When they reached the North Gate, Tarn was surprised to find more than three hundred dwarves had gathered. There were whole families from every different clan, except the gully dwarves. They had gathered their belongings and stood in the North Gate plaza with their carts pulled by lowing cave oxen, loaded with such boxes and bundles that they could gather on short notice. These were all the dwarves of Thorbardin who had chosen to follow Tarn into exile. But he knew that for every dwarf here, there were several hundred more who might have followed him, but were more afraid of leaving Thorbardin than of dying in their mountain home.
Several hundred of Jungor’s most fanatical Hylar warriors stood nearby in close ranks, weapons at the ready, watching the crowd of exiles with wary disgust. At Tarn’s arrival, their captain ordered the North Gate opened. The huge mechanism began to turn and the door, a great plug of stone shaped to be undetectable from the outside, slowly revolved backward on its great steel screw. Finally, it tilted and rolled into an alcove, opening the way to the outside. Sunlight streamed into the mountain for the first time in nearly two years.
Slowly, the exiles began to file out under the close watch of Jungor’s troops. As he waited his turn in line, Tarn glanced around one last time at the city he had rebuilt out of the ruins of the Chaos War. Somewhere among the many blank windows that looked down upon the plaza, he knew Jungor Stonesinger was probably watching, gloating, hunched over the Hammer of Kharas as though it were a prize he had won in the Arena.
Now, he truly felt sorrow for those he was leaving behind to suffer under Jungor’s rule, however long it might last. The chaos dragon would bring all that to an end, probably more quickly than any of them dared imagine. He deeply regretted his many failures, but none more so than to have disappointed his people and allowed Jungor Stonesinger to wrest the throne from him. That Hylar fool would lead the dwarves of Thorbardin to no good end.
His followers went first. Tarn and his close companions were the last to exit through the gate. They stopped to watch the door slowly screw back into place. Then Tarn turned and looked north toward the wide sodden plains that stretched between Thorbardin and the former elven realm of Qualinost. The other exiles continued to file down the narrow path away from their homeland. Reaching up, Crystal tickled Tor under the chin and said, “Look! The sun is setting. Tor has never seen the sun before.”
Tarn smiled to see the look of wonder and delight on his son’s face as he gazed at the brilliant reds and golds painting the western sky. He himself had not seen the sun for two years, had scarcely given a thought, he was ashamed to admit, to the world outside Thorbardin. What had happened to the elven nation, and to all the troubles of the realms above ground?
He was filled with a sadness and loss that knew no bound. He knew that his duty lay with his people still inside the mountain. Yet there was no time for regrets. He must begin at once to plan a refuge for his followers.
“I know what you are thinking,” someone said behind him. Tarn looked over his shoulder to see Ogduan Bloodspike leaning his back against a boulder.
“What’s that you say, old one?” Tarn asked.
“I said I know what you are thinking,” the death skald answered.
“Tell me then. Because I don’t know what I am thinking, myself.”
“You should probably go to Pax Tharkas,” Ogduan said.
“And why is that?” Crystal asked.
But Tarn’s thoughts were already elsewhere. He walked to the edge of the path and looked down toward the exiles. “Where is Mog?” he asked. “Has anyone seen Mog?”
Otaxx shrugged, then turned back to the old dwarf. “I agree. Pax Tharkas is where we should go next.”
“Mog did not choose to come with us,” Ogduan said to Tarn.
“Why not?” Tarn asked in surprise.
“He asked me to tell you, because he knew you wouldn’t approve of his decision,” the old dwarf shrugged. “He’s going feral, plans to lead a guerilla war against Jungor Stonesinger from within the kingdom.”
“That fool!” Tarn snarled. “You bet your beard I wouldn’t have approved. I gave my word that we would all leave.”
“He has to follow his own destiny, Tarn Bellowgranite, just as you must follow yours,” Ogduan said as he pushed away from the boulder. The North Gate had nearly closed. “You don’t have to worry about Beryl anymore—the great dragon is dead. Go to Pax Tharkas. There will be elves waiting for you there, maybe even King Gilthas. There are other, more worthy challenges waiting for you also, Tarn Bellowgranite.”
“How do you know all this, old one?” Tarn scoffed, raising an eyebrow.
“The world has changed since last you poked your beard outside the mountain,” Ogduan laughed. “The gods have returned. Look for them. Meanwhile, make a new home for your wife and child. Crystal will need a safe place to have her baby.” Saying this, he stepped quickly through the narrow gap of the closing gate and vanished from sight. Moments later, the gate silently sealed itself shut, and even those who knew it well could not distinguish its lines from the surrounding stone.
Tarn and Crystal looked at one another in surprise. “A baby?” Tarn whispered. She nodded, her gray eyes pooling with tears.
“But how did he know… ?” asked Crystal. Shaking his head, Tarn enveloped her with one arm and pressed her close, losing himself in both joy and sadness as he looked into the calm, certain eyes of his young son. Tor blinked at him and smiled his toothless grin.
Otaxx slapped Tarn on the back and pummeled his shoulder in congratulations. Then he stole Crystal away from the king and squeezed her to his huge, round belly. “Pax Tharkas is a fine idea,” he shouted happily. “It has seemed more like home to me than Thorbardin for a long time. I can’t remember the last time a dwarf child was born there. It’s a good omen, I say.”
Crystal shrugged out of the Daewar general’s bear hug, complaining that she could barely breathe. “Well, after all, Pax Tharkas is close to my father’s own kingdom,” she said as she smoothed her tunic, “and we will be welcome there.”
“Hill dwarves?” Tarn jibed as they started down the mountainside.