Jeff Crook - Dark Thane

“We’re in a tight place!” the Daergar exclaimed in frustration. He removed his helm and ran his fingers through his oily black hair, pushing the dank locks back from his face before settling the helm securely on his pate. “If Tarn and the others catch us here, they’re sure to suspect we were involved.”

“We could run,” one of the Theiwar said, voicing the opinion of his fellows.

Ferro looked at him as though he were a stone that had suddenly found its voice and spoken. The fellow shrugged nervously and glanced toward the fighting. “Or we could hunker down and try to hide here.”

“Great god below, can you be any more stupid?” Ferro almost shrieked. “Be my guest, run for it. If you aren’t seen, our campsite certainly will be found, whether we run for it or hide. They’ll wonder who was camped there, and as soon as they reach Thorbardin, they’ll know. The plan was for us to arrive too late to save Tarn and then to barely escape with our lives.” He looked back up the road toward the fighting, which was drawing ever closer. “We’re in a tight spot for sure,” he muttered.

The kapaks were holding together, and they fought valiantly. Wherever one fell beneath a dwarven weapon, its body quickly dissolved into a large pool of acid, which slowed the dwarves’ assault somewhat, since the road was extremely narrow here. Ferro and his band of Theiwar crouched in the underbrush at the road’s margin, watching hopelessly.

“There’s nothing for it,” Ferro said. “We can’t just sit here. When the draconians draw near, we’ll rush out and attack them from behind. I’ll deal with Tarn’s questions afterwards. I should be able handle him. Make sure you leave no draconian alive. There can’t even be one survivor to expose us. Do you understand?”

The Theiwar nodded, faces set in grim lines as they watched the retreating draconian line. Ferro glared at them, looking for any sign of weakness or second thoughts. He saw none but added for good measure, “I certainly hope you do understand. If Tarn finds out about us, I hate to think what his Klar will do to your families.”

Ferro smiled to see the look of desperate determination on their faces now. The Klar clan had been fiercely loyal to Tarn ever since the days after the Chaos War, when he had forgiven the very people who had slaughtered so many of his father’s clan. In the ruins of the war’s aftermath, a great and lasting friendship had blossomed between Tarn and the Klar thane, Tufa Bloodeye. The new Klar thane, Glint Ettinhammer, had renewed that friendship when he took his seat on the Council eight years ago. The Klar were among Tarn’s most resolute supporters.

As a race, though, the Klar were also known to be unstable at times. It was as though Reorx had formed their brains of different stuff than the other clans. Even Tarn could not control them completely. They were known to avenge him even against those he himself had already forgiven. The thought of their families falling into the hands of blood-mad Klar slayers caused the Theiwar mercenaries to take their task with utmost seriousness. An hour ago they had shared dwarf spirits with some of those draconians. Now they were ready to stab them in the backs without mercy.

Tarn’s powerful voice rose above the din of battle, shouting for the surviving draconians’ surrender. The kapaks continued to fight as they retreated. Ferro realized that the creatures might see the futility of their situation and throw down their weapons at any moment, something he couldn’t allow to happen. Drawing his short sword, he leaped into the road, his Theiwar troops silently pouring out behind him. Ferro plunged his weapon into the nearest kapak’s back and ripped upwards, shearing through muscle and bone. The creature fell and immediately began to dissolve into a pool of acid. Ferro jumped back as his Theiwar slammed into the rear ranks of the astonished draconians. In seconds, all met similar fates.

Ferro and his Theiwar warriors picked a path through the steaming pools of acid left behind wherever a kapak had died, slogging forward to meet Otaxx’ss surprised force. He saw Tarn at the rear being tended by a healer, and Tarn’s captain, Mog Bonecutter, crawling through the mud and the bodies, looking for survivors. Other dwarves were busy clearing the road or retrieving weapons from the stony corpses of slain baaz draconians.

Then, to Ferro’s amazement, Ilbars Bleakfell appeared, his shaggy hair and beard matted with white spiderwebs. Ilbars strode purposely toward Ferro, an axe dripping with draconian blood in his fist. Ferro stepped back in alarm, knowing the draconian general would be furious at his apparent double-cross. He hesitated, unable to figure out how to expose the sivak without explaining how he could see through the draconian’s disguise.

“Ferro Dunskull!” Zen shouted in Ilbars’s voice. Tarn looked up from the bandages being wound about his chest wound.

“What took you so long?” Ilbars demanded. “They very nearly killed the king!”

Ferro’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. What kind of game was this sivak playing?

Mog hurried up, his face curious. “How did you survive, Captain Ilbars?” the Klar captain asked. “I saw you engulfed in webs and hacked to pieces with the others.”

“I tripped as the spell was cast. Dead bodies piled on top of me before I could rise. The draconians must have assumed I was already dead. I only just managed to extricate myself,” Ilbars said as he brushed spiderwebs from his beard.

“You were very lucky,” Ferro said in a voice dripping with menace.

“Yes, I am blessed with an abundance of luck,” Ilbars/Zen responded. “That’s how I’ve survived this long in such a hostile world.”

Mog watched this exchange with curiosity, but he had no time to give it deep thought. Day was swiftly turning to night, and the fog was growing thicker by the minute. He didn’t know how many more draconians might be out there in the swamp, and he would shave his beard before he’d allow the thane to spend the night here. He hurried away, shouting orders for the bodies of the fallen dwarves to be gathered and prepared for transport home to the mountain. Otaxx already had a dozen dwarves lashing spears together to make stretchers for the dead and injured.

Behind his back, Ilbars and Ferro exchanged venomous glances. The draconian seemed to be daring the Daergar to betray him. Knowing there was nothing he could do, at least not at the moment, Ferro bit his tongue and stalked away.

Tarn refused to be carried into Thorbardin, though Mog and Otaxx argued all the way to the mountain’s door. The entrance into Thorbardin was made to look like the rock surrounding it, so that when it was closed, it was invisible to those who did not know its secret. The morning of Tarn’s return, the massive valve, several feet thick, had already been opened. Hundreds of dwarves crowded the streets near the gate, awaiting their king. A drum and pipe band stood just within the entrance. Their enormous bronze kettledrums looked more like weapons of war than instruments of music.

But though they had come prepared for a celebration, the mood swiftly darkened upon Tarn’s approach. Tarn had insisted that those slain in the battle with the draconians, and those too wounded to walk, should proceed ahead of him into the mountain. These long lines of litters dampened the spirits of the crowd, and so did the walking wounded. They were followed by the soldiers from Pax Tharkas, many of them returning home for the first time in years.

Last of all came Tarn, walking slowly and grimly, with Mog, Otaxx, Ferro, and Ilbars in attendance. Tarn’s face was pale from the wound to his chest, but also from the deeper wound to his soul. The people had come expecting a triumphant return, with the king leading his army of thousands. Fewer than a hundred actually passed through the gates of Thorbardin, and most of those returning were either wounded or carrying some wounded or dead member of their party. Many of those waiting at the gate shook their heads in dismay. “So few?” some muttered. Others hoped that the majority of the army was still in the forest, helping the elves hunt down the last of Beryl’s army. But most realized that to be a vain and empty hope. They began to grumble among themselves.