Once on the dock, Darkend had to wait only a short time before a shadowy figure in a black robe emerged from a pile of rubble and debris. At first Darkend tensed, not recognizing the newcomer and was suddenly aware that he was without his usual phalanx of guards.
"You should take better care of yourself, my lord." Slickblade's voice was an unmistakable hiss, though Darkend could not recognize the face of the speaker within the deep-hooded robe. "There are known ruffians about."
"Indeed," the thane replied dryly. "But tell me, what news of events in my cities? Tell me of this mysterious scourge. How was it manifested in Daerforge? And did it strike Daerbardin as well?"
"Your city here fares well enough. A few houses were taken down, and there is wreckage such as this throughout the city. As to things inland, there has been no word of occurrences there. Aside from the fiery dragons you no doubt observed, the attackers were strange creatures, cold and dark as our own shadows. They killed some, but no one seems to remember much about the fallen. It is as though the killing takes all thoughts, all memories of the slain when their life essence is destroyed."
"But the monsters did not stay in our city?"
"No. It seems that they move through air and water with equal ease. Those that struck Daerforge soon moved into the lake. They seem to be gathering in the direction of the Life-Tree."
"And what of the fiery dragons?"
"We saw some over the sea," replied Slickblade. "One of them came to Daerforge, bored a tunnel that destroyed a few smithies and apartments, then emerged into the air again and-I am happy to say-flew away."
"This may yet become a matter we can turn to our own ends," Darkend speculated. "But I must know more about these strange beasts. What are their origins, their nature, and their ultimate intentions?"
"I am not privy to these facts, but there may be one in Daerforge who could answer your questions."
"Speak."
"Ironically enough, he is your own nephew, come here upon the orders of his father, the Hylar thane. He was sent to carry word to you about this mysterious threat. A 'Storm of Chaos,' so he said."
"Where is he?"
"It seems that he went to his mother's house. Garimeth Bellowsmoke drugged him and imprisoned him there, ensuring that he could not bring his message to you."
"What?" The thane's pulse raced with the news, the familiar sensation of betrayal rising to create a red film over his vision. His sister would be tortured and executed according to an excruciating method.
Yet at the same time he had to admire her deviousness. Garimeth had made herself invaluable to him, had presented him with real intelligence about the Hylar defenses, and had assured him that the Hylar army was absent for an extended interval. For some reason she must have decided to conceal the true reason for that absence. Darkend was impressed by her ruthless tactics. She even betrayed her own offspring! If the opportunity arose, she wouldn't think twice about betraying a brother. What was her ultimate goal?
"Your information is good?" he asked Slickblade.
Slickblade sniffed disdainfully. "You don't need to ask that. But yes, drawn from a source within her very house. And there is more, as well."
"More?" Darkend was truly curious.
"I have learned within the past hours that your sister's plan has miscarried. Her son, held prisoner in the house of his mother, has escaped."
"No!" The thane forced a chuckle, but the sound was dry and menacing, utterly devoid of any humor. "That is not good news. Especially for my sister. She will have much to explain, much to account for."
Darkend took a deep breath, bringing his raging emotions under control only with great difficulty. He trusted no one, expecting duplicity and betrayal at every turn, and yet the fierce urge for vengeance was almost overwhelming.
But finally he calmed himself.
Across the water he could see the inverted mountain of the Life-Tree, crackling with spots of flame, dripping and glowing and shimmering. More boats were making their way back to Daerforge, some of them pretty banged up. All were filled with cowed and bedraggled Daergar. Dark-end was certain that the survivors among his landing force were holding on to their position in Hybardin. But how many had survived? How many had avoided being crushed by the massive rockfall?
These cowards currently arriving would be sent back to the fray, packed into boats, and he would lead them toward the foe, toward ultimate victory.
But first he had a personal matter to take care of.
"Come, Slickblade," he said in a voice that was a lethal whisper. "Let us pay a call to the house of Garimeth Bellowsmoke."
Chapter Sixteen
The Weight of a Throne
Somehow in the chaos of the battle Baker Whitegranite had lost his glasses. He crouched next to the garden wall of a fine Hylar manor, feeling along the ground, trying to find the place he'd fallen when the bizarre shadows had first attacked. It was then that his spectacles had been knocked off of his face, though in the grip of confusion and terror he hadn't noticed the loss immediately. Still frightened, he tried to stay low as he scooted along the ground, hearing screams and shouts and clashing weapons nearby.
Finally the sounds faded, and Baker crept back to the place where he had first fallen. Through his blurred vision he saw a hint of crystalline gleam and finally put his hands over the familiar golden frame. Touching the twin lenses, he breathed a sigh of relief as he discovered that they were unbroken.
Baker quickly wiped his spectacles on a corner of his stained tunic, then put them back onto his face. His sight was still bleary, and one of the lenses seemed to have been permanently scuffed, but they were clear enough to confirm that things on Level Twenty-eight looked as bad as they sounded.
And that was very bad indeed.
The fight had moved on from here, though the echoes, smells, and gore still lingered heavily in the air and on the ground. He saw dead dwarves who had been locked in combat with each other, Hylar and Klar intermingled, mouths gaping and eyes bulging in mute testimony to the horror of their last moments. In other places he saw empty lumps of armor and clothing, weapons lying nearby. There was no sign at all of the dwarven flesh that had worn the pathetic remnants only minutes-or was it hours? — before. These were the places where the horrifying chill shadows had slithered past.
Baker heard shouts and screams and the occasional clash of a sword or shield coming from down the street. Looking up, he saw a hint of the shadowy attackers, manlike beings of pure darkness that moved steadily away from him.
He tried to reconstruct the last few minutes since the wall had melted and the wave of horror had surged into Thorbardin. But details were curiously vague in his mind. He recalled dark and shadowy beings, intangible but very deadly nevertheless. They had emerged in countless numbers, breaking right through the stone walls to sweep into the ranks of the battling dwarves.
One thing was certain. The shadowy invaders were no friends of the Klar. The crazed dwarves, already frenzied from battling the Hylar, had turned with fresh fury to fight the dark forms. The dwarves had been swept aside, eradicated like a nest of pesky rats. Although the mere touch of the shadow beings proved instantly fatal, this did not prevent the maddened Klar from pressing home their suicidal attacks.
Hylar had also fallen victim to the horrific onslaught, and Baker had seen many of his countrymen slain before his eyes. At least he thought he had-though when he tried to recall the battle, to put faces on those brave fighters, everything was terribly confusing. He looked at the wrecked Ferrust house. He clearly remembered old Black-beard Ferrust, the prominent coal seller. Beside that ruin had stood another once-great house, emptied without visible damage by the shadow attack. It was a mighty edifice, and Baker was pretty sure that a very influential clan of Hylar had lived there. Yet that family had been annihilated by the shadow warriors, and now the thane couldn't recall their names, their roles in the city, or anything else about them.