Then he fell back as more enemy fighters moved to his right and left, eager to surround him and cut him down.

"You leave my pal alone!" demanded Regal, advancing to take a place at Tarn's right side. The gully dwarf's long dagger snicked out, the quick slash driving the first of the Daergar back.

Dark dwarves swerved the other way, but Tarn was elated to see Duck Bigdwarf and Poof Firemaker counter to his left. The bigger gully dwarf cheerily swung a torch he had somehow ignited, while Duck dropped low and stabbed upward with a sharp, long-bladed dagger.

More of the Aghar were racing around, and now it was the Daergar who were surrounded and harassed on all sides by darting, taunting enemies. Poof's torch flared at the dark dwarves, who cursed its brightness. Swords and clubs flailed, fists and feet pummeled, and the press of the charging gully dwarves was just enough to check the advance of the enemy crewmen. Some of the Daergar still scrambled to get out of the boat while others fought, precariously balanced at the edge of the dock and terrified of the black water surging against the wharf behind them.

Duck crawled between the legs of a burly Daergar, and when the gully dwarf stood up the sharpened crown of his helm propelled the dark dwarf right off the dock. The armored warrior sank like a stone in the dark water, his screams unheeded by his crewmates who were still trying to scramble ashore. Then the Aghar were swarming over the boat, picking up oars-dropping several overboard before Tarn could stop them-and punching, kicking, and biting the few hapless dark dwarves.

Tarn leaped into the boat and was immediately startled by a loud clang from the hull beside his head. A steel arrow had just missed him. He whirled around, seeking the shooter. Judging from the force of the shot-the arrowhead had left a sizeable dent in the boat-he knew that the deadly archer must be nearby. But there were only gully dwarves in the vicinity.

"Look out!" Duck Bigdwarf shouted the warning, pointing toward one of the dwarves in the boat behind Tarn.

The half-breed whirled, realizing that the huddled figure beside him was no gully dwarf but instead a small-sized imposter who had rushed across the dock in the wake of the Aghar charge. The fellow moved with lightning speed, and the silver blade of a short sword darted from the shadows straight toward Tarn's throat.

"No you not!" Duck leaped from the dock, and the stab intended for Tarn instead caught the gully dwarf in the chest.

The attacker tried to pull back for another attack, but now Tarn reacted. His sword came down against the Daergar's weapon, knocking the blade out of the dark dwarf's hand. With a hiss of rage, the cutthroat scrambled to the dock and raced away.

Tarn had no time to pursue. The few surviving Daergar made a charge to retake their boat. His sword caught one fellow in the forehead, dropping him in the hull of the boat. The gully dwarves made a splendid game of seizing the others and riding them into the water. After a great splash, each of the Aghar popped to the surface, while the armored and water-hating dark dwarves were not seen again.

Reaching down, Tarn pulled the assassin's weapon free from Duck, dropped the blade into the hull of the boat, and laid the motionless gully dwarf on a bench. The short sword was clean and gleaming, an insubstantial fire flickering along the razor edge of the blade. The hapless Aghar who had been pierced by the weapon was already dead.

"That was Slickblade!" gasped Regal Everwise, pointing to the disappearing assassin and then to the glaring skull embossed upon the silver hilt of the weapon. "He kill loads of Aghar!"

"If not for Duck Bigdwarf, he would have killed me as well," Tarn said, with a pang of grief for the courageous gully dwarf.

"You one hot fighter! You knock Slickblade's sword down!" Regal declared, looking at Tarn with eyes wide as saucers.

Tarn pushed his way forward, using his sword to cleave the last of the Daergar crew members. The bodies were unceremoniously dumped over the side. Tarn assigned two gully dwarves to each rowing bench, knowing that they had to put to sea swiftly.

At the same time, a roar of alarm went up.

Hybardin Hold

The lift rattled to a stop and the cage doors opened upon another of Hybardin's levels. Before the passengers could disembark, however, Baker Whitegranite slumped onto a bench and spoke weakly.

"Wait just a minute, now." Baker held up his hand. The band of Hylar who served as his bodyguard stood at attention while the thane hissed through clenched teeth and bent double, his hands clasped over his stomach. "It won't be long-just until the worst of the pain passes."

"Are you wounded, my lord?" asked Capper Whetstone in real concern.

"No. It's just a pain in the belly. All too familiar, I'm afraid. Just give me a minute and I'll be fine." He tried to smile into the blurred, concerned faces, but the agony was too acute.

For all his reassuring words, it was all Baker could do to keep from falling down in utter collapse. The fire in his stomach had afflicted him with increasing frequency as the defense of embattled Hybardin had progressed.

He tried to think, to divert his mind from the physical pain, but every memory seemed instead only to enhance his suffering. He thought of Axel Slateshoulders, laid low by the news of his daughter's fate, and Baker couldn't help but wince at his own culpability. It had been he who had assigned her to the post of ultimate danger, he who had been unable to provide her with the reinforcements and recruits that she had so desperately needed.

And what of his son? Was he on the lake, in the midst of the army of dark dwarves? The more Baker thought about it, the more convinced he became that Tarn, like Belicia and so many others, must be dead. The thought grew into a wave of melancholy so powerful that it seemed to almost overwhelm him.

The thane of the Hylar pinched his eyes shut, fighting a most undwarven onslaught of tears. Finally he gave in, holding his head in his hands and sobbing. All these deaths. So much of Hybardin destroyed-and destroyed by an enemy they couldn't even fathom! It was too much tragedy for one dwarf to bear. After his body was seemingly drained of all tears, he felt no better. His spirit was empty, and everything about the future seemed hopeless. How could any leader, any people, be expected to cope with such a relentless and deadly onslaught?

The dark dwarf attack had been treacherous and violent, but also predictable in light of the long, bloody history of Thorbardin. Baker reminded himself that he had tried to plan for it.

The Chaos horde was something that seemed impossible to defeat, or even to resist effectively. Instead, the Hylar could only flee or die. The parts of the city that had fallen to the creatures of shadow and destruction had been completely destroyed.

The only bright spot had been the diversionary tactic that had pitted the large attack force of Klar against the soldiers of Chaos. But Baker was under no illusions. This was not a tactic they could repeat with any regularity nor did it gain them any ground against the shadowy power that had claimed so much of the Hylar city.

Whole blocks of buildings were gone, gardens wilted, waters fouled. They were somewhere around the middle of the Life-Tree now, having stopped for a look and a report at each of the lift stations on the way down. Snatching at hope, he tried to formulate some kind of plan. At least his stomach pain had eased somewhat.

"All right. I think I can move again." With an effort he raised his head from his hands, embarrassed by his display of weakness. "Let's go."

"This is Level Ten, my lord. Our first reports were that it has not yet been attacked," explained Capper Whetstone, overseer of the thane's ten personal bodyguards. Now they formed two ranks, one to each side of the thane, while Capper himself walked at Baker's side.