The Heir of Kayolin

THIRTEEN

Run!” Gretchan insisted in a hoarse whisper, still pulling on Brandon’s hand as they stumbled into a murky fog so thick that the dwarf couldn’t see his axe blade, which he was holding up in front of his face. Kondike barked and growled frantically, and he heard an Enforcer cry out somewhere behind them. His shoulder had slammed into the doorframe as the priestess pulled him outside; then they were in the street, boots scuffing on the cobblestones.

That thick murk still surrounded them, more like fog or smoke, but lacking any smell or sense of wetness.

“Kondike!” Gretchan snapped, before jerking Brandon’s hand, pulling him away from the uproar at the Bluestone home.

He hated the thought of fleeing his house when he knew that the Enforcers were confronting his parents. And how had they found him so quickly? Had Bondall betrayed him? Even as he entertained the thought, he rejected the notion. Apparently Heelspur was concerned enough about Brandon to make sure his home was constantly watched.

They ran a few more steps, still blinded by the fog. “What is this damn murk?” he demanded through clenched teeth. “Why can’t we see?”

“It’s just a little spell, dearie,” the priestess replied, grunting as they bumped into some hapless pedestrian and bowled the cursing dwarf over. “It will give us a few moments to conceal ourselves, hopefully escape. But not for long, so hurry!”

“But my father!” Brandon protested even as they broke out of the cloud to find themselves on the street a short distance away from the Bluestone home. Kondike raced at their heels, his hackles high, mouth hanging open to reveal his tongue and long teeth. “They’ve got my parents now!” He glanced back and saw that the obscuring cloud still churned in front of the Bluestone domicile. But the vapor seemed to be thinning, and his companion pulled hard on his hand.

“And they’ll have you in their clutches too if you want to go back there and act the hero,” Gretchan insisted sharply. “Do you think your father wants that?”

“No,” he admitted, once more following along.

“If we’re free,” she added, “we might be able to help them more.”

Even as she spoke, he saw three more big dwarves, wearing the black leather tunics he’d already come to despise, moving into the street before them to block their path of escape. The two on the flanks each drew a sword, while the third, weapon sheathed, advanced between them and held up a hand.

“Halt in the name of the League of Enforcers!” demanded that one.

Kondike lowered his head and put on an explosive burst of speed. He sprang into the air and smashed the unarmed dwarf in the chest, snarling jaws snapping at the flailing Enforcer’s beard. Brandon raised his axe and charged at one of the swordsmen.

As the other moved to help his comrade, Gretchan shouted one word at him: “Stop!”

Immediately the dwarf froze in his tracks, his body contorting as he tried to move feet that had apparently been cemented to the street. “What in Reorx’s name …?” he demanded.

Brandon slashed his axe at the third Enforcer and knocked the dwarf’s sword free, the weapon clanging and spinning across the stones of the roadway. He lowered his shoulder and barreled into the disarmed dwarf, sending the fellow tumbling backward. He and Gretchan plunged past and raced away, the priestess again calling back to Kondike. With a last snap of his powerful jaws, the big animal bounded after his companions.

“This way,” Brandon urged, giving Gretchan’s hand a tug. They raced down the street, past the Cracked Mug. A crowd, attracted by the commotion, was gathering outside the bar. Brandon was gratified as the dwarf citizens parted for them then closed in behind, providing another few seconds’ gap between the fleeing fugitives and Lord Heelspur’s Enforcers.

Brandon aimed for the nearest of the connecting stairwells, reasoning that they would have a better chance of losing their pursuers if they could escape from that level of the city. But as soon as they veered around another corner, he saw more of the black-garbed agents standing guard before the landing leading into the stairwell. There were something like a dozen of the dwarves in that detachment, and seeing Brandon and Gretchan, half of them charged while the others held their position at the stairwell.

“How many of those bastards are there?” Brandon wondered out loud, looking back to see more of their pursuers emerging from the crowd outside the Cracked Mug. He spun around, momentarily at a loss for direction, and was startled again when Gretchan barked an order and took off running. “Follow me!”

