Crystal looked up to see the rictus grin had returned. Glint’s pale eyes hardened to dark pinpricks; his face took on an explicable reptilian pallor.
The door creaked open. It was enough distraction to give the draconian assassin pause. The dagger in his fist hesitated just inches from Crystal’s throat.
It was Haruk Mastersword standing in the doorway. “Mistress, here you are. Graps said you had… Mistress!” Crystal saw light flicker off the dagger in the Klar thane’s hand. With warrior’s reflexes, she reacted instantly, striking the blade up and aside even as the hand that wielded it plunged toward her throat. The point of the blade gouged a furrow beneath her chin but otherwise passed harmlessly aside. Zen swore a dwarven oath.
Crystal twisted out of his grasp as he reversed the blow with a backhanded slash. She ducked beneath the attack so that it merely scraped shrilly across her metal armor, throwing a spray of sparks into the air. She had left her spear back at the north entrance. But before Glint could renew his attack, Haruk stepped between her and the thane, his sword drawn.
Shrugging off the form of the Klar thane, Zen once more assumed his natural shape—that of a sivak draconian—astonishing the two dwarves now confronted with his seven-feet-tall form. Taking advantage of their surprise, Zen snatched a battle axe from the weapon rack on the wall behind him and struck.
Haruk barely managed to fend off the attack at the last instant. The power of the huge draconian’s blow numbed his arm, but he maintained his grip on his weapon and parried another devastating slash. Sparks exploded in the air as the two weapons collided like a thunderclap. Haruk staggered, trying to maintain his position between the draconian and his mentor.
Meanwhile, Crystal dragged a spear from a barrel. It was ill-made and too lengthy for her, but she had to help Haruk somehow.
Zen swung his axe in a low arc. Once more, Haruk parried it, but this time his numb fingers could no longer maintain their grip. His sword torn from his grasp, the force of the slash sent him staggering back. Crystal stepped to her left and slipped past him. A quick thrust of her spear distracted the draconian long enough to allow Haruk to move out of the creature’s reach. Haruk shook his hands to try to regain some feeling, while Crystal’s drove the draconian back a step with a series of lightning feints.
But the draconian was fast. Crystal feinted once too often. Timing his attack perfectly, he slashed out with the axe, lopping off her spear just below the steel head. His next blow was aimed to do the same to her head.
Picking up his sword, Haruk shrieked his battle cry and leaped at the draconian. Crystal instantly recognized Haruk’s habitually futile reaction to an opponent he could not defeat, knowing that he intended to sacrifice himself in order to strike a major blow. The young dwarfs attack was slow, clumsy, and easily thwarted, yet it was intended to distract the creature. Crystal seized the moment and struck with the staff portion of her spear, shattering the draconian’s knee. Zen cried out and stumbled, his axe dropped, and Haruk, off balance and swinging wildly, tumbled over him.
Before Zen could recover, Crystal tossed aside her by now useless weapon and grabbed another spear from the barrel. Zen struggled to rise, but Haruk had become entangled with his legs. Crystal thrust with all her might, not knowing how thick the draconian’s scaly hide might be. The sharp spear head sheared through scale and muscle to emerge an arm’s length from the creature’s back.
Black draconian blood erupted from Zen’s mouth. Feeling the imminence of death, he spoke now in the language of dragons, which few mortals knew or understood. But the import of his words and the hatred with which he spoke, spitting blood and phlegm with each phrase, was all Crystal needed to hear to know that the creature was calling down its blackest curse upon her head. An involuntary shudder passed down her spine.
With his last, dying words, Zen laid his great reptilian head down on the cold stone floor stained black with his own blood. For eighteen months he had lived by his wits undetected in the halls of Thorbardin, slaying at will until his revenge was completed. And now he had been killed by a woman and a mere child. His shame knew no bounds, and he prayed to whatever god would listen that his curse be granted. His prayer ended unfinished.
Crystal dragged Haruk away from the filthy creature. Though it no longer seemed to breathe, neither did it seem to be entirely dead. Its muscles continued to twitch, its mouth to champ. Even as they watched in horror, the creature began to transform once more. But this time, it took on the appearance of Crystal herself. After a few moments, they found themselves looking at her own dead body stretched out on the floor with a spear wound in her chest. Crystal stared at it a moment longer until she was nearly overcome with revulsion.
She turned to Haruk and quickly looked him over. “Are you badly injured?” she asked.
“What is that thing?” the young dwarf answered absently as he continued to stare at her corpse.
“Haruk, listen to me,” Crystal demanded. The tone of command in her voice broke through his shock. He jerked to attention, just as he had done from the first days he was a lowly student in her spear class.
“N-no, I am uninjured,” he stammered.
She breathed a quick sigh of relief. Multitudinous questions boiled in her mind, but she asked the most obvious one first. “Haruk, what are you doing here? I thought you were with your uncle.”
“I am, or, I was,” he said. “Uncle Jungor sent me here with a message, knowing that you would be obliged to see me.”
Crystal frowned in disappointment but nodded that she understood. Perhaps this was the bargain she had hoped for, the trade that would allow her to escape into exile with their son. “What does the Hylar thane have to say?” she asked.
“He offers a trade,” Haruk answered ashamedly, and sheepishly too, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth.
“Very well. What does he want for Tarn’s freedom? Whatever it is, we’ll pay it. I hope you understand, Haruk, that I bear you no grudge. But I am sick to my soul of mountain dwarves and their wars and intrigues.”
“Tarn’s freedom?” Haruk asked in confusion.
“Yes, what does he want in exchange for the king?”
“But Tarn… that is, the king is already free. He escaped. I… I thought you knew,” Haruk stammered.
With a shriek of joy, Crystal wrapped her arms around the young Hylar warrior and lifted him off the ground. “Escaped, you say?” she cried as she set him on his feet. “Escaped? Then what could Jungor possibly want to trade for?”
“The Hammer of Kharas,” Haruk answered solemnly, gathering his dignity. Hearing the sounds of battle, several dwarves had gathered at the door. They gaped to see the two Crystal Heathstones—one dead and sprawled on the floor, the other quite alive. Not a few wondered which was the real one.
“The Hammer? And what does the Hylar thane offer for it?” Crystal said.
Haruk’s face blanched, and he seemed to struggle to produce the answer. Finally, he said in a cracking voice, “My uncle offers… the life of your son, Tor Bellowgranite, in exchange for the Hammer of Kharas.”
39
Tarn hurried north toward the fortress. With the Hammer of Kharas in his hands, he had marched through district after district, rallying the people of Norbardin to his banner, quickly relieving the besieged Klar and Daergar quarters in the Anvil’s Echo with hardly a fight, so great was the mob that swarmed to follow him. Arriving in the Council Hall, he and his force were met by Shahar Bellowsmoke, standing amidst a scene of bloody slaughter. The Daergar in his command had killed hundreds of dwarves loyal to Jungor Stonesinger, many after their surrender. Among the dead were Shahar’s own brother and Astar Trueshield, captain of Jungor’s personal guard, slain by Shahar’s own hand in single combat on the council steps. Shahar, still drunk on revenge and murder, greeted the thane with a soot-stained face and gore-soaked hands, grinning fiercely.