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When all were seated, Jungor at last stood and pushed hack his chair. “Please, remain seated my friends,” he said patronizingly, when they started to rise as though to follow him. “Do not trouble yourselves.” He strode slowly around the corner of the table and thoughtfully placed his hand on the first marble bust standing on its granite pedestal beside the wall. Rughar was the first to notice that this was Jungor’s own, almost-forgotten image, carved before the vitriol attack in the arena that had destroyed his right eye.

“I am glad you have come,” Jungor said, somewhat distracted in contemplation of his own bust. Sighing with perhaps a tinge of regret, he turned toward the others. “Because the time has come to make our move. Last night’s groundquake is a clear sign of the revolution sure to shake the mountain to its foundations.” The Hylar thane returned to the end of the table and stood, leaning forward on his fists, his one eye glittering excitedly. “Thane Quickspring’s mines beneath the Anvil’s Echo have been discovered, unfortunately, but the groundquake has given us the opportunity to display the quality of our leadership while showing everyone how weak and ineffectual is the king. We have won many friends today. The people will support us, especially after Tarn is dead… at the hands of his cousin, the Daergar thane.”

“What!” Hextor exclaimed. “Do you mean to say Shahar Bellowsmoke has chosen to join us?”

“Quite so,” Jungor said with a predatory smile. “Only he doesn’t know it yet.”

Ferro Dunskull made a show of tossing a small, ornate dagger on the table. The others stared at the dagger, little more than a handspan in length, its narrow blade tapered to a needle point. Its hilts were decorated with skull and rose motifs, for Shahar Bellowsmoke had taken it from the body of an emissary of the Dark Knights of Neraka who had come some years ago to try to recruit the Daergar to their side. “I have borrowed this dagger from my thane’s personal treasury. You are all familiar, I am sure, with the story of how Shahar Bellowsmoke killed the ambassador from Neraka. When Tarn Bellowgranite is found with this dagger in his throat and its poison in his veins, no one can but doubt that it was the Daergar thane who executed the deed. Nor will very many care to investigate the king’s fate, for we feel confident the populace has turned against Tarn, thanks to our careful work.”

“Good! Very good!” Hextor chuckled to himself. “I compliment you on a master stroke, Master Dunskull.” Ferro returned the praise with an appreciative nod.

“Are you prepared, then?” Jungor asked.

“We are,” Ferro answered, rising from his chair. He picked up the dagger from the table and returned it to his belt. His comely companion joined him as he strode from the dining hall, only pausing once to cast a curious gaze at the others before quietly closing the door behind her.

When they had gone, Jungor turned to Brecha. “And are the Theiwar prepared?”

“We are, my king,” she answered fervently. “A nursery has been prepared for the young prince. When Tarn and his witch wife are dead, I will take Tor and raise him as my own child, with you acting as regent until he reaches the age of majority. That should pacify any skeptics until, of course, the child succumbs to a mystery illness or tragic accident”

“Excellent. Well then, we have only to wait for news from Ferro…” Jungor’s voice trailed off as he caught sight of the dour expression on Captain Trueshield’s face. The Hylar warrior seemed to have swallowed something that disagreed with him.

“Whatever is the matter with you Astar?” Jungor asked.

“Forgive me, my lord,” the captain answered without meeting Jungor’s eye.

“Are you sick?”

“Only of dark dwarves, my lord.” Brecha shot the Hylar captain a murderous glance, which he returned with the frigid glare that was the birthright of his clan.

“Well, that cannot be helped for now,” Jungor said, a trifle disconcerted.

“But my lord—” Astar started to say. A knock at the door cut off his words. Rising from his chair, he crossed to the door and opened it.

Jungor waited impatiently while the captain conferred in low voices with one of Jungor’s servants. After a few moments, the captain returned. “Glint Ettinhammer is in the street outside, demanding to see you, my thane,” he announced.

Jungor’s remaining eyebrow rose in surprise.

30

As Tarn and his wife neared Jungor’s residence, they could hear the voice of Thane Ettinhammer bellowing about something. Crystal glanced at Tarn in surprise, and they quickened their steps, forcing their company of bodyguards to hurry after them. Crystal had insisted upon the escort despite Tarn’s protests, and it was well that they had brought along the twenty wild-eyed Klar warriors. This was, after all, the center of Jungor’s realm of influence, and the dwarves they met on the streets here looked upon the king practically with murder in their eyes. Without their bodyguards, they probably would not have made it this far.

Rounding the corner, they entered the plaza that lay between Jungor’s splendid mansion and his warehouses. At the far side, Glint Ettinhammer stood upon the steps leading up to Jungor’s door. Two steps above him, the Daewar thane, Rughar Delvestone, held his ground, backed by three of his personal guard. Glint was alone, but one look at his massive arms and the double-bladed axe in his hands was enough to keep the others at a safe distance.

Tarn arrived in time to hear Rughar angrily shout, “He doesn’t have time to see you now! Come back tomorrow when you are sober, Thane Ettinhammer.”

“By the gods, I wish I were drunk. You won’t see tomorrow if you don’t let me in!” Glint roared as he surged up the steps. The Daewar retreated in alarm.

Leaping up the steps, Tarn caught the Klar thane by the arm before he could swing his axe. Wild-eyed, Glint turned on him and nearly struck him before he realized that it was the king.

“Ah, forgive me, my lord!” he shouted, half laughing as Tarn ducked the blow that probably would have broken his jaw.

“King Tarn!” Rughar angrily cried. “Take this drunken fool away before he gets himself killed. The Hylar thane has no patience for Klar antics today.”

Glint spun, spittle flying from his bearded lips as he shouted, “The only fool likely to die today is this pathetic toady.”

“Be quiet, Glint!” Tarn ordered. “We’ve no time for this.”

“Bah!” Glint spat in frustration. “That fool wouldn’t know when to wipe his own arse if Jungor Stonesinger wasn’t there to tell him.”

Crystal climbed the steps and quietly slipped a hand under the Klar thane’s arm. The effect was remarkable. At her touch he gave a start, but then he looked down at her and smiled. His berserk fever seemed to cool.

“Where is Captain Grisbane?” she asked the Klar thane in a low voice as Tarn climbed the steps to the door.

“Looking for you. He brought me the news and I came here at once, but he insisted on going back to the Fortress to find Tarn,” Glint answered.

Tarn had reached the door to find it still blocked by Rughar Delvestone and his cadre. “Out of my way, Rughar,” he growled. “I must speak with Jungor.”

“Thane Stonesinger is indisposed,” Rughar stubbornly maintained. “Come back tomorrow.”

“Listen, you miserable dog—” Tarn began, his blood rising into his cheeks, but a voice from behind the door cut him off.

“It’s all right, Thane Delvestone. The king has honored us with his presence. We mustn’t refuse to see the king.” With these words, Jungor appeared in the doorway, leaning upon his staff as though the weight of the mountain rested upon his shoulders. Rughar bowed and slipped to the side, pulling his guards with him. Crystal glanced around and saw that a crowd was gathering behind them. She noticed that a fair number were warriors armed for battle. Clutching the Klar thane, she pulled him up the steps to stand with their king. Meanwhile, Glint eyed the Daewar thane and fingered his axe.