Tarn heard screams and saw one of the Daergar lake boats pitching dangerously against the docks. Pushed by a surge of water, the metal hull crushed several of its passengers and dumped more of them into the frigid and surprisingly deep waters. The armored dwarves immediately disappeared beneath the surface. Their panic-stricken crewmates made no effort to rescue them.
The Aghar, however, seemed utterly oblivious to the prospect of real danger.
"Whee! Ride waves!"
"Faster! Higher! Bigger!"
"This real ride!"
The gully dwarves howled with glee as the boat moved into the full swell of the Urkhan Sea. Tarn was sickened by the lurching and uncontrolled motion of their boat, but the Aghar seemed to enjoy the rollicking ride. Perhaps it was good that none of them had been on a boat before. They didn't understand how unnatural this roiling swell was on the enclosed underground sea.
On the other hand, the gully dwarves would have probably whooped with delight if they'd been faced with a hurricane. Tarn felt his heart skip a beat every time another wave sloshed into the hull. He recognized the imminent danger: every wave brought more water spilling over the bow and sloshing down the length of the long keel.
"Bail!" cried Tarn, seizing a Daergar helmet and scooping the water that sloshed around his boats. Several gully dwarves immediately joined him in that game, though it took many pointed instructions to get them to pour the water out of the boat instead of over their comrades at the rowing benches.
After much shouting and yelling, most of the little dwarves had begun to bail vigorously while those at the rowing benches-except for two or three who had already dropped their oars overboard-maintained something like a rhythm in the strokes of their blades. True, the boat never maintained a direct heading toward Hybardin, sometimes bearing to port and otherwise to starboard of the Life-Tree, but Tarn figured that as long as they held to the general direction they could get close and worry about the finer points of navigation later.
Moving air gusted past them, and even in his numbed state Tarn was startled by this bizarre phenomenon. He had heard of wind, had even experienced it when he had traveled on the surface of Krynn during the decades after the War of the Lance. Yet it was a bizarre and frightening occurrence here in the enclosed world of Thorbardin.
The air seemed to be gusting from the direction of Daerforge and propelled them toward Hybardin. Somehow the boat managed to stay afloat, aided by the frantically bailing dwarves. Tarn and Regal stood in the stern, taking turns holding the rudder-which at their limited speed was more of an ornament than a directional tool. Tarn tried to shout in a cadence that would enable the Aghar to row with some semblance of coordination.
"Pull!" chanted Tarn in slow rhythm. "Pull!"
After a while Regal took over, and he too shouted the beat to the rowers, "One, Two, One, Two," with real enthusiasm.
Poof Firemaker crouched in the bow, encouraging the rowers and often turning to look eagerly at the smoking, burning pillar of the Life-Tree.
When he wasn't urgently directing his crew, Tarn lifted his eyes and took a few moments to glance around. The dwarven kingdom, Tarn felt certain, would never be the same. Fires burned in many places, using nothing more than rock as fuel. Thunder echoed and steam wafted through the air in great clouds. Across the sea he saw a bizarre, funnel-shaped cloud, whirling along the far shore. Every so often it would pick up a lake boat and cast the vessel and its terrified passengers through the air. The mist was everywhere in Thorbardin. Tarn suddenly became aware that his skin was clammy and the temperature was preternaturally warm.
All of a sudden the half-breed heard a moan of terror coming from the bow of the boat. He saw a shadow crouching there, and even from this distance he could feel the chill of its presence. He watched as, impenetrable and shapeless, the form reached out with two black limbs and embraced the trembling form of Poof Firemaker.
And then the horrific creature held only a limp and bedraggled bundle in its shadowy arms. A little tinder box dangled from the belt of the ragged clothes. Tarn couldn't recall from where the bundle had come, but he had no time to ponder that mystery as the shadow-wight moved down the hull. Panicked gully dwarves tumbled over the rowing benches, pushing and kicking at each other in their haste to get away.
Tarn was already in motion. Drawing his sword, he pushed his way through the throng until he faced the shadow alone near the bow of the boat.
Waves rolled past and the hull shifted underfoot, but he held his balance easily as his battle instincts took over. But how to fight this thing? It had no weapon and was in fact so tenuous in appearance that Tarn wasn't even certain it had a physical being. It was as if the thing floated directly above the hull of the boat, not adding any weight to the watercraft.
But then he saw the eyes, and he was shocked at the depth of the return stare. He was looking at himself. His saw his mother and his father in those eyes, and the contrast of light and darkness made his brain hurt, numbed his senses and even loosened the grip of his sword hand.
"Don't look!"
With a loud thwack, Regal hit Tarn over the head with an oar. The blow broke whatever force that held the half-breed even as it sent a throbbing pain shooting through his skull. Remembering his enemy, Tarn raised his sword and held his vision below the level of those hypnotic eyes.
The creature was a totally lightless shape, though Tarn could make out a gaping mouth and two gaunt, clutching limbs. A clawlike tendril of pure black nothingness reached forward, and Tarn intuitively knew that he couldn't let the creature touch him. Sinew in both arms flexing, he swung the sword with all of his might.
The blade passed cleanly through the extended limb, but the monster only lifted its head and laughed coldly. The hand that should have been severed reached around and seized the blade of the sword. Immediately Tarn felt an icy pain in his hands, and he was forced to release the weapon before his arm froze.
The wight tossed the weapon contemptuously over the side and soundlessly drifted a step closer to the stunned half-breed. Tarn recoiled, nearly stumbling over a rowing bench in his haste to scramble beyond that lethal touch. With deliberate slowness the deadly monster moved after him.
Behind him the terrified moaning of a boatful of gully dwarves rose, interspersed with shouts of advice.
"Fight him!"
"Run!"
Tarn knew that he had to stop the creature or the entire crew was doomed.
Weaponless, Tarn looked frantically around, catching sight of a silver short sword lying in the hull of the boat-Slickblade's weapon, the blade that had killed Duck Bigdwarf. He hesitated as he noted the leering skull emblazoned on the metal hilt, but he had no other alternative.
Snatching up the sword, Tarn thrust the bright, flickering blade at the wight just as the monster lunged forward.
But this time Tarn felt resistance to the thrust of the blade. He pushed harder and the shadow-wight uttered a surreal scream-not so much pain as great anguish. Fiercely elated, the dwarf slashed with the weapon, hacking again and again. Abruptly the creature vanished in a cloud of rapidly dissipating mist.
"Yea!" Cheering Aghar instantly mobbed the half-breed, a move that sent the boat rocking precariously. The celebration ceased quickly as the gully dwarves remembered the empty clothes in the bow. One big nosed fellow sniffed loudly, the others were strangely silent.
"To your benches!" barked Tarn. "Row!"
"You kill that?" wondered Regal, his voice full of awe as the other gully dwarves reluctantly returned to their stations. "You one tough war guy!"
"It was this sword," Tarn said in wonder, holding the plain-looking weapon up for inspection. It was assassin's steel, cold and starkly reflective. And it was his own sword now.