He was swept along, quickly sprinting up to her side. “You should let me lead!” he insisted. “I know this city!”

“I have a plan!” she shot back. More of the Enforcers appeared in front of them, so detachments were closing in from three sides. Gretchan startled him by tugging him around another corner.

“Not this way; we’re going to be trapped!” he cried out.

She plunged on, while he felt he had no choice but to follow. They ran down a narrow lane between bustling shops selling food, fabrics, drinks, and tools. Dwarf merchants and customers dodged out of their way, cursing. Kondike’s sudden appearance caused a young dwarf maid to scream, and Brandon knocked over the handcart of a vendor selling savory mushroom tarts.

“Sorry!” he called over his shoulder, still plunging onward behind Gretchan.

The fugitives approached one last intersection, beyond which loomed a wide plaza and the lip of the great Atrium of Garnet Thax.

Brandon was momentarily relieved as Gretchan skidded to a halt at the last side street before the Atrium. They could turn right or left and keep running; if they continued straight ahead, they’d be trapped at the lip of the sheer cliff wall. She whistled sharply, and Kondike stood rigid, staring at her with upraised ears.

“Kondike-go!” she commanded, pointing down the side street. “Run!”

Immediately the big dog spun about and sprang away, his long legs carrying him quickly along the lane, parallel to the edge of the Atrium. Crouching low above the street, the dog stretched out and sprinted in a blur of speed, dashing among the startled dwarves to all sides. In a flash he was gone from view, though Brandon could track his swift progress by the startled reactions of dwarf pedestrians who scrambled to get out of his way as the dog ran farther and farther away from his two companions.

They heard shouts from up the street and saw a whole company of the black-clad Enforcers, more than a dozen of them, charging in their direction.

“Halt!” cried the one in the lead, brandishing a short sword. “Stop them!” he exhorted the crowd. “They’re under arrest!”

As happened with the crowd outside the Cracked Mug, the pedestrians showed no inclination to tackle the wild and dangerous-looking fugitives, though neither were they so rash as to try to obstruct the large group of weapon-brandishing Enforcers. Once again Gretchan pulled Brandon along, running right onto the plaza beside the Atrium until finally they halted, facing their pursuers, with the stone railing, barely thigh-high, crowding their backs. Brandon was acutely aware of the treacherous plunge, the shaft leading into the very center of the world, yawning a mere step or two behind him.

“Now what?” he demanded, raising his axe, holding the haft across his chest as he prepared to make a last stand. As the dozen or more agents closed in, he remembered Gretchan’s stories to his parents, in which she had inflated his battle prowess. He glanced at her in exasperation. “Just how good of a fighter do you think I am?”

He was startled to see that she still carried the large cloak he had used as a disguise, apparently having tucked it under her arm as they had fled the Bluestone house. She extended it toward him. “Trust me,” she barked as she sat down on the stone railing that marked the edge of the bottomless pit. “Here, tuck that axe in your belt, take two corners of this cloak, one in each hand, and hold on tight!”

Every instinct in his body urged him to confront her, to refuse her mad plan-whatever it was. The shouts of the pursuing Enforcers rang in his ears as the king’s men warily started to close in.

“Get down from there! Come away from that edge!” snapped an officious dwarf with a neatly trimmed black beard. His voice was shrill, nearly cracking from the high excitement as he gestured to the dwarves of his company, pointing at the two fugitives.

“Take him, men! Surrender, you!” he squawked, waving his arms wildly.

The pursuing Enforcers didn’t exactly rush to obey, for they had slowed their charge and spread out to form a semicircle, blocking any path of retreat Brandon or Gretchan might have chosen.

Instead of running or fighting, however, Brandon did as Gretchan commanded, stowing his axe and hastily taking the corners of the piece of rough cloth. He saw that she held the other two corners of the square fabric. Looking into her eyes as he sat down on the railing beside her, he was startled to see a flash of amusement in her expression. Then her face grew deadly serious and she quickly swung about on the stone railing at the edge of the Atrium, extending her legs so they were dangling dangerously over the edge.

