The thane looked around, not really seeing much. The onetime blacksmith had long since noted his leader's visual problems. Now he described their surroundings without being prompted. "No damage visible so far, Sire. There's a couple of bridges linking the roads to the Kings Walls, both intact.".

"Good." Baker tried to detect some cause for optimism in the report, but his despair was too great to be eased by this news or any other.

"Look out!" shouted one of the bodyguards.

The thane whirled to see a dark shape rearing above another of the Hylar warriors. The dwarf moaned in terror as the tendrils of darkness slammed together-and then he was gone, in a shocking instant. Empty armor tumbled to the floor like a useless shell.

Capper Whetstone lunged and swung his axe with crushing force, but the weapon passed right through the vaporous apparition. The captain of the guard stumbled back an instant before a lashing limb of darkness could reach him.

And then the shadow was coming straight at Baker. The thane had drawn his sword-he didn't remember when-and he stabbed ahead blindly, striking into the center of the shade and feeling the darkness part before the edge of his blade. He cut again, feeling a shivering sensation in the air around him.

The shadow creature was gone.

"My lord, are you all right?" asked one of his men.

Baker nodded.

"How did you do that?" asked Capper. "I struck the thing square to no effect at all!"

"It was this sword," Baker said, looking at the short sword he held in his hand, "this sword from the wall of my Atrium, blessed by Reorx in the old days of Thorbardin like all the rest of those weapons." He was struck by an inspiration. "There's more of them there, all of them likewise blessed and enchanted. Come, we'll take them and use them in this fight!"

They quickly made their way to the Thane's Atrium. Soon they had removed all of the treasured artifacts from the wall except for a huge, long-hafted axe that was simply too heavy to carry. His bodyguards and a number of other Hylar warriors were thus armed with short and broadswords, axes and hammers great and small. If Baker's assumption proved correct, these weapons might cause some harm to the lightless attackers.

By the time the inspection of the next few levels was completed, Baker's "gut fire" had settled into a dull ache, a discomfort he was able to conceal as he passed the hopeful throngs of his people who had gathered on word of the thane's arrival. They were strangely silent, these worried dwarves, but Baker could sense the trust in their shining eyes. He silently vowed to prove himself worthy of his role as their leader.

Finally the lift rumbled into Level Five, the lowest station still controlled by the Hylar. Baker was heartened to see that the forges were still burning, encouraged to hear the hammering of smiths and the shouts of foremen as the dwarves worked hard in defense of their city.

But his mood darkened quickly as he remembered that it was not far below here, on the broad marketplace of Level Two, that Belicia and her valiant company had made their last stand.

"My Lord Thane," declared a young but battle-scarred Hylar, his head and one arm wrapped in bandages, "I was with the company in the plaza, below. I was told that I should give you a full report."

"Yes. Please, sit down." Baker gestured to one of the street-side benches, and the two dwarves sank together onto its stone surface. "What's your name? Can you tell me what happened down there when the Chaos horde attacked?"

"Thornwhistle, my lord-Farran Thornwhistle is my name. At first we were holding the bastards, lord. Captain Slateshoulders's plan was a good one. We beat back every one of the Daergar attacks-and the Theiwar's when they came ashore a few hours later. I can't say how many we killed, but it was hundreds, maybe more than a thousand."

Baker encouraged him to continue, the thane trying without success to imagine the bloody horrors that this young Hylar had survived.

"I had been wounded once or twice, lord like all the fighters. But still we held! I heard the songs of our ancestors, felt the drums pounding in triumph, and knew that the dark dwarves would rue the day that they attacked us. We bled, but we slew many of them, and our shield wall held!"

Farran took a deep breath, and suddenly his eyes were wild, haunted with memories. "And then-" Farran Thorn-whistle's voice caught, and he shook his head in disbelief. "It was like the sea caught fire. It spread to the bedrock. I saw the south dockside just melt away, running like sludge from heat. My lord, I wouldn't even expect you to believe me-but the rock was melting, I swear it!"

"Did it seem as though the fire was aiding the dark dwarves, perhaps controlled by Theiwar magic-users?" This was one of his greatest fears.

Thornwhistle scowled, thinking deeply. "No, lord. I don't think so. I saw more than a few of their boats go down. Some were melted, some capsized by the waves. And even on shore, the dark ones were running for their lives-especially those fleeing that fire dragon and the black one who rode it."

Baker nodded, having heard many reports of this menacing but mysterious being. "What did he do? Was he the leader?"

"Aye, lord. He seemed to summon others, sending them against both Daergar and our own Hylar!"

"What 'others'? What kind of troops did you see?"

"They were like shadows, lord, but shadows with an insatiable hunger and a lethal touch. A whole rank of my comrades fell dead, falling like empty sacks of flesh, drained into nothingness by a touch from these beasts. I could see their armor there, their weapons-but by Reorx, they were gone! And I don't even remember who they were! Men and women I had trained with for weeks, had shared the battle line with all day!"

Thornwhistle lowered his head into his hands and sobbed. Awkwardly Baker patted him on the shoulder, though his own grief felt every bit as heavy.

"Yours is confirmation of other experiences, even my own."

"Captain Slateshoulders rallied us. We tried to stand. By Reorx, her courage was the stuff of song and legend-and we failed her!"

"No. There is no failure in fleeing from these creatures, my young warrior. But tell me of your captain, Belicia Felixia Slateshoulders. Did you see her fall?"

"No. The shadows were too thick." Wretched and miserable, Farran looked at his thane with an expression of utter despair. "They came up the stairs and through the rock. Everyone was running for their lives. I was afraid, my lord-I was a rank coward, and I deserve to be punished!"

"We're all afraid, son. There's no shame in that. Were you still down below when the bottom of the Life-Tree caved in?"

"No. We were climbing by then, fighting on the stairs leading up to Level Three. But those shadows were after us, coming from everywhere!"

"You get some rest now. And eat something." Baker was thoughtful, trying to seize on a tiny ray of hope that he had discerned in these reports. He felt profound admiration for this young warrior and deep pity for the dwarves who had faced this ungodly threat. "You'll have to fight again, Reorx knows, but not before you have a chance to recover."

The thane left the young warrior with several matrons who promised to look after him. Baker's step was strangely buoyant, however, as he returned to the lift station. If truth be told, he felt better, more hopeful, than he had since the Chaos horde had first attacked.

He found Axel at the station and he embraced his astonished friend firmly, fiercely holding him against his chest.

"Is there news? Did you hear how Belicia fell?" asked the grieving veteran.

"No news, except this: we still remember her, don't we? What she looked like? Who she was?"

"Aye. It's all we have now," Axel declared bitterly.