When he wasn't urgently directing his crew, Tarn lifted his eyes and took a few moments to glance around. The dwarven kingdom, Tarn felt certain, would never be the same. Fires burned in many places, using nothing more than rock as fuel. Thunder echoed and steam wafted through the air in great clouds. Across the sea he saw a bizarre, funnel-shaped cloud, whirling along the far shore. Every so often it would pick up a lake boat and cast the vessel and its terrified passengers through the air. The mist was everywhere in Thorbardin. Tarn suddenly became aware that his skin was clammy and the temperature was preternaturally warm.

All of a sudden the half-breed heard a moan of terror coming from the bow of the boat. He saw a shadow crouching there, and even from this distance he could feel the chill of its presence. He watched as, impenetrable and shapeless, the form reached out with two black limbs and embraced the trembling form of Poof Firemaker.

And then the horrific creature held only a limp and bedraggled bundle in its shadowy arms. A little tinder box dangled from the belt of the ragged clothes. Tarn couldn't recall from where the bundle had come, but he had no time to ponder that mystery as the shadow-wight moved down the hull. Panicked gully dwarves tumbled over the rowing benches, pushing and kicking at each other in their haste to get away.

Tarn was already in motion. Drawing his sword, he pushed his way through the throng until he faced the shadow alone near the bow of the boat.

Waves rolled past and the hull shifted underfoot, but he held his balance easily as his battle instincts took over. But how to fight this thing? It had no weapon and was in fact so tenuous in appearance that Tarn wasn't even certain it had a physical being. It was as if the thing floated directly above the hull of the boat, not adding any weight to the watercraft.

But then he saw the eyes, and he was shocked at the depth of the return stare. He was looking at himself. His saw his mother and his father in those eyes, and the contrast of light and darkness made his brain hurt, numbed his senses and even loosened the grip of his sword hand.

"Don't look!"

With a loud thwack, Regal hit Tarn over the head with an oar. The blow broke whatever force that held the half-breed even as it sent a throbbing pain shooting through his skull. Remembering his enemy, Tarn raised his sword and held his vision below the level of those hypnotic eyes.

The creature was a totally lightless shape, though Tarn could make out a gaping mouth and two gaunt, clutching limbs. A clawlike tendril of pure black nothingness reached forward, and Tarn intuitively knew that he couldn't let the creature touch him. Sinew in both arms flexing, he swung the sword with all of his might.

The blade passed cleanly through the extended limb, but the monster only lifted its head and laughed coldly. The hand that should have been severed reached around and seized the blade of the sword. Immediately Tarn felt an icy pain in his hands, and he was forced to release the weapon before his arm froze.

The wight tossed the weapon contemptuously over the side and soundlessly drifted a step closer to the stunned half-breed. Tarn recoiled, nearly stumbling over a rowing bench in his haste to scramble beyond that lethal touch. With deliberate slowness the deadly monster moved after him.

Behind him the terrified moaning of a boatful of gully dwarves rose, interspersed with shouts of advice.

"Fight him!"

"Run!"

Tarn knew that he had to stop the creature or the entire crew was doomed.

Weaponless, Tarn looked frantically around, catching sight of a silver short sword lying in the hull of the boat-Slickblade's weapon, the blade that had killed Duck Bigdwarf. He hesitated as he noted the leering skull emblazoned on the metal hilt, but he had no other alternative.

Snatching up the sword, Tarn thrust the bright, flickering blade at the wight just as the monster lunged forward.

But this time Tarn felt resistance to the thrust of the blade. He pushed harder and the shadow-wight uttered a surreal scream-not so much pain as great anguish. Fiercely elated, the dwarf slashed with the weapon, hacking again and again. Abruptly the creature vanished in a cloud of rapidly dissipating mist.

"Yea!" Cheering Aghar instantly mobbed the half-breed, a move that sent the boat rocking precariously. The celebration ceased quickly as the gully dwarves remembered the empty clothes in the bow. One big nosed fellow sniffed loudly, the others were strangely silent.

"To your benches!" barked Tarn. "Row!"

"You kill that?" wondered Regal, his voice full of awe as the other gully dwarves reluctantly returned to their stations. "You one tough war guy!"

"It was this sword," Tarn said in wonder, holding the plain-looking weapon up for inspection. It was assassin's steel, cold and starkly reflective. And it was his own sword now.

Somehow he and Regal got the crew back to their stations without sinking the boat, despite the fact that the water in the hull had risen nearly to the level of his knees. He set the bailers went to work again, lending a hand himself. Few oars had been lost, and they were able to keep going at a steady pace. The busy Aghar bailers emptied gallons of water out of the hull.

They drew closer to the Life-Tree, and all of Tarn's thoughts focused on the looming horror before him. He could see more detail now, and the sight was another blow to his spirits. The First and Second Levels of the Hylar city where Belicia had been stationed were now a mass flaming rock. He groaned at the horrible sight, certain that no one could have survived such a wave of destruction. Other levels, higher above, dripped and melted and burned. Would they find anybody alive when they got there?

As they drew nearer to Hybardin, Tarn saw that many Daergar boats were floating in the water just off the Life-Tree docks. The watercraft bobbed here and there close to the shore but didn't seem to have any purpose or formation. The crews had vanished.

And then, as if to punctuate the sense of gloom and disaster settling over Tarn, from the fully enclosed skies of Thorbardin came a shower of cold rain. Never before in the half-breed's lifetime had this happened. It never would have been thought remotely possible.

Their boat pulled toward the bleak shore, rising and falling on steep-sided breakers. With each stroke the pitching sea churned all the more. Waves rose, pushing them higher. Then with a thunderous crash the hull tipped and all the dwarves found themselves in the water.

Tarn felt the cold waters closing over his head. Then strong hands had him by the hair. He felt himself yanked violently upward, and then the grip had him by the ears and beard. He was bashed against a rock, pulled and twisted this way and that, until finally he was yanked ashore to gasp for breath on a ruined travesty of what had once been the proud city of the Hylar.

A Council of Chaos