Part 34 (1/2)
Tanis gave up translating. He simply told everyone what was going on.
”This is terrible!” Sturm said grimly. ”Now they will never let the refugees inside!”
”The question is: how did he know about the refugees?” Raistlin hissed. ”Tell Flint to ask him that.”
”I don't see how that matters?” Sturm said impatiently.
”Of course, you you don't,” Raistlin returned caustically ”Ask him, Flint.” don't,” Raistlin returned caustically ”Ask him, Flint.”
The dwarf shook his head.
”They won't listen,” he said grimly. ”We walked into Realgar's trap. Not much I can do about it now.”
Hornfel was forced to defend himself, strenuously denying the charges leveled at him by Realgar. Arman Kharas denied them, too, stating that he had come upon the companions by accident, adding that he himself had placed them under arrest and brought them before the council.
”Along with the curse of Grallen,” Realgar shouted.
”Silence, all of you,” Hornfel roared and, finally, the other Thanes ceased arguing. He glared at them until they all resumed their seats. The soldiers released Arman, who smoothed his beard and glowered at Realgar, who regarded the young dwarf with a leer.
Turning to Flint, Hornfel said in grim tones, ”Answer me, Flint Fireforge of the Neidar. Are these charges true?”
”No, the charges are not true, great Thane.”
”Ask him about the humans hiding in the valley!” Realgar snarled.
”We do do come in the name of a group of humans,” Flint said. come in the name of a group of humans,” Flint said.
”He admits it!” Realgar cried in triumph.
”But they are not soldiers. They are refugees!” Flint countered angrily. ”Men, women, and children. Not an army! And we did not not try to sneak into Thorbardin. The Northgate opened for us.” try to sneak into Thorbardin. The Northgate opened for us.”
”How?” Hornfel asked. ”How did you find the gate that has been hidden these three hundred years?”
Flint answered reluctantly, knowing this was exactly the wrong thing to say, for it played right into the Theiwar's hands, yet there was no other explanation he could offer. ”The Helm of Grallen led us here and opened the gate for us.”
Raistlin was at Tanis's side, his hand closed over Tanis's arm.
”Tell Flint to ask the Theiwar how he knew about the refugees,” Raistlin urged.
”What does it matter?” Tanis shrugged. ”Once the gate was open, his people probably went to investigate.”
”Impossible,” Raistlin countered. ”The Theiwar cannot abide sunlight!”
Tanis stared at him. ”That's true...”
”Hush, both of you!” Sturm cautioned.
Hornfel had taken a step forward. He raised his hand for silence.
”The charges made against you and your friends are very serious, Flint Fireforge,” he stated. ”You have entered our realm without permission. You have destroyed the gate.”
”That wasn't our fault,” cried Ta.s.slehoff, and he was immediately half-smothered by Caramon's large hand.
”You bring among us the accursed helm-”
”The Helm of Grallen is not cursed,” Flint said wrathfully, ”and I can prove it.”
Lifting the helm, he jammed it onto his head.
The Thanes, one and all, leapt to their feet, even the Aghar, who mistakenly thought that since everyone was standing it was time to adjourn.
Raistlin dug his nails into Tanis's arm. ”This could be very bad, my friend.”
”You were the one who wanted him to put the d.a.m.n thing on!” Tanis said.
”This is not the time or the place I would have chosen,” Raistlin returned.
Sturm instinctively put his hand to his scabbard, forgetting the dwarves had taken his sword. The dwarves had deposited the confiscated weapons near the entrance. Sturm calculated the distance, wondering if he could reach his sword before the soldiers reached him. Tanis saw the knight's look and knew what he was thinking. He cast Sturm a warning glance. The knight gave an oblique nod, but he also edged a couple of steps nearer the door.
Flint stood in the middle of the Court, the helm on his head, and for long, tense moments, nothing happened. Tanis started to breathe easier, then the gem on the helm flared red, flooding the court with bright red-orange light-a holy fire blazing in their midst. The helm covered Flint's face; only his beard showed, flowing from beneath, and his eyes.
Tanis did not recognize Flint in those eyes, nor, it seemed, did Flint recognize him or anyone else. He stared around as if he had walked into a room filled with strangers.
The Thanes were silent, their silence grim and foreboding. All laid hand to hammer, sword, or both. The soldiers held their weapons ready.
Flint paid no attention to the Thanes or the soldiers. He studied his surroundings; his gaze, filtered through the helm's eyeslits, taking in everything, like someone returning to a loved place after a long journey.
”I am home...” Flint said in a voice that was not his.
Hornfel's angry expression softened to doubt, uncertainty. He looked at his son, who shook his head and shrugged. Realgar smirked, as though he'd expected nothing less.
”He's play-acting,” he muttered.
Flint walked over to the dais, climbed the stairs, and sat down on an empty throne-the black throne, the throne sacred to the Kingdom of the Dead. He gazed defiantly upon the Thanes as though daring them to do anything about it.
The Thanes one and all stared at him in paralyzing shock.
”No one sits on the Throne of the Dead!” cried Gneiss. Grabbing hold of Flint's arm, he tried to drag him bodily from the sacred throne.
Flint did not stir hand or foot, but suddenly the Daewar Thane reeled backward, as though he'd been struck a blow by an unseen hammer. He fell off the dais and lay, trembling with fear and astonishment, on the floor.
Flint, seated on the Throne of the Kingdom of the Dead, wearing the helm of a dead man, spoke.
”I am Prince Grallen,” he said, and his voice was stern and cold and not Flint's own. ”I have returned to the hall of my fathers. Is this how I am welcomed?”
The other Thanes were eyeing the Daewar, who was still on the floor. No one went to help him. No one was leering or scoffing now.
Rance turned to Hornfel and said nervously, ”You are his descendant. Your family brought the curse upon us. You are the one who should speak to him.”
Hornfel removed his helm, a mark of respect, and approached the throne with dignity. Arman would have gone with his father, but Hornfel made a sign with his hand, indicating his son was to remain behind.