Part 49 (1/2)

The dwarf wore heavy armor, but that didn't faze Dray-yan. The aurak had no need to penetrate armor or hit a vital organ. A scratch on the arm would do. The knife was smeared with poison, a lethal trick he'd learned from his kapak cousins.

Blade in hand, Dray-yan crept up on Arman.

Flint took hold of the Hammer of Kharas, yanked it from the harness, and raced toward the pit, bellowing all the while at Arman to look behind him. As Flint ran, he realized suddenly that his aches and pains had vanished. Fatigue lifted from him. His arms were strong, his legs powerful. His heart beat steady and true. He was filled with life and energy. Flint was a young dwarf once more, powerful, invincible.

Arman Kharas finally heard Flint's warning shouts. The young dwarf had been about to join in the battle, but now he turned around to see, to his shock, a monstrous foe closing on him from behind.

Flint was only steps from the platform when a baaz draconian landed squarely in front of him. The baaz attacked, swinging a curved-bladed sword. Flint didn't have time for such nonsense. He had to reach Arman before the youngster got himself into serious trouble. Flint swung the Hammer with the might of his fury, and struck the baaz in the head.

The draconian disintegrated; its body changing from flesh to stone and from stone to dust so rapidly that Flint was covered in the foul mess. Flint jumped onto the platform where Arman and the draconian were locked in mortal combat, grappling for the hammer.

Steel flashed in the draconian's hand. Dray-yan tried to stab Arman with a knife with one hand and get a grip on the hammer with the other. Arman was bleeding from a few cuts on his arm, but the dwarf's heavy armor protected his body and he was not concerned about the feeble blows of his foe.

Arman was about to raise the hammer and bring it down on his enemy, when a shudder shook the young dwarf. His face went deathly pale. His eyes widened. A sheen of chill sweat covered his forehead. Pain like a thousand steel blades slicing into his vitals drove him to his knees.

Dray-yan seized hold of the hammer, intending to wrench it from the dwarf's grip. Weakened as he was, his body splintered by pain, Arman closed his hands tightly over the hammer, refusing to give it up. He fought against the monster, but his strength was failing. The poison burned through his veins. He could no longer feel his hands or his feet. His hands went limp and slid off the hammer, and Dray-yan s.n.a.t.c.hed it.

His prize in hand, Dray-yan started to leap over the writhing body. He planned to flee the temple, but he found his way blocked.

Flint stood over Arman, facing the draconian. Flint gestured at the hammer in Dray-yan's hands.

”You've got the wrong one,” Flint told the aurak with grim satisfaction.

Dray-yan's startled gaze went from the hammer in his hand to the Hammer the dwarf was holding. He realized immediately he'd been duped. The Hammer the dwarf held blazed with a wrathful, holy light. Dray-yan could not even bear to look at it. If he'd been thinking, he should have known at once the hammer he held was a fake. No magical life flowed through it. No magic guarded it.

Cursing dwarves for shabby little tricksters, Dray-yan flung the false hammer to the floor. He lifted his hands, his fingers flaring with magic, and lunged at Flint.

”Reorx, help me,” Flint prayed and, swinging the true Hammer, he hit the draconian in the chest.

Bones cracked and snapped. Dray-yan shrieked and collapsed onto the platform. He almost rolled off, but he managed to save himself with a twist of his short, stubby tail. Flint was about to finish the aurak, when he remembered that draconians have the power to inflict harm even after they are dead. He had no idea what this strange greenish gold draconian would do, for he'd never seen one like it before, so instead he kicked the draconian, intending to push it off the platform.

Desperate, Dray-yan grabbed hold of Flint's boot and tried to yank the dwarf off his feet, hoping to grab the Hammer on the dwarf's way down, then fling him into the pit.

Flint twisted, turned and kicked frantically at the draconian. He could have slain the fiend with a single Hammer blow, but he didn't dare, for he had no idea if the creature's corpse would blow up, turn into deadly acid, or what would happen.

Then Flint realized that he might not have a choice. The draconian had managed to drag Flint near the edge of the pit. If Flint fell, the Hammer would fall with him, and that must not happen. To save the Hammer, he was going to have to kill this monster, though he himself would likely die in the process.

