The Heir of Kayolin

TWENTY-FOUR

Brandon awakened with a start, instinctively reaching for his axe before he realized it was his mother who had nudged his shoulder and was urgently speaking to him.

“I’m awake,” he said, sitting up in bed and shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. “What is it?”

“Rona Darkwater is here, and she says she needs to speak to you right away!”

“Rona Darkwater?” asked Brandon, quickly rising and donning a light tunic. “What does she want?”

“Ask her yourself,” came the reply over her shoulder as Karine bustled back to the front room.

Brandon followed after his mother quickly and nodded politely to the glamorous dwarf maid who was sitting in the lamp-lit chamber. He noted that Gretchan wasn’t there; she was probably still whispering her way through the city’s neighborhoods, reminding people that “the throne is in Thorbardin.”

“Hi, Rona,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Only then did he notice that Rona’s face was drawn and taut, and she glanced nervously at the door as if half afraid they’d be interrupted. Karine brought her a mug of steaming tea, and the young female clutched it as though it were the nectar of life itself.

“It-it’s your father,” she said abruptly. “I’ve just come from the palace. I overheard the king-the governor-order Lord Heelspur to have him executed! They plan to make it look like an accident, to claim he was trying to escape!”

Karine gasped, and Brandon’s fists clenched involuntarily. “Do you know when he plans to do this?” he growled.

She shook her head and blinked her tear-filled eyes. “No. But I’m afraid it will be very soon!”

Brandon crossed to her and knelt at her side, taking her hands. “Thanks, Rona. You took a great risk coming here; it means a lot to me.”

She smiled wanly and squeezed his fingers. “I had to do it,” she said. “You know, for old time’s sake. And because the whole League of Enforcers business, the way they are bullying all of Kayolin, it’s just wrong.”

“Maybe it won’t be that way much longer,” Brandon said grimly. “Thanks to you, we have a chance to stop them. Damn Heelspur!”

“I know,” Rona said with a shudder. “I’ve spent too much time with Baracan already. He scares me!”

“I’m just grateful you were there-and that you came here,” Brandon said sincerely.

With that, she kissed him on the cheek, pulled a hooded cloak over her head, and vanished through the front door, leaving the portal open just as Gretchan was coming in.

“Who was that?” asked the priestess, watching the cloaked noblewoman hurry up the street.

“An old friend-Rona Darkwater,” Brandon replied.

“Oh, yes, she was at our meeting at the Mug. She had some good information about the Heelspurs and the League of Enforcers,” Gretchan said. She suddenly seemed to sense the somber mood in the room. “Well, what did she have to say?”

“They’re even more ruthless than I thought,” Brandon replied curtly. He was already shucking his leather outer shirt over his shoulders and picking up his axe. “My mother will explain things; I have to go out for a while. There’s something I have to do.”

“Wait!” Gretchan declared. She nodded at his weapon. “Is this about your father?” she asked shrewdly.

“Yes!” he replied curtly.

“All right. I know you have to go,” the cleric said, “but just talk to me for a minute first. All right?”

In a rush, Brandon told her the news that Rona Darkwater had brought to him. “I have to go look for him, find him-try to stop this!” he said desperately.

“I know,” the cleric said calmly. “You have to. But listen to me for just another few minutes. I think I can help you.”

“So, Kondike,” Gus said, leaning contentedly against the wall and stretching his feet. He scratched the big dog’s head and sighed with satisfaction. Ever since the blue magic circle had disappeared from the wall, he’d felt relaxed and confident again. After all, he was back in his own domain, Pax Tharkas, where-whether Berta liked it or not-he was highbulp.

Or was it Pax Tharkas? He looked around and scratched his round-topped head, surprised he had never seen that part of the fortress before. Pax Tharkas was a big place, but it wasn’t that big. In fact, he was looking at a tangled maze of streets and alleys, more like a city in Thorbardin than the interior of the fortress of Pax Tharkas. He had never seen anything remotely like that neighborhood in all his time in Berta’s home.

Berta and Slooshy had gone off to explore, while he sat there with the dog who, after all, had been the first creature he had met after his initial escape from Thorbardin.

