Dark Thane

"This is wrong, Tarn. Jungor tried to have you murdered, and so you have decided to return the favor? What of your precious laws, Tarn's celebrated Laws of Redress? Will you now cast them aside?"

While they argued, Zen conducted a swift operation on Ferro's corpse with the heel of his boot. Soon, the dead Daergar's face was an unrecognizable, bloody pulp. He removed the dagger that Ferro had intended to plant on Tarn's murdered body in order to implicate the Daergar thane. It was only a small blade, but deadly. He slipped it into a hidden pouch in his cloak.

"This is our way," Tarn said, his anger rising. "So it has been for thousands of years in Thorbardin."

"It's not my way," Crystal returned cooly. "And it won't be the way of our son. The Law is the same for both king and commoner, or it is no law at all."

A company of twenty guards arrived at that moment. Their captain stared in wonder at the two bodies lying at the edges of the street, then at the king. Tarn glared at Crystal, but said nothing. She stepped close to him and fiercely pleaded, "You mustn't sink to Jungor's level. I beg you. For Tor's sake! Let's just gather what we can, take those loyal to us, and leave this place."

Finally, Tarn relented. "But I do not care to expose the draconian yet," he whispered back. "I may yet need his assistance." Crystal sighed but nodded in agreement. She turned to the guards.

"Ferro Dunskull and his accomplice have attempted to murder the king. Arrest him," she said. The guards surged forward and swiftly pinned Zen's arms behind his back. He didn't resist them. Instead, he focused all the hate of his draconian being onto the one who had betrayed him. Not Tarn-who turned his head away, but Crystal. She shuddered to look into his black, soulless eyes as the guards wrapped his arms in tough cords of mushroom fiber. She knew at that moment that this creature would stop at nothing to kill her.

"Do not take him to the fortress," she declared, as they started to drag him away. The thought of the draconian locked up within the same walls as her family filled her with terror. "Imprison him in one of the first level dungeons." Nodding, the guards started in the other direction. Half the guards remained behind to escort the king the remaining distance home and to see to the bodies of the dead.

32

"Jungor's fist struck the table, splitting it down its I length. Glassware and crockery leaped into the air and crashed down, spilling their contents.

"It all comes of trusting a Daergar," Hextor Ironhaft yawned. He righted his glass, then motioned for a servant to refill it and clean up the mess.

The news had interrupted their breakfast. Jungor hardly looked at his food. Not that he ever ate much; he drank copious amounts of mushroom brandy, and took little else for nourishment. Since his disfiguration in the arena, the Hylar thane had lost weight, his already predatory features gone thin and gaunt. The flesh of the right side of his face looked as lifeless as wax that had melted and then hardened into a hideous mockery of flesh.

But at times of extreme emotion, the curdled flesh flushed with blood and seemed almost to pulse. As the servants hurried forward to clean up the mess, Jungor grabbed the edges of the table and flipped it onto its side. Hextor sighed and stood, crossed the chamber to the fireplace, and took a crystal decanter from the mantle.

"That fool of a Daergar has failed me for the last time," Jungor swore. He sank into his chair while servants scuttled all around him, collecting broken crockery and mopping up the mess. He watched them for a few moments, a sneer curling the left side of his face. Most took care not to come within his reach, but one young maid made the mistake of forgetting where she was. Jungor's boot lashed out, smashing into her hip and sending her flying across the room.

Hextor stepped over her prostrate body on his way to the couch. A servant quickly dragged the weeping maid from the room so as not to disturb the thane any further. The others finished cleaning up and hurried away. As the last one exited the dining chamber, Astar Trueshield entered, a sheaf of papers tucked under one arm.

"Bad news. I hear that Ferro Dunskull was captured," he blurted out.

Hextor winced and placed a finger to his lips. Astar paused, then bowed in gratitude for the warning. "Our troops are nearly all in their positions," he said, swiftly changing the subject to more positive matters. "Once word of Tarn's demise… oh!" His face flushed red. "I mean…"

"Oh, he says," Jungor snarled. "Yes, it finally dawns on him that we can hardly move to take control of the city if the king is still alive and in command. And Ferro might betray us after all. He is Daergar."

"I warned you not to take any dark dwarves into your confidence," Hextor said as he sipped his brandy.