The Last Thane

Chapter Eleven
Incursion of Madness

The Hylar thane stiffened in his chair, his entire body quivering with excitement. However, Baker Whitegranite avoided touching the ancient parchment that was so carefully laid upon his desk. He knew that the slightest disturbance might be enough to crumble the sheet into dust-a crime of cosmic proportions. He had finally begun to understand that here, at last, he had stumbled upon the treasure he had been seeking his entire life.

He took the time to carefully polish his spectacles, drawing a deep breath and telling his heart to be still. Without the helm it had taken him a whole hour to translate a brief passage, but he had just checked his work and felt certain he was right.

Turning back to the passage scribed in Chisel Loremaster's precise and unmistakable hand, Baker read it again:

At first the young serpents emerged from the Grotto hesitantly, two or three at a time. They would perch at the edge of the precipice and stare into the eternal blackness over the distant sea, wings buzzing with an audible hum. And it was a vast space before them, for we were near the "summit" of the great, inverted mountain. The water was a long way down. Also, the mouth of the cavern faced in the precise direction where the cavern wall lay at its farthest extent from the pillar.

It was the most concrete evidence yet that the ancient lair of the good dragons had lain high on the southwest wall-actually, just west of southwest. Baker's earlier investigations included a detailed survey of the area. In fact, he had been so certain of his hypothesis that he had chosen to have his own house located here, in this quarter of Level Twenty-eight. But now he had real confirmation!

If only he could afford the time for further study. He looked at the scrolls piled at the edge of his desk, and knew that each one might yield a revelation as encouraging as the last one. But even now he knew these moments of scholarly inquiry were a luxury he could not afford.

In truth, he probably should have been in the Thane's Atrium right now. With a sigh, he pushed back his chair and rose. Clumping wearily over to the table, he tried to focus on some materials and information related to his duties as thane.

A messenger, his words duly conveyed to the palace scribe, had come from Belicia Felixia Slateshoulders. Her report told of mercantile interests on the waterfront that were resisting her efforts to make preparations. Next she had presented a plan for defense of the dockside in the event of a waterborne attack by some fractious clan of dark dwarves. Hence, Baker saw the merchants' objection. Belicia had stated that her small company could not hold the docks against any major attack. They would inevitably be outflanked and destroyed after a short and futile fight.

As an alternative she proposed to form a line of defense at the bottlenecks connecting the waterfront on Level One with the great trading plaza of Level Two. Four stout shield-walls could hold the broad stairways leading up from the dockside to the interior of the Life-Tree. With these steps blocked, Belicia was confidant that she could hold out for a long time against a force much larger than her own.

Beside the military report was a stack of letters from those same merchants. The diatribe from Hoist Back-wrench, a prominent shipper, was typical. He complained that this young Hylar captain of the guard had ordered him to move the bulk of his stock up to the second level. He protested that such a demand far exceeded Belicia's authority and that, furthermore, it placed an intolerable burden on his ability to compete with his rivals.

Vale interrupted the Thane to announce that another messenger had arrived from the Thane's Atrium.

A young scribe, his beard short but bristling outward well beyond his ears, hurried in with a parchment. Baker felt a guilty sense of relief that the youngster had caught him here at his worktable instead of perusing musty scrolls at his desk.

"My Lord Thane," he said breathlessly, "this request from the Mercenaries Guild asks you to release weapons from the royal armory. They pledge to bring you two hundred sword arms."

"A good offer to be sure, but I thought all the guildhands went with Thane Hornfel," Baker inquired, perplexedly. He was unwilling to put too much hope into the prospect of additional forces from this unlikely source. "I know he put out a summons to all the mercenary companies."

"Er…" The scribe hesitated awkwardly. "I had a word with the guildman who delivered the note. It seems that these two hundred were unable to meet the requirements. The fact is, many of them are lame. Others are blind, or have lost an arm or a tongue. Still, the man said they were all willing to fight on behalf of the Life-Tree if needed."

"And what of this man who brought the word from the guild? Did he have a name? What was he like?"

"He seemed hale enough-if perhaps a bit on the gray side of middle age. His name was Broadaxe, as I recall."

"Very well." Baker signed the request, authorizing the Hylar armory-which doubled as the royal treasury-to issue enough swords, shields, and assorted elements of armor to outfit a company of as many Mercenary Guild recruits as would present themselves.

