Jeff Crook - Dark Thane

Word had spread quickly through Norbardin. There were no celebratory cheers or derogatory jeers at Tarn’s arrival. The citizens watched in silence as Tarn climbed the steps. Tarn had led them successfully for forty years and the people had trusted his judgment. Without widespread support, especially the support of the younger generation, he couldn’t have mounted such a large operation—delving tunnels beneath Qualinost to aid in the elves’ evacuation from their city. He had betrayed his supporters.

Tarn seemed to have aged a century in the fortnight he had been away from Thorbardin. Though his footsteps never faltered, they were slow, as though each boot were soled with lead. Behind him walked his captain of the guard, Mog Bonecutter, grizzled and wary, with bloodshot eyes staring out of his half-mad Klar face. He bore some large, disk-shaped object wrapped in a travel-stained blanket. The two were accompanied by a strange pair—the Daewar captain of the Council Guard, Ilbars Bleakfell, and a Daergar that most recognized as the master of scouts, Ferro Dunskull. Captain Ilbars seemed oddly nervous, searching the silent crowds as though expecting to see an enemy awaiting him, while Ferro walked slightly behind with his dark eyes glued to Ilbars’s back.

As Tarn reached the top of the stairs and passed into the torchlit portico, the crowd parted, opening the way to the Hylar door into the temple. Each of the clans had its own door—Hylar, Daewar, Daergar, Theiwar, and Klar. The sixth entrance was not an entrance at all—it was actually a false entrance meticulously carved to represent a partially opened door. So cunning was its craftwork that even dwarves often felt compelled to touch it just to disprove the illusion. This door was for the Kingdom of the Dead, and through it only the dead could enter. The door faced the Road of Thanes, a road that led directly from the new Council Hall in Norbardin to the Valley of the Thanes, where the dwarves of Thorbardin buried their dead.

The Aghar, otherwise known as gully dwarves, merited no recognized entrance of their own, though some said that the entrance to the catacombs beneath the temple counted as a seventh door. Certainly, gully dwarves came and went from the Council Hall at will, and through no door that anyone could observe.

Tarn entered the Grand Gallery from the portico and found it thronging with restless dwarves of every clan. The new Council Hall was considerably smaller than the old hall at the South Gate. That place had been built to house thousands of dwarves, while the new hall did well to contain more than five hundred. Those who were too poor or of too low a rank to obtain a seat within were forced to stand in the Grand Gallery or the portico outside and there they could listen to the Council’s proceedings from afar. Tarn had started a new Council Hall beneath the first level of Norbardin near the Shaft of Reorx, but it was not yet complete; in majesty and scope, it was intended to eventually rival the old Council Hall.

The hall was constructed like a great bowl, with six sets of stairs leading down from each entrance to a circular dais at the center. Concentric rings of benches surrounded the dais, climbing up the bowl’s sides. The six stairs divided the Council Hall into sections, and each section was occupied by the most important members of the six clans. Wealthy merchants and craftsmen, generals and captains, guild leaders and dwarves who had won fame or renown filled the benches. The Aghar section, however, was first come, first seated.

Eight chairs were arranged in abroad circle around the edge of the dais, facing inward—six for the thanes of the six clans, one chair for the king, and an empty chair for the unseen representative of the Kingdom of the Dead. Each of the six thanes’ chairs faced their own clan’s section across the dais, and each thane sat with his back to another clan. From the highest to the lowest: the Hylar thane, Jungor Stonesinger, sat with his back to the Aghar section of the audience. Looking like an old bag of dirty laundry, the Aghar thane, Grumple Nagfar, filled the chair before the Hylar section. Shahar Bellowsmoke, thane of the Daergar, nervously sat with his back to the unpredictable Klar audience, while the Klar thane, Glint Ettinhammer, cleaned his nails with a dagger and studiously ignored the black glares of the eighty or so Daergar behind him. Thane of the magic-using Theiwar clan, Brecha Quickspring sat in a chair which was within an easy axestroke of the Daewar clan. The Daewar thane, Rughar Delvestone, sat half turned in his chair so that he could keep one eye on the Theiwar behind his back.

The chair of the king of Thorbardin sat at the bottom of the Hylar stair and faced the entrance of the Kingdom of the Dead, to remind him that all dwarves are mortal. The eighth chair, the empty chair reserved for the dead, sat at the bottom of the stair leading from their door and faced the Hylar entrance and the king. This unique arrangement of chairs, with each thane sitting with his or her back to their traditional clan enemy, was the only new part of the design of the Council Hall and had been imposed at Tarn’s insistence, as a show of faith and brotherhood among all clans.

The ancient altar to Reorx—a great iron anvil on which a flame burned continually, remained at the center of the dais, not because the dwarves expected the temple to be used again one day (Reorx, like the other gods, had willingly departed Krynn in order to save it from Chaos), but because Tarn had never intended to make permanent use of the temple as the new Council Hall. For that reason, he had made no other alterations to the temple, and it stood much as it had since it was first built, uncounted centuries ago. And this was one of the few places that the forces of Chaos never defiled in their attack some forty years ago.

With regret swelling within his heart, Tarn passed through the Great Gallery and entered the Council Hall through the Hylar entrance. He paused at the top of the stairs for a moment. Five hundred silent dwarf countenances were intently turned upon him. He would rather have walked into the fire.

Jungor Stonesinger looked up from his musing as the crowd in the Council Hall grew silent. For the first time since he began his rise to the thanedom of the Hylar clan, his spies and informants had failed him. No one had been able to tell him what news—dire or otherwise—Tarn brought home with him from Qualinost. There were rumors aplenty, but Jungor knew that rumors were about as useful as a third boot. His own analysis of the situation as he understood it offered no firm conclusions.

He knew only that Tarn had returned with a small force mostly made up of soldiers from Pax Tharkas; he knew that Tarn brought with him several dozen dead and injured dwarves, and that he himself had been injured in some way, though not severely. But one could draw two completely contradictory conclusions from this:

That Tarn and the elves had been utterly defeated and Tarn was returning with his tail between his legs, bringing the few survivors and the bodies of those survivors who had died along the way. Or:

That Tarn and the elves had been utterly victorious, as evidenced by the low number of returning casualties. So great had been the victory, perhaps, that Tarn had replaced much of the garrison at Pax Tharkas with soldiers from his expeditionary army, and returned to Thorbardin with the Pax Tharkas garrison, many of whom had not been home in many months.

If the first was true, then where were the other dwarves of Tarn’s army? Jungor had a low opinion of Tarn Bellowgranite, considering him nothing but a vile half-breed. Daergar blood had never ruled Thorbardin until Tarn Bellowgranite sat on the throne. The Hylar blood that flowed in Tarn’s veins did nothing to offset the Daergar taint, at least in Jungor’s opinion. Tarn’s own mother had been a leader in the revolt against the last true thane of Thorbardin, Baker Whitegranite, Tarn’s own father, no less! Jungor’s opinion of Tarn was deeply colored by his clan prejudices, but even he did not believe Tarn so incompetent that he could lose his entire army. He dared not believe it. Such a disaster had not happened since the Dwarfgate Wars.