"We're being attacked," Baker summarized. "Small bands of Klar are coming through the ceiling of Level Twenty-eight. There's lots of fighting in the blocks, but survivors are making their way to the lift."
"Good. We'll start by holding our positions here, then."
Axel was already shouting orders. He wore a heavy broadsword at his belt, a weapon Baker recognized from the Wall of Honor in the Thane's Atrium. Hastily more armed dwarves spilled off the lift that had been filled to capacity. From the surrounding streets, others shouted incoherent details about "bloody Klar." Sounds of battle came from everywhere and many of them were the cries of wailing and anguish far more suggestive of a massacre.
A wild-eyed Klar dwarf, his sword and hands red with blood, rushed from a nearby house and was soon followed by several of his fellows. Wild eyes lighting up at the sight of the Hylar, the mad dwarf uttered a shriek of delight followed by a shrill, keening howl that was like a noise from the Abyss.
Axel Slateshoulders whipped his broadsword downward in a lightning-quick slash, cutting the first Klar down in an instant. Limping on his bad foot, the veteran Hylar stepped forward to meet the next attacker with the point of the blade. Other dwarves of Hybardin rushed forward, swarming down the street while more reinforcements came on the next shift of the lift. Other citizens of the Life-Tree continued to emerge from the long stairways and cargo tunnels that connected to Level Twenty-seven.
"My lord, stay back," cried a Hylar. Baker recognized him as his bushy-bearded scribe. The scribe brandished a sword he had grabbed from somewhere.
Now the young dwarf used the blade to pierce an axe-wielding Klar who had burst from a gap between two house facades. The scribe cut the maddened invader deeply, but the Klar seemed unaffected by the wound. He brushed the scribe out of the way and roared at the stunned and immobile Baker.
More Hylar appeared, rushing to protect the thane, and knocked the Klar with a barrage of blows. Still, the crazed dwarf did not so much as stagger until several fatal wounds marred his heaving torso. The gleeful look of triumph on the corpse's face sent a chill through Baker Whitegranite's shoulders.
The bold young scribe had dashed off before Baker could say anything. Axel returned, limping awkwardly, then leaned against a stone pillar as he tried to catch his breath. The elder's face was flushed, but his eyes were alive with a martial gleam that Baker found strangely exhilarating.
"There were seven of the bastards in there. They fought to the death, naturally."
"Naturally," Baker agreed, though in fact he was shocked by the thought of such brutal warfare. "And the Hylar family and servants?"
"All dead. Looked like six and twelve in the house."
Everywhere reports came from similar dwellings. Small bands of Klar were visible darting along the streets, but were quickly killed by the vengeful Hylar.
Baker looked around, took stock of the teeming mob of dwarves gathered and the others that continued to pour out of the lift. He saw many Hylar from his own palace, including all the cooks, many of whom had armed themselves with an impressive array of cleavers. Many of the maids were there, from local houses as well as royal, and they had gained steel from kitchen and shed.
Young females and males, as well as some venerable white-beards who nevertheless carried weapons, marched along the street with every evidence of spry good health. An impressive proportion were armed with honest-to-Reorx weapons of war. After all, even the meanest Hylar hearth generally boasted some such martial implement displayed in a place of honor. True, some of the broadswords seemed heavier than the wielders who trailed their scabbards across the floor. One frail veteran-probably of the Dwarfgate War-was hard pressed to keep his shield from dragging on the ground.
But they were Hylar defending their city, their clan, their homes. Grimly, purposefully, the dwarves set about reclaiming the massive blocks of Level Twenty-eight. In many places, they found that the houses had suffered no incursion. In others the occupants had closed and locked their doors against the bands of Klar that roamed the streets.
In the worst cases, the Klar had burst into the homes of Hylar families, emerging from ventilation ducts and private passages that led into the upper surface of the Urkhan Vault. They had wreaked havoc, with many families suffering total annihilation. The Klar, who rarely numbered more than a dozen or more in a single band, inevitably fought to the death when the enraged Hylar cornered them.
By the time most of the skirmishes had run their course, Baker found himself in front of his own house. Accompanied by several sturdy dwarves, he ventured inside his place. Other than Vale's cold body there were no signs of battle here. But the sight of his faithful servant nearly brought Baker to tears. Ignoring the flaring ache in his belly, he helped the others carry Vale back to the lift station where he could be taken down for entombment.
There, he found Axel and several burly helpers dispatching another band of suicidal attackers. Here, again, a few of the Klar hurled themselves on the weapons of the more numerous and disciplined Hylar.
"Why do they scatter so much, attacking with just a few here and there?" Baker asked, wincing as he watched the last of the attackers writhing on a blade of Hylar steel.
"Actually, that's pretty well coordinated for Klar," Axel replied. "We'd do just as well to wonder what has brought them here now with so many of them attacking at the same time."
That was a question with disturbing implications, the thane quickly realized. "I need to get word to the waterfront."
"Let's go," Axel declared.
As they approached the lift, Baker was startled to see the young scribe from his quarters. The Hylar's right arm ended in a bandaged stump, but nevertheless he approached the thane deferentially. Baker was aghast at the wound. It was a horror that struck home, even in the midst of this nightmare.
"My lord, I am glad you are safe."
"With thanks to you. But what happened? Your hand…" He was suddenly aware that he didn't even know who the young dwarf's name. "Please, tell me your name!"
"It's Sandhour, my lord. They call me Squinter Sandhour."
"Well Squinter Sandhour, I owe you my life."
"It was an honor to defend you, my lord. But all these Klar! What does it mean?"
"I have a feeling it means trouble, my good son. Terrible trouble. But come with me. Let's get you down to the healer."
By the time the lift clunked downward, the sounds of fighting had faded away and Level Twenty-eight was securely in the hands of the Hylar once again. Yet all the rest of Hybardin seemed alive with unusual noise. The echoes of panic and terror resonated deep into Baker Whitegranite's heart.
Chapter Twelve
War on the Waterfront
Belicia looked out over the water, unable to ignore a rising feeling of disquiet. For one thing, the chain boats from both Daerforge and Theibardin were long overdue. Both the pulley and the gear systems had become disabled within a few hours of each other, each crippled by an unknown and therefore undiagnosable problem. Breakdowns in the chain ferry system were routine enough, but she didn't like this unusual coincidence. And then there had been the news from Level Twenty-eight. So far, they were nothing more than a series of wild rumors, but she was steadily growing more concerned.
Belicia climbed the wide stairway that led directly from the dockside to the great trading plaza on the second level of Hybardin. At the center of this wide space was the lowest terminal for Hybardin's main transport, the Great Lift which led from the market plaza all the way up to Level Twenty-eight. The next higher lift station, at Level Three, was more than a hundred feet above and could also be reached from the waterfront by a long climb up several stairways or by one of the smaller lifts.