Flint aimed a blow at the draconian's ugly head, but before he could strike, the Hammer twisted in his hand and hit the draconian's right arm at the wrist. Bone cracked. Blood spurted. Dray-yan's hand on Flint's boot went limp.

Flint shoved the draconian, shrieking and cursing, off the platform.

His strength flagging, Flint went down on his hands and knees and stared into the darkness watching until the monster was lost to sight. Even then, Flint could still hear him screaming. Dray-yan's cries continued for a long time and never truly ended. They simply dwindled away.

”I failed...” said Arman, his eyes fluttering.

He lay on his back on the platform. His face was livid and contorted in pain. He shuddered and gasped for breath.

Flint, his heart wrung, crawled over to kneel beside the dwarf.

”I failed...” Arman murmured again. ”The Hammer... lost.”

”No, it isn't,” said Flint. ”You were victorious. Your foe is dead. You defeated him and saved the Hammer of Kharas. Here, I will show you.”

The two hammers, one true and one false, lay side-by-side on the platform.

Flint picked up one of the hammers and thrust it into the dwarf's hands. Gently, he closed Arman's limp fingers over it. The Hammer shone with a soft and radiant light that spread over Arman.

His tortured body relaxed. His pain-twisted grimace eased. His eyes grew clear. He clasped the Hammer to his breast.

”I am a hero,” he breathed, his lips barely moving. ”Arman... Kharas.”

He closed his eyes, drew in a breath, and let it out in a sigh. He did not take another.

Flint's eyes filled with tears. He was suddenly very old, weak, and tired, and he loathed himself. He stroked the young dwarf's hands that even in death still clasped the Hammer. He recalled something the ancient, white-haired dwarf had said in the tomb.

”You're not 'Arman'-a lesser Kharas,” Flint told the departing soul. ”You are Pike, son of Hornfel, the hero who saved the Hammer of Kharas, and that is how you will be remembered.”

Flint picked up the false hammer. He held it for a moment, long enough to beg the G.o.d's forgiveness and say goodbye to his dreams. Then he glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Dwarves and draconians were stabbing and slas.h.i.+ng, bleeding and dying. No one was watching Flint except for one. Ta.s.slehoff was staring, wide-eyed, straight at him.

”Ah, well,” Flint grunted. ”No one will believe him anyway.”

He flung the hammer into the pit.

The radiant light from the Hammmer of Kharas spread throughout the Temple, emboldening the dwarves and demoralizing their foes. But just when Hornfel began to think the day would be won, an army of heavily armed dwarves hundreds strong marched inside. He recognized the emblems of the Daergar on their flags, and he nearly despaired, for the Theiwar were cheering on their dark dwarf allies.

The Hammer's light did not dim, however, and Hornfel watched in astonishment as the Daegar turned on the Theiwar, cutting off the welcoming arms and trampling Theiwar bodies beneath their feet.

Hornfel had become separated from his son in the confusion of battle, but his heart swelled with pride, for he knew that somewhere Arman and the Hammer of Kharas were fighting gloriously.

Chapter 25.

The End Of A Dream.

Even as he fought the dwarves, Grag kept an eye on Dray-yan.

Generally, Grag loved nothing more than a good fight, but he was taking no pleasure in today's battle. He had enjoyed watching Dray-yan's play-acting, grinning widely at the sight of Lord Verminaard falling into a pit, listening to the hisses and chortles of his soldiers who were not in on the secret, and who thought they had truly witnessed the detested human's pitiful end. Grag had watched Dray-yan crawl out of the pit, then he'd been forced to turn his full attention to the dwarves. It was at this point when his pleasure started to diminish.

The battle was not turning out as Grag had planned. He'd expected the dwarves to be caught completely off guard by the attack. Instead, he was the one who was shocked and surprised. True, he'd been unmasked, forced to reveal the fact that a ”lizard” was inside their stinking mountain, but one lizard did not an army make, and the dwarves should not have figured out that they were going to be coming under attack. Somehow, they had foreseen it. Probably tipped off by those blasted humans.

Grag found himself and his troops badly outnumbered. He had antic.i.p.ated slicing up a few dwarven guards, but he was now facing four strong dwarven armies: Hylar, Daewar, Klar, and the Daergar. Grag had planned for a swift take-over, not having to fight every d.a.m.n dwarf beneath the mountain.