“Hey,” he said to Kondike, suddenly remembering something. “You went away from Pax Tharkas! With Gretchan!” Indeed, the departure of his beloved priestess from Pax Tharkas had left a distinct void in the little Aghar’s life. Though, living in the sewers and dungeons as he and his fellow gully dwarves had done, he hadn’t seen a lot of her. But she had come down to visit him every now and then, and he had missed her after she left. “When you come back here to Pax Tharkas?” he asked, wishing the dog could do more than look at him and pant with that long pink tongue hanging out.

“Psst! Hey, Gus! Look here!”

It was Berta, jogging back into the little alcove with Slooshy following close behind. “Not now,” he barked. “Me talkin’ to Kondike!”

“You come look!” she insisted. “Now!”

Groaning at the heavy burden of responsibility, reflecting that the illustrious role of highbulp wasn’t all just foot rubs and free food, Gus pushed himself to his feet. “What now?” he demanded. “Me and Kondike just restin’ … nice.”

“Come see!” she insisted again, and he plodded along behind, knowing she’d never stop pestering him until he did as she asked. Slooshy, too, was all agog, and took his hand to pull him forcefully along.

They led him down a street, fortunately deserted, and around a corner, pointing triumphantly before them. Gus could only gape as he found himself standing on a balcony at the edge of a deep, wide shaft. He looked down and swayed dizzily, discerning only a vague, reddish glow very, very far below. He leaned back to peer upward and saw that the big space extended above them as far as he could see.

“Hey?” he asked. “Where in Pax Tharkas are we?”

“Not Pax Tharkas at all!” Berta declared, triumphantly crossing her arms over her skinny chest. “We go somewhere new!”

Gus could only gawk in awe, trying to absorb the astonishing idea. He had to admit it seemed like Berta was right. He looked from Berta to Slooshy to Kondike. All three stared blankly at him, and he pulled at his hair, wondering what to do.

“We come through blue hole,” he argued. “Blue hole go Thorbardin, from Pax Tharkas. Blue hole go Pax Tharkas, from Thorbardin!”

“New blue hole go somewhere new!” Berta insisted.

It was the dog who spoke next, woofing curiously and tilting his head to the side as he looked at the frustrated gully dwarf. It was that soft bark that gave him the idea.

“Hey!” he said. “Maybe you come this place with Gretchan! Where Gretchan? You take us her?”

Kondike’s ears pricked up at the familiar name. He looked around as if he expected to see the cleric standing right behind Gus, though, of course, she wasn’t there. But the name had clearly triggered something deep inside Kondike, for with another woof, the dog took off at a trot, moving easily down the street of the new dwarf city. The three gully dwarves, running as fast as their stubby legs could carry them, followed him, trying to keep up. Gus held the Redstone in both hands, his feet slapping against the stones as he jogged along. Somewhere up ahead, he was almost certain, he would find Gretchan.

She would know the answers to his questions-questions that were piling up so heavily that his head was starting to hurt.

Meanwhile Willim the Black faced the two terrified Theiwar, his once and disgraced spies.

“Where did you get the scroll that allowed you to cast a dimension door?” Willim the Black said, casually pulling out a spare stool and sitting down very, very close to Sadie and Peat, peering at them with intimidation clear on his eyeless face.

Sadie looked at Peat, who could only shrug helplessly.

“Perhaps you stole it from your master,” the black wizard suggested. “From he who established you in your store here in Norbardin, who cared for you and trained you, provided for your needs … all the while asking for so little in return.”

“Please, Master …” Sadie’s voice was a croaking whisper.

“Silence!” barked Willim the Black. He snapped his fingers, and even though Sadie’s nearly toothless mouth continued to flex, no sound came from her. Peat yelped, or tried to yelp, but his own voice was also swallowed within the cloak of the wizard’s muzzling spell.

“Ah, that’s better,” said Willim, leaning back and propping his feet on one of the workbenches. “It’s so much better when one doesn’t have to listen to lies. Especially the lies of formerly trusted, lowly underlings. I’m sure you’d agree, wouldn’t you? That is, if I allowed either of you to talk.”

The wizard made a show of emitting an elaborate sigh. Leaning back his head, he called out. “Facet, my dear. Won’t you come in here now?”

