Daerforge had three different elevations. On this second one he paused to catch his breath and to take a look over the lake. Below him was a sprawling slope that looked like a garbage dump or the refuse of an ancient landslide. He remembered that this was Agharbardin, the home of many thousands of gully dwarves, though from this height he couldn't see any signs of activity in the ravines and troughs among the great rocks.
Moving up again, Tarn passed great manors, each a blocky structure more than half-buried in the bedrock of the steep mountainside. Some were guarded by spiked towers, others by lofty walls with many twists and turns. The pathway skirted the base of some houses and overlooked more of them as it climbed. Tarn saw that the stone houses were well fortified from above as well. Chutes had been excavated between many of the structures, insuring that any large band of attackers could be swept into a trap that would send the whole company cascading downhill. He had visited here many times since his earliest years, but had never before noticed this defense. Indeed, as he looked around, it occurred to him that the Daergar seemed quite a bit better prepared for war than were the Hylar.
Finally he stood before the lofty gate, a steel ramp upraised between two tall towers of black marble. A ditch, dark and full of pungent muck, blocked his path. He recognized the stone drum beside the moat. He pounded on the hollow boulder with the hilt of his sword, three long raps followed by a trio of staccato taps.
At the signal that identified him as one of the family, chains immediately clanked through their gears and the steel ramp slowly and quietly began to descend. By the time it provided him with a walkway, Tarn could see servants and a gateman waiting to receive him.
"Master Tarn," declared Karc, a grizzled footman Tarn had known since his earliest years, "It is an honor to have you among us again."
He allowed the attendants to remove his cape and satchel and was shown into a parlor while Karc went to find his mother. Garimeth materialized shortly thereafter, just as he was uncorking the carafe of mead that had been presented to him by a bowing servant.
"I was expecting you," Garimeth Bellowsmoke said, "though I didn't think you would get here quite so soon."
"I am here on business, I'm afraid," Tarn replied, pouring a couple of glasses and passing one to his mother. "Duty calls. I am on a mission for the thane."
He couldn't keep an element of self-mockery out of his voice, and Garimeth laughed. "I shouldn't think it would take much of an excuse to get you out of Hybardin, although it's good and timely that you've done so. You should stay here with me. You'll have a whole wing to yourself. This is a good time to be a Bellowsmoke in Daerforge."
"I am a Bellowgranite, remember?" he said, half sarcastically.
She sniffed. "Pay attention. Your dear uncle has just attained the throne of the Two Cities and he has great plans afoot. You will be able to play an important role, whatever you happen to think of your heritage."
"Your brother Darkend?" Tarn was impressed. "Good. My mission is to seek the thane himself and give him a message from my father. All the easier if it's Uncle Dark-end."
"What message?" Garimeth queried, her brows knitting thoughtfully.
"You heard about the letter from Thane Hornfel, didn't you? And the 'Storm of Chaos, a danger that hangs over all Krynn like a blade of fire'? Well, I convinced father that the news should be shared with the other clans-that we should all make preparations in case of danger in Thorbardin."
"Indeed. Well, there's no hurry Darkend is in Daerbardin and it will take you half a day to get there from Daerforge. Why don't you wait for a cycle? I'm expecting him here tomorrow and you can give him your message in person here."
The change in his worlds seemed to be catching up to Tarn and the notion of resting here, relaxing for a brief while, had a strong appeal. He helped himself to another glass of mead. "This is an excellent brew. Shall I fill yours up as well?"
Garimeth held out her glass and regarded her son through narrowed eyes. "Do you understand what kind of power I'm talking about?" she asked, leaning back to sip from her dark beverage. "It's rather unprecedented."
"To have our family on the Daergar throne. I'd say it's extraordinary."
"Not just that," Gari said impatiently. "But Darkend has been in conference with the thanes of the Theiwar, and the Klar… and it went rather well."
"Really? Remarkable! All three clans?" Tarn asked eagerly. "That is unprecedented. Are they still here? Perhaps I could see them-"
"No. They departed a cycle ago. But surely your mission doesn't concern them?"
"Not in so many words, but I know my father, the thane, was going to send emissaries to them as well. It's actually a rather ambitious plan that he has. I think it might work."
"Karc." Garimeth raised her voice slightly, and the attendant appeared immediately. "Bring us another bottle-the special batch from the back cellar if you please."
"Very well, my lady."
"Now, this plan you speak of?" She turned her attention back to Tarn as soon as the servant withdrew. "You say that Baker is informing the Klar and the Theiwar of the danger and trying to make some kind of an alliance?"
"Yes! And with the Daergar, too. That's where I'm going to try and be some… help." Tarn was aware that his mind felt very sharp, but for some reason his tongue was growing thick in his mouth. He probably should slow down with the mead, but then, it had been a long journey and the beverage was really quite refreshing. Taking another sip, he confirmed more detail for his mother.
Tarn continued to talk as the new bottle was brought and tapped. His mother declined with a gentle wave of her hand over the top of her glass, so the younger dwarf swilled and spoke contentedly. He had a brief recollection of his father's rude accusation that his mother had stolen the Helm of Tongues. Tarn felt a momentary inclination to ask her about it. But not now-the time wasn't right-and besides, the mead was so delicious.
Tarn was taken quite by surprise when the room began to spin. He reached for the table… his chair… anything… but his fingers were numb, his hands like useless clubs. His blurring vision gave way to darkness, and he didn't feel the thud as his limp body collapsed to the floor.
Interlude of Chaos
The stuff of Chaos tore at the fabric of countless worlds. War raged across the planes. The Queen of Darkness was pulled from the realm of her dark Abyss, summoned like all her pantheon by a transcendent need, forced into battle with the Father of all Gods. For the first time in her eons of existence she fought in the same cause as her nemesis, Paladine-yet even with the aid of that great platinum dragon and all the other deities in Krynn's cosmos, they were sorely pressed.
For Father Chaos was a wild and untamed enemy, rapacious and unstoppable now that he had finally gained release. In the places where immortals dwelled, toward the already battle-scarred face of Krynn, the blight of wild death and destruction swelled unchecked. Takhisis was compelled farther and farther from her own domain and had no attention to spare the Abyss.
And so from that place of nothing and everything they came, by wing and claw, by darkness and from hunger, a horde that served a single goal and followed but one master: The daemon warrior Zarak Thuul. Astride his mighty fire dragon, he gathered his legion from all the corners of the Dark Queen's realm.
In the vanguard came a host of shadow-wights from the vileness of never-life, casting an eerie dark blanket through a vast swath of existence. These were beings whose presence evoked horror and dismay, for they were the crudest of killers. Not only did they claim the lives of their victims, but in so doing they obliterated any memory, any lasting impact or continuing influence created by the hapless one's existence.