"Regal Wise-Always. That my name. We in the Big House."

Tarn regarded the Aghar, observing the sparse beard straggling from a rounded chin, the small, rotund figure, and a face dominated by a pair of bright, curious eyes. "What 'Big House'? Is this Daerforge, the manor of Garimeth Bellowsmoke?"

"Big Big House. And you in Agharhome, buddy. Best next best place in all Thorbardin!"

"No! I've seen Agharbardin. Nobody but a gully dwarf would go there, and I can tell you that it's not like this."

Tarn made the denial with a great deal of conviction. He could tell that this was a fine sleeping chamber, with a bed fit for nobility. Now that he was upright, he also noticed a settee, garment wardrobes, and a dressing table. It all looked vaguely familiar. This was not his usual room, but he was almost certain that he was somewhere within his mother's house in the port city of the dark dwarves.

"Well, you come to Agharhome here. You right by dark dwarves-they take you boots and plop into bed."

Forcing himself to think, Tarn reviewed his memory of Thorbardin, including the large gully dwarf slum called Agharbardin-or Agharhome, as the wretched inhabitants called it. He remembered that the gully dwarf city was a sprawling wasteland adjacent to Daerforge, but the two cities were distinct entities and clearly unalike. As a youngster during his visits to his mother's home city, he had joined Daergar youths in pitching rocks from the balconies and plazas of their city, hooting with derision as the missiles had tumbled through the crowded Aghar hovels that lined the lower elevations of the cliff. Come to think of it, he had thrown some of those rocks from the ramparts of this very manor. The squalid lairs of the gully dwarves had not been terribly far away.

"Regal. That's a good name, I have to say. How did you get here?"

"I walk. Me good walker, for sure."

"I'm sure you are." Tarn winced, knowing he could be in for a long conversation. "I mean, where did you go to come to this part of… er, Agharhome?"

"Over there… where I go now!" Suddenly the sturdy little fellow bounced to his feet and dashed with startling alacrity across the sleeping chamber, disappearing into one of the wardrobes that had been standing open. The door shut with a loud clunk, but then he realized that the noise had come from the large door to his room.

His mother stood in the portal now, staring at him with a pinched, thoughtful expression. "I see that you're awake. Actually, one of the guards thought he heard you talking to yourself." She looked around suspiciously.

"Yes," he stated in a controlled angry voice, "I make better company than most people."

Garimeth sniffed as she came into the room followed by a pair of armed guards. "You could do with a bath," she declared acidly.

Vaguely Tarn smelled the lingering aftermath of Regal Wise-Always.

"I didn't sleep very well," he complained. "Something got hold of my stomach. Maybe you can tell me what it was?"

"It was Aminus Hybrythia." She gave the name of a rare fungus, widely known for its soporific effects. "It served its purpose, I have to admit."

"And what purpose was that?" demanded Tarn, rising to his feet and staggering in spite of his determination to show no weakness. He clamped his jaws against a swelling wave of nausea. "Why did you knock me out? My orders were to speak to Uncle Darkend, the new thane, and I must do so right away."

His mother's expression remained stoic, though the two guards who held small but lethal crossbows raised their weapons fractionally. Finally the truth dawned on Tarn.

"What day is it?" he asked dully.

"You've slept for the last three cycles. Poor thing, you seemed to be terribly tired."

"Then he's visited Daerforge and gone back to his palace already?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then I must go to Daerbardin and talk to him!"

"You'll do no such thing." Now the guards stepped forward to flank his mother as she moved closer to him. "For two reasons-one of which is for your own good-though you're probably too thick-headed to see it."

He waited, saying nothing, numb even to the retching of his stomach and the aching in his head.

"First, you're on a fool's errand. Darkend Bellowsmoke has no more intention of listening to Hylar counsel than he does of taking a goat for his wife."

"You can't know that!" Tarn protested.

"See-too thick, like I said. But it's true. In fact, after hearing you out, your uncle would have to kill you before letting you run back to Hybardin."

"That is why you knocked me out for three days?" he asked sarcastically.

"Don't tempt me to make it longer," she warned.

"How long do you plan to hold me here?"

"I can't have you talking to Darkend. This is not a good time for such a family reunion. And believe it or not, this is the only place you'll be safe."

"Why can't I talk to Darkend? And why are you making it your business to see that I don't?"

"He's my brother, dearie. I've looked after his best interests ever since we were children together. Listen to me. What do you think Darkend has been doing since he took the throne? And why do you think he was meeting with the thanes of the Klar and Theiwar?"

"What do you mean?" Tarn's voice was dull.

"Perhaps you'd like to have a look."

Garimeth indicated the door. Sensing the alertness of the two guards and the arrows pointed at his back, Tarn followed her outside. They stood on one of the wide plazas of the great manor, a place with a view of the crescent of Daerforge's waterfront and the broad swath of the sea beyond. There was a lot of activity there, columns of dark dwarves forming on the docks and collecting in the streets beyond the waterfront.

The bay, Tarn saw immediately, was thick with boats. A great, metal-hulled flotilla was in the process of boarding and gathering at the dockside of Daerforge. The scene bristled with armed Daergar. This was the embarkation of an army that could only have one goal, one destination.

Tarn's eyes rose to the spire of illuminated rock in the middle of the subterranean sea. Hybardin stood out like a beacon from the murk of the underworld, torches and lanterns and bonfires lighting the pillar like an outline of distant stars. Specks of illumination reflected in the black stillness of the water. It was his imagination to be sure, but Tarn heard the banter of the dockyard markets, the tapping of kegs, and the searing of grilled meats-all against the backdrop of cheerful Hylar society. He suddenly realized that he missed home very much.

And he wondered if he would ever see it again.

"The Klar? The Theiwar, too? It's a general attack?" he asked, masking his rising panic by the cool disinterest of his voice. He was terribly afraid. All he could think about was Belicia Felixia and her newly-trained company of novices.

"Yes. The Theiwar shall come by boat from the other side of the sea and the Klar are taking the tunnels of the high route. With any luck, they'll be charging into that nest of grand dames and doddering old fools on Level Twenty-eight before the Hylar even know the attack is underway."

Tarn knew the passages she meant. The great homes of the nobles were on the highest of Hybardin's levels. Many of these had access to passages bored through the great dome of rock that arched over the sea. During the thousands of years Thorbardin had been inhabited, these tunnels had been expanded into a network of passages that could be used to connect Hybardin to virtually any other part of the great dwarf kingdom. Since they granted no access to the outside world, however, they had only peripherally been considered by those who planned for the Life-Tree's defense.

Level Twenty-eight was where Baker Whitegranite's house was, where his mother had lived for decades. The people who lived there now had been his mother's neighbors, her peers, and her companions since before Tarn had been born. He felt a wave of revulsion now at the thought that she could discuss their impending doom with such coldness. At the same time, he sensed that it was important not to let her see his true reaction.