Jeff Crook - Dark Thane

“And may it ever remain so,” the old general responded.

Clasping hands, they returned to the courtyard. There they found Crystal Heathstone and Thane Glint Ettinhammer surrounded by a band of the thane’s handpicked Klar guard. Tarn shouted to them in greeting. Tarn and Crystal embraced briefly. She had changed into a shining mail hauberk and leather greaves, with a mail coif. She carried a stout spear in her fist. Glint wore his usual battle-scarred plate armor and carried a black mace resting on bis massive shoulder. Rather than a helm, he wore a gleaming ivory-colored bear skull on his head, with a bearskin cape dangling at his heels. Like all the Klar gathered around him, Glint’s face was coated in dull white clay, but the circles of his eyes and his lips were stained deep purple, almost black, giving him a terrifying, death-like visage.

After clasping hands with his loyal thane in greeting, Tarn surveyed the courtyard, taking a swift mental count of their forces.

“So few?” he asked with dismay, under his breath.

“We were caught unprepared,” Glint answered frankly. “We have this many ten times over, but they range throughout the three levels, many of them bottled up in their neighborhoods. Thane Stonesinger knew what he was doing, that’s for sure, when he cut them off from us here.”

Tarn smiled grimly, slapping the hilt of his sword. “We’ll have to make do with what we have for now. But we need reinforcements to help us break out and relieve our allies. Shahar Bellowsmoke has sent word pledging the support of the Daergar if we can reach him. Jungor has him cornered in a tight place in the Anvil’s Echo, and he can’t break out. If we can join up with the Daergar, we can march through the city and take on Jungor’s forces in small groups before he has a chance to consolidate them.”

“There are Klar aplenty in the ruins,” Thane Ettinhammer suggested.

“No one is supposed to be in the ruins,” Tarn admonished him. “Are they under your command?”

“Strictly speaking, they aren’t under anyone’s command,” Glint said. “They’re feral Klar, beyond any law or loyalty. But if we can get word to them that there is fighting to be had in the city, they’ll come out of kinship, and they’ll come for the sheer love of violence.”

“Hmm. But how will you control them once they are here?” Crystal asked. “They could prove a double-edged sword.”

“Oh, they’d better follow me,” Glint bellowed, eyes glittering dangerously from his death mask face. “But I’ll have to be there to meet them when they arrive, else they’ll join up with the first force they meet.”

“That means we have to get control of the south transportation shafts on the second and third levels. And at the same time, we’ll have to try to retake the Council Hall,” Tarn said. “Who can you send to rally these feral Klar?”

“I have just the fellow,” Glint said with a fierce grin. Reaching out, he grabbed one of his guards and pulled him toward the king. His painted face and beard could not hide his youthful features. “Captain Garn Bloodfist, one of my very best. Bow to the king, boy!” The young captain managed a clumsy bow without dropping his axe.

“The Captain and I have met already,” Tarn said with a ferocious grin. “How is your head?”

“Better, my king. It was only a scratch,” the young captain answered quickly.

“You know what we need of you?” Tarn asked, more than ever keenly aware of how much the young Klar looked like his old friend, Mog Bonecutter. “Gather as many as you can, spread the word, and return before the day is out. Delay is death for us. We must strike a blow today or strike none at all.”

“I will not fail you,” the captain said, bowing again to both the king and his thane. He hurried away, already wiping the paint from his face and stripping off his heavier armor.

A cry from the gate brought them round. The gate opened a crack to allow a party of scouts through. Several bore strange wounds, burns and scores that were caused by no sword or steel arrowhead forged by dwarves. One was shown straight through to the king to give his report. He bowed, clutching his side to ease a cramp. His chest heaved like a bellows.

“Theiwar battle mages have seized the transportation shaft south of the fortress,” he said. “Their magic is taking a terrible toll. We can’t get near them.”

The four experienced leaders glanced at one another, all sharing the same thought. Jungor had anticipated that they might seek help from the feral Klar and thus had moved to block their path. Tarn and Crystal shared a grim glance. Otaxx nodded solemnly while stroking his beard. Glint growled in frustration. “Everything we think of, he’s a step ahead of us.”

“Jungor began this game months ago, I now see,” Tarn said. “I underestimated his ambition. The groundquake was a coincidence, but he has used the confusion and chaos it caused to his advantage. If only I had been paying closer attention instead of lollygagging!” Once more, his violet eyes met the cool gray eyes of his wife. Silent words passed between them.

“I need to stay here,” Crystal suddenly said. Tarn sighed in relief. He could think of no safer guardian for his son, and felt grateful that his wife, a formidable warrior who wanted to fight the coming battle as badly as any of them, had read his mind; she would stay behind and protect their child.

“I hadn’t considered the Theiwar,” Tarn continued grimly. “After forty years, I had grown accustomed to discounting their weakened magic. I should have remembered our lessons from the Chaos War, when Theiwar battle mages decimated our ranks with their fireballs.”

“When wizard practices his art, archer loose thy feathered dart!” Glint quoted from ancient dwarven wisdom. “What we need are dozens of archers to go against wizards. But you have too few here, I fear, my king.” The courtyard was filled with foot soldiers. The only archers in the fortress were posted on the walls, and these could not be spared from the defense.

“There’s a Daergar enclave on the second level near the transportation shaft,” Tarn said. “If we could break them out of their siege, they could join us in an attack against the Theiwar. The Daergar have plenty of archers. They do not consider it a cowardly weapon, unlike some.”

Tarn turned to the general. “Otaxx, you take a third of our forces and move to within sight of the transportation shaft on this level,” he said. “But approach no closer and do not threaten them immediately. Fortify your position. They will think you plan to hold them there. Meanwhile, Thane Ettinhammer and I will take another third of our dwarves and descend to the second level by way of the stairs. When you see the Theiwar dissolve in disorder, you’ll know we are threatening their rear. Launch your assault then. The last third will remain here under command of Crystal Heathstone.

Otaxx nodded, beginning to order his troops. Tarn addressed the company. “Kill only those you must, take captives when you can,” he implored, his voice rising above the din. “These are your neighbors, your own kin that you are fighting, and when this is over, you will have to live with them again.” But even as he said it, he knew his words were pebbles tossed down a well.

Tarn and Glint waited in the dark alley, soldiers crowding around them. Orin Bellowsmoke, younger brother of Thane Shahar Bellowsmoke, knelt at Tarn’s side, repeatedly stabbing a dagger into the dirt between the cobblestones at his feet. The two limbs of his crossbow jutted up behind his back, and a battered quarrel box hung by a thin leather cord from his shoulder.

All the alleys on either side of the street were similarly packed with anxious soldiers. Nearly a third of their number was made up of newly liberated Daergar, eager for a chance to strike a blow against the forces of Jungor Stonesinger, who had bottled them up in their small enclave and besieged their thane in the Anvil’s Echo. Tarn had promised to help them lift that siege, and so they eagerly followed him.