The Last Thane

Chapter Twenty-one
A Council of Chaos

Garimeth knew four reasons Darkend Bellowsmoke brought his sister with him when he boarded a boat to journey back to Hybardin for the next phase of attack. First, her knowledge of the Hylar city was better than any other Daergar's. Second, the Helm of Tongues made her an invaluable translator. Third, the respect shown her by the daemon warrior had impressed the thane, even as it still caused her to shiver with remembered delight.

And finally, he had decided that he couldn't trust her out of his sight.

In the paranoid and scheming mind of the thane, no one could be trusted absolutely. She knew it was that universal suspicion that for now would keep Garimeth Bellowsmoke alive.

The Helm of Tongues allowed her to perceive all of this and more, though she was careful not to reveal the extent and depth of her awareness. She kept a safe distance from her brother, trailing to the rear of the party of warriors that marched back down from Daerforge's upper level to gather at the waterfront. There too she gave Darkend a wide berth, watching patiently as the thane's force made ready to depart.

"You ride in the bow," Darkend informed her curtly at dockside. "I'll be in the stern, and I'll be watching you."

"Of course, my lord brother thane," she replied, with no trace of irony in her voice or her eyes-even as she "listened" to Darkend speculate about the hatred and scheming that must be simmering in her purely Daergar brain. She carefully masked her smug perception of his thoughts and impulses, continuing to obey him quietly and meekly. Oh, the Helm of Tongues was a marvelous device! She would have left her husband and stolen it long ago if she had suspected the full extent of its hidden powers.

"And when we get to the city, I want you to summon Zarak Thuul to me. Trust me on this, Sister: Your life depends upon your success."

"Naturally. Now, may I take a seat for myself?"

He let her find a bench in the craft while he supervised the handpicked crew of experienced Daergar boatmen. None of them displayed apprehension about the imminent voyage onto the preternaturally choppy sea, but they would not have been mortal if they had not felt at least a small measure of fear. Indeed, a quick survey of their thoughts showed they were consumed by fright-fears that did little to amuse Garimeth, since by necessity she would be relying upon their prowess and sharing their experiences during the dangerous crossing.

Darkend had chosen for the voyage one of the longest and deepest hulls among the Daergar. This boat would be propelled by no less than four dozen oarsmen. The coxswain, a one-eyed dark dwarf named Bairn Knifekeel, seemed quite confident, almost cocky.

"We'll get there, my lord thane," he promised with grim certainty, though Garimeth frowned as the Helm of Tongues allowed her to perceive that even this bold dwarf was inwardly quailing.

As they gazed out over the water it was obvious that conditions on the sea had deteriorated. Garimeth's thoughts were vividly focused on the encounter that had taken place on her balcony. She still recalled the awe she had felt when she had beheld the daemon warrior's beauty, the desire and power he had kindled within her. She had learned his name, Zarak Thuul, and that of his mighty flaming steed, Primus. And even more, she had invited him to touch her soul, to know her mind, and to hear her innermost desires. They had connected with each other in a way that she could not have imagined, resulting in a bliss that had weakened her knees. In some way she felt as though she were a young dwarfmaiden again. Perhaps the arcane power residing in the Helm of Tongues had made this first contact happen, but she now believed that she and the daemon warrior had forged a deep life-bond, something that transcended the realm of magic.

And when she had spoken to the daemon warrior, the creature had seemed to understand her. She told him that the Hylar were the real enemy, the time-honored foe deserving of death and destruction. She had made Zarak Thuul clearly understand the special vileness of the sanctimonious clan, and agree that they ought to be subjugated.

And he had consented to lead the Daergar into that battle of glorious conquest. Now all that remained was for Darkend and Garimeth to join with the Chaos army and sweep to victory.

"Go!" cried Bairn Knifekeel, taking the tiller and guiding the longboat away from the dock. "Stroke, on my count!"

Though the boat rocked and lurched sickeningly the rowers had little difficulty guiding it forward. The sharp prow cut the waves easily, and they plowed steadily away from Daerforge Bay and onto the greater body of the Urkhan Sea. Still, Garimeth soon felt her stomach rising, seasickness suddenly churning in her belly. The voyage quickly degenerated into a vile, hateful ordeal, and she desperately hung her head over the side.

