Crystal crossed the chamber and joined him on the edge of the bed. When she lightly touched her husband on his broad, muscular back, he jerked slightly as though startled. She realized that his whole body was alive with jangled nerves. His violet eyes darted nervously under drooping lids. A muscle along his jaw writhed, setting his beard into motion.
“Tor’s a strong, healthy boy, like his father,” she said gently. “There is nothing to fear.”
“I never feared anything in my life,” Tarn said angrily. “Until now. Until I became a father. Something terrible is going to happen. I can feel it in my bones, in the roots of my teeth. And it has to do with this boy, our boy, our only son.” He rose from the bed and walked to the dressing table. He stood before the table a moment, looking at the cosmetic bottles and vials of perfume that had been upset by the groundquake. He raised his hand as though about to sweep them all to the floor, but he stopped himself at the last instant. His hand sank to his side. He turned.
“And now the groundquake and the crack in Tor’s nursery. It’s all straight out of my dream, but what does it mean?” he moaned in frustration.
“That’s a question for the philosophers and the engineers,” Crystal said. “The only thing you have to worry about now is making sure your people are safe, their fears dispelled. Now get dressed and prepare yourself to do your duty. You can’t let your fears show.” A bustle and rattle of armor outside the door announced the arrival of Ghash Grisbane and Tarn’s escort of guards.
“Tor and I will be fine,” she said. “I won’t let anything happen to him.”
Surrendering to her will with a nod and a sigh, Tarn began to dress.
26
His escort of six Klar guards followed him to the gate. Ghash ordered it opened, and outside they found a crowd already gathering. The relief of seeing their king emerge spread visibly though the crowd, like a pebble thrown into a pond. Young and eager to prove himself, Ghash barged forward to prevent anyone from coming too close to Tarn.
Yet the crowd greeted him with friendliness that barely covered their nervousness. Tarn resented them only a little, because in his heart he knew the fear that they felt. Yesterday, most of the people at his gate wouldn’t have wished him a good morning. Now they were gladly shouting his name. There was no getting through them easily. Tarn ordered Ghash to wait while he heard them out. The Klar captain sighed and nervously fingered his axe while standing close behind his king, his eyes scanning the crowd.
“First of all, is anyone injured?” Tarn asked in a booming voice.
A chorus of cries answered him.
“Grinder’s mother cut her foot on a piece of broken crockery.”
“I’ve bruised my hip from where I fell out of bed. I thought it was only my husband snoring!”
“There’s a crack in my wall and now my door won’t close.”
Tarn raised his hands for silence. “We can deal with the damages later. The main thing now is to see to the injured and to make sure everyone is accounted for. Send Grinder’s mother to the healers. Do you need someone to look at that hip?”
“It’s nothing serious, my lord,” the matronly dwarf woman answered with a smile and a curtsy. She gathered her children and turned away. “I’ll go check on my neighbors.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Tarn shouted. “Everyone see to your neighbors. If no one is hurt, check your own homes for damage. I am going to the Council Hall now. If you have any problems or concerns, bring them to me there and I’ll address them swiftly.”
The crowd began to break up. Tarn and his guards slowly made their way through the people until they were into a clearer street. All along the way, in every neighborhood and market, they attracted a crowd. Again and again, he stopped and urged the citizens to see to the welfare of their neighbors, to take care of one another until some order and plan could be put into place. If they had serious and immediate concerns, they should follow him to the Council Hall. And though crowds gathered around them wherever they went, Tarn was relieved to see that only a few were following him to the Council Hall, and these seemed mostly to be the curious and the bored.
Tarn saw few signs of serious damage anywhere along the way; a toppled lamppost here, a jagged crack in the pavement there. One street near the Council Hall had flooded when the sewer pipe backed up, but engineers were already busy effecting repairs. At another place, the way was blocked by a herd of lowing cave oxen who had escaped their pen when its walls crumbled. Children stood in doorways, staring around sleepy-headed but excited by all the commotion; their mothers and fathers hovered near, reliving their experiences with their neighbors.
Tarn took the straightest route possible to the Council Hall, but all the interruptions and detours meant a considerable delay. By the time he arrived, he found Jungor Stonesinger there ahead of him, already holding audience on the Council steps outside, a throng of dwarves filling the plaza. Tarn heard Jungor’s voice, deep and resonant, even before he saw him.
“There is nothing to fear,” Jungor was saying. “All indications are that it was only a small groundquake. Such things are to be expected, every once in a while, even here in Thorbardin. Everyone should just go home and go back to bed. We’ll take care of everything.”
Growling a curse, Ghash Grisbane cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “The king is here! Make way for the king!”
The crowd split apart like the wave before the bow of a boat. Here at the Council Hall, the faces that greeted the king were not so friendly as those in his own neighborhood. Many stared at him as though he were an unwelcome intruder rather than the king. What was more, Tarn was the last of the Council Members to arrive. All the other thanes were already gathered on the steps—even Grumple Nagfar, the wayward thane of the Aghar.
As Tarn approached the steps, a wry smile twisted Jungor’s acid-deformed face. “Ah, good! The king has come at last,” he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “I just sent my master of scouts, Ferro Dunskull, to look for you.”
“You needn’t have bothered,” Tarn answered coldly as he mounted the steps. Glint Ettinhammer greeted him with a smile and an apologetic shrug. Shahar Bellowsmoke ignored him, while Brecha Quickspring glanced at him briefly before haughtily turning away. Rughar Delvestone sat on a step at Jungor’s feet, scribbling like a secretary in a large black logbook spread upon his lap. The Hylar thane stood above them all in his usual tattered robes and wizard staff and one-eyed hideousness. Unlike the other thanes, Tarn included, whose hair and beards were still rumpled from sleep, Jungor looked like he had never even gone to bed. Indeed, it made Tarn wonder, what had the Hylar thane been doing that he should still be up at this horn—of the night?
Tarn climbed to a step higher than where Jungor stood, then swept his eyes round, casting a swift glance over the crowd before turning his attention to Jungor. Though he said nothing, his baleful gaze told Jungor to step aside. Jungor returned his stare with a cold eye, then bowed, moving aside for the king. But the smirk on his face promised that he would not always do so.
Satisfied, Tarn crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Now, what do we know? Were many folk injured? Anyone seriously?”
Thane Ettinhammer stepped up, elbowing past the Hylar thane. “So far, there have only been reports of minor injuries. The houses of healing are still taking a count, but to this point, we seem to have come through this relatively unscathed.”
“We should begin taking an account of the damages to buildings,” Tarn said.
“We had already begun to do so before you arrived,” Jungor said briskly, turning to the Daewar thane sitting on the step below him. “Thane Delvestone, please continue to record the reports as they come in.”