The Last Thane

Chapter Six
All the Thane's Men

Baker Whitegranite looked up from his desk to see the familiar form of Axel Slateshoulders, veteran captain of many an epic campaign, standing at the door of the thane's office and workroom.

"Come in, Axel, please."

Trying to conceal the twinge in his aching stomach, Baker rose and crossed to the door to take the hand of the grizzled, sturdy dwarf who limped stiffly into the room. "I take it you got my message?"

"Aye," grunted Slateshoulders. "Though not before the whole city was abuzz with rumors and fairy tales. What's the word from the thane?"

Was there a subtle jibe in the words? Baker wondered. Axel had been one of Hornfel's most stalwart warriors and had made no effort to hide his disappointment when the thane had turned down his venerable lieutenant's request to be allowed to join the expeditionary force. Of course, any logical dwarf could see that Axel's bad foot, swollen and infected with irreversible gout, clearly prevented him from taking the field. Yet on this matter Axel had declined to be logical, and he had not hesitated to let Baker know that he regarded the bookish scholar as a less than ideal replacement as thane.

Still, Baker had need of advice on military matters, and Axel Slateshoulders was undoubtedly the foremost warrior remaining in Hybardin. So Baker had learned to bite his tongue, ignoring the man's little arrogances in order to accept his counsel.

Briefly Baker repeated the news from Hornfel's letter.

"The important thing is to keep this secret from the other clans," Axel said after clumping back and forth across the office.

"Why?" Baker wondered, standing before his desk. "I should think we'd want everyone to be on the alert. If there is an eruption of Chaos, an invasion of Krynn as Hornfel seems to indicate, we must all be ready to meet it."

Axel looked at the acting thane as if he couldn't quite comprehend the extent of Baker's stupidity. "So the Daergar, Theiwar, and Klar should all be told that our army is now gone, perhaps for years-even forever? What do you think they'd do?"

"Well, if they hear about the danger, they'd make ready to defend themselves." The answer seemed obvious to Baker, and he was insulted by the venerable warrior's condescending tone.

"Don't be a fool!" snapped Slateshoulders. "They'd turn their armies against us. Within a week Hybardin would be under siege, and I wouldn't give a thin copper coin for our chances."

"Surely you're exaggerating!"

"Look, Baker." Axel drew a deep breath, and the thane could tell that he was trying, with visible difficulty, to force himself to speak calmly. "The hostile clans have been waiting centuries for a chance like this. What I'm saying is, we can't give them cause to think they'd win if they attacked us now. And we can't afford to give them an excuse to mobilize their own armies."

"What about the Daewar?" Baker argued. "They've always stood beside us against internal threats. And their army is still in the kingdom!"

"Think about that little contradiction. You say they've always stood beside us. But when Thane Hornfel sought their help for this summer's campaign, they were nowhere to be found, right?"

"True."

"And do you think they'd lay down their lives to defend a Hylar city?"

"At least I can ask Gneiss Truesilver," Baker argued, bringing up the name of the thane of the Daewar who had been a friendly acquaintance for many decades. "I'm to meet him today. He's in Hybardin on some trading matters right now."

"As you wish, but don't get your hopes up," replied Axel.

"Why?"

Axel took a breath and spoke bluntly. "I've heard they have a real problem with a new cult that has been growing among their people. They're listening to some prophet who claims that the Daewar have to excise themselves from 'wicked Thorbardin.' "

"Yes, Thane Truesilver told me something about this fellow. 'Stonehand,' he's called. I know he's creating a lot of problems."

"My point, exactly," the veteran declared.

"How many troops do we have in the city now?" the thane asked Axel. He felt slightly embarrassed that he didn't know the answer off the top of his head.

"Troops? Like to none, I'd say. We have a lot of women and boys who'll fight bravely-they're Hylar, after all- but precious few, if any, who could be called proper soldiers."

"Your daughter, Belicia Felixia. She's been training recruits, hasn't she?"

Axel Slateshoulders's tone softened, and his eyes glowed with momentary pride. "Aye, Belli's an able captain, that one. And, truth told, there's a few more of her sisters-in-arms that give us a veteran cadre-a small cadre, mind you."

"Thank Reorx that Hornfel wanted only the men," Baker said, almost to himself, before turning his attention back to Axel. "I want you to use that cadre and recruit all the able-bodied youngsters that we have. I put you in command of the Hylar Home Army."

