Douglas Niles: The Last Thane

It was a good life, he tried to tell himself, but by now he realized the truth: It was an easy life, and for many years that had been enough for him. His mother's departure was a reminder that times were changing, and his life was bound to change, too.

Of course, he could have joined Glade Hornfel's expedition to Solamnia. Though he was only half Hylar, Tarn Bellowgranite would certainly have been welcomed in the thane's army. After all, Tarn was Hornfel's cousin's son, and his fighting prowess was well-known. However, in response to the reluctance of the other clans, Hornfel had declared that he wanted only Hylar in his army. "The pure of blood, for only they will have nobility of soul," were his exact words. Tarn had found it easy to feel excluded, a reaction that had greatly pleased his mother. As regarded his father's disappointment, Tarn didn't really care. Baker Whitegranite was, to Tarn's way of thinking, the worst kind of dwarf, a man who would rather spend his days cooped up in a library than doing something, anything, that would bespeak a course of action.

There was one more reason Tarn had wanted to stay behind in Hybardin, and as he came around the wharves to the western side he saw her. He drifted closer, then settled himself onto a small pile of coal where he could get a good view.

Belicia Felixia Slateshoulders was drilling a group of recruits so young that their beards barely covered their cheeks. She stalked up and down before the would-be warriors, her face locked in a frown, a stout staff in her hands. This rank of Hylar was learning the finer points of holding a shield wall, and Belicia Slateshoulders, a veteran female warrior with sturdy legs, solid hips, and the broad shoulders of a true soldier, wasted no effort in pointing up their numerous failings.

"You! Crettipus! Hold that shield lower! Do you want to get your legs cut off?" For emphasis Belicia whacked her staff beneath the protective barrier, drawing a howl from poor Crettipus. That hapless recruit scrambled backward, holding his shin and hopping on one foot.

"And you, Farran!" She barked at the next dwarf. "When your comrade goes down, you have to get your shield over fast or else the next one of you will go down as well."

She thrust the pole past the stumbling Farran to jab the tip into the solar plexus of a third dwarf. That one went down, gasping, and Belicia strode through the shambles she had made of the shield wall, spinning to smack Farran on the backside.

"If this was a real fight, Raggat here would have been killed," she snapped. Raggat, the fellow who had been dropped by the blow to the belly, glowered at Farran, who stammered an apology.

"Remember, your shield protects the dwarf to your left. If he falls, you have to move quickly! If you let an enemy do what I just did, we're all doomed. Now, are there any questions?"

The chagrined young dwarves, some three dozen in number, were too thoroughly cowed to so much as raise a hand.

"Good. You're learning," Belicia barked. "Now, by twos, get yourselves going on the sword and shield drill. And I want to see some sweat!"

Quickly the recruits paired off. Tarn smiled as he noticed that Farran was quick to find a partner other than the still disgruntled Raggat. In moments the dockside rang with the sounds of blades striking shields.

Tarn didn't know that Belicia had ever taken her eyes off the company, but as soon as the mock combats began she sauntered over to Tarn and plopped down on the small mound of coal.

"Come to join up?" she asked him with a wink.

"Do you think you could use me?" he asked, straight-faced.

She sighed. "No offense, but we could use just about anybody with a warm body and at least one eye."

"I'm sure you'll whip them into proper dwarven warriors in no time."

"It's not only here that we need them," she replied, meeting his gaze with a look that was all seriousness. "But it's all over Hybardin. Thane Hornfel took every able-bodied fighter we have."

"Almost," Tarn replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

He was looking for pity, but he met with no success as she replied curtly. "It was your choice, no one else's, that kept you behind. You know damned well he could have used you and would have welcomed your enlistment."

Tarn shook his head belligerently. "With all that talk about Hylar purity, he might as well have called me an ill-bred bastard. He can wage the Solamnian war without me." His temper was lousy, and he felt acutely defensive. He had not come to see Belicia so they could discuss the Hybardin military situation-or lack thereof.

"I guess you haven't heard then," the dwarfwoman replied, her tone softening. "There's a rumor that the Hylar are no longer fighting the army of Takhisis. It's said they're sailing north of Ansalon to campaign against some new threat."

"Sailing? By Reorx! You mean away from the continent?"

"That's what I've heard." Belicia tried to be casual, but she couldn't entirely suppress a shudder of discomfort.

"Where did you hear that news?"

"A courier came from the army just a few hours ago. He went directly to your father but then talked a little bit to the staff of the barracks cooking hall. You know how word gets around, even in an untrained army."

Tarn grunted. The topic of his father was another he had little interest in pursuing.

"Have you seen your father at all, recently?" she probed.

He snorted. "Two weeks ago, but all he wanted to talk about was some silly tale of the Graygem and a platinum egg in that cursed Grotto of his! I swear, I hope he finds the place, just so he shuts up about it!"

"Well, go find out for yourself about the latest news, then. I've got to get back to my company," Belicia snapped in exasperation.

"Wait. I'm sorry," the half-breed interjected. "I wanted to talk to you, to see if perhaps we could get away for an interval. Maybe take one of the freeboats across the lake."

She sighed and shook her head. "Timing: that's always the problem with us, isn't it?" she said, not unsympathetically. "I can't right now. These buffoons will kill each other in a minute-by accident, of course; I don't think any one of them could kill something on purpose-if I'm not there to keep an eye on them."

Tarn nodded, trying to conceal his disappointment. He wanted to tell Belicia about his mother's departure but knew that she wouldn't share his distress. Indeed, most of Hybardin was likely to regard Garimeth Bellowsmoke's return to the Daergar as cause for celebration. Instead he lurched to his feet and gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. "You'll do just fine with them. Maybe, after they finish their first series of drills?"

"Maybe," she said with a smile.

Knowing he would have to be content with that, Tarn was still discontented.

Why did she have to mention his father?

"I ask the question in the presence of all the clan: where is the challenger? Produce him, or the thane's chair is rightfully mine!"

Darkend Bellowsmoke was addressing a great gathering of Daergar. He stood upon a dais in the middle of the Arena of Honor, the large, lightless assembly hall that was the grandest chamber in all Daerbardin. Shaking his great, spike-headed mace at the masses of his countrymen, he spun through a circle, his voice a screech that pierced the farthest reaches of the chamber.

Smoke from coal braziers filled the air, the acrid vapors bitter in his nostrils, but the dark dwarf stood in a posture of triumph, feet planted firmly, one hand on his hip while in the other he held his weapon aloft. Even in the pitch darkness he was visible to the gathered throng, for the Daergar, like their Theiwar cousins, could see very well even in the deepest heart of lightless Thorbardin.