Chapter Nine
An Emissary
Already Tarn could see the improvements that Belicia had made in her ragtag company. First of all, the number of prospective dwarf warriors had more than tripled in a few days. Obviously, Axel and Baker were somehow finding fresh recruits from among the population of Hybardin. And now the dwarfwoman had her recruits marching in time and forming their shield wall with a marked sense of speed and precision. From his comfortable seat atop a sack of mulch, Tarn watched the Hylar train, a process that now required a sizeable swath of the dockside.
"Line forward!" Belicia Felixia barked out the command. Her dwarves advanced, shields and swords set, their straight line unwavering.
"Double march! Now, charge!"
The half-breed couldn't help but admire the quick but coordinated advance made by the line. Now the young dwarves rushed forward with lusty abandon, a hundred voices rising in a fierce, swelling roar. The pounding of boots was a thunderous drumbeat on the stone ground, and Tarn was surprised as he felt a tingle of martial frenzy.
But of course it was just a drill. Belicia halted her advancing shield wall at the very brink of the water's edge and then the recruits were dismissed to their barracks up on Level Three.
"You're making progress," he congratulated her when she took a seat beside him.
"I know, but it's a big wharf we've got to defend-all the way around the island. We still have nowhere near enough troops to hold the whole line."
"I'm sure it won't come to that," Tarn declared earnestly.
"Well, I hope your trip to Daerbardin can help keep the peace. Are you going soon?"
"I have a berth on the next lake boat, but I'm sure I can get a seat on the one after that. Tomorrow, if you can get a little time away." He took her hand, looked at her warmly. "We haven't had a chance lately… but maybe now…"
"Not now." Belicia surprised him with the sharpness of her tone. "\ have important work to do. I'm teaching a hundred youngsters to shoot bows and arrows and these recruits have work to do on the city's defenses. And you, too, have a mission to accomplish."
"Yes, I do." He flushed and stood up. "I can see that's what matters!"
"Tarn, grow up! Of course it's what matters!" Belicia shook her head in exasperation. "But you might remember that you've been hanging around the docks for months, doing a whole lot of nothing. You had time then, and so did I! But it seemed to me you weren't ready to take advantage of it."
He hung his head. "I guess you're right," he said stiffly, stung because so much of what she said was true. He remembered weeks, months of lethargy when nothing seemed important or urgent. Time had stretched away from him then, an apparently eternal stream of placid ease.
And now that lost time suddenly seemed precious.
"Do you think you'll be allowed to see the thane of the Daergar?" asked Belicia.
"I think so. First, I'll stop and see my mother. She's gone back to her family home near the port. With any luck, she'll be able to help me get a proper interview."
"I wish you good luck with your mission," Belicia said in obvious sincerity. "And… and I'll look forward to seeing you when you get back. All right?"
But he was still too stung and too proud to soften in the face of her pleasantries, so they parted with uncertainty lingering in the air between them.
He made his way to the east dock, where the passengers were boarding the chain ferry to Daerforge. Unlike the slender, sharp-prowed freeboats that plied the waters around all the dwarven cities, the ferry was wide and raftlike. This also insured that it was large and stately, offering comfortable booths and even sleeping accommodations to those who wished to nap over the six hour voyage. Now the craft was nearly full of passengers, mostly dark dwarves, though Tarn saw representatives from all the other clans-except the Aghar, of course.
This was perhaps his tenth voyage on such a ferry, but he still watched with fascination as the great hook lowered from the chain that was slowly clanking over the boat. The progress of the metal links slowed into an eerie silence and dwarf boatmen swiftly latched the steel prong onto the prow. Tarn braced his feet as the gears overhead resumed with a sturdy lurch and the broad ferry was pulled away from the dock. A small wash of water rippled away from the hull as the craft began its slow, steady progress across the lake.
He found his berth amidships, a comfortable couch in a booth which he shared with three Daergar. The largest and most vocal quickly introduced the three as workmen who had helped to deliver the most recent shipment of raw steel. He was a black-bearded hulk with wide set eyes, now squinting against the Hybardin dock lights. He cheerily offered the half-breed a bottle, and Tarn swilled down a fiery draught of fungus wine.
"We've got a spot of pay. Plannin' to pass the time with a few throws of the dice. Join us, if you've the cost of a game," he suggested with a look of appraisal at Tarn's silk jacket and elegant, polished boots.
"It would be a pleasure," the half-breed agreed readily, producing a few steel coins without putting any real dent in his purse.
They passed the bottle and the hours, gambling with an assortment of pegs and spikes cast in various patterns onto the deck. The lights of Hybardin soon faded into an agreeable wash in the background as the clinking chain pulled their craft farther across the silent sea. Even from a great distance the Life-Tree stood outlined in its funnel shape, marked by thousands of twinkling lights that gradually merged into a general glow.
Tarn enjoyed the crude, easy sociability of the dark dwarves. He liked the way his comrades insulted each other without taking offense. It was an interesting contrast, he thought, to the way things were managed among the Hylar. Even saying farewell to Belicia had seemed to him like walking through a maze of verbal traps.
And at least one of those traps had been sprung, he reflected ruefully. Suddenly wishing that he'd been more sensitive and understanding during that conversation, he vowed to make it up to the dwarfwoman as soon as he saw her again.
Finally, with his head swimming slightly and his purse poorer by a score of steel pieces, Tarn felt the darkness that was the true underworld settle all around him. Daerforge rose from the black distance, and his keen eyes made out the terraces and balconies, the bulwarks and towers that jutted from the steep cliffs surrounding the dark dwarf harbor. There, near the top of the crest, just before the wall curved outward to form the lofty roof over the underground sea, he saw the proud bastion of House Bellowsmoke, his mother's great manor.
The surroundings were fully black, with no sign of lantern or fire, but as the boat pulled into a stone-walled slip carved into the bedrock of the waterfront, Tarn was struck less by the darkness of this city than by its strange silence. There was activity all over the place-cargoes loaded onto other boats nearby, here a hundred passengers debarking from the chain ferry, there crowded into a narrow plaza arcing between the sea and the cliff, a thriving market bustling with sellers and buyers alike. Yet everywhere the Daergar went about their business stealthily. They spoke no louder than a hushed whisper, and even the scuffing of the steel-hulled boat against the stone wharf was but a muted scrape. Only when the doors of a waterfront inn burst open did the true and raucous nature of the dark dwarves echo across the docks for a few minutes.
Weaving slightly as he bid farewell to his traveling companions, Tarn realized that the fiery wine had been surprisingly potent. Still, he was able to climb out of the boat and make his way through the dockside plaza to the base of a long, curving path. He started uphill, and was soon out of breath. This was a grade that really could have used a flight of stairs, he thought with a ragged gasp-and he was only just now coming to the second level of the city!