Axel's eyes flashed with a trace of his old martial spirit. "Aye, that's a start. Belicia's got a small group almost ready down at the docks. D'you know we don't even have a decent waterfront garrison?"

"Er, yes," Baker lied. "I had heard something about that."

"Well, good. Everyone knows that's the key place to start. It's where any attack from the other clans will have to land. Anyway, she's got a company down there, and they're almost whipped into shape."

"My own son, Tarn Bellowgranite, is still in the city. Perhaps he can be of use as well."

"Of course," Axel replied. "He can swing an axe with the best of them." The veteran squinted, as if trying to read Baker's thoughts. "I always felt you were a little hard on the boy. Maybe this is just the sort of thing he needs."

Baker brushed away the criticism, though not before he'd felt its sting. "You are in command. Use whomever you think will be of use."

"Very well. I'll get right to work." Axel pivoted on his good foot and limped toward the door. Before leaving, he turned back. "You did right, Thane. That's the kind of decisiveness we need in times like this."

"You don't say? Well, thank you," Baker replied. He felt warmed by the unexpected praise. "Keep me posted, won't you?"

"Of course." The door closed behind him, but Axel's voice, bellowing for the quartermaster and several of his loyal sergeants, came through the barrier until the lame dwarf's awkward march took him through the gates of the Thane's Atrium.

Baker tried to direct his attention to some of the documents requiring a decision, but the words blurred into meaningless shapes and he finally set the papers aside in disgust. Fortunately he was saved from further struggles by the arrival of the Daewar thane.

"Gneiss Truesilver, my friend, how are you?" Baker asked, as the solicitous attendants offered light-bearded dwarf ale and a comfortable chair.

"In all truth, I have been much better," said the Daewar, a frown darkening his normally jovial features. "Though it is not my own health that suffers, but that of my clan."

"I am sorry," Baker offered awkwardly, startled by his counterpart's bluntness. He realized things in Daebardin must be very bad indeed, if Gneiss Truesilver admitted this much.

"There have been some rumors," he continued, "but we don't know the extent of your troubles. If there's help we can offer-"

"Thank you. I know you are sincere. But the tragedy is that it's an internal rot-Daewar pitted against Daewar, and blood close to being shed." Gneiss took a long pull at his ale, as Baker waited patiently. "It was started by that damned maniac Severus Stonehand. He's been preaching about doom and disaster; says there's storms of Chaos on the horizon. Now he's got half Daebardin believing him, ready to move right out of here. The other half is just about ready to throw them out."

Baker felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold hearth. "Storms of Chaos? Did he really say that?"

Gneiss scrutinized the Hylar thane. "Yes, over and over until I'm hearing it in my sleep! Why?"

In a rush Baker explained about the letter from Glade Hornfel. "He used those exact words to describe the strange sky, the portents that seemed terrifying even to him!"

"I have to get back to my city at once," Gneiss declared, rising to leave.

It was with difficulty that Baker brought up the subject he had wanted to discuss with the Daewar thane, "Hornfel took every able-bodied warrior we have. There are some among us who fear that the dark dwarves will take advantage of our weakness to seize the power they have coveted for centuries."

"It is a danger," Gneiss agreed cautiously.

"I need to know about your army if the dark dwarves strike. Can you aid us in the defense of Hybardin?" Baker suspected he already knew the answer.

"I'm afraid my army is as divided as the rest of my clan," said Gneiss sadly. "It grieves me to say it, but you Hylar will have to fend for yourselves."

"I understand."

The two thanes parted as they had greeted each other, friends over the span of a century. Each burdened with problems that were his alone to bear.

As soon as Truesilver was gone, Baker felt a rising surge of melancholy. He longed for nothing more than a chance to light a bright reading lamp and to sit in his favorite chair with the Helm of Tongues over his head. But of course, there was no time.

Unless he made time. Suddenly decisive, Baker made his way out of the Thane's Atrium and through the gate of the King's Wall that divided Level Ten into defensible blocks. He walked steadily to the lift station at the center of the level, where four broad avenues came together, and there the thane stood aside to allow a flock of noble Hylar ladies to enter before him.