When it began to rain, the dwarves on the benches muttered among themselves in superstitious fear, and Garimeth heard an occasional silent but fervent prayer to Reorx. Even more than wind, this unnatural precipitation seemed to be a dire omen in the underground realm. She concentrated on trying to mask her own discomfort. This soon proved impossible when she began to retch over the side. Still, in the more tolerable intervals she noted with grudging admiration that her brother somehow managed to look grim and majestic, standing boldly in the stern, eyes locked upon his goal. In his two hands he held the wickedly spiked mace that had served him so well in the Arena of Honor. True, he too was afraid, as the Helm of Tongues informed her, but he kept the poise of leadership.

The fiery scars of the Life-Tree glowed even through the rain and the mist, and the dwarves had no difficulty arrowing towards it. About halfway through the voyage, the inverted mountain emerged from the gloom and the murk, rising high above them, clearly damaged in many places by the unnatural onslaught. That was when Garimeth went back to the stern, sensing that her presence was desired by the thane. He brother had realized there was no place for treachery on this perilous crossing.

So fixed was his attention upon his objective that Dark-end even sidled over to give her room beside him. The Life-Tree looked as though it was dying, with occasional explosions marring its surface. Great chunks of rubble broke free here and there to fall into the sea or onto the crowded waterfront. Despite the increasing size of the waves, the coxswain and crew negotiated the storm-tossed sea with skill and they continued to make steady progress.

Closer still to the Hylar home they observed numerous lake boats bobbing in the rough swell around the fringe of the waterfront. Most of these craft were offshore, rocking in the turbulent waters.

"I see my fleet waits for me," Darkend announced in triumph.

"Aye, lord," agreed Bairn. "Many boats, their crews no doubt prepared to answer your every command."

But as their boat drew nearer to the bobbing fleet, both Bellowsmokes could see that there was no pattern to the deployment, that these boats had no crews. Scrap evidence of once-proud dark dwarf lives littered the decks. Empty armor and helmets rattled through the boats, oars flopped loosely in their brackets. The thane groaned in dismay and fear, recoiling from the horrible omen.

"They're all gone!" gasped one rower, as he looked into the empty vessels that bobbed and drifted on all sides of them.

Darkend whacked the dwarf's head with his gauntlet, but not before all of the terrified crew also had seen that the other boats were eerily vacant.

"To shore, you oafs!" commanded the thane, and the rowers pressed ahead with grim urgency, finally bringing the big lake boat gliding up to one of the few surviving docks.

"See, Brother! Your best plans are half-baked, subject to failure!" hissed Garimeth, as Darkend glanced around in horror. "Without my help-and that of my daemon warrior-you will never succeed!"

Even before their boat landed they noticed that the shore teemed with dark dwarves-most thankfully alive. But the none of the troops were making any effort to press the attack. Several hurried forward to take the bow and stern lines or to help the thane climb up to the stone wharf.

"Who's in command here?" Darkend demanded. A captain rushed forward as Garimeth hastened after her brother. "Why aren't you attacking?"

"There are no Hylar within reach, lord. The rockfall has cut off our approach. It collapsed the bottom of the enemy's lift and wiped out the defenders on Level Two."

"What do you mean? What about the higher levels?" Darkend was full of fear, thinking that all of his plans were coming to nothing. There would be no triumph in capturing a ruined slag heap of molten stone!

"Don't know. But the Hylar are sealed off from above. The rock melted right down the transport shaft!" blubbered the terrified commander.

"Then get your men digging!"

"I have, lord. They're making progress, but it will take time!"

"What about our allies, the Theiwar?" asked Darkend quickly.

"Their thane is nearby, sire, mustering his troops just to the west of here."

Darkend turned to his sister. "Go find Pounce Quick-spring and bring him to me."

"Aye, lord," she agreed, more than willing to remove herself from her brother's presence.

Garimeth soon located the Theiwar thane. Pounce Quickspring was shouting angrily at his troops, but his clan also had been stymied by the same solid stone obstacle that was blocking the Daergar advance. He greeted the dwarfwoman suspiciously, but finally agreed to accompany her to Darkend. They joined the Daergar reinforcements on a wide, clear section of the docks. Pounce Quickspring looked expectantly at the Daergar thane.

