he was concerned for his old friend. “I hope Flint’s not taking this too hard.”

“I was worried about that, too,” said Tas. “But Flint seems really chipper. You’d almost think he found the Hammer.”

Sturm and Raistlin exchanged glances.

“The gods be praised—” Sturm began, but his prayer was cut short.

Hot flame erupted from the pit and exploded in their midst. The dazzling light blinded them, the concussive blast jarred the senses and knocked many to the floor.

Half-blind and dazed, Tanis staggered to his feet, fumbling for his sword and trying to see what had happened. He had a vague impression of something monstrous crawling out of the pit. When his dazzled vision cleared, Tanis saw it was a man, fearsome in blue armor and horned helm, pulling himself with ease over the edge of the platform.

Lord Verminaard. Very much alive.

“Verminaard was dead!” Sturm shouted hoarsely. “I stabbed him through the heart!”

“Something’s not right!” Raistlin gasped.

“Yeah, the bastard can’t be killed,” Caramon said.

“Not that!” Raistlin whispered, felled by a fit of coughing. He tried desperately to speak, his lips were flecked with blood. “The light… blinded… a magic spell…” He doubled over, struggling to breathe. The coughing spasms tore at his frail body, and he could say no more.

“Where’s Flint?” Tanis asked worriedly. “Can you see him?”

“The altar is in the way,” said Sturm, craning his neck. “The last I saw, he was standing beside Arman.”

The helmed head turned in their direction. Verminaard was aware of them; perhaps he had even heard them. He did not appear overly concerned. His attention was fixed on the Hammer of Kharas, and the dwarf who held it.

Arman Kharas had not been felled by the magical blast. He stood stalwart and firm, the hammer clasped tightly in his hands, facing the terrible foe who towered over him, a foe who commanded the elements, who wielded fire and blinding light. A foe who had risen from the holy site that was the dwelling place of Reorx, mocking the power of the god.

“Who dares defile our sacred Temple?” Arman cried. He was pale beneath his long black beard, but resolute and determined, and he faced his enemy without fear.

“Verminaard, Highlord of the Red Dragonarmies. In the name of Ariakas, Emperor of Ansalon, and of Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, I have conquered Qualinesti, Abanasinia and the Plains of Dust. I now add Thorbardin to the list. Bring me the Hammer and bow down before me and proclaim me High King or perish where you stand.”

Sturm said softly, “We should rush him. He can’t fight all of us.” The Dragon Highlord shifted his hand and pointed at the knight. A ray of light shot out from the Highlord’s hand, streaked through the air and struck Sturm on his metal breastplate. Lightning sizzled around the knight. He collapsed to the floor and lay writhing in agony. All the time, Verminaard had not taken his gaze from Arman, who was staring at the stricken knight in horror, his hands clasping the hammer in a convulsive grip.

“Witness my power,” Verminaard said to the young dwarf. “Bring me the Hammer, or you will be next!”

Tanis saw Caramon’s hand close over the hilt of his sword.

“Don’t be a fool, Caramon!” Tanis said softly. “Go see to Sturm.” Caramon glanced at his twin. Raistlin sagged against his staff. He was weak from coughing, his hand pressed over his mouth. He shook his head, and Caramon reluctantly released his hold on his weapon. He knelt beside the stricken knight.

Flint had been knocked off his feet by the power of the blast. He staggered back to the platform, coming up behind Arman. Flint could feel something sticky on his face, probably blood. He ignored it. The other Thanes were more or less on their feet, as were their guards. Between them all, they outnumbered the Dragon Highlord, but after seeing the damage inflicted on the knight, no one dared attack Verminaard.

“Give him the Hammer,” Hornfel said to his son. “It is not worth your life.”

“The Hammer is mine!” Arman cried defiantly. “I am Kharas!” He shook free of the terror that had seemed to paralyze the others. Swinging the hammer, Arman Kharas sprang at the Dragon Highlord.

As the dwarf bore down on him, the Dragon Highlord fell back a step in order to bring himself into better position to repel the dwarf’s attack. His foot went too close to the edge. He slipped and nearly fell, managing to save himself only by dropping his mace and grabbing hold of the granite altar.

At about this time, Tasslehoff Burrfoot reached into his pocket in search of his spectacles. Kender, unlike humans, never doubt. Verminaard was dead. Tanis and the others had killed him, and yet here he was alive, and this made no sense, as far as Tas was concerned. Raistlin had said that something was wrong, and if anyone should know it would be him. Raistlin might not be the nicest person Tas had ever met, but the mage was the smartest.

“I think I’ll just take a quick look,” said Tas to himself.

He reached down into his pocket and pulled out something that might once have been a kumquat. This not being of much use, he tossed it away and after retrieving a prune pit and thimble, he located the ruby-colored spectacles and put them on his nose.