“What in Reorx’s name …?” he muttered even as he imitated her actions. The Enforcers, only a dozen steps away, watched them skeptically; none of them seemed willing to charge toward the edge of the pit.

Somehow Brandon wasn’t surprised when she gave him her next command:

“Jump!”

What else was he going to do as he saw her start to slide off the railing?

He jumped.

Meanwhile, back in Pax Tharkas-well, actually deep below Pax Tharkas …

Gus had been spending a lot of time in his throne room-the throne being the large, flat rock upon which he sat when he was pondering the heavy responsibilities that were incumbent upon him by virtue of his exalted status as highbulp of Pax Tharkas. His prime task on that day was to determine what manner of food he would send Berta out to fetch. She had a keen eye and a steady hand when it came to bonking rats over the head with a well-aimed stone, and she invariably gave the meatiest, most tender morsels to her lord and master, the highbulp. But in point of fact, Gus was getting a little tired of rat meat.

Of course, if he had been an introspective fellow, it would have dawned on him that never before, in his life or any imagined Aghar existence, would he ever have imagined that he could get tired of any kind of food, much less good old reliable rat meat, so long as said food wasn’t actively poisoning him. (Even gully dwarves tended not to favor foods guaranteed to make them sick, though in a pinch such sustenance would do.)

Berta, as usual, was sitting attentively at his feet, waiting for him to make his wishes known so she could serve him. For a long, long time-during the first two days of his reign at least-she had assumed that posture with a beaming smile, knowing that merely to serve the highbulp was an honor beyond comprehension. Lately, Gus had noticed-for the past two days at least-she had not been smiling so much. Again, if he had been one to think carefully about things, he might have noticed that the expression on her face was actually closer to a scowl than a cheerful smile. But, of course, he didn’t notice.

“I think big dwarf food be nice, for change,” he said finally in a proclaiming voice. “You know, you steal meat and cheese and stuff from Hylar kitchens.” He breezily pointed toward the ceiling. “Up there, two times up from here.”

Shockingly, the usually obedient Berta leaped to her feet and planted her filthy fists on her hips, glaring indignantly at the highbulp. “How I get big dwarf food? Huh? What kind of bluphsplunging idea you think, anyway? Big dwarves kick Aghar right back down stairs! They watch food, not share with Berta! They beat Berta!”

She drew a deep breath while Gus blinked in astonishment. “Me think highbulp should go get Berta food!”

Gus popped to his feet, spluttering indignantly, glowering at his rebellious subject. She merely glowered back. “What kind of doofus-stoop idea be that?” the highbulp demanded of Berta when he could finally articulate. He grasped at the thin hair to either side of his scalp and pulled in exasperation. How could a lowly female speak to a highbulp like that? What kind of bluphsplunging place was Pax Tharkas, anyway?

“Me highbulp!” he croaked in a vain attempt to assert his lord-and-master-ship.

“Me Berta!” she retorted with her maddening obtuseness. “Berta sick of highbulp! You no boss no more!”

With that, she sat back down, her back straight, her chin-what there was of it-jutting stubbornly into the air. She crossed her arms over her scrawny chest and made a point of looking away from her astounded lord and master.

Gus could only stare at her in dismay.

Berta’s attention was directed toward the dungeon wall, so by chance she noticed the distortion, the haze of blue magic appearing there, before Gus did.

“Huh?” she blurted. “Here come Thorbardin again!”

“What? Where?” demanded the highbulp, following Berta’s gaze. He saw the shimmering blue image appear on the wall, right where the four travelers, the Hylar family, had stepped into the room before. He remembered that they had told him that they came from Thorbardin, a fact that made him think, longingly, of his once-beloved home.

Perhaps it was just the growling of his stomach or his shock at Berta’s sudden rebelliousness or maybe the boredom that had descended on him over the past few months had taken a deeper hold than he understood. But as he spotted that shimmering magical gateway make its appearance and discerned the figures of dwarves, two of them, lurking about somewhere inside there, he was seized with inspiration.

