Tarn glowered at Jungor for a moment. “Then perhaps he could read to me what he has recorded so far,” he said through gritted teeth.
The Daewar thane looked up at Jungor, who nodded his assent. This, more than anything else, infuriated Tarn—that Rughar should seek permission from Jungor to follow the king’s order. Tarn’s cheeks flushed scarlet to his heard, and the hot blood throbbed so loudly in his ears that he barely heard Rughar’s voice.
“Engineers are still inspecting the transportation shafts. The entire Klar quarter of the Anvil’s Echo has been flooded to a depth of several inches, we’re not sure why. We’ve sent a team of engineers down to the first level to investigate a report of damage to the site of the new Council Hall, which is still under construction, as you know. Other than that, we seem to have suffered widespread but only minor damage to streets and buildings.”
“Thank you, Thane Delvestone,” Tarn growled. He stroked his beard for a moment, pondering his next move, then addressed the crowd. “I’m ordering that the engineers’ office remain open throughout the night, to assess damage reports and begin to recommend repairs. Anyone in need of medical assistance should report to the houses of healing on their level. I will remain here to observe and assist as needed.”
The crowd milled uncertainly, many of them staring up at Jungor, who silently leaned on his staff, his head bowed as though in thought. Tarn’s blood began to pound in his ears again. “Everyone, I order you to return to your homes,” he said a little too shrilly.
Jungor lifted his head and raised his hand, drawing everyone’s attention. The crowd grew silent. “Anyone in need of any assistance whatsoever should come by my warehouses in the Hylar quarter of the second level. I have been storing food, water, medicine, bandages, bedding, tools, and other supplies in preparation for just such an emergency as this. Those in need may draw from my stores free of charge.”
A cheer went up from the crowd. “I suggest that the other thanes return to their own quarters of the city to see to the needs of their people, especially Thane Ettinhammer, whose realm has been flooded. Everyone else should return home as the king suggests. What can be done is being done. We’ll know more in the morning.” Another cheer went up. The crowd began to disperse and the thanes hurried away to their homes.
Jungor turned and smiled up at the king. Tarn ground his teeth in frustration, but there was nothing he could say. Once again, Jungor had not directly challenged him, but had still somehow managed to wrest control from his grasp and leave him gaping like a landed fish. The people weren’t in serious need of medical supplies, food, or water. It had been, after all, only a minor groundquake. But by offering them that which they didn’t even need, Jungor had both managed to create a need in their minds and then satisfy it at the same time. Meanwhile, the king’s thorough, efficient, and practical manner of resolving this crisis had been greeted with less favor.
Seeing the king’s frustration, Jungor climbed to the step just below Tarn’s. Still smiling innocently, he said, “Perhaps you should return home as well, my king. There is nothing more for you to do here.”
Tarn clenched his fists, his beard quivering, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Crystal warning him—strike him and you give him the excuse he wants to act more boldly. Slowly, Tarn relaxed, and with a last baleful glare at the Hylar thane, he began to descend the steps, his thoughts already returning to his son. But a question niggled in his mind, like a worm on a hook. Why had Jungor been stockpiling supplies? What sort of disaster was he preparing for? Food, medicine, water, bandages, bedding—these were all things needed by refugees.
Or an army.
27
Ghash met Tarn at the bottom of the stair, his face grim. “Where to, m’lord?” he asked.
“Home,” Tarn answered shortly. Though most of the crowd had already left, a few remained behind in the temple courtyard, gathered in small groups talking about what had happened. Most fell silent as Tarn and his captain passed, and not a few shot disdainful glances their way. Ghash made a point of haughtily ignoring them, even when one group burst into laughter behind their backs. For once, Tarn wished his Klar captain would forget his manners and crack a few heads.
Having left the plaza surrounding the Council Hall, they turned north. Here, near one of the major transportation shafts that connected the various levels of the city, they found the houses of healing for the second level of Norbardin. Not far away stood Jungor’s warehouses, and from the intersection of two streets, Tarn could see the crowd that had already gathered to receive the distribution of goods. Though obviously not in dire need as a result of the groundquake, the dwarves were not about to pass up free blankets and food. Tarn could not help but think that Jungor was buying the favor of the populace.
But this did not concern Tarn so much at the moment. What more readily attracted his attention was the large number of people waiting in the street outside the houses of healing. Most bore only minor bruises and scrapes, and he saw no one with truly serious injuries. But there were far too many of them, and Tarn noted that most were Daergar or Klar. Fifty or more stood on the curb outside the door and the line stretched around the far corner.
Tarn turned aside and entered, Ghash hurrying in his wake. They found the lobby more crowded than the street, with dozens of dwarves angrily demanding attention for their wounds from the undermanned staff. Tarn glanced around until he spotted a young female Hylar wearing the white robe and brown belt of a healer’s apprentice. She was hurrying toward him with a tray of bandages balanced on one hand while she fended off the grasping hands of the patients who swarmed around her. Tarn pushed through until he reached her side, then took the tray from her hand and passed it to Ghash. “Distribute these,” he ordered. The Klar captain stared at him in confusion for a moment before lowering the tray to within the reach of those clamoring around him.
“Wait just a moment. Those are for the doctor!” the apprentice healer shouted angrily. Tarn turned back to her, and it was only then that she realized who he was, so frazzled were her nerves. “Pardon my impertinence, thane. I did not see you enter. Are you injured?” She performed a quick curtsy.
“Not at all. Tell me, what has happened here? Why are there so many injured citizens on this level?” Tarn asked.
The girl pushed her hand through the mop of dirty brown hair hanging in her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, her hair dank with sweat. “Oh, my king,” she sighed. “The houses of healing on the first level have been flooded. We’re getting patients from both levels now, and there aren’t enough of us to handle them all.”
“Where are all your healers, then?” Tarn asked, well aware of the precise number of staff assigned to each of the healing houses. “There should be more than enough healers here to handle this. And I was told that there aren’t any serious injuries to speak of.”
“That’s true, my lord, or would be. There are only two doctors here. The rest of the staff is made up of apprentices and novices. Most of our doctors were ordered to the third level to deal with Hylar wounded,” she said in annoyance. “That was before the first level houses of healing became flooded. Now we can’t recall them.”
“Ordered? Who ordered this?” Tarn asked, though he thought he already knew the answer.
“Thane Stonesinger,” the girl said, confirming his suspicions. “Forgive me, my lord. The doctor is waiting for me.” Curtsying again, she hurried away.
“Send the head doctor to me, when he has a moment!” Tarn shouted after her, and she waved to show that she had heard before vanishing through a doorway.