Astar’s face grew pale and he dropped the sheaf of reports he’d been holding. “Take the dungeons? Now? But that means…”
“War,” Jungor said, his scars flushing red. “The time of Daergar plots is ended. We fight now for control of Thorbardin. Our soldiers were trained to quell a civil war, not start one. But they are ready and willing, and the populace supports us. After Tarn is defeated and dead, or driven from our sacred home, the people will embrace my rule. Those who do not love us will learn to fear us. But they will embrace our rule.”
33
The third watch of the morning had just been called when Tarn strode into the courtyard. Fully armored now, his sword at his hip, long golden beard brushed and braided for battle, he looked every bit a king. A roaring cheer went up from his soldiers gathered along the walls and mustered in the courtyard.
Tarn greeted them with a joyfulness that he did not feel in his heart. Word had come within the hour of fighting in the Daergar quarter of the Anvil’s Echo, in the Hylar and Daewar markets of the first and second levels, in the Klar quarter of the second level, around the Council Hall, and at all forges and dungeons on the first and second levels. Jungor’s followers had struck everywhere at once, it seemed, in a marvelously coordinated assault that achieved many of their objectives with little or no loss of life.
Tarn reviewed his maps as the reports came in. Jungor had moved to cut off the third level at all the transportation shafts, isolating Tarn from his food supplies and his armories. The Council Hall had fallen without a fight, the majority of its guards being loyal solely to the Council of Thanes. Since the majority of the Council were allied with Jungor, the guards had merely turned over control of the Hall to Astar Trueshield. Now, Jungor’s captain was using it as a base of operations and communications center to coordinate the takeover on the southern half of the second level. The northern half-containing the largest concentration of Hylar and Daewar in Norbardin—was already under control. Those council guards still loyal to Tarn had slipped away before Astar’s appearance on the scene and now had joined their king at the fortress. Among them was General Otaxx Shortbeard.
Tarn was heartily glad to see his old friend, even under such difficult circumstances. They greeted one another with a boisterous embrace before Tarn pulled him aside for a brief exchange beneath an arch. “Old friend, I honor your loyalty, but you risk much in defying your own clan in this.”
The old general burst out laughing, shaking his gray beard. “You should know that the Daewar are divided now that Rughar Delvestone is dead,” he said. “Some remain loyal to Jungor and would have him select the next Daewar thane. How that can be considered loyalty, I’ll never know. Others have sided with you, but they are scattered and confused. It will take some time for them to gather their wits and come along here. Some fool has even suggested that I would make a good thane! Hah! So now my fortunes rise or fall with you, my king. If you fail, then so do I.”
Tarn greeted this news with a fierce smile. “Good! I knew I could count on you,” he said. “Ever have you come to my aid in time of need, Otaxx Shortbeard.”
“And may it ever remain so,” the old general responded.
Clasping hands, they returned to the courtyard. There they found Crystal Heathstone and Thane Glint Ettinhammer surrounded by a band of the thane’s handpicked Klar guard. Tarn shouted to them in greeting. Tarn and Crystal embraced briefly. She had changed into a shining mail hauberk and leather greaves, with a mail coif. She carried a stout spear in her fist. Glint wore his usual battle-scarred plate armor and carried a black mace resting on bis massive shoulder. Rather than a helm, he wore a gleaming ivory-colored bear skull on his head, with a bearskin cape dangling at his heels. Like all the Klar gathered around him, Glint’s face was coated in dull white clay, but the circles of his eyes and his lips were stained deep purple, almost black, giving him a terrifying, death-like visage.
After clasping hands with his loyal thane in greeting, Tarn surveyed the courtyard, taking a swift mental count of their forces.
“So few?” he asked with dismay, under his breath.
“We were caught unprepared,” Glint answered frankly. “We have this many ten times over, but they range throughout the three levels, many of them bottled up in their neighborhoods. Thane Stonesinger knew what he was doing, that’s for sure, when he cut them off from us here.”
Tarn smiled grimly, slapping the hilt of his sword. “We’ll have to make do with what we have for now. But we need reinforcements to help us break out and relieve our allies. Shahar Bellowsmoke has sent word pledging the support of the Daergar if we can reach him. Jungor has him cornered in a tight place in the Anvil’s Echo, and he can’t break out. If we can join up with the Daergar, we can march through the city and take on Jungor’s forces in small groups before he has a chance to consolidate them.”
“There are Klar aplenty in the ruins,” Thane Ettinhammer suggested.
“No one is supposed to be in the ruins,” Tarn admonished him. “Are they under your command?”
“Strictly speaking, they aren’t under anyone’s command,” Glint said. “They’re feral Klar, beyond any law or loyalty. But if we can get word to them that there is fighting to be had in the city, they’ll come out of kinship, and they’ll come for the sheer love of violence.”
“Hmm. But how will you control them once they are here?” Crystal asked. “They could prove a double-edged sword.”
“Oh, they’d better follow me,” Glint bellowed, eyes glittering dangerously from his death mask face. “But I’ll have to be there to meet them when they arrive, else they’ll join up with the first force they meet.”
“That means we have to get control of the south transportation shafts on the second and third levels. And at the same time, we’ll have to try to retake the Council Hall,” Tarn said. “Who can you send to rally these feral Klar?”
“I have just the fellow,” Glint said with a fierce grin. Reaching out, he grabbed one of his guards and pulled him toward the king. His painted face and beard could not hide his youthful features. “Captain Garn Bloodfist, one of my very best. Bow to the king, boy!” The young captain managed a clumsy bow without dropping his axe.
“The Captain and I have met already,” Tarn said with a ferocious grin. “How is your head?”
“Better, my king. It was only a scratch,” the young captain answered quickly.
“You know what we need of you?” Tarn asked, more than ever keenly aware of how much the young Klar looked like his old friend, Mog Bonecutter. “Gather as many as you can, spread the word, and return before the day is out. Delay is death for us. We must strike a blow today or strike none at all.”
“I will not fail you,” the captain said, bowing again to both the king and his thane. He hurried away, already wiping the paint from his face and stripping off his heavier armor.
A cry from the gate brought them round. The gate opened a crack to allow a party of scouts through. Several bore strange wounds, burns and scores that were caused by no sword or steel arrowhead forged by dwarves. One was shown straight through to the king to give his report. He bowed, clutching his side to ease a cramp. His chest heaved like a bellows.
“Theiwar battle mages have seized the transportation shaft south of the fortress,” he said. “Their magic is taking a terrible toll. We can’t get near them.”
The four experienced leaders glanced at one another, all sharing the same thought. Jungor had anticipated that they might seek help from the feral Klar and thus had moved to block their path. Tarn and Crystal shared a grim glance. Otaxx nodded solemnly while stroking his beard. Glint growled in frustration. “Everything we think of, he’s a step ahead of us.”