In that flash of insight, he realized something: Thorbardin was a world of plentiful, wonderful food, especially the sumptuous cave carp that were unknown in Pax Tharkas and abundant under the mountain. Blissfully he recalled the great Urkhan Sea, the huge caverns that he had grown up exploring, the multitude of abandoned cities and deep, fungus-laden warrens. In his nostalgia-tinted memory, even the Theiwar bunty hunters who had tried to cut his head off seemed like more of an amusing highlight than any real threat.

The blue circle glowed brightly on the wall, establishing that clear ring of color with the dark hole, snaking away like the mouth of a narrow tunnel, at its center. Almost immediately the two dwarves stepped through the wall. One was an old male; the other, a much younger female, and they both recoiled when Gus bounced to his feet and came striding forward.

“Hi,” he said. “This Pax Tharkas. That Thorbardin, right?” he asked, pointing at the glowing blue door.

“Er, yes,” stammered the male dwarf, ignoring Gus’s outstretched hand. He edged away from the magical aperture.

“Hey, wait for me!” Berta called, bouncing to her feet, stomping after Gus. “You go to Thorbardin? I go too!”

“All right!” beamed the highbulp of Pax Tharkas, once more in command. “Come now!”

The magic opening still shimmered in the wall. Berta drew a deep breath and put her stubby little fingers into Gus’s outstretched hand. Together they stepped into the blue doorway, Berta cringing while Gus blinked slightly, briefly wondering-it was a very deep thought for him-if he was really doing a smart thing.

But then it was too late to change their minds. The blue light grew very bright and warm around them as they seemed to be drawn along and inside and up and whirling through the winding tunnel. Gus took one step, which seemed to travel a very long way. Then, suddenly, they tumbled through another round hole and found themselves in an underground room, some kind of workshop crowded with shelves and benches, with boxes and barrels lining the walls. The blue circle, which they could see lingering on the wall behind them, quickly faded away.

The chests on the floor, many with lids open because they were overflowing with interesting objects, seemed rather promising to Gus-even though nothing exactly looked like food. Still, he was in Thorbardin, and plenty of food was lying around somewhere. Before he could saunter over for a look, however, he heard a strangled, gagging sound.

He turned and looked up to see a pair of elderly Theiwar dwarves, staring at them in horror. The old woman was making the noise, her eyes bulging out and her nearly toothless gums smacking and flexing as she tried to talk. The old male had swooned into a faint, collapsing on the floor. Recovering her wits, the female glowered and pointed a bony finger while she started chanting something that sounded very much like a spell.

Gus knew spells were bad things, to be avoided at all costs. “Come on!” Gus said, tugging on Berta’s hand, sprinting toward the door that led out of the room. A magic missile zinged into the stone floor behind them, sending up a spray of sparks, but by then they were into the next room and moving fast. A few seconds later, Gus had found his way out onto the street and was swaggering along the walkway with Berta beside him, gawking this way and that while the female Theiwar’s shrieks and curses echoed behind him.

“Ah,” Gus sighed, all regrets behind him. It was Thorbardin, all right.

Home sweet home.

Brandon felt a dizzying sensation of weightlessness as he and Gretchan plunged into the Atrium of Garnet Thax. The walls of the massive shaft seemed to fly upward, and his stomach surged with disorienting nausea. He wondered, for the briefest of moments, if the shaft really was bottomless since it seemed the only way they might survive the ultimate plunge would be if they could keep falling and never smash into the ground.

But that was a hopeless notion: the glowing crimson lava down below pretty much guaranteed that they’d burn up even if they somehow managed to survive the long fall. The wind stung his eyes as they dropped and dropped through space. Brandon kicked and thrashed helplessly, barely sensing the levels of the city flying past.

Still, he clung to the two corners of the cloak as the priestess had instructed him. He stared at her, noting that she was holding tightly to the square of fabric. At some point she had thrust her staff through her belt. She wasn’t looking at him, or anything, it seemed, for her eyes were tightly closed. Her lips were moving, however; she was casting a spell. After she quickly chanted a short phrase, Brandon felt a tug from above.

