Until he looked toward his own shore in the shadows below. Then his stomach lurched to the sight of boats, more than he could count, clustering in the darkness at the base of the watch station pillar. The closest of the vessels teemed with metal-clad Delvers and was just drawing up to the dock. Another craft was already beached beside the small wharf.
That silver hull was empty, and Karkald nearly sobbed aloud as he saw movement on the steeply pitched stairway above the dock.
There were the Unmirrored, a column of deadly warriors moving stealthily upward. They climbed toward the portico, toward the den…
Toward Darann.
S he lay with her eyes closed, too tired-or too bored-to move. She knew what awaited when she finally crawled out of bed: the dark, empty den. Karkald would be busy on his rounds for hours, and until his return there would be nothing, absolutely nothing, for her to do.
So instead she stayed in bed, longing for Axial, remembering the life she had left behind in order to come to this forlorn outpost. Her family was there in the city, her parents and her sisters, and her elder brother and all his stalwart companions of the Royal Guard. She thought fondly of the great balls, the pounding of ritual drums, the frantic dancing that would last for the duration of a full interval or longer.
It was not that she didn’t love Karkald-she did, very much. Hadn’t she loved him enough to come here, to leave all that she knew to spend her cycles with this sturdy, quiet watchman? He was strong and wise, and tender in ways that she had never known. Of course she loved him.
But even so, it was quiet here, and so dark, and there were times like this, when boredom and loneliness seemed to form a morass from which she could never escape. In the city she could have broken this mood in one of the huge libraries, reading the histories of the First Circle. Or perhaps she would have lost herself in some of the fantastic tales of the early dwarven explorers, those who had visited Nayve to return with tales of exotic elves, a bright “sun,” and the Worldweaver’s Loom rising at the Center of Everything.
It had been a long time since dwarves ventured so far from home, of course-since the discovery of coolfyre, Axial had offered anything that the Seers could desire. Now Darann wondered if perhaps it was the lights of the city that she missed the most. It was ironic to think of it, but here, on a watch station with six massive beacons of coolfyre, her life was spent in shadow and solitude. The great lamps cast their beams over the Darksea, but spilled little of their cheery illumination onto the shores of the island. In Axial, conversely, there were small lamps every twoscore paces along the city streets, and more light would spill from the windows of inns and shops. Rivers of brightness marked the paths up the steep pillars that rose here and there in the city, the great columns that supported the roof of the Underworld. From those cliffs one could view great stretches of the fyre-brightened city. Dens carved into the walls of these pillars were considered prime real estate in Axial, and indeed, Darann’s family lived in such a multi-room penthouse more than a quarter-mile above the city floor.
This must be what life was like for the elves of the Fourth Circle, she thought. No purpose, nothing to compel one out of bed on awakening. She felt a flash of sympathy for those simple people, but by the time she had drawn another sighing breath her attentions had become more localized. She was feeling sorrow only for herself.
She drew a deeper sigh and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Opening her eyes, she blinked against the utter darkness of the sleeping chamber. She thought about firing the lamp, but didn’t have the energy for that much work. Instead, she decided that she would get up and go out to the portico to wait for Karkald. While she was out there, she could at least look across the water at the lights of Axial-though she knew that might only make her more homesick.
Before she could kick her legs over the side of the bed she heard a sound from elsewhere in the den. She frowned, knowing it was too soon for Karkald to be returning. Or had she slept longer than she thought?
Again the sound was repeated, a long, snuffling inhalation of breath. Whoever breathed was trying to be quiet, Darann sensed. Still, there was an alertness, an urgency to that sniffing noise that suggested someone was trying to study his surroundings by smell.
Delver! The notion brought with it a sick sense of fear. Her eyes were wide open now, and she cursed herself for not lighting the lamp a few minutes earlier. As quietly as possible she lifted the covers off and slipped her feet onto the cold, stone floor. Soundlessly she sniffed the air, trying to smell anything different… Perhaps she was wrong, and it was only Karkald she’d heard, coming back. Maybe he had caught a cold, and his breathing was congested…
Yet her hopes were dashed against the reality of a strange odor, a bitter scent of metal and sweat. She gulped and tried to still her trembling, certain now that a Delver Dwarf had somehow found his way into her home. And where there was one of the Unmirrored, there were bound to be others-the creatures could only reach this island by boat, and that meant at least a score of the wretched killers.
Her next thought was of Karkald, and it spiked her awareness with sheer terror. If Karkald had been surprised by the Blind Ones, then he was already dead. If not, he would be coming for her-but could he know of the menace that had already penetrated their very home?
Finally she moved to practical questions: What could she use as a weapon? Where should she go? She thought of the lantern and in the next instant the oil-filled jar was in her hand. She found a match and struck the tip, wincing as the harsh sound jarred the darkness. At the same time the smell of burning sulphur permeated the den-and there was a sharp intake of breath from the next room. She had been heard.
With the lantern aglow she looked across the chamber, to the main doorway. Dark shapes moved there, several Delvers charging toward the sound and smell of the lamp. To the side was the narrow passage that connected with the water room and, beyond, the corridor leading back to the kitchen. In that instant-she had no more time-Darann made her plan.
Two hideous figures rushed through the door into the bedchamber. In a single glance she took in the blank, eyeless face masks, the triple-bladed daggers clutched in each hand. Locating her by sound, one of the Delvers slashed his way toward her, crossing his lethal weapons with lightning quickness back and forth in front of his armored chest.
The Seer woman threw the lamp, hard, against the floor between the two attackers. Instantly the ceramic shattered and a splash of oil swept around the burning wick. Flames leapt onto the legs and bellies of the two Delvers, who screamed and dropped their blades as they desperately swiped at their fiery armor.
Darann was already running, into the water room with its stout door of sheet steel. She slammed the door shut and slapped the lock into place before running out the other side, to find herself in the kitchen. Immediately she stopped, listening, smelling, trying to see through the murky air of the den.
Some light spilled from the fire that had spread to engulf the bedchamber. The brightness was enhanced by the appearance of a burning Delver who stumbled from that chamber to sprawl, flailing and crying out, across the floor of the main room. Another Blind One, cursing the noise and hysteria, slashed his daggers into the burning form of his cohort. The injured dwarf cried out, then groaned as the attacker, locating the neck, drove the blade in a thrust that instantly silenced his shrieking companion.
Darann’s arrival in the kitchen hadn’t been heard or smelled yet. She counted five or six Delvers poking through the main room, grasping at her belongings, jabbing at the walls, finding and breaking down the doors to the storage room and the pantry.