some treatment that was sure to be punitive.
He sat down on the edge of his bed and dropped his head into his hands. Never had he felt such loathing for himself. He told himself if he had possessed a weapon he would have been sorely tempted to drive it into his own breast.
'Great Reorx!' he moaned, turning and smashing his fist into the stone wall. 'Why are you doing this to me?'
'Reorx doin' nuthin, far as I can see.'
Tarn leaped to his feet and whirled around, astonished to see the gully dwarf standing on the other side of his bed. 'Regal! You're back!'
'Regal Everwise, in person,' he said with a little bow.
'Wasn't your name Wise-Always?' Tarn asked, delighted beyond reason at the little fellow's return.
'What difference? Got some beer left?' The Aghar wandered over to the table and began to snatch up Tarn's leftovers. Many bits of bread and mushroom were popped into his mouth and pockets in random order.
'Help yourself,' said Tarn, indicating the pitcher.
But Regal was already drinking. Equal amounts of beer seemed to be going down the Aghar's throat and drippling down his sparsely bearded chin onto his clothing.
Meanwhile, Tarn looked at the wardrobe and saw that the door he had left closed now stood ajar. He felt a giddy measure of relief at this sight and grinned at Regal as the gully dwarf smacked his lips and began to lick off the platter upon which Tarn had been served his meal.
'I though you told me this was Agharhome,' he declared genially. 'But I happen to know for a fact that it's one of the finest houses in Daerforge.'
'Yep.' Regal barely looked up as he finished the platter and set to licking off the table. 'Dark dwarves built lots of houses in Agharhome. 'Course, we Aghar gotta hide lotsa times, or they bash us.'
Tarn felt a flush of shame at his own childhood memories. At the same time he couldn't help wondering, 'You mean you live in these same houses and we-that is, the Daergar-don't even know it?'
'This part of Agharhome kinda nice, but we gotta be quiet. Sometimes hide.'
'I guess so.' Remembering childhood stories of fairies and other spirits that were often blamed for strange occurrences in his mother's house, Tarn suddenly had no doubt of the truth of Regal's assertions. 'But then why did you let me see you?'
'You not smell like wunna them dark dwarves. You different.'
Tarn was startled, and a little embarrassed at the notion that there was a difference between Hylar and Daergar that a crude creature like this could actually smell.
'But tell me, Regal, how do you get to other parts of Agharbardin from here? And where did you go when those other dwarves came in?'
With Tarn following, the gully dwarf crossed to the wardrobe. He reached down and pushed on a corner of the flagstone forming the closet floor. Tarn was amazed to see the whole surface pivot easily to the side. He reached down, found the trapdoor to be plaster instead of stone. Beneath the door was a narrow shaft in the floor with a single-post ladder leaning against the rim. Tarn wondered if the ladder would hold him, but also knew he really didn't care. He was determined to get out.
'Did gully dwarves build this?' he wondered.
'We get some help sometimes. But you be surprised, you see what one clever fella like Regal Allatimesmart can do.'
'Will you give me a tour, show me some of the rest of your city?' Tarn asked, picking up his boots and quickly lacing them onto his feet.
Regal looked around the room and shrugged. 'No food left. No beer either. Sure, we take a walk.'
Tarn went first, finding that the ladder could hold his weight. In another moment Regal was closing the concealed trapdoor over their heads.
Chapter Eleven
Incursion of Madness
The Hylar thane stiffened in his chair, his entire body quivering with excitement. However, Baker Whitegranite avoided touching the ancient parchment that was so carefully laid upon his desk. He knew that the slightest disturbance might be enough to crumble the sheet into dust-a crime of cosmic proportions. He had finally begun to understand that here, at last, he had stumbled upon the treasure he had been seeking his entire life.
He took the time to carefully polish his spectacles, drawing a deep breath and telling his heart to be still. Without the helm it had taken him a whole hour to translate a brief passage, but he had just checked his work and felt certain he was right.
Turning back to the passage scribed in Chisel Loremaster's precise and unmistakable hand, Baker read it again:
At first the young serpents emerged from the Grotto hesitantly, two or three at a time. They would perch at the edge of the precipice and stare into the eternal blackness over the distant sea, wings buzzing with an audible hum. And it was a vast space before them, for we were near the 'summit' of the great, inverted mountain. The water was a long way down. Also, the mouth of the cavern faced in the precise direction where the cavern wall lay at its farthest extent from the pillar.
It was the most concrete evidence yet that the ancient lair of the good dragons had lain high on the southwest wall-actually, just west of southwest. Baker's earlier investigations included a detailed survey of the area. In fact, he had been so certain of his hypothesis that he had chosen to have his own house located here, in this quarter of Level Twenty-eight. But now he had real confirmation!
If only he could afford the time for further study. He looked at the scrolls piled at the edge of his desk, and knew that each one might yield a revelation as encouraging as the last one. But even now he knew these moments of scholarly inquiry were a luxury he could not afford.
In truth, he probably should have been in the Thane's Atrium right now. With a sigh, he pushed back his chair and rose. Clumping wearily over to the table, he tried to focus on some materials and information related to his duties as thane.
A messenger, his words duly conveyed to the palace scribe, had come from Belicia Felixia Slateshoulders. Her report told of mercantile interests on the waterfront that were resisting her efforts to make preparations. Next she had presented a plan for defense of the dockside in the event of a waterborne attack by some fractious clan of dark dwarves. Hence, Baker saw the merchants' objection. Belicia had stated that her small company could not hold the docks against any major attack. They would inevitably be outflanked and destroyed after a short and futile fight.
As an alternative she proposed to form a line of defense at the bottlenecks connecting the waterfront on Level One with the great trading plaza of Level Two. Four stout shield-walls could hold the broad stairways leading up from the dockside to the interior of the Life-Tree. With these steps blocked, Belicia was confidant that she could hold out for a long time against a force much larger than her own.
Beside the military report was a stack of letters from those same merchants. The diatribe from Hoist Back- wrench, a prominent shipper, was typical. He complained that this young Hylar captain of the guard had ordered him to move the bulk of his stock up to the second level. He protested that such a demand far exceeded Belicia's authority and that, furthermore, it placed an intolerable burden on his ability to compete with his rivals.
Vale interrupted the Thane to announce that another messenger had arrived from the Thane's Atrium.
A young scribe, his beard short but bristling outward well beyond his ears, hurried in with a parchment. Baker felt a guilty sense of relief that the youngster had caught him here at his worktable instead of perusing musty scrolls at his desk.
'My Lord Thane,' he said breathlessly, 'this request from the Mercenaries Guild asks you to release weapons from the royal armory. They pledge to bring you two hundred sword arms.'
'A good offer to be sure, but I thought all the guildhands went with Thane Hornfel,' Baker inquired,
