This had been Tarn’s dream for his people all along, but it had only been manifested thus far in a few scattered portions of the city. Now the dream seemed lost. Jungor had succeeded in polarizing dwarven society into its ancient castes. But more important, he had brought together the disparate clans in a way Tarn could only dream of doing, though not for the mutual good of all. Though Jungor longed to return the Hylar to their place at the top of dwarven society, his followers were united by their mutual hatred. Tarn wondered if the whole world hadn’t gone completely mad.
Here in his neighborhood, at least, things still seemed sane. Jungor’s revolt had not spread, and the people, worn out with worry over the groundquake, had finally returned to their beds to catch an hour of sleep before the morning watch announced the new day. The street leading to the fortress’s main gate was empty, but not completely silent. A child wept behind some door, its mother’s soft voice crooning a lullaby. An alley behind a bakery grumbled with the snoring of contented gully dwarves.
Across the way, in the shadow of a tannery wall, something crouched on the ground, mewling pitifully. Tarn and Crystal skirted it warily, hands on their weapons. Probably it was only some drunken gully dwarf crawling home from his beer-mopping job. At the far end of the street they could see the torches burning beside the entrance to the fortress, and the guards in their hauberks and iron helms walking their watches.
A soft cry from the miserable creature stopped them. Tarn peered into the shadows for a moment. “That’s no gully dwarf,” he hissed. “It’s too big. Stay here.”
“Call the guards first,” Crystal hissed after him.
But Tarn had already approached the creature, sword drawn. He nudged it with the toe of his boot, causing it to writhe like a snake. “What’s the matter with you, old one? Too much dwarf spirits?” Suddenly, Tarn dropped his sword and fell to his knees with a cry. Crystal rushed to his side.
Tarn knelt on the walk, hugging Ghash Grisbane to his breast. The Klar warrior’s body shuddered with spasms, bloody foam poured from his mouth. He clutched at Tarn’s shoulder, finger’s digging into the king’s flesh. His distended, bloodshot eyes rolled in their sockets. Horrible purple veins streaked the flesh of his throat from beard to breast.
He tried to speak, his words a long tortured groan. “I came back for you, but you had already gone. Someone—”
“What happened, son?” Tarn cried. But Ghash was already gone. His wracked body slowly relaxed, his head sank back, the mouth open in a horrible, silent scream. “Ghash!” the king wailed, rocking back and forth with the corpse in his hands.
“Come, my love. It’s too dangerous here,” Crystal said softly, gently trying to pry Tarn’s hands from the dead Klar’s body. “We have to leave. We can come back in force to recover his body. But whoever killed him is probably still around.”
A low, murderous chuckle seemed to answer her suspicions. Two figures slunk out of the alley opposite, one short and powerfully built, the other taller, leaner, and obviously female. “Indeed, we are still around,” the shorter figure laughed as he advanced toward Tarn and Crystal. His female companion followed just behind and to his right, sword drawn.
Tarn rose to his feet with a roar. He snatched his sword from the pavement and lunged toward the two. Crystal spun her spear around into an attack stance. “So the two of you murdered him,” she shouted angrily. “Let’s see how you fare against the king and his woman.”
The tall female dwarf lifted her sword and charged. The shorter figure only laughed and raised a hollow tube to his lips to shoot a poisonous dart. His cheeks puffed out and he expelled a breath of air in a sharp cry, however, as his companion’s sword unexpectedly cleaved through his shoulder, ribs, and heart to wedge itself in his spine. His dart, weakly blown and knocked askew, bounced off Tarn’s hauberk and fell with a ping to the paving stones.
Already dead, the shorter dwarf fell between the strange female and the king. Crystal circled to her right, spear ready for throwing or thrusting at this turncoat. Dumbfounded by this turn of events, Tarn waited. He knew that Daergar were treacherous, but he sometimes forgot how treacherous they could truly be, and this could be a trick. The dead dwarf had fallen, face up, and Tarn recognized him as one of Jungor’s most trusted advisors—Ferro Dunskull. But the female dwarf was a stranger to him.
“Why did you kill him?” Tarn asked.
“He betrayed me,” the female dwarf answered simply. “I’ve waited a long time to avenge my companions. Now was a good time.”
“If he betrayed you so, I am surprised he allowed you behind his back,” Tarn said. “Ferro Dunskull was never one to make a mistake about his friends.”
“He thought I was someone he could trust,” she answered. She folded her arms across her breasts. “The price I paid for that trust has only fanned the flames of my revenge.”
“I thank you for saving us.” He stamped his boot over the tiny silver needle, shattering it and driving its point between the paving stones.
“My only thought was vengeance. I am sorry your friend had to die, for he was not part of my designs,” she said, nodding toward the body of the Klar captain.
Tarn’s face darkened. “Yes, my friend. And what are those designs?” he asked suspiciously.
“Our fates are intertwined, Tarn Bellowgranite. I was hired to kill you by this dwarf, but he betrayed me before I could finish the job,” she said.
“I knew it—Ferro was working for Jungor!” Tarn cried excitedly. “If you will tell your story before the Council, Jungor’ll be exiled for the traitor that he is!”
But the female dwarf only shook her head and laughed. “They will not believe me,” she said.
“Why not?” Crystal demanded. She stepped closer, threatening the Daergar with her spear.
“Because I am not a dwarf,” Zen answered. Both Tarn and Crystal stepped hack in alarm as the female dwarf transformed into a gleaming, seven-foot-tall sivak draconian.
“I killed the woman Marith Darkforge so that I could take her form and get close to Ferro. My revenge is now complete. What happens next is no concern of mine. I only want to get out of this madhouse,” Zen said, his voice a reptilian growl.
“No, you killed Ferro in my presence for a reason,” Tarn said, sheathing his weapon. “You wanted me to see you do it. You could have murdered him a dozen times before now, I imagine.”
“Yes, it served my purpose to gain a powerful ally, should I need one,” Zen acknowledged. “Only a king or a thane can order the gates of Thorbardin opened, and I’m sure that Thane Stonesinger won’t oblige me once he learns I have killed his assassin and exposed his plots to the king.”
“Tarn, you can’t let this monster go free,” Crystal urged in a low voice.
“Be quiet, woman!” Tarn snapped, then immediately regretted his words.
Crystal grew livid. “How dare you! I am not some scullery maid to be ordered about.” Glaring at him, she cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted for the guards. Her voice carried down the length of the street. Several gate guards paused in their patrols and stared, pointing.