He looked up in surprise to see that the cape had somehow expanded in size so that it was eight or ten times larger than it had been a moment before. Not only that, but the supple fabric had inflated from the pressure of the air they fell through. As he tightened his grip on the corners of the magically enhanced cloak, he could tell that it was dramatically slowing their descent-an impression that was confirmed when he glanced at the nearby wall and saw that, while they were still falling, they were descending slowly enough that he could watch the startled expressions on the faces of the dwarves who happened to be looking into the Atrium from the balconies on the deep-levels as the fugitives floated past.

“Stop them! Arrest them, in the name of Lord Heelspur!” came frantic commands from far above, the Enforcer captain’s squeaky voice echoing through the deep shaft.

Brandon couldn’t see the fellow because the large cloak blocked his upward view, but he wasn’t surprised that none of the Enforcers plunged after the pair, who continued to float down deeper and deeper into the stone-walled chimney. Brandon was surprised at how warm it was getting; the temperature seemed to be climbing rapidly as they descended.

They drifted past a wide gap in the wall, and he saw a number of dwarves shoveling coal from large piles into the metal carts that carried the fuel to the smelters and smithies in the lowest levels of the city. One of the diggers dropped his shovel in startlement as he happened to look out and catch a glimpse of the two dwarves riding their makeshift parachute down the Atrium. By the time he shouted to attract the attention of his coworkers, Brandon and Gretchan had passed from sight, but they heard a clatter and scramble as the entire workforce raced to the edge of the pit to gawk.

He spotted the Deepshelf Inn as it swept up from below; then they passed by it too. He met the eyes of a waitress who was carrying a tray crowded with full mugs; by the time he heard her scream, followed by the loud crash of crockery, they were already gone.

“Um, this was a pretty good idea,” Brandon admitted, relaxing a little and twisting to try to look around. “But that was the last of the deep-levels we just passed. Do you have any idea how to stop us before we get down to the fires of the Abyss?”

“I have a sort of idea, but I’m not sure how it will work. Look, can you swing your legs like this? Let’s try to shift ourselves closer to the wall.”

Following her lead, he kicked his feet at the same time as Gretchan, starting a pendulum motion toward the cliff then back to the middle of the shaft-which was growing steadily narrower as they continued their rapid descent. They swung sideways again, and he felt a sickening dizziness, momentarily wondering if they would tip the cloak so much that they would lose buoyancy and plummet into the fiery depths. Instead, he found that they were indeed edging closer and closer to the rough stone wall.

Here and there the precipice was scarred by cave mouths and broad, shelflike ledges. All of a sudden Brandon realized her plan: if they could swing into one of those openings or land on a ledge, they might have a chance to arrest their fall. He didn’t even begin to think about their prospects of climbing back up to Garnet Thax undetected.

“Look, there’s a spot!” the priestess said, pointing with her toe. Brandon saw it too: a wide cave hole, gaping like a mouth in the cliff wall. A narrow ledge jutted from the floor of the cave out and into the Atrium. “Let’s swing and drop … on ‘three!’ ”

Trying not to think about the seemingly bottomless drop off the edge of the shelf, Brandon followed her count, swinging his legs over in the steady “one,” “two,” “three” count she barked out. On the last, their feet swung over the ledge, and they both let go of the cape, tumbling onto the shelf. Brandon landed on his feet, flexing his knees, but Gretchan stumbled and slipped, rolling to her side and starting to slide over the edge.

Diving toward her, Brandon reached out a hand, and Gretchan caught it with both of her own. The force of landing on the ground nearly wrenched his shoulder out of the socket, but he pulled her away from the ledge, rolling onto his back and holding her on top of him.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” he said, grinning into her face.

But she wasn’t looking back at him. Instead, her eyes were trained on the dark cave just behind the ledge. Whatever she saw there caused her to draw a deep breath and scream.