He couldn't keep an element of self-mockery out of his voice, and Garimeth laughed. 'I shouldn't think it would take much of an excuse to get you out of Hybardin, although it's good and timely that you've done so. You should stay here with me. You'll have a whole wing to yourself. This is a good time to be a Bellowsmoke in Daerforge.'
'I am a Bellowgranite, remember?' he said, half sarcastically.
She sniffed. 'Pay attention. Your dear uncle has just attained the throne of the Two Cities and he has great plans afoot. You will be able to play an important role, whatever you happen to think of your heritage.'
'Your brother Darkend?' Tarn was impressed. 'Good. My mission is to seek the thane himself and give him a message from my father. All the easier if it's Uncle Dark-end.'
'What message?' Garimeth queried, her brows knitting thoughtfully.
'You heard about the letter from Thane Hornfel, didn't you? And the 'Storm of Chaos, a danger that hangs over all Krynn like a blade of fire'? Well, I convinced father that the news should be shared with the other clans-that we should all make preparations in case of danger in Thorbardin.'
'Indeed. Well, there's no hurry Darkend is in Daerbardin and it will take you half a day to get there from Daerforge. Why don't you wait for a cycle? I'm expecting him here tomorrow and you can give him your message in person here.'
The change in his worlds seemed to be catching up to Tarn and the notion of resting here, relaxing for a brief while, had a strong appeal. He helped himself to another glass of mead. 'This is an excellent brew. Shall I fill yours up as well?'
Garimeth held out her glass and regarded her son through narrowed eyes. 'Do you understand what kind of power I'm talking about?' she asked, leaning back to sip from her dark beverage. 'It's rather unprecedented.'
'To have our family on the Daergar throne. I'd say it's extraordinary.'
'Not just that,' Gari said impatiently. 'But Darkend has been in conference with the thanes of the Theiwar, and the Klar… and it went rather well.'
'Really? Remarkable! All three clans?' Tarn asked eagerly. 'That is unprecedented. Are they still here? Perhaps I could see them-'
'No. They departed a cycle ago. But surely your mission doesn't concern them?'
'Not in so many words, but I know my father, the thane, was going to send emissaries to them as well. It's actually a rather ambitious plan that he has. I think it might work.'
'Karc.' Garimeth raised her voice slightly, and the attendant appeared immediately. 'Bring us another bottle-the special batch from the back cellar if you please.'
'Very well, my lady.'
'Now, this plan you speak of?' She turned her attention back to Tarn as soon as the servant withdrew. 'You say that Baker is informing the Klar and the Theiwar of the danger and trying to make some kind of an alliance?'
'Yes! And with the Daergar, too. That's where I'm going to try and be some… help.' Tarn was aware that his mind felt very sharp, but for some reason his tongue was growing thick in his mouth. He probably should slow down with the mead, but then, it had been a long journey and the beverage was really quite refreshing. Taking another sip, he confirmed more detail for his mother.
Tarn continued to talk as the new bottle was brought and tapped. His mother declined with a gentle wave of her hand over the top of her glass, so the younger dwarf swilled and spoke contentedly. He had a brief recollection of his father's rude accusation that his mother had stolen the Helm of Tongues. Tarn felt a momentary inclination to ask her about it. But not now-the time wasn't right-and besides, the mead was so delicious.
Tarn was taken quite by surprise when the room began to spin. He reached for the table… his chair… anything… but his fingers were numb, his hands like useless clubs. His blurring vision gave way to darkness, and he didn't feel the thud as his limp body collapsed to the floor.
Interlude of Chaos
The stuff of Chaos tore at the fabric of countless worlds. War raged across the planes. The Queen of Darkness was pulled from the realm of her dark Abyss, summoned like all her pantheon by a transcendent need, forced into battle with the Father of all Gods. For the first time in her eons of existence she fought in the same cause as her nemesis, Paladine-yet even with the aid of that great platinum dragon and all the other deities in Krynn's cosmos, they were sorely pressed.
For Father Chaos was a wild and untamed enemy, rapacious and unstoppable now that he had finally gained release. In the places where immortals dwelled, toward the already battle-scarred face of Krynn, the blight of wild death and destruction swelled unchecked. Takhisis was compelled farther and farther from her own domain and had no attention to spare the Abyss.
And so from that place of nothing and everything they came, by wing and claw, by darkness and from hunger, a horde that served a single goal and followed but one master: The daemon warrior Zarak Thuul. Astride his mighty fire dragon, he gathered his legion from all the corners of the Dark Queen's realm.
In the vanguard came a host of shadow-wights from the vileness of never-life, casting an eerie dark blanket through a vast swath of existence. These were beings whose presence evoked horror and dismay, for they were the crudest of killers. Not only did they claim the lives of their victims, but in so doing they obliterated any memory, any lasting impact or continuing influence created by the hapless one's existence.
Other serpentine things also answered the summons of the mighty one. Primus was but one of the fire dragons-the greatest and most terrible to be sure-amongst a great host of blazing monsters that swept into the daemon warrior's wake. They swarmed into the sky like flaming spears, wings pulsing, great necks extending. Their fires were the beacons, pennants, and martial banners of the daemon warrior's army.
Following the blazing meteor that was Primus, the creatures of Chaos swarmed to the light and the fire and the promise of destruction. They flew through the thick murk that spills into the gaps between the planes as they followed the beacon, advancing to the command and the pleasure of the mighty daemon warrior.
And Zarak Thuul, feeling the unstoppable rush of combined power, threw back his massive head and howled with laughter.
Chapter Ten
Dark Chambers
His tongue was thick and terribly dry, like a dead, dusty corpse that had somehow come to rest in his mouth. When he tried to open his eyes his head was wracked with pain. He immediately twisted on some flat, yielding surface. He choked and gagged, mindlessly sick.
For a long time he held his head in his hands, groaning feebly and trying to squeeze out the agony that throbbed with such violence between his ears. Finally he rolled back onto what he now realized was a mattress. Still his mouth was dry and foul, and he gasped for air.
'By Reorx. Water. I need water!' He choked out the sounds, scarcely aware that he was speaking aloud.
'Here. Drink.' A gourd was placed against his hand and he instinctively pulled it to his lips, quaffing greedily- and then spitting out a great mouthful of something really vile.
'What is this?' he demanded, 'Dragon piss?'
The force of his voice brought a further throbbing to his aching head. Trying to ignore the pain, he blinked, but saw only vague shadows in the utter darkness of the room.
'No!' The stranger's tone was indignant. 'This fine gully grog! You no like, you no drink!'
Tarn groaned again, closing his eyes and sinking onto the mattress in utter despair. Gully grog? And that accent… the petulant tone of wounded pride-not to mention the words spoken. This fellow beside him was clearly a gully dwarf.
But how had he come to be here? Indeed, where was he?
For a long time the throbbing in his head was too violent, too painful, for Tarn to think at all. Instead he
