The dark dwarves cast more spells. Hissing, sparking arrows suddenly began to shower into the Hylar. Some of the magic missiles were deflected by shields and armor, but others seared into skin and flesh. Dwarves screamed, but there was more anger than pain in the sounds as the vengeful defenders wielded their axes and swords with fury and skill. Even a magical cloud of stinking gas didn't break the line. When the vapors seemed to choke as many Theiwar as Hylar, the attackers finally set about the onslaught with the physical tools of war. Swords clanged against shields, and the Theiwar invaders hurled simple, brute strength against resolute Hylar stubbornness.

More Theiwar swarmed to the west and the Hylar captain watched with grim amusement as these newcomers set upon the Daergar, driving their fellow dark dwarves away from the base of the stairs. The defending Hylar took the chance to catch their breath, until the Theiwar rushed to take the place of the attackers they had just dislodged.

The battles raged at each of the four stairways, and each step of advance was purchased at a heavy toll in blood. Belicia held her reserve detachment at the ready, wondering how long her brave defenders could hold out.

More and more attackers swarmed from the darkness to all sides. Even if the battle waned, there was no denying the ultimate truth. The Hylar were surrounded by enemies and any hope of survival would have to be found within the hearts of those who were ready to give their lives in defense.

Interlude of Chaos

The fire dragons were joined by shadows of purest darkness. All around the cosmos, from every place where the beings of wildness and destruction had been held, the creatures of Father Chaos arose and heeded the call. They swarmed through the stuff of worlds, howled in the vast silences of space, and rushed toward the poor vault of dirt and stone and sea.

But Krynn itself could not even acknowledge the presence of danger. A mere piece of ground in the cosmos, that place of men and dwarves and dragons could only whirl in its appointed place and allow the dwellers upon and within it to face the host of horrors that swept in with the tide Chaos.

Already many of the realms under the sun had felt the sweep of undoing, for the creatures of Chaos had begun their war against the rulers of Ansalon. But soon the attackers and their waves of destruction swelled beyond the visible world, moved past the places that could be seen. Some of the horde soared through the skies and others moved into the bedrock of the world.

And these last flew through the rock and stone as if it was wispy smoke. They followed the beacon of Primus, who in turn was guided by his dark master. They flew, climbed, and swam in the world until the shell of that planet fell away to reveal a great underground sea, teeming cities-some bright with light and others inky black. They also found peoples of blood and flesh, victims for the coming of Chaos.

Zarak Thuul led, and the horde of Chaos followed.

Coming of Chaos

Though the lesson was painful, Tarn learned it quickly enough. The best thing to do was to try to breathe through his mouth. The air in the escape shaft had been tolerable, but when Regal had led him to an adjoining tunnel the stench had become fetid, the air almost unbreathable. By Tarn's best guess, their current passage was one of the sewage drainage tunnels underneath Daerforge. When he took a careless breath, this supposition was vividly confirmed.

"This Street Number One," Regal proclaimed proudly as he strolled down the great pipeway with no apparent discomfort.

"Street? Of what?" wondered Tarn, looking for anything that might distinguish the dark shaft as anything other than a big drainage pipe.

"Of Agharhome!" The gully dwarf seemed perplexed at his thickness. "This Number One Main Street of city!"

"Does it smell this bad everywhere?" Tarn asked, still breathing through his mouth.

"What smell?" Regal took a loud, wet sniff, and shook his head in mystification. "I smell no smell. Maybe you smell?" He fastened a look of calculated appraisal on his companion, but then shrugged forgivingly. "Oh, well. You not smell too bad."

Regal continued to lead him down the long, damp tunnel. He finally turned into a different shaft, then crawled into a narrower pipe that forced the reluctant Tarn onto his hands and knees as well.

"This Main Street Number Two," the Aghar informed him.

Despite his resolve not to breathe through his nose, Tarn periodically found himself accidentally catching a tiny whiff of Agharhome. Each time he gagged on the stench, and they were forced to halt while Tarn drew desperate, rasping mouthfuls of air.

At first each assault of tainted vapor seemed like a toxin powerful enough to blacken his vision. But he was surprised to note that, very gradually, the hideous stench seemed to become somewhat less offensive. It was not that the smell was any less vile or any less intense. Instead, it was more like his nostrils had become desensitized, so that the occasional waft that passed through the guard of his closed palate ultimately brought no more than a sensation of mild distaste.

Regal Everwise-or was it Wise-Always?-continued to lead the way as the two of them moved through a series of tight passages that sometimes descended and sometimes proceeded in a more or less lateral direction. The passages were narrow and smoothly made, but nothing like a city in Tarn's mind.

"What's that?" the half-breed asked as they passed a wider passage and heard sounds of laughter and sociable conversation.

'That Main Street Number Two," declared Regal.

"I thought this was… never mind." Tarn decided it was best to follow along with as few questions as possible.

They finally emerged from the base of a cliff. Looking over his shoulder and upward, Tarn saw the sweep of stone wall rising to the uppermost of Daerforge's levels. He recognized the twin towers at the gatehouse of his mother's manor and realized he was really not that far from the dwelling of his maternal ancestors.

But as he looked around he also felt transported to another world. A slope before him led steeply downward. It was a surface of huge rocks teetering dangerously at unbalanced angles. The slope was scored by paths and gullies that twisted around the huge outcrops. Beneath and around the rocks Tarn could see countless niches and darkened alcoves. He guessed that these dens must serve as the Aghars' houses and other buildings-well, shelters anyway since they didn't seem to have actually been "built."

While he was watching, he noticed several small figures dashing from one of these entrances to another with every appearance of great urgency. They dove into the burrows under the rocks, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared. Agharhome covered a broad, steep slope that led from the base of the cliff to the shore of the Urkhan Sea. At a casual glance the gully dwarf city was indistinguishable from a field of strewn boulders. The network of ravines and channels served as roads, just as the crude niches between the rocks served as buildings.

"Here we find my friends," Regal said, his conversational voice sounding like a shout to Tarn after the long, silent crawl. As soon as he got over his surprise, he realized that the whole area was abuzz with noise: laughter, argument, snoring, all kinds of sounds-though there were still no Aghar immediately in view.

"Sure. Regal?"

"What?" The gully dwarf stopped and looked up at Tarn, scowling suspiciously.

"I just wanted to say, urn, thanks… thank you for getting me out of there."

"Beer was gone anyway," Regal replied with a shrug. "My friends got more, but different kind. You will see. Gully grog got some real kick."