Margaret Weis - Dragons of The Dwarven Depths

“They look dead,” he admitted, “but I need to check the bodies to make certain.” He started for the door and suddenly found all the Theiwar lined up in front of him, their squinty little eyes glaring at him.

“What’s the matter now?” Grag demanded.

One of the Theiwar jabbed a filthy finger at him. “Don’t go looting the bodies. Anything of value on them is ours .”

The other Theiwar all nodded emphatically.

Grag regarded them with disgust and started to push past them. The Theiwar seemed inclined to argue, but Grag made it clear that he was not going to put up with any nonsense. He put his hand to the hilt of his sword, and the Theiwar, grumbling, moved away from the door. As Grag opened it, two of the Theiwar dashed in immediately. They crouched beside the big fellow by the door and began tugging on his leather boots. The other two hurried inside after them, heading straight for the dead wizard.

Grag entered more slowly, keeping his eyes on the knight. The damned Solamnics were hard to kill. In fact, it seemed to Grag that the Solamnic looked a little too healthy for a corpse. Grag had drawn his sword and was bending over the knight to feel for a life-beat when squeals of terror erupted from behind him; squeals cut short by a sickening sound like the squishing of over-ripe melons—two Theiwar heads being bashed together.

This was followed almost immediately by a dazzling flash, a shriek, and a curse. The knight and the half-elf both leaped to their feet. Half-blinded by the flash of light, Grag slashed at them with his sword. The half-elf overturned the table, effectively blocking the blow.

“It’s a draconian!” the knight shouted, swinging his sword.

Grag ducked the blow.

“Don’t kill him! Take him alive!” someone yelled.

Grag guessed he was on his own in this battle and a glance out the window proved him right. Two surviving Theiwar, their hair and beards singed, were running as fast as they could down the street.

Grag swore at them beneath his breath. He had two competent and skilled warriors in front of him, but he was more worried about the wizard behind him. Grag was just about to overpower the half-elf, when he heard chanting. He felt suddenly drowsy and staggered on his feet. Grag knew a magic spell when he heard one and he fought against it, but the magic overcame him. The last thing he remembered, as he slumped to the floor, was rose petals drifting down around his head.

“ This is how the dark dwarves knew about us and about the refugees,” said Raistlin. He was standing over the comatose draconian, watching as Sturm and Caramon bound the creature’s clawed hands and feet. “I told you at the Council meeting, Tanis, that it was important to find out.”

“I’ve said twice I was sorry,” Tanis said impatiently. “Next time I will listen to you, I promise. The question is now—what does this mean? What are draconians doing in Thorbardin?”

“What it means is that Verminaard and his troops are in league with the dwarves,” said Sturm. Tanis shook his head. Turning away, he kicked suddenly and viciously at a table leg. “Damn it all! I urged the refugees to leave the valley where they were safe and led them right into a trap! How could I have been so stupid?”

“Some of the dwarves may be in league with the Dark Queen,” said Raistlin slowly, thinking out loud, “but I do not believe Thorbardin has fallen. We would not have been brought before the Council if that were the case. I doubt if Hornfel or the other Thanes have any knowledge of this, and if you want further proof, Tanis, this draconian wears a disguise. If the draconians were in control of Thorbardin, he would not try to conceal his identity. My guess is that Verminaard is allied with the dark dwarves. That means Realgar and possibly that other Thane, Rance.”

“That would make sense, Tanis,” said Sturm. “Hornfel and the others probably know nothing about this.”

“Which is why the Theiwar tossed those boulders at us when we came into Thorbardin,” said Caramon, “and why they tried to poison us now. They’re afraid we’ll tell Hornfel!”

“Which is exactly what we must do,” said Raistlin. “We must show him this specimen—one reason I urged you to keep the draconian alive.”

“I agree we have to get word to Hornfel,” Tanis said, “but how?”

“That part will be easy,” Sturm said grimly. “Simply walk out that door. The dwarves who catch you will take you immediately to the Thanes.”

“Provided they don’t kill him first,” Raistlin observed.

“I’ll go,” Sturm offered.

“You don’t speak Dwarvish,” Tanis said. “Give me enough time to find Hornfel. Wait here a short time, then bring the draconian to the Court of the Thanes.”

He looked down at the bozak, who was starting to stir. “I think he’s waking up. You should cast another sleep spell on him.”

“I must conserve my strength,” Raistlin said. “A bash over the head would take less toll on me.” Caramon flexed his big hands. “He won’t cause any trouble, Tanis. Don’t worry.” Tanis nodded. He climbed over the broken furniture and the bodies of the two dark dwarves who lay on the floor, then paused at the door.

“What about Flint? And Tas?”

“They are beyond our reach,” said Raistlin quietly. “There is nothing we can do to help them now.”

“Except pray,” added Sturm.

“I’ll leave that up to you,” said Tanis, and he walked out of the inn to get himself arrested.

Flint and Tas squatted on the floor of the Hall of Enemies, the map spread out before them. The bright sunlight that had been shining through the arrow slits had dimmed, submerged in an eerie fog that had an odd reddish tinge to it. Flint had the strange feeling that he was wrapped up in a sunset. Wisps of fog seeped into the chamber, making it difficult to see.

“I wish I could read Dwarvish,” said Tas, holding up a lantern that Flint had brought with him from the inn and shining the light down on the map. “What does that squiggle mean?” Flint slapped the kender’s hand away. “Don’t touch! And quit jiggling. You’re jostling the light about.”

Tas put his hand in his pocket so that it would behave itself and tried hard not to jiggle.

“Why do you think Arman called you a servant, Flint? That wasn’t very nice, especially after all you’ve done for him.”

Flint grumbled something beneath his breath.

“I didn’t catch that,” Tas said, but before Flint could repeat himself, the musical note sounded again, ringing loudly throughout the room.

Tas waited until the reverberations had died away, then he tried again, “What do you think, Flint?”

“I think the Hammer is here.” Flint put his stubby finger on the map.

“Where?” Tas asked eagerly, bending over.

“You’re jiggling again!” Flint glowered at him.

“Sorry. Where?”

“The very top. What they call the Ruby Chamber. At least, that’s where I’d put a hammer if I wanted to put it somewhere where no one could find it.” Rising stiffly to his feet, Flint massaged his aching knees. Carefully folding the map, he tucked it into his belt. “We’ll go there after we search for Arman.”

“Arman?” Tas repeated in astonishment. “Why are we looking for him?”

“Because he’s a young fool,” said Flint gruffly, “and someone needs to look after him.”

“But he’s with Kharas, and Kharas is a good and honorable dwarf, at least that’s what everyone keeps saying.”

“I agree with the kender,” said a voice from out of the shadows. “Why are you worried about the Hylar? He is your long-time enemy, after all.”