"My own son, Tarn Bellowgranite, is still in the city. Perhaps he can be of use as well."
"Of course," Axel replied. "He can swing an axe with the best of them." The veteran squinted, as if trying to read Baker's thoughts. "I always felt you were a little hard on the boy. Maybe this is just the sort of thing he needs."
Baker brushed away the criticism, though not before he'd felt its sting. "You are in command. Use whomever you think will be of use."
"Very well. I'll get right to work." Axel pivoted on his good foot and limped toward the door. Before leaving, he turned back. "You did right, Thane. That's the kind of decisiveness we need in times like this."
"You don't say? Well, thank you," Baker replied. He felt warmed by the unexpected praise. "Keep me posted, won't you?"
"Of course." The door closed behind him, but Axel's voice, bellowing for the quartermaster and several of his loyal sergeants, came through the barrier until the lame dwarf's awkward march took him through the gates of the Thane's Atrium.
Baker tried to direct his attention to some of the documents requiring a decision, but the words blurred into meaningless shapes and he finally set the papers aside in disgust. Fortunately he was saved from further struggles by the arrival of the Daewar thane.
"Gneiss Truesilver, my friend, how are you?" Baker asked, as the solicitous attendants offered light-bearded dwarf ale and a comfortable chair.
"In all truth, I have been much better," said the Daewar, a frown darkening his normally jovial features. "Though it is not my own health that suffers, but that of my clan."
"I am sorry," Baker offered awkwardly, startled by his counterpart's bluntness. He realized things in Daebardin must be very bad indeed, if Gneiss Truesilver admitted this much.
"There have been some rumors," he continued, "but we don't know the extent of your troubles. If there's help we can offer-"
"Thank you. I know you are sincere. But the tragedy is that it's an internal rot-Daewar pitted against Daewar, and blood close to being shed." Gneiss took a long pull at his ale, as Baker waited patiently. "It was started by that damned maniac Severus Stonehand. He's been preaching about doom and disaster; says there's storms of Chaos on the horizon. Now he's got half Daebardin believing him, ready to move right out of here. The other half is just about ready to throw them out."
Baker felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold hearth. "Storms of Chaos? Did he really say that?"
Gneiss scrutinized the Hylar thane. "Yes, over and over until I'm hearing it in my sleep! Why?"
In a rush Baker explained about the letter from Glade Hornfel. "He used those exact words to describe the strange sky, the portents that seemed terrifying even to him!"
"I have to get back to my city at once," Gneiss declared, rising to leave.
It was with difficulty that Baker brought up the subject he had wanted to discuss with the Daewar thane, "Hornfel took every able-bodied warrior we have. There are some among us who fear that the dark dwarves will take advantage of our weakness to seize the power they have coveted for centuries."
"It is a danger," Gneiss agreed cautiously.
"I need to know about your army if the dark dwarves strike. Can you aid us in the defense of Hybardin?" Baker suspected he already knew the answer.
"I'm afraid my army is as divided as the rest of my clan," said Gneiss sadly. "It grieves me to say it, but you Hylar will have to fend for yourselves."
"I understand."
The two thanes parted as they had greeted each other, friends over the span of a century. Each burdened with problems that were his alone to bear.
As soon as Truesilver was gone, Baker felt a rising surge of melancholy. He longed for nothing more than a chance to light a bright reading lamp and to sit in his favorite chair with the Helm of Tongues over his head. But of course, there was no time.
Unless he made time. Suddenly decisive, Baker made his way out of the Thane's Atrium and through the gate of the King's Wall that divided Level Ten into defensible blocks. He walked steadily to the lift station at the center of the level, where four broad avenues came together, and there the thane stood aside to allow a flock of noble Hylar ladies to enter before him.
These dwarven matrons were dressed in fine gowns of spun flax, and each wore a dazzling array of golden chains and bracelets, as well as rings and brooches that winked brightly with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. The buzz of their conversation quickly faded as they recognized the thane. From the looks of pity and speculative appraisal he received Baker guessed they had been discussing the recent departure of his wife. Nevertheless, they curtsied in unison as he stepped into the wide cage of the lift, and he managed to bow with proper decorum. They rode in awkward silence to the next level, where the females departed. Baker flushed to the sound of giggling laughter as the lift carried him up and out of sight.
At Level Twenty-eight, Baker got off the lift. The station was a wide gallery, lined with stone columns and alive with the sounds of running water. Two fountains, one at each end of the hall, spumed a constant shower of spray, while a long reflecting pool divided the gallery down the middle. Bright lanterns washed the area in light, and the scent of dark-thriving mossblossoms sweetened the air. Baker had always thought this one of the most beautiful places in Hybardin though now he might as well have been blind for all the notice he took of the splendor.
Wrapped in the cloak of his gloom he crossed the gallery and plodded down the connecting avenues, passing the gates to many other noble manors as he walked the blocks leading to his own house, on the outer fringe of the level. It was equipped with a cherished balcony overlooking the sea. But that balcony was not his destination now. Instead he went to the side door, into the coolness of his garden, and for a short time he walked the pathway among the ferns. He let the glowing waters surround his feet, soothing his spirit as they always did. For a short time even his stomach felt a little better.
The double doors in the outer wall whisked open a fraction of a heartbeat before Baker could reach for the latch. Unsurprised, the thane stepped across the threshold and stood in the entryway of the house.
"Greetings, my lord." Vale stepped out from behind the door and bowed. Blinking his watery eyes, the servant took Baker's woolen cloak.
"Thank you, Vale." There was some comfort in the loyal attendant's familiar alertness. In tunic and boots, Baker moved toward his own office. "And Vale, send for my son."
"Right away, lord." The servant's eyes widened before he nodded in eager acceptance. "I'll send a courier to his apartments and another to the dock. I know he spends a lot of time there."
"Good, yes. Do what needs to be done," the thane replied, feeling a twinge of chagrin at the thought that he himself seemed to know less about the activities of his son then everyone else.
Baker closed the door to his study and let the familiar atmosphere of his own private chamber comfort him. The fire in his belly still seethed, as it always seemed to do, but there was peace in the silence, the cool stillness, of his abode. He was glad to be back on Level Twenty-eight, far above the thane's official quarters. Here at least it was possible for him to imagine he was far away from the thane's problems as well. For the first time he felt the absence of his wife as a relief, and he took some pleasure in walking from room to room without fearing the sound of her harping voice or brittle sarcasm.
The matters of government would rise up again, but for now Baker could comfort himself with a few pleasant hours spent amid his ancient scrolls. He found them on the desk in his study, the frail parchments protected by tubes of ivory. They had come from an ancient cavern recently discovered and excavated between Levels Nineteen and Twenty. The miner who had uncovered them had suggested they might have been there for a thousand years or more.