The Aghar, otherwise known as gully dwarves, merited no recognized entrance of their own, though some said that the entrance to the catacombs beneath the temple counted as a seventh door. Certainly, gully dwarves came and went from the Council Hall at will, and through no door that anyone could observe.
Tarn entered the Grand Gallery from the portico and found it thronging with restless dwarves of every clan. The new Council Hall was considerably smaller than the old hall at the South Gate. That place had been built to house thousands of dwarves, while the new hall did well to contain more than five hundred. Those who were too poor or of too low a rank to obtain a seat within were forced to stand in the Grand Gallery or the portico outside and there they could listen to the Council’s proceedings from afar. Tarn had started a new Council Hall beneath the first level of Norbardin near the Shaft of Reorx, but it was not yet complete; in majesty and scope, it was intended to eventually rival the old Council Hall.
The hall was constructed like a great bowl, with six sets of stairs leading down from each entrance to a circular dais at the center. Concentric rings of benches surrounded the dais, climbing up the bowl’s sides. The six stairs divided the Council Hall into sections, and each section was occupied by the most important members of the six clans. Wealthy merchants and craftsmen, generals and captains, guild leaders and dwarves who had won fame or renown filled the benches. The Aghar section, however, was first come, first seated.
Eight chairs were arranged in abroad circle around the edge of the dais, facing inward—six for the thanes of the six clans, one chair for the king, and an empty chair for the unseen representative of the Kingdom of the Dead. Each of the six thanes’ chairs faced their own clan’s section across the dais, and each thane sat with his back to another clan. From the highest to the lowest: the Hylar thane, Jungor Stonesinger, sat with his back to the Aghar section of the audience. Looking like an old bag of dirty laundry, the Aghar thane, Grumple Nagfar, filled the chair before the Hylar section. Shahar Bellowsmoke, thane of the Daergar, nervously sat with his back to the unpredictable Klar audience, while the Klar thane, Glint Ettinhammer, cleaned his nails with a dagger and studiously ignored the black glares of the eighty or so Daergar behind him. Thane of the magic-using Theiwar clan, Brecha Quickspring sat in a chair which was within an easy axestroke of the Daewar clan. The Daewar thane, Rughar Delvestone, sat half turned in his chair so that he could keep one eye on the Theiwar behind his back.
The chair of the king of Thorbardin sat at the bottom of the Hylar stair and faced the entrance of the Kingdom of the Dead, to remind him that all dwarves are mortal. The eighth chair, the empty chair reserved for the dead, sat at the bottom of the stair leading from their door and faced the Hylar entrance and the king. This unique arrangement of chairs, with each thane sitting with his or her back to their traditional clan enemy, was the only new part of the design of the Council Hall and had been imposed at Tarn’s insistence, as a show of faith and brotherhood among all clans.
The ancient altar to Reorx—a great iron anvil on which a flame burned continually, remained at the center of the dais, not because the dwarves expected the temple to be used again one day (Reorx, like the other gods, had willingly departed Krynn in order to save it from Chaos), but because Tarn had never intended to make permanent use of the temple as the new Council Hall. For that reason, he had made no other alterations to the temple, and it stood much as it had since it was first built, uncounted centuries ago. And this was one of the few places that the forces of Chaos never defiled in their attack some forty years ago.
With regret swelling within his heart, Tarn passed through the Great Gallery and entered the Council Hall through the Hylar entrance. He paused at the top of the stairs for a moment. Five hundred silent dwarf countenances were intently turned upon him. He would rather have walked into the fire.
13
Jungor Stonesinger looked up from his musing as the crowd in the Council Hall grew silent. For the first time since he began his rise to the thanedom of the Hylar clan, his spies and informants had failed him. No one had been able to tell him what news—dire or otherwise—Tarn brought home with him from Qualinost. There were rumors aplenty, but Jungor knew that rumors were about as useful as a third boot. His own analysis of the situation as he understood it offered no firm conclusions.
He knew only that Tarn had returned with a small force mostly made up of soldiers from Pax Tharkas; he knew that Tarn brought with him several dozen dead and injured dwarves, and that he himself had been injured in some way, though not severely. But one could draw two completely contradictory conclusions from this:
That Tarn and the elves had been utterly defeated and Tarn was returning with his tail between his legs, bringing the few survivors and the bodies of those survivors who had died along the way. Or:
That Tarn and the elves had been utterly victorious, as evidenced by the low number of returning casualties. So great had been the victory, perhaps, that Tarn had replaced much of the garrison at Pax Tharkas with soldiers from his expeditionary army, and returned to Thorbardin with the Pax Tharkas garrison, many of whom had not been home in many months.
If the first was true, then where were the other dwarves of Tarn’s army? Jungor had a low opinion of Tarn Bellowgranite, considering him nothing but a vile half-breed. Daergar blood had never ruled Thorbardin until Tarn Bellowgranite sat on the throne. The Hylar blood that flowed in Tarn’s veins did nothing to offset the Daergar taint, at least in Jungor’s opinion. Tarn’s own mother had been a leader in the revolt against the last true thane of Thorbardin, Baker Whitegranite, Tarn’s own father, no less! Jungor’s opinion of Tarn was deeply colored by his clan prejudices, but even he did not believe Tarn so incompetent that he could lose his entire army. He dared not believe it. Such a disaster had not happened since the Dwarfgate Wars.
But if they had won and Beryl was defeated, why did Tarn seem so strangely subdued, like a vanquished hero returning home in disgrace? Jungor had received word of the curious reception at the gate, or lack of one. Tarn had personally seen to the disposition of the wounded in the houses of healing, meanwhile keeping the Council of Thanes and thousands of anxious dwarves awaiting his tidings. Why? Truly, a king must love the soldiers who follow him into battle, or he is not a king. But a king must also send soldiers to their deaths, knowing they will die. He cannot unhinge his mind in mourning for those who fulfill their destiny on the field of battle.
If there was one thing Jungor abhorred, it was uncertainty. He liked to have everything neatly ordered and planned. His own plan was to take the throne and unseat Tarn Bellowgranite and that had been in place for years, all carefully ordered, all neatly scripted with a patience to rival the gods’ own. Jungor was in no rush. He knew that, in time, he would be king.
Apparently, however, the first step had already gone awry, for Tarn had returned alive to Thorbardin. Thus Ferro Dunskull had failed him, and Jungor was deeply disappointed. Failure was not entirely unexpected, and he would not have been much of a thane if his entire scheme had hung on the competence of one Daergar, would it? Still, he was disappointed.