Dark Thane

When, finally, Crystal saw that nothing she could say or do could make his pain any less, she rose and sat on the edge of the bed. Holding out her arms, she drew him to herself. He wrapped his arms around her and rested there, listening to the sound of her breathing. That is when he felt her grow suddenly tense, and the hand stroking his hair became awkward and heavy. He wondered what was bothering his wife, but he had little energy to inquire. She needed her own time to say what she was about to say.

Finally, Crystal sighed and said, "Even in times of great sorrow, great joy is born."

Tarn was silent for a moment, then asked, "What do you mean?"

She laughed nervously. He sat back and looked up into her cool gray eyes. They were moist, but not with tears. Her lips trembled with a smile. "What is wrong?" he asked. "What did you mean?"

"Just this," she said, her voice catching in her throat. She touched her fingers to her lips to calm herself, then continued, "By this time next year, you shall hold your son in your arms."

16

Thane Jungor Stonesinger sat in his private study, his eyes roaming among the battle trophies he'd won over the years. Behind him, a broad window stood with its shutters thrown wide, while outside the window, twin gouts of water shot from the nostrils of a marble dragon's head, filling a deep granite bowl before spilling over into a stream. The stream flowed though the private gardens of Jungor's second level residence near the old temple of Reorx. A skylight cut through the living rock of the mountain let light in from the outside, filling his garden with sunlight and allowing his exotic collection of plants and trees to grow.

But at the moment, night ruled outside the mountain and moonlight was too wan to illuminate his garden. Instead, torches burned in golden sconces strapped to the trunks of the trees, flickering gaily in the pools formed by the stream and throwing their light in an ever-changing pattern against the white marble walls of his home.

Jungor sat facing the window, slowly removing the bandage from his empty eye socket, blind to the beauty of what lay before him. Behind him, his loyal guard captain, Astar Trueshield, and the Daewar thane, Rughar Delvestone, shared a couch near the fireplace. Thane Delvestone was sampling Jungor's brandy, while Astar contemplated the flames dancing in the grate, a dour look on his face.

Jungor tossed the used bandage onto his desk and turned to face his guests. They looked up at the movement, then recoiled in horror at what they saw. Jungor laughed. "Don't you like it?" he asked, pointing to the polished round agate resting in the bruised empty socket of his right eye. The gleaming black stone gave his already hellish visage an even more diabolical look.

"As you wish, my lord thane," Rughar said with obvious uncertainty. He sipped at his brandy nervously. But Astar had no such compunctions.

"Reorx's bones! Take it out, thane, before someone sees you," Captain Trueshield exclaimed.

Jungor laughed again, tilting his head forward until the stone rolled out of his face and dropped to the desk. It rolled slowly across the polished mahogany surface before dropping soundlessly to the soft carpet. "I am thinking of having a golden orb made," the Hylar thane stated with a jolliness that seemed incongruous with his recent defeat in the Council Hall. "Of course, I'd want it etched to look like a real eye, perhaps even with a blue enamel iris and a bit of black onyx set into the gold for a pupil. What do you think?"

"I think Tarn Bellowgranite should have died in those tunnels with his army," Rughar said grumpily, then tossed back the last of his brandy. His face flushed with the heat of the strong liquor.

"Naturally, my new eye shouldn't appear too real," Jungor said as he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "I think gold is just the thing. It won't tarnish or rust or crack, and it can be polished to the smoothness of butter."

"I don't see how you can sit here and make jokes at a time like this, Thane Jungor!" Rughar exclaimed. "Tarn defied the Council and look what has happened-the loss of an entire army. What was gained by this sacrifice? A rumor of Beryl's death? A piece of loose dragon scale that may have fallen off as she razed the city of Qualinost down to its foundations?"

"It would take ten armies and more elves than there are in all Krynn to kill Beryl," Astar Trueshield scoffed. "What galls me is that Tarn was defeated and lost his entire army almost to the last dwarf, and yet we have practically begged him to remain as king!"

Jungor leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows atop his desk. He pointed languidly at the Daewar thane. "You asked how I could make jokes at a time like this. How can you not? This has been a banner day in dwarven history. A spectacle, a well-written play, memorable theater if you like! I thought I'd continue the celebration with a little levity among conspirators."