Douglas Niles - The Last Thane

And then, as if to punctuate the sense of gloom and disaster settling over Tarn, from the fully enclosed skies of Thorbardin came a shower of cold rain. Never before in the half-breed's lifetime had this happened. It never would have been thought remotely possible.

Their boat pulled toward the bleak shore, rising and falling on steep-sided breakers. With each stroke the pitching sea churned all the more. Waves rose, pushing them higher. Then with a thunderous crash the hull tipped and all the dwarves found themselves in the water.

Tarn felt the cold waters closing over his head. Then strong hands had him by the hair. He felt himself yanked violently upward, and then the grip had him by the ears and beard. He was bashed against a rock, pulled and twisted this way and that, until finally he was yanked ashore to gasp for breath on a ruined travesty of what had once been the proud city of the Hylar.

Garimeth knew four reasons Darkend Bellowsmoke brought his sister with him when he boarded a boat to journey back to Hybardin for the next phase of attack. First, her knowledge of the Hylar city was better than any other Daergar's. Second, the Helm of Tongues made her an invaluable translator. Third, the respect shown her by the daemon warrior had impressed the thane, even as it still caused her to shiver with remembered delight.

And finally, he had decided that he couldn't trust her out of his sight.

In the paranoid and scheming mind of the thane, no one could be trusted absolutely. She knew it was that universal suspicion that for now would keep Garimeth Bellowsmoke alive.

The Helm of Tongues allowed her to perceive all of this and more, though she was careful not to reveal the extent and depth of her awareness. She kept a safe distance from her brother, trailing to the rear of the party of warriors that marched back down from Daerforge's upper level to gather at the waterfront. There too she gave Darkend a wide berth, watching patiently as the thane's force made ready to depart.

"You ride in the bow," Darkend informed her curtly at dockside. "I'll be in the stern, and I'll be watching you."

"Of course, my lord brother thane," she replied, with no trace of irony in her voice or her eyes-even as she "listened" to Darkend speculate about the hatred and scheming that must be simmering in her purely Daergar brain. She carefully masked her smug perception of his thoughts and impulses, continuing to obey him quietly and meekly. Oh, the Helm of Tongues was a marvelous device! She would have left her husband and stolen it long ago if she had suspected the full extent of its hidden powers.

"And when we get to the city, I want you to summon Zarak Thuul to me. Trust me on this, Sister: Your life depends upon your success."

"Naturally. Now, may I take a seat for myself?"

He let her find a bench in the craft while he supervised the handpicked crew of experienced Daergar boatmen. None of them displayed apprehension about the imminent voyage onto the preternaturally choppy sea, but they would not have been mortal if they had not felt at least a small measure of fear. Indeed, a quick survey of their thoughts showed they were consumed by fright-fears that did little to amuse Garimeth, since by necessity she would be relying upon their prowess and sharing their experiences during the dangerous crossing.

Darkend had chosen for the voyage one of the longest and deepest hulls among the Daergar. This boat would be propelled by no less than four dozen oarsmen. The coxswain, a one-eyed dark dwarf named Bairn Knifekeel, seemed quite confident, almost cocky.

"We'll get there, my lord thane," he promised with grim certainty, though Garimeth frowned as the Helm of Tongues allowed her to perceive that even this bold dwarf was inwardly quailing.

As they gazed out over the water it was obvious that conditions on the sea had deteriorated. Garimeth's thoughts were vividly focused on the encounter that had taken place on her balcony. She still recalled the awe she had felt when she had beheld the daemon warrior's beauty, the desire and power he had kindled within her. She had learned his name, Zarak Thuul, and that of his mighty flaming steed, Primus. And even more, she had invited him to touch her soul, to know her mind, and to hear her innermost desires. They had connected with each other in a way that she could not have imagined, resulting in a bliss that had weakened her knees. In some way she felt as though she were a young dwarfmaiden again. Perhaps the arcane power residing in the Helm of Tongues had made this first contact happen, but she now believed that she and the daemon warrior had forged a deep life-bond, something that transcended the realm of magic.

And when she had spoken to the daemon warrior, the creature had seemed to understand her. She told him that the Hylar were the real enemy, the time-honored foe deserving of death and destruction. She had made Zarak Thuul clearly understand the special vileness of the sanctimonious clan, and agree that they ought to be subjugated.

And he had consented to lead the Daergar into that battle of glorious conquest. Now all that remained was for Darkend and Garimeth to join with the Chaos army and sweep to victory.

"Go!" cried Bairn Knifekeel, taking the tiller and guiding the longboat away from the dock. "Stroke, on my count!"

Though the boat rocked and lurched sickeningly the rowers had little difficulty guiding it forward. The sharp prow cut the waves easily, and they plowed steadily away from Daerforge Bay and onto the greater body of the Urkhan Sea. Still, Garimeth soon felt her stomach rising, seasickness suddenly churning in her belly. The voyage quickly degenerated into a vile, hateful ordeal, and she desperately hung her head over the side.

When it began to rain, the dwarves on the benches muttered among themselves in superstitious fear, and Garimeth heard an occasional silent but fervent prayer to Reorx. Even more than wind, this unnatural precipitation seemed to be a dire omen in the underground realm. She concentrated on trying to mask her own discomfort. This soon proved impossible when she began to retch over the side. Still, in the more tolerable intervals she noted with grudging admiration that her brother somehow managed to look grim and majestic, standing boldly in the stern, eyes locked upon his goal. In his two hands he held the wickedly spiked mace that had served him so well in the Arena of Honor. True, he too was afraid, as the Helm of Tongues informed her, but he kept the poise of leadership.

The fiery scars of the Life-Tree glowed even through the rain and the mist, and the dwarves had no difficulty arrowing towards it. About halfway through the voyage, the inverted mountain emerged from the gloom and the murk, rising high above them, clearly damaged in many places by the unnatural onslaught. That was when Garimeth went back to the stern, sensing that her presence was desired by the thane. He brother had realized there was no place for treachery on this perilous crossing.

So fixed was his attention upon his objective that Dark-end even sidled over to give her room beside him. The Life-Tree looked as though it was dying, with occasional explosions marring its surface. Great chunks of rubble broke free here and there to fall into the sea or onto the crowded waterfront. Despite the increasing size of the waves, the coxswain and crew negotiated the storm-tossed sea with skill and they continued to make steady progress.

Closer still to the Hylar home they observed numerous lake boats bobbing in the rough swell around the fringe of the waterfront. Most of these craft were offshore, rocking in the turbulent waters.

"I see my fleet waits for me," Darkend announced in triumph.

"Aye, lord," agreed Bairn. "Many boats, their crews no doubt prepared to answer your every command."