These dwarven matrons were dressed in fine gowns of spun flax, and each wore a dazzling array of golden chains and bracelets, as well as rings and brooches that winked brightly with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. The buzz of their conversation quickly faded as they recognized the thane. From the looks of pity and speculative appraisal he received Baker guessed they had been discussing the recent departure of his wife. Nevertheless, they curtsied in unison as he stepped into the wide cage of the lift, and he managed to bow with proper decorum. They rode in awkward silence to the next level, where the females departed. Baker flushed to the sound of giggling laughter as the lift carried him up and out of sight.

At Level Twenty-eight, Baker got off the lift. The station was a wide gallery, lined with stone columns and alive with the sounds of running water. Two fountains, one at each end of the hall, spumed a constant shower of spray, while a long reflecting pool divided the gallery down the middle. Bright lanterns washed the area in light, and the scent of dark-thriving mossblossoms sweetened the air. Baker had always thought this one of the most beautiful places in Hybardin though now he might as well have been blind for all the notice he took of the splendor.

Wrapped in the cloak of his gloom he crossed the gallery and plodded down the connecting avenues, passing the gates to many other noble manors as he walked the blocks leading to his own house, on the outer fringe of the level. It was equipped with a cherished balcony overlooking the sea. But that balcony was not his destination now. Instead he went to the side door, into the coolness of his garden, and for a short time he walked the pathway among the ferns. He let the glowing waters surround his feet, soothing his spirit as they always did. For a short time even his stomach felt a little better.

The double doors in the outer wall whisked open a fraction of a heartbeat before Baker could reach for the latch. Unsurprised, the thane stepped across the threshold and stood in the entryway of the house.

"Greetings, my lord." Vale stepped out from behind the door and bowed. Blinking his watery eyes, the servant took Baker's woolen cloak.

"Thank you, Vale." There was some comfort in the loyal attendant's familiar alertness. In tunic and boots, Baker moved toward his own office. "And Vale, send for my son."

"Right away, lord." The servant's eyes widened before he nodded in eager acceptance. "I'll send a courier to his apartments and another to the dock. I know he spends a lot of time there."

"Good, yes. Do what needs to be done," the thane replied, feeling a twinge of chagrin at the thought that he himself seemed to know less about the activities of his son then everyone else.

Baker closed the door to his study and let the familiar atmosphere of his own private chamber comfort him. The fire in his belly still seethed, as it always seemed to do, but there was peace in the silence, the cool stillness, of his abode. He was glad to be back on Level Twenty-eight, far above the thane's official quarters. Here at least it was possible for him to imagine he was far away from the thane's problems as well. For the first time he felt the absence of his wife as a relief, and he took some pleasure in walking from room to room without fearing the sound of her harping voice or brittle sarcasm.

The matters of government would rise up again, but for now Baker could comfort himself with a few pleasant hours spent amid his ancient scrolls. He found them on the desk in his study, the frail parchments protected by tubes of ivory. They had come from an ancient cavern recently discovered and excavated between Levels Nineteen and Twenty. The miner who had uncovered them had suggested they might have been there for a thousand years or more.

Baker's first investigations had confirmed these were indeed the work of Chisel Loremaster, the cherished chronicler of dwarven history. The words were written in the ancient script of the scions. Fortunately, the Helm of Tongues had untangled the arcane language, magically laying it out for Baker in words as clear as modern Hylar. He had learned that the site of the Grotto did in fact lay somewhere within the Life-Tree. Particularly intriguing had been a new piece of information, a suggestion that the ancient dragon lair was not empty. He remembered the text vividly:

The Gray gem's power of Chaos is caught within the Platinum Egg and such power shall be unleashed when the egg is raised by the true ruler of the dwarves.

There was more, much more. Now he went to the wardrobe where he had recalled leaving the helm, then frowned as he saw with surprise that the closet was empty. Not only was the helm missing; he realized that Garimeth's cloaks and boots had been removed. Of course, he had not yet become used to her absence.

Returning to the study, Baker wondered if, in spite of his intentions, he had absently taken the helm down to the thane's quarters. But he was certain that it had been here, just a few days ago when he had been reading the scroll that was still flattened on his desk.

And then he understood.

"Garimeth!" He spat her name with the full awareness of this monstrous betrayal, a theft that struck at more than his person-it reached out to wound his family, to threaten his very legacy. She had taken the artifact out of spite, for she knew that her husband treasured it above all things. And doubtless she knew it could be useful to herself as well.

