Jeff Crook - Dark Thane

It was the darn waiting that really grated on her nerves. Though she had little hope that Glint and the others would succeed, still that tiny spark of hope tormented her. She restlessly walked the battlements, her boots stamping on the stone, cursing the darkness of this underground city and its walls that prevented her from seeing very far in any direction. She missed the wide open spaces of her homeland, the wild hills and the wind rippling through fields of grain. For perhaps the thousandth time, she peered down the dark street leading away from the gate, looking for any sign of dwarves massing for an attack. But for the thousandth time, she saw only an empty street that disappeared into darkness beyond the light of their torches. A dwarf operating a large bull’s-eye lantern from atop the postern gate swept the nearer shadows, but no, she couldn’t even detect a gully dwarf in its light.

A clatter of dwarf boots in the courtyard below distracted Crystal from her thoughts. She turned to look and saw a pair of Klar talking animatedly with one of the Daewar guards assigned to this entrance. The Daewar turned and pointed up at her, and she felt her heart stop.

“What is it?” she cried, running for the nearest tower without even waiting for an answer. In moments, she had descended the stairs and had joined the two Klar. The dwarves lining the battlements watched, their faces also dark with worry. “What has happened?” Crystal asked breathlessly.

“Thane Ettinhammer is at the south entrances,” one of the Klar guards said.

She felt her hands go cold and numb. “Alone?” she asked.

The guard nodded.

Her passage through the fortress was a blur. Her feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. Word spread quickly through the residence that Glint had returned alone, and others followed behind her as discreetly as possible. It seemed to take an age to reach the south entrances, and then even longer to go from entrance to entrance until she found the Klar thane.

As soon as she saw Glint’s pale, drawn face and slumped shoulders, she knew the worst. She hardly recognized him. The Klar thane had been a figure of brash confidence since the day she had first met him. Now, she found him slumped on a curb near the southwest entrance. A dozen guards stood nearby, trying not to stare at him. When Crystal appeared, they looked away from her as well. She stood for a moment beneath a stone arch, too frightened to move, wondering if she would ever be able to draw breath again. It was some time before Glint looked up and noticed her. A strange expression passed across his face, a strange rictus grin that she didn’t fathom. His pallor was bloodless. He rose wearily to his feet to meet her.

Crystal greeted him silently, taking his old scarred hand in hers and pressing it. She could tell by the way he avoided looking her in the eye that this was perhaps the most difficult thing he had ever done. “Is there… someplace we could… go?” he asked in a voice strained with emotion.

Nodding, she led him into a passage between the entrance courtyard and an inner court. There, they found a stout, ironbound door, which opened into a small armory. Little remained of its contents; the shields, armor, and weapons had been almost entirely distributed among the troops loyal to Tarn Bellowgranite. Only a few spears and an old battle axe remained.

Crystal swung the door shut on its silent hinges and then leaned her back against it. She drew a deep breath, as her mind reeled. Was there even a need to ask? The story was writ plain enough on the Klar thane’s face.

He turned to her, eyes downcast, his great shaggy head sunk almost between his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, choking back a sob. Crystal flew into his arms, a wordless moan wrenched from her breast. She clung to his thick neck, her face buried in his chest. He wrapped his huge, burly arms around her and pressed her tight, endlessly repeating, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” It was as though he had been robbed of the ability to speak any other words.

She didn’t know how long she clung to him. He bore her weight patiently, even though he seemed on the verge of collapsing with weariness. He shifted, gathering her with one arm while the other hung limply at his side. Perhaps he had been injured, though the thought barely penetrated Crystal’s consciousness. Gradually, her sobs lessened, though she doubted her grief would ever be dulled. Every time she would look at their son from now until death claimed her, she would be reminded of his father.

She needed to hear the words spoken, no matter how painful.

“So Tarn is dead then,” Crystal asked, her face still pressed to the Klar thane’s chest.

“He will be soon enough,” Zen disguised as Glint answered. “As will you.”

Crystal looked up to see the rictus grin had returned. Glint’s pale eyes hardened to dark pinpricks; his face took on an explicable reptilian pallor.

The door creaked open. It was enough distraction to give the draconian assassin pause. The dagger in his fist hesitated just inches from Crystal’s throat.

It was Haruk Mastersword standing in the doorway. “Mistress, here you are. Graps said you had… Mistress!” Crystal saw light flicker off the dagger in the Klar thane’s hand. With warrior’s reflexes, she reacted instantly, striking the blade up and aside even as the hand that wielded it plunged toward her throat. The point of the blade gouged a furrow beneath her chin but otherwise passed harmlessly aside. Zen swore a dwarven oath.

Crystal twisted out of his grasp as he reversed the blow with a backhanded slash. She ducked beneath the attack so that it merely scraped shrilly across her metal armor, throwing a spray of sparks into the air. She had left her spear back at the north entrance. But before Glint could renew his attack, Haruk stepped between her and the thane, his sword drawn.

Shrugging off the form of the Klar thane, Zen once more assumed his natural shape—that of a sivak draconian—astonishing the two dwarves now confronted with his seven-feet-tall form. Taking advantage of their surprise, Zen snatched a battle axe from the weapon rack on the wall behind him and struck.

Haruk barely managed to fend off the attack at the last instant. The power of the huge draconian’s blow numbed his arm, but he maintained his grip on his weapon and parried another devastating slash. Sparks exploded in the air as the two weapons collided like a thunderclap. Haruk staggered, trying to maintain his position between the draconian and his mentor.

Meanwhile, Crystal dragged a spear from a barrel. It was ill-made and too lengthy for her, but she had to help Haruk somehow.

Zen swung his axe in a low arc. Once more, Haruk parried it, but this time his numb fingers could no longer maintain their grip. His sword torn from his grasp, the force of the slash sent him staggering back. Crystal stepped to her left and slipped past him. A quick thrust of her spear distracted the draconian long enough to allow Haruk to move out of the creature’s reach. Haruk shook his hands to try to regain some feeling, while Crystal’s drove the draconian back a step with a series of lightning feints.

But the draconian was fast. Crystal feinted once too often. Timing his attack perfectly, he slashed out with the axe, lopping off her spear just below the steel head. His next blow was aimed to do the same to her head.

Picking up his sword, Haruk shrieked his battle cry and leaped at the draconian. Crystal instantly recognized Haruk’s habitually futile reaction to an opponent he could not defeat, knowing that he intended to sacrifice himself in order to strike a major blow. The young dwarfs attack was slow, clumsy, and easily thwarted, yet it was intended to distract the creature. Crystal seized the moment and struck with the staff portion of her spear, shattering the draconian’s knee. Zen cried out and stumbled, his axe dropped, and Haruk, off balance and swinging wildly, tumbled over him.