"Can you send word about this to Axel Slateshoulders?" he asked the scribe.

"Of course, my Lord Thane."

The young dwarf left. Baker wasn't yet ready to turn to the next paper, a requisition for some new dirtmoss that was needed to augment the water gardens on Level Twenty-two. He was suddenly startled by the sounds of a large crash. The thunder of rock and gravel suggested a cave in. Running from his study, he found Vale throwing open the door to the garden. The normally moist, cool air was thick with dust. Baker was stunned to see that a small section of the ceiling had tumbled down to reveal a dark passageway leading into the mountain.

"Here, you-stop that!" Vale darted into the garden, accosting a dwarf who had apparently dropped from the newly-created opening.

Baker caught a glimpse of wild eyes and a bristling, wiry beard. Then the newcomer whooped and thrust with a short sword. Vale gasped and tumbled backward into Baker's arms, as more dwarves dropped from the tunnel into the garden.

The thane pulled his loyal servant back through the door and slammed the portal shut, dropping the heavy bar. He saw that Vale's chest was covered with blood as he vaguely heard the strange dwarves shouting to each other in a bizarre sing-song. In seconds the sounds faded, and he knew they had charged out the garden gate onto the street.

"Klar!" he realized, appalled by the sudden, violent incursion. He looked down at Vale, felt the fading of his faithful servant's pulse, heard the last bubbling of his breath, and knew that the crazed attackers had come with murderous intentions.

The clamor of panic-stricken voices outside of his house drew his attention. He ran to the front door and burst onto the street to discover a young Hylar, a youth still beardless, covered with blood.

"Help! Please, help me!" The young dwarf suddenly pressed his hands to his eyes and began to weep.

"What is it? Speak!" Baker demanded, surprising himself with the sharpness of his voice.

"The Klar! They attacked my house, killed my family! They came out of the ventilation shaft in the ceiling, dropping down with swords and axes! My mother! By Reorx, my mother!" The lad drew a ragged breath, but when he finally fixed his eyes upon Baker they were clear and cogent. "My family is House Ferrust."

Baker nodded. He knew the house just around the corner from his own.

He heard more noise-commotion and violence-down the streets. Gradually the truth began to sink in. The Klar were attacking all across Level Twenty-eight, dropping onto the top of the Hylar city from the ancient passages that honeycombed the interior of this whole mountain range. But why?

"Come to the lift! We'll have to gather there!"

They joined a great mass of citizens running through the streets, instinctively converging where the King's Wall surrounded the great lift station. Here Baker was relieved to find that Axel Slateshoulders was arriving with the upward cage.

"What's going on?" Axel roared from within the shaft. Moments later the veteran warrior clumped into the lift station, accompanied by dozens of armed Hylar.

"We're being attacked," Baker summarized. "Small bands of Klar are coming through the ceiling of Level Twenty-eight. There's lots of fighting in the blocks, but survivors are making their way to the lift."

"Good. We'll start by holding our positions here, then."

Axel was already shouting orders. He wore a heavy broadsword at his belt, a weapon Baker recognized from the Wall of Honor in the Thane's Atrium. Hastily more armed dwarves spilled off the lift that had been filled to capacity. From the surrounding streets, others shouted incoherent details about "bloody Klar." Sounds of battle came from everywhere and many of them were the cries of wailing and anguish far more suggestive of a massacre.

A wild-eyed Klar dwarf, his sword and hands red with blood, rushed from a nearby house and was soon followed by several of his fellows. Wild eyes lighting up at the sight of the Hylar, the mad dwarf uttered a shriek of delight followed by a shrill, keening howl that was like a noise from the Abyss.

Axel Slateshoulders whipped his broadsword downward in a lightning-quick slash, cutting the first Klar down in an instant. Limping on his bad foot, the veteran Hylar stepped forward to meet the next attacker with the point of the blade. Other dwarves of Hybardin rushed forward, swarming down the street while more reinforcements came on the next shift of the lift. Other citizens of the Life-Tree continued to emerge from the long stairways and cargo tunnels that connected to Level Twenty-seven.

"My lord, stay back," cried a Hylar. Baker recognized him as his bushy-bearded scribe. The scribe brandished a sword he had grabbed from somewhere.

