Margaret Weis - Dragons of The Dwarven Depths

“What do we do now?” Arman asked, following after him. “Where are you going?”

“That arch over there,” Flint said, pointing.

“The arch was a monument to Kharas,” said Arman. “It fell down when the tomb was torn from the earth. It lay in ruins for many years. My father had it rebuilt and rededicated in hopes that it would lead us to the Hammer, but nothing came of it.”

Flint nodded. “We have to walk through the arch.”

Arman was skeptical. “Bah! I’ve walked through the arch countless times and nothing happened.”

Flint made no reply, saving his breath for walking. As Raistlin had so unkindly reminded him, he was not getting any younger. The fracas with the mob, the hike through the valley, and the encounter with the statue had taken its toll on his strength. For all he knew, he was a long way from the hammer.

The arch was made of the same black marble as the obelisk. It was very plain with nothing carved on it except the words, “I wait and watch. He will not return. Alas, I mourn for Kharas.” Flint halted. He rocked back and forth on his feet, making up his mind, then, sucking in a huge breath and shutting his eyes, he ran through the arch. As he did so, he shouted out loudly, “I mourn for Kharas!”

Flint’s run should have taken him to the brown grass on other side of the arch. Instead, his boots clattered on rickety wooden floor boards. Shocked, he opened his eyes and found himself in a shadowy room lit by a single ray of sunlight shining through a narrow arrow slit in a stone wall. Flint sucked in a breath and let it out in awe. He turned around, and there was the arch, far, far behind him. He heard a distant voice cry, “I mourn for Kharas” and Arman appeared in the archway. He stared around in wonder.

“We are here!” he cried. “Inside the tomb!” He sank to his knees. “My destiny is about to be fulfilled.”

Flint stumped over to the arrow slit and peered out. He looked down on brown grass and a sun-lit lake and a small obelisk. His eyes widened. He took a hasty step backward.

“Quick! Block the entrance!” he bellowed, but he was too late.

“I mourn for Kharas,” cried a shrill voice.

Tasslehoff Burrfoot, hoopak in hand, burst through the arch.

“You promised you were going to take me, Flint,” he said, “but I guess you forgot and I didn’t want you to feel bad, so I came along myself.”

“A kender!” Arman exclaimed in horror. “In the tomb of the High King! This cannot be permitted! He must go back.”

He rushed at Tasslehoff, who was so astonished he forgot to run. Arman grabbed hold of the kender and was about to hurl him back through the arch when he suddenly let go.

“The arch is gone!” Arman gasped.

“Say,” said Tas, picking himself up off the floor, “if the arch is gone, how do we get back down on the ground?”

“Maybe we don’t,” Flint said grimly.

“Tell me more about this hammer,” said Dray-yan.

“It is a moldy old dwarven relic,” Realgar replied. He eyed the lizard-men suspiciously. “Nothing you’d be interested in.”

“According to what His Lordship has heard, the dwarf who finds the hammer will determine who is to be High King,” said Dray-yan, “and now we have found out that two dwarves have set off in search of it. You failed to mention this to Lord Verminaard.”

Realgar scowled. “I did not think his lordship would interested.”

“On the contrary,” said Dray-yan, his long tongue flicking out from between his teeth. He sucked it back in. “His lordship is interested in everything that happens here in Thorbardin.” The aurak draconian and his commander, Grag, were deep inside Thorbardin meeting with the Thane of the Theiwar. One of Dray-yan’s paid informants had taken the information about the hammer to a draconian message bearer, who deemed it important enough to travel swiftly through the secret tunnels and wake Grag in the middle of the night. Grag had deemed it important enough to wake Dray-yan. The same messenger had also brought information about the escaped slaves and the gang of assassins who led them.

Dray-yan and Grag traveled swiftly to Thorbardin to discuss these matters with Realgar. Dray-yan had met with the Theiwar leader before, but then he had been in the guise of Lord Verminaard. Dray-yan decided to appear as his true scaly self when he met with Realgar today. Lord Verminaard was on his way to Thorbardin, Dray-yan told Realgar. His Lordship would be present when the hammer was found.

Realgar sneered. “As for determining who will be High King, axes, swords, and spears will do that, not some rusty hunk of metal.” The Thane scratched his neck, plucked off a flea and squeezed it between his fingers. He tossed it aside.

Dray-yan was patient, as he continued his questioning. Emperor Ariakas was vitally interested in obtaining this hammer. Dray-yan doubted very much if the emperor cared who was king of the dwarves. “But the hammer is reputed to possess magical powers.”

Realgar gave the draconians a sharp glance. He thought he knew what this was about now. “The dragonlances. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “I can see where that might interest Verminaard.”

Dray-yan and Grag exchanged glances. Grag shook his head.

“His Lordship knows nothing about dragonlances,” said Dray-yan.

“They’re lances used to kill dragons—and other lizards,” Realgar added with an ugly grin. Dray-yan looked grimly at the Theiwar. He would have liked to have throttled the stinking little maggot. He had to be conciliatory, however. Their plans depended on him.

“I will inform His Lordship about these dragonlances,” Dray-yan said. “In the meantime, the hammer is said to be located in the…” He forgot the name and glanced at Grag for the information.

“Valley of the Thanes,” Grag supplied.

“Two dwarves have gone seeking it—”

“Let two hundred go. They won’t find it. Even if they do, what will it matter?” Realgar leered at Dray-yan. “Or perhaps you see yourself as King Beneath the Mountain, Lizard?” The aurak answered in draconian for the benefit of Grag. “Trust me, you filthy little weasel, I have no plans to become High King of a bunch of hairy, vermin-infested rodents. Being slavemaster will be punishment enough. Still we all must make sacrifices for the cause.” Grag’s tail twitched in agreement.

Realgar, who didn’t understand draconian, looked irritably from one to the other. “What did you say to him?”

“I told Grag I dare not dream of rising to such exalted heights, Thane,” said Dray-yan. “To serve my Lord Verminaard is the extent of my humble ambitions.” He paused, “I cannot say the same for Lord Verminaard, however.”

Realgar’s bushy brows came together over his squinty eyes, causing them to nearly vanish from sight. “What do you mean?”

Dray-yan looked at Grag. “Should we tell him?”

Grag nodded solemnly. “The Thane has been of great help to us. It is right that he should know.”

“Know what?” Realgar demanded.

“Let us consider what might happen if Lord Verminaard obtained the Hammer of Kharas and became High King of Thorbardin. He would control the iron ore production. He would receive the profits.”

“No human can be High King!” cried Realgar, swelling with fury. “The hammer is a hunk of metal. Nothing more.”

“Her Dark Majesty does not consider the hammer a ‘hunk of metal,’” said Dray-yan. “She might also have an interest in these spears.”

“Lances,” said Grag. “Dragonlances.”

Dray-yan shrugged. “If, as you say, the hammer is nothing but a ‘hunk of metal,’ then you have nothing to fear. If the hammer does truly possess magical powers, then Emperor Ariakas, in the name of Her Dark Majesty, will reward the person who brings it to him and make that person High King of Thorbardin. And that person will be Lord Verminaard.”