Dark Thane

Perhaps it was not too late for Tarn to act. Maybe the groundquake had saved him from an even greater disaster. It had exposed the magical wards set to collapse the sewers beneath the Anvil's Echo, obviously before Jungor was ready to use them. Tarn felt a cold chill pass down his spine. Jungor must already be aware that his machinations had been laid bare. The Hylar thane couldn't afford to wait and see if Tarn would put the last pieces of the puzzle together and discover the extent of his treachery. He was probably already moving his forces into position to seize control of vital streets and transportation shafts, stairways and sources of water, prisons and centers of government All he needed was an excuse to act, and Tarn had no doubt that Jungor could improvise such a contingency. A few acts of clan violence, a little rioting in the streets, some looting and arson to go with the flooding of the Anvil's Echo, and Jungor Stonesinger would be ready with his army of soldiers, ready to restore civil order and be proclaimed king of Thorbardin.

"We have to get back to the fortress," Tarn said in a low voice that Ghash knew was ominous. Instinctively, his hand flew to the axe at his belt.

"What's wrong?" Ghash hissed.

"There's no time to lose." Tarn started for the door, but a commotion in the street brought him up short. Ghash leaped in front of the king, axe in hand with a snarl peeling his lips back from his teeth.

A litter bearer stumbled through the doorway, tripping over the threshold in his hurry and nearly dumping the litter's occupant unceremoniously on the ground. The bearer at the other end of the litter fought to stabilize their burden while his companion regained his balance. Weaving a path through the other patients, they shouted frantically for the doctor.

Concerned, Tarn stepped nearer. Two apprentice healers appeared and swiftly knelt beside the dwarf on the litter. One peeled back the damp sheet covering him to reveal his naked body. His skin had turned a brilliant scarlet color and was covering with pustules from the middle of his chest to his knees. A few tatters of blackened clothing still clung to his flesh around his wrists and ankles.

"He's been burned," one of the apprentice healers said to his companion other. "Fetch a doctor at once." He then lifted one end of the litter, and with the help of one of the litter bearers hurried the patient from the room. The other patients, many of whom had been moaning pitifully about their cuts and bruises, grew silent at the sight of the horribly burned dwarf.

Tarn grabbed the other litter bearer and pulled him aside. Seeing who it was who had accosted him, the young Daewar dwarf swiftly knelt before the king. Tarn pulled him to his feet "What happened?" he asked.

"A… a… an accident at the s-site of the N-new Council Hall, my king," the young dwarf stammered.

"Was it the groundquake?" Tarn asked impatiently.

"No, sire. I don't believe so. He was one of the engineers sent to investigate the crack in the foundation caused by the groundquake," the litter bearer answered.

Tarn's blood went cold in his veins-it was just like his recurring nightmare-the crack in the nursery floor, the hot breath welling from it, and the gaping chasm of fire. And each time, that dream had ended with Tor's mangled and broken body being torn to shreds by shadow wights.

"Crack? What crack?" he asked through lips suddenly gone numb.

"I can't say, my lord. Someone found him beside the crack, his skin scalded nearly from his bones but still alive. Of the other engineers, there was no sign."

"Wait, my lord!" Ghash shouted as Tarn bolted through the door.

28

Though nearly complete, Tarn's new Council Hall still had a good two years of work ahead before it would be ready to hold its first meeting of the Council of Thanes. Its architect, Gaul Quarrystone, had chosen the location to take advantage of a natural bowl-shaped cavern uncovered by silver miners a few years after the Chaos War. The cavern lay a hundred feet beneath the lowest level of Norbardin at the end of a broad sloping passage that wound snakelike into the heart of the mountain, following a thin vein of silver that could still be seen sparkling in the tunnel's walls. For the better part of ten years, two hundred of Thorbardin's most skilled stonemasons had chiseled and chipped and cut and polished until the cavern had become a thing of unmatched beauty. In their diggings, they had uncovered deposits of golden-hued quartz crystal, which they cut into panes to form the lamps that would one day fill the Council Hall with warm golden light. But for the most part, the dwarves sought to reshape the caverns as little as possible, and what they did alter, they used all their skill to make it look natural.