"Now is the time to reveal our new war partner. Garimeth, summon the Chaos beast!" the Daergar thane ordered his sister. His voice nearly caught in his throat, for he dreaded the humiliation that would result if she failed. Pounce Quickspring and many of the Daergar dubiously looked to the sky.

Garimeth turned her voice and her thoughts to the sky, speaking once again in that strange language enabled by the Helm of Tongues. She called to Zarak Thuul for long minutes, sending forth a message of her own adoration and desire, unaware of the passage of time as her emotions grew and she reached out, pleading and beseeching and cajoling.

A spot of brightness appeared in the subterranean sky, curling around the shoulder of the Life-Tree. The glowing form quickly grew into a blazing ball of fire that spilled toward the Hybardin waterfront.

Primus spread his vast, flaming wings and dipped down, coming to rest before the astonished dark dwarves. The brightness of his fiery visage was exceedingly painful in the eyes of the assembled warriors.

Even dismounted, Zarak Thuul stood as tall as a large man and towered over the dwarves. His face was blank, stony, yet handsome in a perverse sort of way. His crimson eyes flamed, the light an eerie color against that perfect blackness. Making no sound nor showing any expression, the daemon warrior moved over to Garimeth. Then he dropped to his belly, and gently kissed her feet. Finally he rose again to stand tall and magnificent, master of chaos and lord of the underworld.

In that visage Garimeth discerned images of other shapes as well, a vision of unspeakable blackness, and then a great, undead serpent draped in tendrils of festering flesh. An awareness of his awesome power once again made her knees weak, and she was his to command. The Helm gave her the ability to share his consciousness, to thrill to the awareness of his being.

"Please, my daemon, please know me, and grant me the freedom to sail on your power."

She murmured the words as if they were a prayer, too quiet for any of the dwarves to hear. But the flaming eyes of Zarak Thuul flared more brightly than ever, and she knew that he had heard and he was pleased.

She realized the creature's presence greatly exalted her stature in the eyes of Darkend and the other dark dwarves. This knowledge gave her a sudden, powerful thrill.

"All our pieces are in place," Darkend ventured to say, gesturing to the multitude of dwarves amassed along the waterfront to either side. "Let our great attack begin."

Garimeth translated his words into that wretched, profane tongue. The monstrous warrior stood and listened impassively. Then she repeated Darkend's statement, seeking some sign of acknowledgment, all the time feeling the twisting pleasure and longing desire course throughout her being.

"Ask him this," Darkend was saying. "Can he create a route through the stone whereby our legions can climb upward and strike at the very core of Hybardin?"

Garimeth asked the question, following her brother's exact wording. Though Zarak Thuul gave no outward sign that he heard or understood, she sensed his pleasure with the violent command and his intent to obey. She turned back to the thanes and explained. "He agrees."

"I didn't hear anything," Pounce Quickspring declared skeptically.

"He told me alone," Garimeth said, with a meaningful glance at her brother.

"My sister speaks the truth," said Darkend. "She can communicate with him via this magical device. Surely you can see that!"

"Very well. Let the attack begin!" barked the thane of the Theiwar as he turned to lead his troops.

Immediately the dark dwarf companies were mustered away from the waterfront and they began climbing one of the large piles of rubble that had been left when some of the upper portions of the Life-Tree had collapsed. That mound came into contact with a wall of the overhang, and it was there, Garimeth said, that Zarak Thuul would create a passageway.

A familiar figure, robed all in black, emerged from among the Daergar gathered at the edge of the water, and Darkend and Garimeth were quick to recognize the assassin, Slickblade.

"Ah, Slickblade. I assume this means that Tarn Bellow-granite is dead?" The thane shot his sister a look of cruel triumph, pleased to see Garimeth's face tighten, her lips trembling slightly as she made an effort to control herself.

"Sadly, my lord, no."

"My son lives?" demanded Garimeth.

"Aye, for the time being." The assassin's voice was devoid of emotion. "I tried to follow him, and I believe he has come here, to the city of the Hylar."

"Then find him now and kill him!" screamed Darkend.

