There, Thane Realgar rested quite comfortably in the massive throne, his boots extended and crossed before him.
The ruler was an old dwarf, with white streaking his yellow beard and long, loose-flowing hair. He had ruled the Theiwar clan for many decades. Most of the routine matters of the clan were handled by his chief adviser, so that Realgar could devote his own energies to the search for the Hammer of Kharas. He regarded any business not relating to that hammer as bothersome.
Realgar's personal bodyguards stood to either side of him: a pair of hideous gargoyles poised like watching statues. They perched, absolutely motionless except for their eyes, which followed the hunchbacked derro as he advanced. The gargoyles' skin was a rough-hewn gray, in distinguishable from stone. Their leathery wings, of the same color, spread like menacing, clawed hands behind the throne. Their faces were vaguely human, accented with sharp fangs, tiny, wicked eyes, and a pair of twisted horns growing from their foreheads.
The hunchback reached the throne, and the gargoyles suddenly hissed. They flapped their wings once and sprang forward to stand to the left and right of the thane. Extending clawed fingers before them and noiselessly working their jaws, they stood in mute warning as the hunchbacked dwarf bowed obsequiously.
"Ah, Pitrick, it is good of you to return to my city," said the thane of the Theiwar.
"How did you fare at the council of thanes?" inquired the adviser.
"Bah!" The thane clapped his fist into his palm. "It was one Hylar treachery after another! They seek to entangle the Daewar in an alliance, and always to cut us out!" Realgar leaned forward then, a conspiratorial smile upon his lips.
He lowered his voice. "But, my dear adviser, I think they are beginning to fear us!" The leader of the Theiwar placed a stubby finger to his bearded lips. "Now, tell me how things fared in my short absence?"
"You will be pleased," Pitrick offered eagerly. "Production has nearly doubled and promises to further improve. So it is, too, with the number of wagons running. We have very nearly reached the desired levels of transport."
"Splendid." The thane turned his attention to a scroll in his lap, signaling Pitrick's dismissal.
The adviser coughed slightly. "There is one other matter,
Excellency." The thane looked up in surprise and gestured for him to continue.
Pitrick shifted uncomfortably, nagged by the pain in his crippled foot. "It seems that one of our drivers was slain in Hillhome. The murderer, a hill dwarf, escaped." Pitrick took a breath. "We have reason to believe that this dwarf broke into the wagons and discovered the nature of our ship ments."
"When did this happen?" The thane's voice was quiet, al most bored.
"Several days ago. I received word from one of the driv ers not two hours past."
Gold chains clinked slightly, their heavy links sliding as the thane leaned forward. Realgar's sacklike robe of deep blue ponderously swathed the throne around him. Indeed, whenever he chose to walk he required several attendants to carry the massive train.
"Solve the problem quickly," said the thane, his voice still lazy and bored. "You have opened the route for us, and it is your responsibility to keep it both open, and secret."
"Of course, Excellency," Pitrick bowed deeply, using the gesture to hide the smile that creased his thin lips. By the time he straightened, his expression was again a featureless mask. "I shall see to the task at once. I have but one favor to ask of Your-Greatness."
"And what is that?" Realgar asked absently.
"We must strengthen the guard at the tunnel," explained
Pitrick. "Increase both the number and the quality of the troops we have there."
"Specifically?"
"The Thane's Guard," Pitrick supplied quickly. "They are the most reliable of your troops, and they will perform the task alertly. I'll need two dozen of your guard and a good captain…"
The thane squinted. "You would have a captain in mind, of course?"
Pitrick smiled thinly. "Indeed, Excellency. I believe Perian
Cyprium is just the officer for the task."
"There wouldn't be another reason you have selected her?" asked the thane.
Pitrick coughed again, bowing his head modestly. Staring at his adviser's bristling yellow hair, the thane pondered for a moment. Perian was a good, loyal captain, one of his best.
Both of her parents had served him well before their deaths.
She would not be happy with the assignment — her disgust for the adviser was as well known as Pitrick's lust for her.
The thane himself found Pitrick distasteful, but he keenly appreciated the savant's power and insight.
Besides which, Pitrick was the architect of the arrange ment with Sanction. His diplomatic and magical skills could prove the key to all of the Theiwar's future grandeur. The thane considered him indispensable if the nation was to achieve the glory that was its rightful destiny. Thus it was that Realgar had no real difficulty assessing Pitrick's re quest.
"Very well. I shall put Captain Cyprium under your or ders, effective immediately. We will double the guard, for now.
"And as for Hillhome," concluded the thane, "that will re quire some thought. The hill dwarves' ungrateful attitude and perpetual greed are beginning to annoy me."
Pitrick bowed to conceal his smile.
Perian marched purposefully through the second level of the city, preparing to climb to the third level, where she knew she would find Pitrick, the thane's hunchbacked ad viser. In her gut she fought a crawling sensation that threat ened to overwhelm her with disgust.
She had been fending off Pitrick's odious advances for several years a summons that required her to call upon the adviser in his apartments put her at a distinct disadvan tage. Still, the thane had ordered her to see the adviser, and her duty was to obey.
The only child of her generation in a long line of dwarven warriors, Perian had buckled on armor and taken up the sword when it was her turn to follow in the family tradition.
Her father, mother — until Perian's birth — and uncles had all served with merit in the thane's House Guard. That elite le gion, dedicated to the racial supremacy of the derro, com prised the most trusted of the Theiwar troops.
Perian had proven adept both at the physical aspects of combat and at the mental challenges of command, rising quickly through the ranks of the thane's personal body guard. Now she commanded the House Guard, proudly taking her place with the four or five highest ranking offi cers in the thane's service.
Thane Realgar, she knew, was the most powerful king in all Thorbardin, mainly because the magical abilities many
Theiwar possessed gave him an edge. Vicariously, she ought to take some pride in that status. Instead, she admitted only to herself, she felt a slight tinge of guilt and discomfort.
Perhaps it was because, unlike most of the Theiwar dwarves — the inhabitants of Thane Realgar's two cities — she was only half derro. Full derro always found a savage glee in the dark side of things. But the other half of her dwar ven ancestry could be traced to the Hylar dwarves, and Per ian often wondered if that aspect did not dominate her private personality.
She was innately distrustful of magic, and Pitrick was the most powerful savant, or mage, among the Theiwar: gro tesque, malicious, and deceitful. His undeniable magic power was just the surface manifestation of many unpleas ant features. There was also the matter of his leering and rude sexual proposals, stopping just short of brute force.
Unfortunately, she could not afford to be entirely indif ferent to him. She reflected, with her usual frustration, on the tangled hold Pitrick had over her life.
Perian's father and mother had also been loyal, decorated soldiers in the thane's troop of Huscarles, or House Guards.