“Go!” Gretchan shouted again, her voice pitched to a piercing scream. Her staff blazed anew, the white light searing into the creature’s face, burning, charring, killing. Shrieking and writhing, the dark monster slumped, weakened, and vanished, leaving the hill and mountain dwarves staring in horror.
Brandon staggered up to Gretchan and took her in his arms. She collapsed with a sob, and for long heartbeats they held each other. Only gradually did they become aware of the eyes of the Neidar, many hundred of whom still remained in the hall, watching them in awe and apprehension.
“Let the killing cease, in the name of Reorx.” Gretchan spoke almost in a whisper, but her voice carried through the whole vast chamber.
“Peace,” said the hill dwarf called Slate Fireforge as the restive Neidar looked warily around the vast chamber, as if expecting another attack. “Let’s talk about this for a moment.”
“Good idea,” replied Gretchan Pax.
Mason Axeblade took charge of Garn Bloodfist, who was on his knees, sobbing and wailing at the failure of the trap. The Daewar captain secured the rebellious Klar’s wrists with manacles and ordered two of his Hylar warriors to lock him up in the dungeon.
Tarn Bellowgranite and Otaxx Shortbeard descended to the floor of the main hall, where some of the Neidar remained. The hill dwarves’ morale had been badly shaken by the death of Poleaxe and the manifestation of the monster, and the vast majority had been only too willing to march back out of the fortress. Some had headed straight home, no matter how many miles away. Many others camped on the flats outside the wall, huddled around hundreds of fires that dotted the field for an expanse of nearly a mile.
Within the Tharkadan Wall, torches burned all around the big room. The bodies of the slain were being collected and prepared for burial, hill and mountain dwarf corpses arrayed side by side. Two hill dwarf captains, Slate Fireforge and Axel Carbondale, met with Tarn and Otaxx to parley.
Gretchan and Brandon were there too, while Gus and Berta sat with Kondike off to the side, watching the bigger dwarves with mingled awe and skepticism. The two gully dwarves had managed to capture the attention of a couple of Hylar men-at-arms, and those sturdy dwarves had been able to hoist both Gus and the dog back up to the catwalk.
“When Gus escaped from the black wizard, he inadvertently brought a bottle of the wizard’s brew with him,” Gretchan was explaining to everyone between puffs on her pipe. A bluish haze of sweet smoke surrounded her.
“I don’t know what it was, but it obviously had some kind of corrupting effects. It was in a bottle of dwarf spirits, and Harn Poleaxe stole it from my room in Hillhome. I have no doubts that he drank it and became the tool of that darkness we saw looming just a short time ago.”
“And you killed it?” Otaxx Shortbeard asked in awe.
“I don’t think so,” Gretchan said honestly. “But it was banished by the power of Reorx, through my staff-and Brandon’s axe.”
“How did Reorx wield my axe?” the Kayolin dwarf asked dubiously. After all, he rather thought that he, himself, had struck the killing blow.
Gretchan merely smiled. “Remember the story you told me: how that axe was carried by your ancestor, who was on a mountaintop the day the Cataclysm struck.”
“Balric Bluestone, yes,” Brandon remembered.
“They never found him, but they found his axe. Do you think that was just luck?”
“Not my family’s luck,” he acknowledged. “Not on that day.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t luck. It was the will, the gift, of Reorx. That steel blade has been blessed by our god; there is no other way it could have wounded that creature.”
Brandon looked at his weapon, which he had lovingly cleaned and polished, with a new appreciation.
At the same time, the thane of Pax Tharkas cleared his throat. “You say the gully-er, Gus-escaped from a black wizard?” Tarn asked, scratching his head dubiously. “Where is this wizard, then?”
Gretchan shrugged, drawing another puff from her pipe. “Gus came out of Thorbardin. He’s an honest fellow, I think we’ve all seen. So I believe him. It must certainly have been a Theiwar black-robed magic user.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about our people,” Otaxx Shortbeard observed.
Gretchan expelled the smoke from her nose and looked at him seriously. “I was taught about our people ever since I was a little girl. My mother wanted me to know the place she had left behind as well as the new world she and the rest of the Daewar were trying to create in old Thoradin.”
“Hmm. I remember you said your mother traveled with the Mad Prophet. The name ‘Pax’-it’s not a family name I recognize, and I spent most of my life among those Daewar,” the old general admitted.
“Well, it’s not my given name. I chose it for myself.” Her eyes were wet as she looked at Otaxx. “My mother’s name was Berrilyn Shortbeard… and I don’t think she ever forgave herself for leaving you behind.”
“Berrilyn…?” The old dwarf rocked backward. “But… then…” His voice choked, and his eyes swam with tears.
“I am your daughter, born in Sanction,” Gretchan said gently. “For these past forty years, I’ve been growing up and determined to do my researches for a history of the dwarves on Krynn. But in my heart, I was also looking for a way to return to my clan home. I thought it was in Thorbardin until, just days ago, I learned you were here, in Pax Tharkas.”
The others watched silently as father and daughter embraced. Brandon wiped away a tear, and even Gus sniffed loudly-an outburst of sound that allowed them all to laugh.
“And this Bluestone that Garn brought from Hillhome-that is really your family’s treasure, stolen by this hill dwarf villain?” Tarn asked Brandon.
“Yes,” he replied. “Harn said he was willing to pay a fortune for it-a thousand times a hundred steel pieces. But I think he was waiting for the chance to steal it instead.”
“Why do you suppose he wanted it so badly?” Slate Fireforge asked.
“He had two of them, you know,” Brandon pointed out. “There’s a green one as well. Garn took them from him.”
“And I believe there’s a third, somewhere,” Gretchan said. “A Redstone. There are some intriguing legends about the Tricolor Hammerhead. It’s a weapon that can only be made by merging all three of those precious stones together, to form a hammer of unprecedented power. I believe that’s why Harn sought the Bluestone. I think there’s an old dwarf woman in Hillhome, he called her the Mother Oracle, who planted the idea in his head. Some stories suggest the Hammerhead is a device so powerful, it’s capable of smashing open Thorbardin’s Gate.”
“Oh, now I remember! Thorbardin wizard’s war,” Gus piped up. He had been trying to keep up with the conversation as Berta patted a dirty rag against his bleeding forehead. “I wonder if war start yet?”
“The same wizard or a different one?” asked Tarn Bellowgranite sharply.
“Black wizard’s war,” the Aghar replied. “He’s gonna kill all the thanes. If they not kill him first.”
“Oh, is that it?” the weary thane said sadly. He exchanged a look with his old friend Otaxx. They seemed to understand more than what they told. “So civil war comes again to Thorbardin. A black Theiwar’s army versus Jungor Stonespringer’s fanatics. It would serve them both right-if not for all the innocents who will perish.”
“I wonder…” Mason Axeblade said, his voice trailing off hesitantly. The Daewar captain had been a silent observer up to that point.
“You wonder what?” Brandon asked.
“I wonder about this hammer and this war you speak of. It seems to me at least possible that, if we can find the Redstone and put it together with these other fabled stones, then we might have a tool that would smash open the gates of Thorbardin. And if there are two factions inside, trying to tear each other apart…”
“We might find in that conflict a chance to go home again,” Tarn Bellowgranite concluded.