“When we begin the work outside, we must be ever vigilant, posting lookouts every moment to watch for Kalgalath.
“Even before then, we need a watch posted, to note when the Drake tires of this sport of his. For when it is determined that the Drake is gone for good, we can expel these Riders from our holt, through the main gate if it is cleared by then, through the side passages if not, and they will discover nought of our secret portals.”
Fendor sat down among an approving murmur, for many found his plan sound. Of the assembled Captains, only Bolk questioned the scheme, turning to Baran: “In the meantime, while we delve stone, these thieves will continue to provoke quarrels. How do you propose to handle that, my Lord?”
Baran ground his teeth in frustration. “Bolk-”
“My Lord”-a dark-haired Châk in his early years interrupted-“all know that we will throw the Riders out when the Dragon no longer raids. All know that we will resume the War when the Men are ejected. All know that we will recover our stolen treasure from these looters. And all know that we will not rest until vengeance is gained for our slain. It is in this time of revenge that we will settle all ills between us and these Men.”
As the speaker, Dalek Ironhand, resumed his seat, Bolk again spoke up, his voice verging upon a sneer: “Hah! Mayhap we should let each Captain call together the Châkka within his command, and say unto them that these days are coming. Mayhap they will lay their quarrels aside, staying their hand until the time of revenge. To this, I say nay! For vengeance delayed is vengeance denied.”
At Bolk’s words, Captains shifted uneasily within their chairs, for indeed most did believe that vengeance delayed was vengeance denied, and none would stay the hand of one whose honor had been impugned.
Dalek began to rise, his face darkening, but Thork’s words intervened: “Did we not agree days ago to temporarily set aside our grievances when sanctuary was asked and given? Aye, that we did, for the honor of the Nation comes first.”
“Aye,” responded Bolk, “we did accept the Men under those terms-terms not to my liking, I might add. Yet the Riders do not honor that agreement, for they heap insults upon our heads, calling us cowards and murderers and gold-grabbing Dwarves. I say that we take the Host down into the holt and exterminate these vipers once and for all!”
Bolk’s words brought on an uproar of shouts and curses, Captains vying to have a say. Once again, Baran shouted for silence, resorting at last to slamming the flat of his axe Blang! to the stone of the table. And when quiet fell at last, Baran glared at all the gathered Châkka, blood in his eye, no one saying aught. Finally, Baran spoke, his voice low, gritty: “We are not rabble, here. Let not these Riders make us so.”
A ginger-haired Châk, Galt, Masterdriller, stood and was recognized. “Captain Bolk, that your brother’s son was slain by these Riders, we all know; yet all of us have lost kith in this struggle. And, aye, we all know that personal honor and family honor must be preserved. Yet, as Prince Thork has pointed out, we also know that the honor of the Nation stands above all. And it be likely that continued individual strife with Men in the halls of Kachar will lead to full-fledged warfare in these very same halls, in which case, Châkia and young will be at risk. Honor demands that we not put the future of our Realm in jeopardy needlessly. Insults these Riders may heap upon us, yet heed! Captain Ironhand’s words ring true. In the long run, we will prevail.
“Captain Bolk, mayhap you did not hear the DelfLord’s words; he said that we are here to resolve problems, not to create them. Captain Ironhand has pointed out facts, and we can indeed bring them to the attention of our warriors, noting the risk, noting that these Riders will continue to cast insults, yet noting that the honor of the Nation stands above all. In the end, unless decreed otherwise by the DelfLord, it is each Châk who must choose whether to stay his hand. If not, then so be it; if so, then so be that as well.”
Dalek again spoke: “It is as Galt says: DelfLord Baran must decide this issue. None else can.”
Again silence reigned, and all eyes turned unto Baran, the quiet at last to be broken by his words: “The honor of the Nation comes before all. Each Captain shall gather his warriors and tell them what has passed here in this Council. Remind them that the Realm comes first. Note that full combat within these halls would put the Châkia and the young in jeopardy. Tell them to put a rein upon their tempers, to ignore the gibes of the Riders, for vengeance will surely be ours in the long run. Yet, in extreme cases, let their hearts as well as their heads give guidance, for we must draw the line somewhere.”
Baran fell silent, and saw that many of the Captains reflected deeply upon his words, nodding in agreement, while others, notably Bolk, sat with stubborn resolve upon their faces, anger glaring from their eyes at the thought of these robbers jeering at them.
After a long, uncomfortable moment, Thork turned to Baran. “My Lord, I deem that the Dragon be at the root of our plight. Without the Drake we would be rid of the Men, we would be rid of duels, we could resume our War, defeat these thieves, recover our stolen treasure, and claim bloodgield for those Châkka wrongfully slain in this strife caused by the foe’s plundering ways. Hence, I would ask that we now consider what may be done to rid ourselves of Black Kalgalath.”
A notable air of relief stirred through the Council; here was a problem straight and true, one where the finer edges and points of honor were not at issue, one where the goal seemed plain, though the manner of achieving it was not. Baran turned to his Captains. “I deem that Prince Thork has the right of it: that indeed Black Kalgalath be at the root of our plight. What know we of Dragons in general, and of this Drake in particular?”
Silence stretched long and thin within the chamber, and at last snapped as silver-haired Kalor Silverhand, Chief Loremaster, slowly climbed to his feet and cleared his throat. “My Lord, there be all manner of legends concerning Drakes: that their sight be true in dark as well as light, and through illusion as well as reality; that their eyes steal will; that they speak all tongues; that they mate with Madûks in the great Maelstrom; that they are shape changers; spell casters; and other such notions.
“And there are things that seem to be more than mere legend and rumor, though proof is yet lacking; most notably, that Drakes can sense all within their domain. Mayhap this be true. Mayhap it was this power of theirs that led to the downfall of those Châkka who attempted to regain Blackstone from Sleeth a millennium agone, though how Foul Elgo and his looters defied this very same power, I cannot say.
“Those be the legends and rumors, but what be the facts? Well, this we can say with certainty: that Drakes are nigh indestructible and have strength beyond bearing; the length of their lives has not been measured by mortals; they sleep a thousand years, and raid two thousand more ere sleeping again; they spew fire, or if not fire then a dire spume that eats rock and flesh alike; they crave treasure; they dwell in remote fastnesses.
“The Fire-drake Black Kalgalath is said to dwell in Dragonslair, the dead firemountain to the east along the Grimwall. He is said to be the greatest Drake living. And lastly, lore has it that only the Kammerling can destroy the greatest Dragon of all.”