"Did it seem as though the fire was aiding the dark dwarves, perhaps controlled by Theiwar magic-users?" This was one of his greatest fears.
Thornwhistle scowled, thinking deeply. "No, lord. I don't think so. I saw more than a few of their boats go down. Some were melted, some capsized by the waves. And even on shore, the dark ones were running for their lives-especially those fleeing that fire dragon and the black one who rode it."
Baker nodded, having heard many reports of this menacing but mysterious being. "What did he do? Was he the leader?"
"Aye, lord. He seemed to summon others, sending them against both Daergar and our own Hylar!"
"What 'others'? What kind of troops did you see?"
"They were like shadows, lord, but shadows with an insatiable hunger and a lethal touch. A whole rank of my comrades fell dead, falling like empty sacks of flesh, drained into nothingness by a touch from these beasts. I could see their armor there, their weapons-but by Reorx, they were gone! And I don't even remember who they were! Men and women I had trained with for weeks, had shared the battle line with all day!"
Thornwhistle lowered his head into his hands and sobbed. Awkwardly Baker patted him on the shoulder, though his own grief felt every bit as heavy.
"Yours is confirmation of other experiences, even my own."
"Captain Slateshoulders rallied us. We tried to stand. By Reorx, her courage was the stuff of song and legend-and we failed her!"
"No. There is no failure in fleeing from these creatures, my young warrior. But tell me of your captain, Belicia Felixia Slateshoulders. Did you see her fall?"
"No. The shadows were too thick." Wretched and miserable, Farran looked at his thane with an expression of utter despair. "They came up the stairs and through the rock. Everyone was running for their lives. I was afraid, my lord-I was a rank coward, and I deserve to be punished!"
"We're all afraid, son. There's no shame in that. Were you still down below when the bottom of the Life-Tree caved in?"
"No. We were climbing by then, fighting on the stairs leading up to Level Three. But those shadows were after us, coming from everywhere!"
"You get some rest now. And eat something." Baker was thoughtful, trying to seize on a tiny ray of hope that he had discerned in these reports. He felt profound admiration for this young warrior and deep pity for the dwarves who had faced this ungodly threat. "You'll have to fight again, Reorx knows, but not before you have a chance to recover."
The thane left the young warrior with several matrons who promised to look after him. Baker's step was strangely buoyant, however, as he returned to the lift station. If truth be told, he felt better, more hopeful, than he had since the Chaos horde had first attacked.
He found Axel at the station and he embraced his astonished friend firmly, fiercely holding him against his chest.
"Is there news? Did you hear how Belicia fell?" asked the grieving veteran.
"No news, except this: we still remember her, don't we? What she looked like? Who she was?"
"Aye. It's all we have now," Axel declared bitterly.
"No it isn't," Baker insisted. "It dawned on me while I was talking to a young survivor just now. The story is always the same. Those who fall to the Chaos creatures are not only killed, but their memories are blotted out from all who remain as if they never existed."
"I know that!" snapped Axel.
"And you just confirmed it-you and I both-even that young warrior! We all remember Belicia vividly, don't we?"
"Aye." Axel's eyes flashed, suddenly sharing the insight that had uplifted Baker.
"Exactly! And if we remember her, then there's a very good chance that she's still alive!"
Chapter Twenty
Sailors on the Ocean Black
"Have any of you ever been on a boat before?" Tarn asked, trying to keep his tone casual as the vessel took a sudden lurch to starboard.
"First time, by guff!" Regal boasted, with a chorus of assent from the gully dwarves who were shifting and bickering on the rowing benches. Somehow, three or four of them-all on the portside posts-had managed to get their oars wet and move the boat away from the dock. Now, with a clatter of lumber, the boat was moving with surprising speed.
"And by the way," Tarn added, bracing himself and raising his voice over the din of a dozen arguments. "I think you're supposed to row on both sides at the same time!"
The craft twisted back to port as the starboard oarsmen all dipped their boards into the water and pushed with something approaching unison.
"What fun that? We just go straight then," groused Regal.
Somehow, despite the best efforts of the gully dwarves, the boat continued to move away from the dock. Water heaved all around them, and the slender vessel rocked back and forth, but the Aghar seemed utterly unperturbed by the tumult. Tarn tried to take some inspiration from them, though he still clutched the tiller for security.
The half-breed looked to shore and saw a boat full of Daergar warriors. The deadly assassin called Slickblade, his eyes expressionless in the slit of his black mask, stood rigidly in the bow as the pursuing craft pulled away from shore. The bow was aimed straight toward the Aghar pirates, oars striking the water in precise cadence and churning white waves before the sharp prow.
"Row! Fast!" he urged.
A splashing froth rose along the port side, and their boat wheeled grandly to starboard. The valiant gully dwarves frowned, and their oars skipped over the water as their concentration was interrupted. Tarn, in the stern, tried to shout instructions and encouragement, which mainly had the effect of causing his voice to grow exceedingly hoarse.
The other boat drew closer, and Tarn saw that Slick-blade had armed himself with a long spear. The assassin seemed focused on Tarn. Fueled by memories of the dead Rocco and Duck, Tarn felt more than ready to meet that challenge.
"Come on!" he murmured.
The Daergar craft drove closer, aiming to ram the stern of the Aghar craft.
"Turn!" cried Tarn, adding his weight to the tiller. The boat heeled slightly, lengthening the distance from the enemy, but still their pursuers dogged their heels.
A spear soared at them, and Tarn knocked the weapon aside just before the two boats collided. Tarn straddled two benches, holding his balance in the lurching water-craft. Keeping his weight low, he lunged toward the gunwale, thrusting his sword and striking a solid blow against Slickblade's spear. The assassin hurled his weapon suddenly, but the rocking boat made his aim go wide. The Daergar boat pitched again as Slickblade snatched up another spear.
"You'll sink us both! You're mad!" one of the dark dwarf rowers shrieked, casting a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder.
That gave Tarn an idea. If he could tip the dark dwarves' boat, every armor-clad warrior would sink straight to the bottom of the lake. The half-breed lunged, landing on the edge of the enemy boat, which tilted sickeningly under his weight.
Both hulls rocked wildly. The gully dwarves whooped and grinned while the panic-stricken Daergar rowers tried to pull away. Tarn himself would have toppled into the sea had Regal not seized his belt and pulled him back.
Ignoring Slickblade's hysterical commands, the dark dwarf rowers pulled away, making for the shore with all possible haste. The curses of the infuriated assassin were quickly drowned out by the tumult.
The choppy waters of the sea began to rock the boat. The forces of Chaos were wreaking havoc on the normally placid waters of the lake. The harbors of Thorbardin had been constructed without the breakwaters that Tarn knew were common protection for ports of the surface world. After all, why should the dwarves build a barrier to stop waves that had never before existed?