Dark Thane

The halls were still filled with milling, overwrought servants. Crystal did her best to calm their fears. It had only been a small tremble, not even enough to knock the tapestries off the walls. Yet a groundquake was such a rare occurrence in Thorbardin that no one could remember the last one. For a people whose lives were measured in centuries, this meant no such event had occurred here in a very long time. Despite her assurances, the servants remained edgy. "What does the king say about it?" many asked.

When she reached her bedchamber, she found the door closed and Ghash Grisbane waiting in the antechamber, nervously pacing the floor with an axe in his fist. "Put away your weapon, Captain," Crystal said in what she hoped was a friendly voice. She attempted a laugh. "What good is it against a groundquake?"

"I feel better with a weapon in my hand," the young Klar warrior responded sullenly. But he returned the battle axe to its place on the wall.

"Where is the king?" she asked.

"Inside." He nodded toward the door.

"Call the king's escort, then. Have them ready," she said. "Tarn will need to go to the Council Hall."

"He said he was returning to bed," Ghash said, a worried look passing over his face. "And he has the young prince with him."

"The king must go to the Council Hall," Crystal said firmly. "Summon the guard at once."

The young captain's features brightened at her assurance, and he hurried off to do her bidding. She waited until he had gone before opening the door. The light from the antechamber spilled into the darkened bedchamber, illuminating a large hump on the bed covered in blankets. Sighing, she took a candle from a sconce beside the door, entered the room, and began lighting candles on the walls and shelves.

Tarn looked up from the pillow, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Tor can go back to sleep between us. There's plenty of room." He gazed down at the boy peacefully sleeping beside him.

"He can go back to sleep, but you're not," she said brusquely, as she moved about the chamber, lighting still more candles. She wanted the room brilliantly lit. "You're going to hurry down to the Council Hall."

Tarn sat up carefully, so as not to wake Tor. He pushed back the hair from his face and watched his wife, a puzzled expression on his face. Crystal saw him out of the corner of her eye, and his bafflement only made her angrier. She plopped the candle down on a dressing table so violently that hot wax splashed on her hand. Hissing, she slapped the droplets from her skin, then sucked the back of her burned thumb.

"Tarn, we've just had a groundquake. The people need to be reassured by your presence. You have to go out and survey the damage. They need to see you in the street, unafraid, seeing to their needs and wants, and trying to solve their problems. You are their king. Even your own servants are frightened, and here I find you cowering in bed," Crystal said in disgust.

The injured look on Tarn's face nearly broke her heart, but she continued as Tarn reluctantly folded back the covers. "What's the matter with you, Tarn Bellowgranite? I shouldn't have to say these things to you. I've never had to tell you what to say or do before. Most of the time, darn it, you act without even seeking my advice. But lately… "

"I had the dream again," he said in a low voice. He remained seated on the edge of the bed. Tor stirred and sighed, and Tarn turned to look at his son, at his small round sleeping face. "I can't help it. Every time I leave this house, I wonder if it is the last time I will ever see him."

Crystal crossed the chamber and joined him on the edge of the bed. When she lightly touched her husband on his broad, muscular back, he jerked slightly as though startled. She realized that his whole body was alive with jangled nerves. His violet eyes darted nervously under drooping lids. A muscle along his jaw writhed, setting his beard into motion.

"Tor's a strong, healthy boy, like his father," she said gently. "There is nothing to fear."

"I never feared anything in my life," Tarn said angrily. "Until now. Until I became a father. Something terrible is going to happen. I can feel it in my bones, in the roots of my teeth. And it has to do with this boy, our boy, our only son." He rose from the bed and walked to the dressing table. He stood before the table a moment, looking at the cosmetic bottles and vials of perfume that had been upset by the groundquake. He raised his hand as though about to sweep them all to the floor, but he stopped himself at the last instant. His hand sank to his side. He turned.

"And now the groundquake and the crack in Tor's nursery. It's all straight out of my dream, but what does it mean?" he moaned in frustration.