Douglas Niles - Secret of Pax Tharkas

“All right now, Gus. I’m serious. What are you talking about? What’s the big deal about this big kisser-oh, his name is Brandon, damn it. What about him?”

“I not like big kisser dwarf. Him bad for you. Big dwarf general gonna lock him up more better! Him not locked up enough!” Gus stated bluntly.

“Oh, isn’t that sweet. Are you jealous?” Gretchan asked amusedly. She started to laugh then caught herself, her expression growing stern. “Wait, what’s that about a big dwarf general? Did you talk to someone?”

“Yep. Gus brave, talk to Klar chief. Him gonna lock up prisoner more better. You and I then go away like before. Forget big kisser dwarf!”

“Oh, Gus, you didn’t!” the dwarf maid gasped, kneeling down to grasp the gully dwarf firmly by the shoulders. Her eyes were large, serious, and concerned. “Did you… did you tell the Klar general that I am here, that you saw me visiting the prisoner?”

“Yes!” he declared hotly.

“Oh, that’s terrible!” she said, shaking her head as her eyes moistened with tears. “Garn Bloodfist will be angry, and he’s already so twisted up with hate. There’s no telling what he might do! How could you do this to me?”

“To you? Big kisser dwarf bad; him do to you! Klar gonna make him stop!”

“You don’t understand!” accused Gretchan. “Brandon doesn’t mean any harm to you or anyone else. He keeps ending up in jail, but he’s innocent; he did nothing wrong! Now you might have cost him his life!”

“Life?” gulped Gus. “N-no! Not life. Just lock him up better!”

The dwarf maid stamped her foot angrily. She was furious, so angry she was shaking. Gus took a step backward, feeling suddenly very miserable. “You little fool!” she snapped. “You’ve just ruined everything! Oh, just get out of here! Go away, I tell you!”

Stunned by her outburst, his heart breaking under the onslaught of her harsh words, Gus could only retreat out through the secret door still cracked open behind him. He wandered, feeling forlorn, back into the dungeon, haunted by the sound of Gretchan’s sobs coming through even after the door had slammed shut.

G arn Bloodfist went straight to the thane, finding him-as always-on the catwalk high inside the Tharkadan Wall. Tarn Bellowgranite was supervising the placement of the rocks, nearly all of which had been lifted up from the floor where they had lain for more than eighty years. Bloodfist clenched his fists, shaking his head in a physical effort to remind himself to be calm when all he wanted was to grab Tarn by the shoulders and shake him into some sense of alarm.

The thane cut the Klar captain off before he could speak. “This last step is crucial,” Tarn explained, gesturing at the complicated mechanism of gears and chains and pulleys, clearly entranced by the sight and taking no notice of the fact that his listener was trying to get a word in edgewise. “The counterbalance is important; it’s why the simple pull of a lever is enough to dump half a million tons of rock down into the gateway.”

“Yes, I see,” Bloodfist said, stopping himself from rolling his eyes. How long had he feigned interest in a task that, to his mind, was endless and meaningless?

“I’m glad you do see, my captain,” replied the old dwarf. Garn was startled at the earnestness with which his ruler addressed him. “For this great task is almost completed. At one time I felt that it would not happen during my lifetime; now I think the chances are good that I will see the final rocks raised into the trap before the end of this month.

“But when I’m gone, my valiant Klar, this great mechanism, this fortress, these hallowed towers will all be the responsibility of you and the other clan captains. I want you to welcome this trust, and I trust you will prove worthy of the task you shall inherit.”

“My liege,” Garn said, driven by exasperation to disrespectful bluntness. The image of his father’s gashed and bleeding body, the mute plea for vengeance he saw every time he looked skyward into those dying eyes, would not allow patience. “I believe you have done a great service to the Hylar and Klar exiles by your work here in Pax Tharkas. But I want you to know: my goals remain higher. Pax Tharkas is a splendid base for us, a fortress we can use to launch the next campaign. But you must know that I am still determined, before my years are through, to regain our status in Thorbardin itself!”

Tarn Bellowgranite sighed. “I understand your ambitions, my bold warrior. But I hope you will come to see that you are advocating a hopeless and destructive course. Thorbardin is sealed from within, and any intrusion by ourselves, or anyone else, would surely be met with crushing force. No, Garn, Jungor Stonespringer might as well have caved in the mountain on that entire dwarven realm, for it is lost to us and the surface world forevermore.”

“I know there is bitterness in your heart, my thane; surely it was a rank betrayal that brought us to exile! You know it cost my father his very life! But I think you are letting it cloud your judgment!”

“Don’t be a fool!” snapped Tarn. “The Hylar and the Theiwar would unite against you in a finger snap. The Daergar would not be your friends either! You would invade Thorbardin with a few hundred warriors and meet an army of ten thousand!”

Garn took a deep breath, conscious of the eyes-and ears-of the nearby laborers who had paused in their work. He trembled at the rebuke, and his own eyes bulged while his hands clenched into fists. With every fiber of will, he reminded himself that Tarn Bellowgranite was a revered figure among the Hylar exiles. It would be foolish to display overt contempt for the thane. So he hung his head with a humility he did not feel. “I accept your reasoning, my liege. Please accept my apologies. I spoke not from the head, but from the heart.”

“I understand, Garn. It is not easy to live as we do, with the memories of past greatness all around us. But we must be strong and our path must be reasoned.”

Had the old, senile thane abandoned all hope of future greatness? Garn wanted to scream the question aloud, but instead he bowed and walked meekly away.

Yet his passive demeanor marked a growing anger and a fierce determination. He had come to speak to Tarn Bellowgranite about a different matter, and as it turned out, he had not been allowed a chance to even broach the issue. He was still shaking, and only with a conscious effort was he able to unclench his fists. Reorx curse him-it was Tarn Bellowgranite who was the fool!

Never mind. He didn’t need his thane’s permission to make important decisions! By Reorx, the fool was so busy lifting his rocks, he didn’t care what else went on in the world anymore.

Garn maintained his apartments in the East Tower, claiming one floor of the tower for his own use and garrisoning the three hundred dwarves of his mobile company on the floors just below. He strode onto the uppermost of those garrison floors, where a number of his warriors were playing gambling games while others were busy sharpening their weapons or catching up on their sleep.

He nodded to two of his oldest followers, burly mountain dwarves with a great capacity for violence and an almost nonexistent penchant for analyzing the moral aspects of whatever tasks Garn Bloodfist assigned them. “Crank, Bilious,” he barked. “Come with me, and bring your swords.”

The two armed dwarves willingly accompanied him down the long series of stairways leading to the ground level and into the dungeon below that. The two thuggish Klar warriors asked no questions as Garn led them into the deepest levels of the east dungeon. They were always eager for action and oblivious to causes or motives.