For a brief time fire glowed amid the wreckage, apparently feeding on the bare stone. But soon the blazes faded and died or were masked by the billowing and still-growing dust cloud. Fewer Daergar were visible now. Those who survived had taken cover deep in the bowels of their dwellings. The thunder that had rumbled through this end of Thorbardin also seemed to be fading, although when Tarn looked across the water he saw the Life-Tree racked by blazing convulsions. He clenched his teeth, furious at himself for his absence from home and utterly frustrated by his inability to get back there. Even if it only meant that he would die beside Belicia and his father, it was suddenly very important from him to be in Hybardin.
"All done for now," Regal declared, looking at the debris settling in the ruined swath of Daerforge. His expression turned hopeful. "Go get some beer?"
"Wow," Poof said, his tone strangely subdued. "Real bad happening."
"All killed? AH?" wondered Duck. He sniffled loudly.
"Agharhome was badly hit. I'm sorry to say," Tarn felt obliged to observe.
"Not hit like that!" insisted Poof, pointing at the ruined swath of Daerforge.
"Don't you sometimes think that the other clans deserve the worst that happens to them?" Tarn wondered, "After all, it seems like you Aghar get treated pretty unfairly anywhere in Thorbardin you try to go."
Regal Everwise squinted, even rubbing his forehead in the effort of his cogitation.. "What you mean?" he asked, clearly mystified.
"Well, just…" Tarn tried to organize his thoughts. He knew what it was like to be an outsider, to feel scorned and rejected by fellow dwarves. Yet never in his life had he been subjected to the level of abuse that was any gully dwarf's daily lot. "I would think it would bother you. In the rest of Thorbardin there's plenty to eat and drink, lots of gardens and fresh water. There are laws, even, to protect dwarves from other dwarves who don't like them. Yet we all seem to think nothing of kicking a gully dwarf, or keeping you in your own little slum here."
"Slum?" Regal bristled. "Agharhome fine excellent city! Got friendlier people even than Life-Tree!"
Tarn laughed in spite of the rising sense of his own indignation-an emotion inspired on the Aghars' behalf, but apparently not shared by those whom he felt had been wronged.
"Friendly people… you're right about that," he agreed, ashamed by his own pettiness.
"Come to our inn. We got some good food there. And beer," Regal promised with an expansive wave of his hand.
Reluctantly, Tarn followed the small dwarves through the ravines and gullies of their rock-strewn home. This far from the sea it seemed that the Chaos storm had done little damage, though in fact it was kind of hard to tell, given the generally crumbled nature of the gully dwarf city. He could see, though, that the waves had swept some of the lower portions of the place quite cleanly, even washing away some of the large rocks that had jutted so characteristically upward. Plodding along, the half-breed periodically stopped and stared, allowing his mind to once again wrestle with his one overriding problem. How was he going to get home?
They finally ducked under a low entrance, and after a moment's hesitation, Tarn stooped low and followed the creatures into a dingy and lightless hole. Despite the rank smells of unwashed bodies pressed into too tight of a space, the place was alive with cheerful conversation and even giggling bursts of laughter that erupted into a cacophony of hysterical amusement when Tarn stood up and bumped his head on a stone protruding downward from the ceiling.
"No beer for you!" one jeered. "You not even stand okay now!"
"Er, right," Tarn grunted, rubbing the tender spot on his skull. As he saw the dark and bubbling grog that filled the dirty communal mug, he was quite willing to forego the pleasure of a draught. The gully dwarves amiably passed the vessel around the group, chatting with apparent unconcern about food and beer. The half-breed tried to suppress a sense of utter disbelief. Didn't they understand what was happening to their world?
"Why you sulk?" Regal asked, eventually coming to sit beside the half-breed.
Tarn chuckled ruefully. "I didn't know I was sulking. The truth is, I was thinking about a problem."
"What problem? Regal Big-Time-Smart help you fix it!"
"I wish you could, my friend. I really do. But I've got to get to Hybardin, and I don't see how you can get me there any more than I can get there myself!" Tarn declared bitterly.
"Hybardin? That long way. Why not stay here? Got friends. Got grog. Here." Regal held out the filthy mug, which still contained a splash of mysterious looking dregs. Tarn politely declined. "Why in a hurry to go?" asked the Aghar again.
"I've got my father there, and a friend… a lady friend. You saw what happened over there, what's happening to all Thorbardin. I'm certain that they need my help," the half-breed declared urgently.
"You help to fight?"
"Yes, probably," Tarn agreed. Abruptly his hand went to his belt, where he usually carried his sword. Naturally, the loop was empty. He hadn't seen the blade since he had been drugged at his mother's house. "Although I have to admit I'm in sore need of a weapon."
"Here! This cutter too big for me," offered the tiny Duck Bigdwarf.
"Thanks, friend." Tarn took the proffered short sword, wondering how an Aghar had come to possess such a splendid weapon. Only then did he recognize the gem in the pommel, see the crest of white granite in the hilt, and realize that it was his own blade. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. What was the use?
Meanwhile, the gully dwarves had put their heads together in a murmured council, during which another mug of grog was passed around and several voices had risen in heated discussion. Just when the vile beverage was beginning to look almost palatable to Tarn, Regal Everwise lifted his head from the group and fixed him with a direct glare.
"Can we go to Hybardin too?" Regal asked bluntly. "We never go there before; wanna go now."
"I don't think this is the time for sightseeing," Tarn replied, his mind distracted. "And I really think you'd be safer here."
"Safer?" Duck declared indignantly. "We safe alia places. But how you get to Hybardin, you not have our help?"
"I don't know," Tarn declared with a rueful laugh. "But just for the sake of argument, how would I get to Hybardin if I did have your help?"
"Easy," declared Poof Firemaker, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We could fly there, or swim!"
"Or we could ride that fire dragon. Big fun!" added Duck Bigdwarf.
"Hmmph!" sniffed Regal. "This big dwarf not looking for fun. He gotta go see his pop and his lady love."
The other Aghar nodded pensively, clearly understanding this high motive.
"Thanks anyway," Tarn said. "But I don't think I can fly or swim that far. As for the fire dragon, I'd hate to be the one who had to ask him for a ride."
"No, no, no. Those stupid plans," declared the ever-wise Regal. "We go to Hybardin, we do it right!"
"And how do you do that?" Tarn couldn't refrain from asking.
"Easy. We go to Daerforge and steal a boat."
Chapter Fifteen
Dark Dwarf Decisions
"Help me, you fools!" Darkend thrashed in the water, clawing over the sinking bodies of his crew. He cursed his gauntlets as his fingers slipped from the metal hull of the swamped lake boat. Panic rose in his gorge, horror of death by water penetrating to the very core of his being. Feeling the cold liquid soak through his beard, rising to his chin, he shrieked desperately at any Daergar in earshot.
The thane could see nothing beyond the piercingly bright image of that fiery dragon that had been scarred into his mind. His feet were loosely touching the hull of the boat, but that tenuous support was completely submerged and sinking fast. Frigid waters rose past his face, spilling into his mouth, choking, gagging him. He felt himself sinking deeper and deeper.