Margaret Weis - Dragons of The Dwarven Depths

Arman Kharas struck. The blow from the hammer broke Verminaard’s grip on the altar. Another blow knocked him backward. The Dragon Highlord tried desperately to save himself, but he overbalanced, and bellowing in terror and in fury, the Dragon Highlord fell into the pit. No one moved or spoke. Arman Kharas stared into the pit in dazed disbelief. Then the realization of his triumph burst upon him. He lifted the hammer and, crying out praise to Reorx, swung the hammer joyfully through the air. The Thanes and the soldiers began to cheer wildly. Caramon was propping up Sturm, who was dazed and in pain but alive. Caramon whooped and hollered. Sturm smiled weakly.

Raistlin stared at the pit, his eyes hard and glittering. “Something is wrong with this…”

“Raistlin’s right, Tanis!” Tasslehoff clutched at his friend. “That’s not Verminaard!”

“Not now, Tas!” Tanis said, trying to shake loose the kender. “I have to see to Sturm…”

“It wasn’t Verminaard, I tell you!” Tas cried. “It was a draconian who looked like Verminaard!”

“Tas—”

“An illusion!” Raistlin breathed. “Now it makes sense. Verminaard was a cleric, a follower of Queen Takhisis. The spell that blinded us and the spell that felled Sturm were both spells that only a wizard could cast.”

The dwarven Thanes were cheering Arman Kharas, who stood on the platform cradling the hammer in his arms and basking in his glory.

“A draconian?” said Tanis, glancing back at the altar. “Why would a draconian pretend to be Verminaard?”

“I don’t know,” said Raistlin softly, “but this victory was too easy.”

“Look!” Caramon cried.

Clawed hands were reaching up out of the pit and grabbing hold of the edge of the platform. A draconian emerged from the pit, effortlessly pulling himself up onto the platform. Unlike other draconians, this one had no wings. His scales were a dull greenish gold. He was tall and thin with a short, stubby tail. He wore black robes decorated in whorls and runes. The draconian lifted his head, looked up at the ceiling, and raised arms as though signaling. Then he crept toward the unsuspecting young dwarf.

Arman had his back turned. He did not see his danger. The Thanes saw it and cried out in alarm. Flint did more than that. He took hold of his Hammer and ran toward the pit.

“Flint! Stop!” Tanis shouted, and he started to run to his friend’s aid, when he heard Sturm cry out a warning.

“Tanis! Above you!”

Tanis looked up to see armed draconians dropping down on top of them, leaping through the hole in the ceiling. At the same time, additional draconian troops entered from the south door. A group of Theiwar, armed to the teeth, ran in through the door to the east. Sturm, pale and shivering, was on his feet, sword in hand. Caramon positioned himself next to Sturm, in case the knight faltered. Raistlin’s lips were moving. Magic crackled on his fingertips. Tasslehoff, calling out jeers and insults and jumping up and down, waved his hoopak and yelled for the draconians to come and get him.

Confusion swirled about the temple as the draconians, swords slashing, hit the floor fighting. Hornfel lifted a ram’s horn to his lips, and at his call, Hylar soldiers swept into the Temple from the north. The Daewar thronged in from the west, and friend and foe met in the center in a thunderous crash. Battle swirled around the pit. Steel hit steel, draconians shrieked their battle cries, angry dwarves bellowed theirs, and the dying and the wounded screamed. Tanis looked desperately for Flint, trying to spot him in the chaos, but he could not find him. Then Tanis was forced to forget about his friend and fight for his life.

Arman Kharas was exalted. He held the hammer high, and he shook it defiantly in the beards of those who had sneered at him over the years, those who had called him Mad Kharas, those who had doubted him. He was vindicated. He had found the Hammer, and with it, he had slain the fearsome Dragon Highlord. Arman was a hero, as he had always dreamed. He gave a fierce cry of joy. In his heady elation, he did not see the monster crawling up out of the pit. The Thanes saw the danger. Arman’s father saw it and ran to help his son, but at that moment dragonmen fell out of the skies, a draconian army stormed the Temple from the south, and a rampaging mob of Theiwar burst in from the east.

Thanks to Tanis and his friends, the Theiwar and the draconians did not take the Thanes by surprise, as they had planned. The Hylar, the Daewar, and the Klar were prepared. Horn calls sounded, and their armies swarmed into the Temple to attack their foes. The battle was fierce, desperate, and furious. The Temple was soon jammed with combatants, heaving, pushing, shoving, and hacking. The floor fast became slippery with blood.

Hornfel, his battle-axe red with gore, was overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the enemy and lost sight of his son in the confusion.

Flint had been blown off the platform when Verminaard appeared. Flint had been appalled at the sight, but there was not much he could do. The old dwarf was well nigh finished. His legs were stiff and sore, his back hurt, and his shoulders ached. He was in pain from his injuries, and he was consumed with guilt.

Arman had been duped. He thought he held in his hands a blessed weapon. He did not know the hammer he wielded was nothing more than a hunk of metal magicked up by Raistlin. When Arman had charged at Verminaard, Flint had tried to stop him, but Arman had ignored him. Flint had turned his head, unable to watch the young dwarf’s certain death. Then he’d heard Verminaard give a shout of fury and Arman yell in triumph.

Flint looked up in time to see the Dragon Highlord tumble into the pit.

“Humpf,” Flint had said to himself, unknowingly echoing Raistlin, “something’s not right.” Then the draconian appeared, crawling out of the pit.

Flint had stared, astounded. So far as he knew, draconians were leagues away, nowhere near Thorbardin. He had no idea how this draconian came to be here or what the monster was doing in the pit. Astonishment swiftly gave way to outrage. Draconians had no right to be in the dwarven homeland. Outrage changed to consternation, as Flint saw the greenish-gold monster pull himself with slithering grace up onto the platform behind the unsuspecting young dwarf. The draconian wanted the hammer. Flint could see the creature’s eyes fixed on it. He shouted a warning and reached for his weapon, completely forgetting in his fear for the young dwarf that he was the one who carried the blessed Hammer.

Dray-yan was nearing his moment of triumph. His charade had fooled everyone, his own draconians included. They had all seen the vaunted Lord Verminaard fall to an ignominious doom. Cloaked in the illusion of the Dragon Highlord, Dray-yan had pretended to fall off the platform. As he fell, he had caught hold of the ledge with his hands, and had hung there, waiting for Grag and his forces to storm the Temple. With the confusion of the battle covering his movements, the aurak discarded the illusion of the Dragon Highlord and pulled himself up onto the platform.

The fool young dwarf stood there all alone, his back to Dray-yan, the hammer in his hand, shouting to the world about how he’d killed the Dragon Highlord.

Dray-yan was tempted to use his powerful magicks to slay Arman, but the aurak had to be cautious. If he killed in haste, the hammer might slip out of the dwarf’s hands and fall into the pit and be forever lost. While Queen Takhisis would enjoy this outcome, it would not suit Dray-yan. He envisioned himself entering the Temple at Neraka and presenting the hammer to Lord Ariakas.

Dray-yan was hampered by the fact that he did not carry a sword. Auraks generally disdained the use of weapons, preferring to rely on their magic in battle. He did, however, have a knife strapped to his leg beneath his robes.