"I am making every effort, my thane. The half-breed stole a boat from Daerforge with gulley dwarf assistance, and used it to make his way here. I believe that he is somewhere in the vicinity, perhaps skulking around on this very shore.

"Wait." The thane turned to Garimeth. "Where would he go first? Would he come here to the waterfront?"

"I don't know," she lied, certain that Tarn would in fact move mountains to make his way back to the city of his birth at this time of crisis.

"Don't trust her, lord. She deceives you!"

"Be aware that your own trust may be misplaced," she retorted, with a meaningful look at Slickblade.

She could tell by a foray into her brother's mind that he didn't believe her about Tarn, but he couldn't see any way to prove that she was lying either. Slickblade melted away into the shadows, but by then Darkend was distracted by the upcoming battle plans, and Tarn was temporarily forgotten.

The fire dragon rose up on wings dripping flame and spark, scalding dozens of dark dwarves who were too slow to get out of the monster's path. With the daemon warrior riding between its shoulders, the dragon ascended, circled once, then flew into the side of Hybardin's stony pillar. The fiery beast showed no hesitation as it swept against the solid rock.

Immediately some of that stone tumbled away, and Darkend cursed bitterly as dozens more of his force were crushed by the rockfall. Other remnants of the dark dwarf army scattered in confusion. Before they could reform the monstrous attacker was out of sight. Behind, however, it left a wide cave, remarkably smooth-floored, which curved at a gentle angle upward toward the high levels of Hybardin.

After reforming their scattered troops into ranks and companies, the two dark dwarf thanes and Garimeth led the army into the newly bored passage.

The final attack had begun.

Interlude of Chaos

Zarak Timid rode Primus into the stone, and the bedrock of Hybardin parted before him like waters breaking before the prow of a sleek ship. Wings of fire seared through the layers of sediment, rock sizzled into dust, and smoke billowed in a great cloud as the mighty serpent forged ahead, digging, driving, boring upward into the great Hylar city.

Primus brayed into the bedrock, and the daemon warrior laughed, relishing the power and the destruction, all the while, fondly thinking of the dwarven female who had sent him such relentless and powerful appeals. She was intriguing, that one, undeniably intriguing and tempting. What was it that made her so different, so appealing? He didn't know, but he realized keen pleasure in working her will. There was one who was worthy, who brandished the unusual power to motivate him. In her name gladly would he destroy.

Despite his glee, the daemon warrior took care to keep the grade of the ascending spiral shallow enough for the footbound creatures to follow, for this was as the dwarven female had wished it. Weapons held ready, cries of war echoing from a thousand throats, the horde of Daergar and Theiwar marched in Zarak Thuul's wake, led by that entrancing female. In other places the shadow-wights wafted upward in their own way, following the surface of broken rubble, clinging to pipes and shafts and debris as they slithered over faces of bare rock.

Soon the daemon warrior and his fire dragon burst from solid rock into an inhabited upper level of the Hylar city. Some of the more foolish dwarves stayed to fight, and they died in cinder and ash without putting a single blade to Zarak Thuul or his mighty mount. The others turned and fled, vanishing into the maze of their city's Level Three.

Now Zarak Thuul and Primus flew down the wide avenues, crashing through walls and buildings, igniting fires that burst from the rock itself and soon filled all this level with a thick, choking smoke. Back and forth they flew, scorching their way through the maze, exulting in the powers of raw destruction and pure, unadulterated chaos. The killings were plenty, the dwarves burning and dying in numbers gratifying to behold.

Sometimes, for the sheer pleasure of power, Zarak Thuul dismounted from his blazing steed and swelled his body into monstrous size, striding through the streets in the guise of a great, skeletal dragon. In this form, devoid of flesh but grinning with razor-sharp fangs, the daemon warrior brought death to any who opposed him.

Then the blazing dragon and his master continued on, boring again into the rock, climbing higher and higher in the Life-Tree. As a worm might bore through the rotten wood in the trunk of some forest giant, Zarak Thuul and his dragon ascended upward into the highest reaches of the Hylar city.

And like that worm, the fire dragon was an agent of weakness and decay, twin factors that in any tree must eventually bring about its fall.