Jeff Crook - Dark Thane

Orin Bellowsmoke was about as untrustworthy a Daergar as had ever lived, but Tarn needed all the allies he could muster. This Daergar was a creature of Norbardin’s dungeons, having spent a good part of the past thirty years occupying them for one crime or another. The “enclave” that Tarn and his forces had rescued was really nothing more than a band of cutthroats, murderers, and thieves loyal to Orin Bellowsmoke because his brother, the thane, could offer them some protection from Tarn’s law. But every one of them could pin a cockroach to a wall from a hundred paces. Some of them poisoned their arrows. Tarn pushed this knowledge to the back of his mind along with a hundred other issues he had neither the time nor the luxury to ponder.

Word had reached him that Jungor’s forces had secured the first level dungeons. That meant the draconian assassin was now in Jungor’s hands. Tarn couldn’t be sure if Jungor had taken the dungeons for this purpose, but he had come to learn that nothing the Hylar thane did was by accident. Tarn’s last resort for dealing with Jungor was now no longer even an option. Feeling desperate, he wished now he had not thrown it away so carelessly.

But Jungor had foolishly divided his forces into numerous small sieges scattered throughout the three levels of Norbardin. If he could attack these one at a time but in rapid succession, he could defeat them all with a smaller force than Jungor’s combined army. But success depended on three things—speed, access to at least one transportation shaft, and the arrival of the feral Klar. Without the feral Klar, he wouldn’t have enough reinforcements. Without the transportation shaft, he couldn’t move large forces rapidly from level to level. He’d be forced to send his forces down the numerous small stairs that led from level to level. And the stairs, being narrow and steep, were marvelous places for ambush and disaster.

With each delay, Jungor had the opportunity to intuit his strategy and respond by massing his force for a single decisive onslaught. Tarn couldn’t allow that to happen. Speed was imperative, too much delay spelled doom. And now the street leading to the transportation shaft was blocked by some kind of invisible wall of force. The Theiwar had indeed grown powerful in their magical abilities in the past months. Tarn sent scouts into all the alleys ahead to see if they could find a way around the invisible wall.

Glint Ettinhammer ground his teeth in frustration. He knew the futility of assaulting the Theiwar’s magical defenses, but at the same time he hated all this slinking about. He preferred a straight battle, nose-to-nose with his enemy, and longed to crush some skulls. He didn’t share Tarn’s desire for minimal bloodshed, nor did he have the patience to take captives. The king probably planned to pardon their captives when all this was over, anyway. It was simpler and easier to come to grips with your enemy as quickly and directly as possible, then kill him. That way you didn’t have to fight him twice.

The Klar thane’s warriors were as restless as he was, and they did not enjoy sharing the cramped alley with a bunch of Daergar brigands, either. Old feuds between their clans threatened to boil over at any moment. Only their shared danger kept them from slitting each other’s throats.

Glint cracked his knuckles impatiently. Tarn smiled and shook his head, putting a finger to his lips even as he leaned around the corner of the building to make sure their force had not been spotted by the Theiwar garrison less than a hundred years away. A low murmur erupted at the other end of the alley. Glint stood and glowered over the heads of the soldiers packed like gully dwarves into the cramped passage. The soldiers grumbled as they were forced to make way for a returning scout. Tarn eagerly awaited his arrival. Glint tested his mace’s weight for perhaps the hundredth time.

The short, pasty Daergar crouched at his master’s side, quickly delivering his report. Orin nodded, then turned to Tarn. “All the alleys are blocked or guarded, but he has found another way,” he said.

“It’s about time!” Glint growled.

The Daergar scout led them via twisting alleys and through empty courtyards about a hundred yards farther north of the transportation shaft, out of sight of the Theiwar guards. Next, he took them by a cross street to a road that ran parallel to the one they had just left. Then, he started south again. Glint jerked him to a stop.

Orin Bellowsmoke snarled, “What’s the matter with you?”

“This road doesn’t lead to the transportation shaft,” the Klar thane said.

“Of course it doesn’t, stupid Klar!” the Daergar scout spat “If it did, it would be guarded. But they are only watching the streets and alleys, while their back door stands open.”

“Stop speaking in riddles and tell us what you mean,” Tarn demanded.

“What lies to the west of the transportation shaft?”

“Nothing. A few warehouses.” Glint said.

“Three warehouses with back doors facing this road and front doors facing the transportation shaft,” the scout said.

“Surely the doors will be locked,” Tarn said.

“Locks!” the Daergar snorted, shaking his head.

“If memory serves, those warehouses have three floors, and each floor has several windows,” Glint ventured, a smile growing on his painted white face. “Windows from which archers could provide covering fire while we rush the Theiwar position.”

The Daergar scout nodded.

“I’m beginning to see the value of your plan,” Tarn said. “But we must move swiftly and silently. When we arrive, I will lead the way through the middle warehouse. Thane Ettinhammer will take the right-hand warehouse and Orin Bellowsmoke the left. Archers should fill the windows and be ready to fire upon my command.”

His orders were swiftly relayed to the warriors and their officers. Daergar archers divided themselves among the three columns. When everything was ready, they set off at a quick march. Within minutes, they had reached their objective without being noticed. Orin Bellowsmoke and several of his companions made quick work of the locks. Huge double-valved doors swung wide to admit the three columns of dwarf warriors.

Stacks of crates rose from floor to ceiling, forming a narrow passage down which Tarn and his warriors cautiously advanced. An identical set of double doors stood at the opposite side of the warehouse, leading out into the transportation shaft courtyard. Near the entrance, stairs led up to catwalks that crisscrossed above them. The Daergar archers swiftly ascended and made their way to the second and third-story windows, their hobnailed boots ringing on the metal walks. At the lowest level, all the windows were blocked by crates, but the higher windows provided a clear field of fire for the Daergar archers.

The Daergar archers lining the catwalk above Tarn’s head watched for danger. Crouching behind the door, the king waited until he felt his two other commanders had had enough time to move into their positions in the other warehouses. Then he looked up, checking with the Daergar at the windows. The scout who had led them to this point rose up on his knees and peered out of the window for a moment, scanning the courtyard beyond. Then he looked down at the king and nodded. All was ready.

As Tarn reached for the door, it opened of its own accord, pulled wide by a Theiwar warrior among the force waiting beyond it to surprise them. Above him, the Daergar turned their crossbows against their allies, two score deadly shafts poised to wreak havoc among the warriors packed in the narrow lane between impassible stacks of crates. At the same time, the rear doors swung wide. Hylar and Theiwar soldiers poured in, sealing the trap.

Snarling a curse, Tarn spun, ready to hack a way through to the transportation shaft. The sounds of battle would bring Otaxx’s attack on the third level, and that might be enough to draw off the Theiwar sorcerers and allow his dwarves to escape. “It’s a trap!” the king roared and lifted his sword. But as he led the charge into the courtyard, his battlecry died in his throat, his muscles froze. Eerie words of magic seemed to surround him, binding him in invisible cords until he was no longer able to move. Around him, his soldiers were cut down by arrows or struck senseless by Theiwar spells. A strangled cry of frustration and rage burst from his lips as his sword fell from his fingers.