Finally he launched himself upward and out, his spell carrying him far away to the slopes of Cloudseeker Peak, the rocky summit dominating the Kharolis Mountains. He shivered in the unaccustomed wind and cast a spell of levitation, rising upward a foot or two above the ground so he wouldn’t have to stand in the wet snow. Slowly, carefully, he twisted through a full circle, seeking any sign of Gorathian’s deadly presence.
It was broad daylight, and nothing moved on the glacial slope. Willim began to wonder if he had imagined the creature’s pursuit. He understood, rationally, that even the powerful creature of chaos could not pursue him very easily when he employed his magic to vanish and remove himself with instantaneous speed. Just in case, his spell of true-seeing allowed him to inspect the lower slopes, sweeping his attention around the cliffs that skirted the base of the great summit. Good, there was no sign of the fire dragon.
He did, however, spot the immense approaching army. He was startled. So intent had he been on the constant menace of Gorathian that he had momentarily forgotten about the growing external threat to his domain. As he watched the serpentine column twisting along the narrow mountain roads, inching its way southward from the direction of Pax Tharkas, he realized that Gorathian might not be the worst threat to his existence after all.
Willim the Black was not afraid. Instead, his lip curled into a sneer of hatred and contempt. Did that motley army of dwarves dare think they could assault his kingdom, his city? With cold curiosity, he inspected the column, noting the many thousands of armored dwarves and the small carts hauling a miscellany of supplies. He saw two large, ungainly devices hauled along at the rear of the army; his cursory inspection of the devices revealed the spitting nozzles and the large tanks of oil. Clearly they were some kind of fire weapons, but the wizard almost chortled: did those fool dwarves think they could burn their way into Thorbardin?
Nowhere did he notice any sign of great catapults, augers, or battering rams, the kind of things that were usually required if the attacking dwarves had any hope of penetrating the solid stone of the mountain.
So the reports and predictions were true, Willim the Black concluded: Tarn Bellowgranite intended to wield some ancient artifact in order to gain entry to Thorbardin. Well-and the wizard laughed out loud at the thought-let him try!
In another second he blinked out of sight, only to arrive in his subterranean lair. The great cavern was cool and dark and eerily silent with Gorathian gone. He found Facet waiting for him, and she gasped and dropped to her knees when he materialized all of a sudden. The expression of remorse and fear warmed him, and he found that his earlier anger, like the baking warmth of the fire dragon’s presence, had dissipated.
“Come to me, my pet,” he said gently. He settled himself in his sturdy armchair and beckoned her to kneel before him. “I am pleased to see you.”
“Oh, thank you, my lord!” she cried, leaning forward and, at a gesture of acceptance from him, embracing the wizard. “You are so good to me.”
“I know that,” he said, leaning back. He thought about Gorathian, about the army, and about the many things he needed to do. He thought about his private needs.
As if she understood those unspoken needs, she rose and went to a nearby table. There, a crystal goblet stood, already filled by her caring hand. She raised the glass and brought it to him, holding it out hesitantly. “I suspected that you would be thirsty, Master,” she offered meekly. “Would it please you to have a drink of wine?”
“Yes, my pet. It would please me to have wine. And too,” he added, taking the goblet and drinking deeply, “it would please me to have you as well.”
He raised his hand, a curt gesture of command, and a willing smile curled her crimson lips as, with a shrug of her shoulders, she dropped her black robe to the floor.
ELEVEN
There’s the trail,” Tarn Bellowgranite said to Brandon as the two of them, with Otaxx and Gretchan, stood atop the last pass before the road to the North Gate of Thorbardin. “It’s been a long time now since I’ve laid eyes on the place. My last look up there was when I fled into exile, barely escaping with a few loyal followers and my life. Jungor Stonespringer had the gate closed behind us, and it’s never been opened since.”
Brandon was gazing up the narrow valley, not even sure he could make out the road, when he noticed the former king turn his eyes to look back wistfully over his shoulder for a moment. The Kayolin general suspected that Tarn, once again, was thinking of his wife. Brandon and Gretchan had witnessed Crystal Heathstone’s departure from Pax Tharkas, even before the army marched, and though they had perceived her anger, they had not been able to learn the full cause of the royal couple’s breakup.
Still, they could guess. Both were saddened to think that the long schism between hill and mountain dwarf had brought the royal couple to such a rupture. At one time, the marriage between Tarn and Crystal had seemed to offer the best hope of a new, peaceful future. But that hope was doused like the coals of a campfire under a steady drizzle.
In the next instant, Tarn turned back energetically to study the valley and the rising summit of Cloudseeker Peak. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them with a lively enthusiasm that seemed very different from the stoical detachment that was more his personality when the couple had first met him, more than a year previous, in Pax Tharkas.
“I say we move on the gate today!” Tarn declared heartily.
Brandon’s eyes widened and he caught the look of alarm on Otaxx Shortbeard’s face as well. Behind them, stretching for miles to the north, the whole column of the king’s army lay visible along the twisting mountain road. It would be many hours before the bulk of that force reached and climbed the pass, and it was clear to any observer that the valley of Thorbardin’s gate lay at least another six hours’ march to the south.
“A worthy goal, sire, but I fear it is not possible,” Otaxx demurred respectfully.
The Kayolin dwarf was grateful that the elder Daewar, Gretchan’s father and Tarn’s longtime and most loyal sub-commander, broached the difficulties before Brandon had to voice his opinion. “It will take at least another day to bring the whole army up here, and then they will need rest. And even a modicum of caution will require us to scout the approaches, to examine the upper slopes and uncover any traps.”
“How could the wizard trap five thousand men?” demanded Tarn, scowling.
“Look at the trail, sire,” Gretchan said, stepping forward to gesture.
The route to the kingdom’s gate was etched in plain view before them. Patches were illuminated by the afternoon sun, but even in the shadows, much of the trail was clearly visible as it twisted and clawed its way up the sheer slope. It was even more daunting than Brandon had imagined: overhung by glaciers and lofty rock slopes, it would leave any soldiers on the trail vulnerable to avalanche or rockslide or sneak attack. A single mistake or an unforeseen attack could sweep hundreds of dwarves to their deaths. It seemed that every step of the trail was exposed to danger from higher vantages.
Even Tarn seemed to grasp that reality as he stared at the road ahead. Finally he nodded reluctantly, his eyes sweeping the terrain. “Yes, well, we can make camp along the road down there,” he said, pointing, “and then move in the morning.”
Brandon studied the ground indicated by the king. A few things recommended the place-a stream flowed nearby, providing a source of fresh water, and several groves of stubby trees augured a ready source of firewood. But there were disadvantages: like the trail, the ground Tarn had selected for the encampment was surrounded on all sides by lofty ridges, with the heights protected by sheer cliffs. If enemy forces appeared on those cliffs, the army’s position would become a trap, with the only source of escape the narrow trail leading up to the very pass where the command party currently stood.