Now the young dwarf used the blade to pierce an axe-wielding Klar who had burst from a gap between two house facades. The scribe cut the maddened invader deeply, but the Klar seemed unaffected by the wound. He brushed the scribe out of the way and roared at the stunned and immobile Baker.

More Hylar appeared, rushing to protect the thane, and knocked the Klar with a barrage of blows. Still, the crazed dwarf did not so much as stagger until several fatal wounds marred his heaving torso. The gleeful look of triumph on the corpse's face sent a chill through Baker Whitegranite's shoulders.

The bold young scribe had dashed off before Baker could say anything. Axel returned, limping awkwardly, then leaned against a stone pillar as he tried to catch his breath. The elder's face was flushed, but his eyes were alive with a martial gleam that Baker found strangely exhilarating.

"There were seven of the bastards in there. They fought to the death, naturally."

"Naturally," Baker agreed, though in fact he was shocked by the thought of such brutal warfare. "And the Hylar family and servants?"

"All dead. Looked like six and twelve in the house."

Everywhere reports came from similar dwellings. Small bands of Klar were visible darting along the streets, but were quickly killed by the vengeful Hylar.

Baker looked around, took stock of the teeming mob of dwarves gathered and the others that continued to pour out of the lift. He saw many Hylar from his own palace, including all the cooks, many of whom had armed themselves with an impressive array of cleavers. Many of the maids were there, from local houses as well as royal, and they had gained steel from kitchen and shed.

Young females and males, as well as some venerable white-beards who nevertheless carried weapons, marched along the street with every evidence of spry good health. An impressive proportion were armed with honest-to-Reorx weapons of war. After all, even the meanest Hylar hearth generally boasted some such martial implement displayed in a place of honor. True, some of the broadswords seemed heavier than the wielders who trailed their scabbards across the floor. One frail veteran-probably of the Dwarfgate War-was hard pressed to keep his shield from dragging on the ground.

But they were Hylar defending their city, their clan, their homes. Grimly, purposefully, the dwarves set about reclaiming the massive blocks of Level Twenty-eight. In many places, they found that the houses had suffered no incursion. In others the occupants had closed and locked their doors against the bands of Klar that roamed the streets.

In the worst cases, the Klar had burst into the homes of Hylar families, emerging from ventilation ducts and private passages that led into the upper surface of the Urkhan Vault. They had wreaked havoc, with many families suffering total annihilation. The Klar, who rarely numbered more than a dozen or more in a single band, inevitably fought to the death when the enraged Hylar cornered them.

By the time most of the skirmishes had run their course, Baker found himself in front of his own house. Accompanied by several sturdy dwarves, he ventured inside his place. Other than Vale's cold body there were no signs of battle here. But the sight of his faithful servant nearly brought Baker to tears. Ignoring the flaring ache in his belly, he helped the others carry Vale back to the lift station where he could be taken down for entombment.

There, he found Axel and several burly helpers dispatching another band of suicidal attackers. Here, again, a few of the Klar hurled themselves on the weapons of the more numerous and disciplined Hylar.

"Why do they scatter so much, attacking with just a few here and there?" Baker asked, wincing as he watched the last of the attackers writhing on a blade of Hylar steel.

"Actually, that's pretty well coordinated for Klar," Axel replied. "We'd do just as well to wonder what has brought them here now with so many of them attacking at the same time."

That was a question with disturbing implications, the thane quickly realized. "I need to get word to the waterfront."

"Let's go," Axel declared.

As they approached the lift, Baker was startled to see the young scribe from his quarters. The Hylar's right arm ended in a bandaged stump, but nevertheless he approached the thane deferentially. Baker was aghast at the wound. It was a horror that struck home, even in the midst of this nightmare.

"My lord, I am glad you are safe."

"With thanks to you. But what happened? Your hand…" He was suddenly aware that he didn't even know who the young dwarf's name. "Please, tell me your name!"

"It's Sandhour, my lord. They call me Squinter Sandhour."

"Well Squinter Sandhour, I owe you my life."

"It was an honor to defend you, my lord. But all these Klar! What does it mean?"

"I have a feeling it means trouble, my good son. Terrible trouble. But come with me. Let's get you down to the healer."

By the time the lift clunked downward, the sounds of fighting had faded away and Level Twenty-eight was securely in the hands of the Hylar once again. Yet all the rest of Hybardin seemed alive with unusual noise. The echoes of panic and terror resonated deep into Baker Whitegranite's heart.