More significant to Baker than Garimeth's reasons for taking the artifact was the simple fact that the Helm of Tongues was gone. He collapsed wearily into his chair, completely unready to face the task of getting it back. Somehow he would possess it again, but for now he didn't see how. All the scrolls, the secrets of the ancients waiting only for his perusal, would have to wait.

He sat in silent misery for some time. His stomach ached badly enough to double him over in the chair.

"My lord?" Vale's deferential voice gently penetrated Baker's pensive gloom. "Young Master Tarn is here."

"Send him in, please." Baker sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to organize his thoughts.

"Hello, Father." Tarn stood in the doorway, his violet eyes regarding his father with an expression the elder dwarf could not read.

"Come in, Tarn, come in. Have a seat while Vale gets you something to drink."

"Thank you, but I'd rather stand."

Flushing, Baker stood and faced his son, biting back a sharp response with a considerable effort.

"Can I ask you something?" Tarn demanded.

"What is it?"

"I want to know what you're going to do."

"About what?" Baker replied, puzzled.

"About Mother, of course!"

"Do?" Baker glowered, his temper rising. "There's not much I can do, wouldn't you say? She left of her own will, after all."

"You drove her away!"

Baker gaped, stunned by the accusation. "You don't know what you're talking about!" he replied curtly. He pushed his glasses firmly onto his nose, glaring at his son.

"Yes I do. She was never welcomed here, never belonged to your Hylar society. I am one who can understand that, better than the rest of this stuck-up band of would-be nobles!"

"Any lack of welcome was her own doing. Garimeth didn't tolerate fools gladly, nor did she hesitate to call them fools to their faces. Such an attitude made it difficult to make friends with those same fools. Not that it ever seemed to bother her much."

"How do you know what bothered her?"

"Apparently I didn't," Baker said, slumping again in his chair. Ignoring his son, he rubbed his temples, then slammed his fist onto the table and stood up in sudden animation. "She took the Helm of Tongues-did you know that?"

"No, she wouldn't do that!" insisted the younger dwarf. His tone turned scornful. "You probably misplaced it again. Did you have your glasses on when you looked for it?"

Baker sighed, tired of the argument even though he felt certain he was right. "I do know that she did what she wanted when she wanted to do it. And the needs or wants of anyone else never figured into her decisions. Now, I've heard all I will tolerate from you on this topic. There are matters facing Thorbardin that make our quarrel seem less than petty. I would like to talk to you about them, if you will listen. Otherwise, you can take your leave."

Tarn glared wordlessly at his father, and Baker would not have been surprised to see the young dwarf turn and stalk from the chamber. But instead Tarn exhaled slowly, then nodded in mute acquiescence.

Baker told his son about the letter he had received from Thane Hornfel. "It sounds as though these forces of Chaos are a menace unlike anything Krynn has ever faced."

"Are you warning the other clans to be prepared?"

"Axel thinks we should keep the news secret from the dark dwarves, for now. He doesn't want to reveal our weakness to the rest of Thorbardin."

"He wouldn't. He's as purebred a Hylar as you can find."

Baker ignored the implied accusation. "And you-what would you do if the decision was yours?"

"I would tell them, of course. All of them. Daergar, Klar-even the Theiwar should know."

"And suppose they use the news as an excuse to mobilize, and then turn against us?"

"I don't think they will," Tarn asserted stubbornly.

Baker muttered a curse, profane even by dwarven standards. But he had decided, and though it rankled him to rely on Tarn, to ask him for help, he would proceed. "That's why I need you. I want you to go to Daerbardin, to carry my message of good will to the thane. You must warn him of the danger, try to convince him that this is truly a dire threat. And you must return to tell me if the Daergar begin to prepare to move against us."

Tarn's exotic eyes, the purple of a twilight in the evening sky, narrowed. Baker waited impassively, wondering what thoughts were going through the mind of this stranger who was his son.

"Father, I will go."

"Good. Make your preparations to leave at once. I'll appoint another emissary to speak to the Theiwar. The Klar, of course, will do whatever the Daergar say."

"Very well," Tarn agreed. "I can be ready to go in two shifts of the boat docks."

"All right. And Tarn…" Baker added as his son turned toward the door.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. And good luck."