Dan Parkinson - Hammer and Axe

“Fog?” Damon frowned, feeling a cold intuition creep up his spine.

“Fog,” Quill repeated, shrugging.

“What kind of fog?” Damon asked.

“Cold fog.” The lorekeeper tipped his head. “She gave up on telling people about it though. At least, I guess she did. When I last saw her, she said she would take care of it by herself.”

With the closing of Northgate and the calling of reserve companies to arms, the entire north sector of Thorbardin was nearly deserted. In Gatekeep, behind the north Anvil’s Echo, a few families remained—mostly stone-cutters and their wives and children, and a few shop keepers. Long before the Wizards’ War, Bell Brightluster, Thorbardin’s warden of trade, had devised a plan to convert the cold shaft called Shame of Reorx into wells and storage lofts for oils, grains, and other goods gained in trade with the outside. Those crafters who remained in Gatekeep now were at work on the pit, replacing its walls with a grid-work structure from which nets and lines could be suspended for construction of an auger lift. A dozen or so guards remained with them, and the gate crew from Northgate’s gatehouse.

Just to the east and a few levels down, the north farming warren was nearly empty. A few Theiwar came from Theibardin now and then to look at the crops, but the growing season was well along, and there was little to be done there until the harvests began. The temporary Einar camps, for the refugees from the assault, had been moved past Theibardin to the shore of the Urkhan Sea, where water was plentiful, and shops and bakeries were numerous.

Thus the north end of Thorbardin, usually as busy and bustling as any other sector of the dwarven citadel, was nearly vacant for the time being. Almost thirty square miles of caverns north of Theibardin and Theibolden were, for all intents and purposes, deserted.

But it was to these sectors that Willow Summercloud came, with Shill Quickfoot tagging happily after her. Willow was, for the moment, thoroughly exasperated with Holgar dwarves in general. A dozen times she had tried to sound the alarm that something was wrong in the north warren. A dozen times she had collared guards, craftsmen, and even an entire platoon of Theiwar reserves on their way to Southgate and tried to tell them about the fog seeping into the warren and what it might mean.

And no one had paid any attention. Everyone was busy, preoccupied with the War of the Wizards going on beyond Southgate. A few had listened politely, especially some of the younger males, and several had informed her—patronizingly in some cases—that Thorbardin was well secured and that an outsider could not be expected to realize just how thoroughly defended it was.

Two or three of the young males had offered to show her around . . . after the war was over. One had even offered to take her home with him . . . after the war was done.

Many people, here in this smug, snug hole beneath a mountain, seemed not even to have heard of the killing beast that had ravaged Einar villages in the outside world. And even those who had heard the tale saw no connection between that and the cold fog creeping into the north warren. The beast was gone, they assured her. It had been driven away, or something.

She wished that Damon were with her. He, at least, had been there, had seen what the creature did to her own village. He had helped in the search for the thing. But Damon was far away, occupied with the fighting beyond Southgate, as was everyone else who might know about the fog creature.

Willen Ironmaul, the chief of chiefs, was away dealing with the war. All of his senior officers were with him. All the other thane chieftains were away, as well, occupied with various things, and even the wardens could not be found.

“What this place needs is a king,” Willow fumed. “As it is now, there isn’t anybody in charge.”

It occurred to her to try one more time, to go to Hybardin and tell Tera Sharn what she feared. But by then she was already on her way through Theibardin, heading for the warren. Shillitec Medina Quickfoot skipped along behind her, lugging a fat pouch that had seemed to grow larger and larger each day since her arrival in Thorbardin. Carrying her axe, the Einar girl headed for the Fifth Road that led north toward the warren a mile away. As she rounded a bend, a voice called, “Well, hello there!” She turned. A few feet away, just stepping out of a side route, was a long-armed young Theiwar in battle armor and cloak. He wore a shield at his back, had a curved, dark-steel blade slung at his side, and the mesh faceplate of his helm almost covered his features. As she stared at him, he removed the helm and grinned. She remembered him then. It was Tag Salan, who had been with Damon at Sheercliff, and had accompanied them back to Thorbardin.

“I see you’ve found some nice clothes,” he said. “Wow! Does Damon know what a lucky guy he is? You’re really . . .” His admiring gaze shifted, and his eyes widened. “You still have that kender,” he said.

“Hello,” Shill chirped brightly. “I think I remember you. Of course, as my Aunt Pathtoe says, when you’ve seen one dwarf, you’ve seen them all. But that isn’t really right. You were out there when we met those wizards, weren’t you? I’m glad your beard has grown back.”

“How did she get into Thorbardin?” Tag asked Willow. “Kender don’t usually get past the gates.”

“I just walked in.” Shill giggled. “A lot of people were coming in, so I. . .”

“Maybe you will listen to me,” Willow Summercloud said. “So far, nobody has.”

“Listen about what?” Tag asked.

“About the fog-thing. The creature that destroyed Windhollow. You were there. You saw what it did.”

“I sure did,” the Theiwar assured her grimly. “And I saw where it came from, too. I found its lair. Damon is right, you know. I’m sure those wizards woke that thing up. But I heard it got away, that it’s gone.”

“It isn’t gone!” Willow said. “I think it’s here.”

“Here?” Tag’s hand went to his blade. “In Thorbardin?”

“Or trying to get in,” she said. “You see, I was looking around, and there was fog coming in, seeping through cracks in the stone behind a terrace. It was cold fog, like the fog that creature brought with it to Windhollow.”

“Cracks?” Tag shook his head. “In Thorbardin? There aren’t any cracks that I know of. Nothing could get in here, though. Not even wizards. They tried it and failed. And even if something did get in, everybody would know about it. There are only two entrances, and they’re always guarded.”

“There aren’t any guards where I was,” Willow pointed out. “There isn’t anybody there. Everybody is gone.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “I guess everyone has been off fighting wizards. That’s where I’ve been. But the war is over now. We beat the wizards and their troops. Didn’t Damon tell you?”

“I haven’t seen Damon,” she said.

“Well, he’s probably looking for you. He talks about you all the time. You should have seen him out there, dealing with those wizards! I swear, I don’t think anybody or anything can beat Damon Omenborn, once he gets mad.”

“I can imagine,” Willow breathed. Then she shook her head. “But what about the fog? What should we do?”

“It’s probably just fog.” Tag shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go find Damon and . . .”

“You go find him,” she snapped. “I have things to do.”

Before he could reply, the girl was gone. There was no sign of her, or of the little kender either. He started toward the Fifth Road crossing and stopped as a commotion erupted just across the way.

“Get that creature out of here!” someone bellowed. “Thief! Thief!”