Dark Thane

Finally the crowd grew quiet enough for Tarn to speak. Hundreds of grim faces looked down at him, standing alone in the center of the dais, surrounded by the six thanes. He cleared his throat, then spoke solemnly. "My mind is made up. I shall surrender my authority at the Council's convenience. When they have chosen a new king, I shall step aside. This is the least I can do to repay you for the disaster I have brought upon Thorbardin."

"Disaster?" Mog Bonecutter shouted angrily. Stepping up on the dais, he turned quickly to his clan's thane, Glint Ettinhammer, and asked, "May I address the Council?"

The Klar thane nodded his shaggy head.

Mog approached Tarn. He still carried the strange diskshaped object wrapped in its blanket and resting on his back. "The king says that his plan to save the elves ended in disaster," Mog declared loudly. "But I say that a glorious victory was won. Most of the Qualinesti elves did escape, after all."

"As good as that is to hear, I hardly think the price we paid was worth it," Jungor interrupted. Not a few members of the crowd voiced their agreement.

"Very well. Then was it worth it to kill Beryl?" Mog angrily asked as he unslung his mysterious burden and flung it on the floor. Flicking back the tattered blanket, he revealed the huge olive-green dragon scale they had found.

This revelation struck the assembly like a lightning bolt. The cry "Beryl is dead!" rippled out into the Gallery and portico. Jungor was beside himself in his consternation. Why had news of this not yet reached him? He needed time to prepare for this news. Perhaps this was Tarn's game after all.

However, Tarn seemed to dismiss the claims of his own captain. "I am not yet convinced that Beryl is dead," he said in a low voice.

Mog grinned and shook his head, turning once more to the excited crowd. "We found this scale floating in the flotsam at the lake's edge. As you can see, there is still dragon flesh attached to it. No other green dragon on Krynn boasts scales so large, and Beryl does not drop them so casually, nor with her precious hide still attached."

Jungor rose from his chair and bent to examine the huge scale. He could not deny what Mog said. The scale was enormous and obviously came from a green dragon, and it had been ripped violently from the flesh of that creature. But…

"Did you see her carcass?" he asked the Klar captain.

"N-no, but-" Mog stammered.

"Never count a dragon dead until you have personally beheld her bleached white bones," Jungor said meaningfully. He then turned to address the crowd. "I think the king is correct in this matter," he said. "We cannot assume that Beryl is dead simply because we have found one scale."

Mog began to protest, but Jungor spoke over him, thumping his staff on the floor. "Indeed, such an assumption could well prove dangerous. Beryl might only be injured. She might even now be nursing her wounds and plotting the destruction of Thorbardin for the king's part in her injury."

"I agree!" a voice shouted from the Daewar entrance. All eyes turned to see General Otaxx Shortbeard descending the stairs. He was one of Thorbardin's oldest and most respected tacticians. Everyone knew that he was fiercely loyal to Tarn, so it came as a surprise to the king's supporters that the general should be arguing in favor of Jungor and against Mog.

Otaxx reached the dais. "I agree that we cannot assume that Beryl is dead. She may well be alive and planning our destruction. Which is all the more reason why it would be foolish, utterly foolish, to change leadership at this delicate and uncertain time!" A cry went up from the crowd upon hearing these words, and Otaxx stroked his beard in smug satisfaction. Jungor glared at him, but the old general only returned his stare with a smile.

He continued, "As general in command of Pax Tharkas, I know more of the outside world than anyone here. Let me tell you that there are rumors of huge armies marching in the north under the banner of a human girl, conquering in the name of the One God, whoever that might be. And even as our party drew near to Thorbardin, the king was ambushed by a large force of draconians. Draconians, very nearly on our own doorstep!"

Mog took over from there, striding about the dais with his wild hair flying and his bloodshot eyes starting out of his face. "Yes, we need a strong king to lead us now. This is no time to elect a new king, not when we face so uncertain a world outside our doors. When the armies of humans have finished fighting their battles, and when we know for sure that Beryl is dead and no longer a threat to us, then perhaps Tarn can rest, if he still wishes it. But not before!"