For now, Darkend would content himself with the grudging acceptance of his people. Soon enough he would show them beyond any doubt that he was the dark dwarf who should rule them, that he was a thane who would bring them to a glory never before attained by the clan Daergar in all the history of Thorbardin.

From his lofty elevation he could see the blocky structures flanking the beginning of the Fifteenth Road. Great warehouses and apartments rose like cliffs from the straight and precise boundary of the road. The numerous crenellated battle platforms along the walls gave the impression of fortified bulwarks overlooking one of the main roads that connected the two cities of the Daergar. Each of the platforms was the stronghold of one or another of the city's warrior-gangs, and was constantly garrisoned by at least a small troop of armed dwarves.

Darkend's eyes rose to inspect the vast blackness of the straight tunnel leading to Daerforge. Daerbardin, the largest of the kingdom's seven cities, lay at the terminus of the long, lightless avenue. Natural illumination was neither sought nor welcomed by this dark-dwelling clan.

For once Darkend found himself wishing that he could see the Life-Tree of the Hylar. That great stalactite-city hanging from the cavern's ceiling like an inverted mountain, occupied so much of his thoughts, plans, and desires. He would have readily tolerated the hateful expanses of lanterns, lights, and flares that clearly marked the Hylar as a separate people from the Daergar and Theiwar. It was beyond his sight now, he reminded himself, but soon enough he would lay his eyes on that dazzling monument to corruption, wealth, and power.

Before then other matters required his attention. The first of these commenced as Thistle came out through the balcony doors.

"The thanes of the Theiwar and the Klar are here, my lord."

"Good. I expected them shortly, and I am pleased that they have honored me with promptness. Have my own robe prepared."

"Aye. But, lord… I beg leave to speak to you on a matter of delicacy and importance."

Darkend looked at his mistress with interest. She was hesitant, allowing her dark hair to curl over her face, masking her eyes for a moment. But then she flipped her locks out of the way and glared at the thane with an expression of determination.

"It is about the feast, lord. There have been some complaints that have reached my ears. Funding was provided for many kegs that were not delivered, and no one knows where the steel coin has gone."

Darkend kept his face impassive. He well knew what Thistle was implying. After all, Garimeth Bellowsmoke had been in charge of the budget for the entire celebration and only the thane and his sister had complete access to the treasury. But this was not the matter of most concern to Darkend. Indeed, he would have been surprised if Gari had not found some way to amplify her personal fortune during the course of the task.

Rather, the thane found it curious that Thistle had bothered to call this news to his attention. She's jealous, he suddenly realized with a grim thrill. She fears that her status is in jeopardy now that my sister has returned.

"Thank you for speaking so frankly," he said, his voice as soft as silk. "I know what must be done."

"I am grateful, lord," replied the dwarfwoman, who then withdrew to see to the matter of his royal robe.

Darkend took one last look at the stretch of dark road, then turned toward the great doors. Before he could take a step, a figure emerged from the shadows beside the wall, causing the new thane to stiffen with instinctive alarm. His gaze attempted to penetrate the gloom, and he recognized the shrouded nature of the black-clad form.

"Slickblade?" Darkend's fingers tightened around the haft of his dagger until he received confirmation.

"The same, lord. I am here to report success in the matter of your commands."

"Double success?"

"Of course." The assassin's tone was injured.

Darkened nodded, pleased with the news that certain significant rivals had been eliminated.

"But wait." The thane stopped Slickblade before the assassin turned away. "There is an additional matter… a thing I would like you to take care of…"

Darkend explained the additional task, which the assassin was more than happy to oblige. Finally Slickblade disappeared, though the ruler of the Daergar couldn't say exactly where he went. The dark-shrouded figure had simply vanished into the shadows at the base of the wall.

Immensely pleased, the thane went back into his throne room where he allowed his attendants to drape his black robe over his shoulders. The garment spread to either side of the great chair like the wings of an enormous bat while the black and red banner of the Smoking Forge was grandly displayed behind him. Garimeth took a seat at his side, and he saw with a tight smile that Thistle was nowhere in sight. The Daergar thane reclined with just the right amount of arrogance as two dwarves, each trailed by an entourage fitting to their royal stations, advanced and bowed.

"My lords, I bid you welcome," declared Darkend, rising and stepping forward as the cloak fanned wide behind him. He took each of the two visiting thanes by the hand, exerting gentle pressure as he looked deep into their faces with eyes that saw well in the lightless vault.

Pounce Quickspring, thane of the clan Theiwar, met Darkend's look with frank, luminous orbs that seemed to swell out of his face. He blinked as the milky lenses of his eyes strained for focus. Darkend shivered, certain that the Theiwar had some item of magic concealed upon his person-typical for a member of his race. Fortunately, Pounce seemed more than happy to keep his private possessions to himself. A bristling head of straw-colored hair grew down the thane's forehead, and he muttered a reply to the greeting with a certain sense of contained agitation.

Beside Pounce, Tufa Bloodeye, long-time ruler of the wild Klar dwarves, squinted to penetrate the darkness. His eyes were flushed with spots of watery crimson that gave ample proof of the origin of his surname. Unlike the suspicious and quiet Theiwar, Tufa beamed cheerfully and shook Darkend's hand with unfeigned enthusiasm. The Daergar thane was pleased by the warm greeting, though he knew that the Klar's disposition could alter dramatically at a moment's notice. Like virtually all of his violent clan, Tufa Bloodeye was more than half insane.

"Allow me to present my sister," Darkend offered as Garimeth came forward. He accorded her a courtly introduction and she immediately escorted the visiting thanes to the banquet table that had been laid at the side of the huge room. Soon Daergar, Klar, and Theiwar were mingling easily as they sampled a variety of beverages and milled about the great throne room among a mixture of other nobles and their many bodyguards.

Abruptly a gong sounded and the stilted conversations faded away. "I have arranged for a trifle entertainment," Darkend announced from the platform before his throne. He indicated a stage at the far side of the room, and all saw that a rack had been placed there. "Please, be seated."

The thane indicated benches that his servants had arrayed before the throne, and quickly the guests and hosts were all reclining comfortably with good views of both the rack and the Daergar thane.

"Bring on the subject," declared Darkend with a clap of his hands.

Guards immediately hustled into view, pulling along a prisoner. Thistle.

At the sight of the thane she screamed and began to plead. "Sire, what have I done? You are my master. Punish me as you will, but not-"

"Gag her!" directed the thane, unhappy with her stream of verbiage.

The female dwarf's voice was muffled into a series of strangled sobs as the guards hastened to obey. Darkend beamed, watching as she was tightly lashed to the framework of the rack. He was pleased to see that Slickblade had followed his orders with precision. She was not unconscious, nor apparently wounded from her capture.