The two Guilders stared in apprehension as the shapely young magic-user, her black robe swirling easily as she moved with uncanny grace, strolled through the door into the back room of the shop. “Tell me, has there been any change in the plaza?” Willim asked.

“No, Master,” she replied. “The fire dragon seems to have departed. I have not been able to learn anything about the whereabouts of the king.”

“No matter, that,” the wizard replied with a shrug. “He is blinded now, and I don’t believe his god will bless him with the gift of sight-not in the way my magic does. I will find him in good time. But first, there is this little matter to attend.”

He gestured to the pair of elderly Theiwar, who were gawking at him with slack jaws, faces gone white with terror. “Do you know?” Willim said casually. “Once I trusted them. Once I would have rewarded them. Once they might have attained power that most dwarves could only dream of.”

“I understand, Master. But now what?” Facet said. She looked at the two Guilders, licking her crimson lips. “Shall I kill them for you? It would be an honor-and a pleasure.”

The wizard, almost reluctantly, shook his head. “No. Killing them would be pleasurable, of course. But it would of necessity be quick, even merciful. And this is not the time for mercy. No, I would like them to contemplate their treachery, to reflect upon their greed and their failures.”

Abruptly he sat up and snarled a quick phrase, the command to a short, powerful spell.

Immediately Peat and Sadie Guilder screamed-soundlessly as they remained in the grip of the wizard’s spell of silence-and began to writhe. Facet watched, fascinated, her eyes shining as the two dwarves shrank and shriveled before their eyes. In seconds they had diminished a foot in height, then two, then even more. They were the size of young children by then and still growing smaller.

“Catch them, my dear, before they scuttle away to some mouse hole,” Willim directed gleefully, and his female apprentice swept forward to snatch up the small Theiwar by the scruffs of their necks. Holding one in each hand, she lifted them up for her master’s inspection.

Only then did Willim the Black rise. He crossed the room to the place where a clear bell jar rested atop a marble burner. Lifting the glass jar, he held it expectantly while Facet placed the two shrunken dwarves on the burner. Peat collapsed to his knees, while Sadie glared upward, barking something soundless at them as she shook a tiny fist.

The wizard quickly placed the jar down on the marble circle again, trapping the two miniaturized dwarves underneath it. His face twisted into a wicked grin as he looked at his beautiful apprentice. He gestured to the little oil pot underneath the marble burner.

“Now,” he said with uncharacteristic cheerfulness, “light the stove.”

Brandon approached the doors leading into the headquarters of the League of Enforcers. Two burly guardsmen flanked that entrance, each dressed in the shiny black leather tunic of their order and holding a long-hafted axe with the butt braced on the floor and the blades held upright, as high as their heads. It took all of Brandon’s willpower to remind himself that, courtesy of a little priestess magic, he, too, wore a shiny black leather tunic and bore an axe that had been magically enhanced to exactly match the weapons of the two Enforcers.

The one difference in their uniforms was the silver bar that decorated each of his shoulders. It was that insignia that caught the eyes of the two guards, bringing each to attention. They clapped their fists to their chests in salute, one standing aside while the other reached out to open the door for the “captain.”

Brandon nodded a curt thanks, remembering to maintain the haughty air that Gretchan had coached him into adopting. He strode into the headquarters as if he owned the place, hoping that his confusion-and his desperation-didn’t show on his face. Apparently it did not, for the guards let him pass then closed the door behind him.

Fortunately, his mother had accurately described some of the details of the interior of the headquarters, based on her own memories. First he entered the ward room. The interrogation rooms lay to the left beyond that, and Brandon remembered his mother’s suspicions that the dungeon cells lay farther back in that direction. Several Enforcers were seated around a table in the main room, but he ignored them and they ignored him as he turned and went through the door leading to the left.

That led into the hall his mother had described, with a series of doors on either side, currently shut. At least one led into the interrogation room where she had last seen Garren Bluestone. He burned with anger as he pictured that confrontation: the Enforcers threatening his mother, using her terror to coerce Garren into signing his false confession.

Operating only on his hunch and his mother’s best guess, Brandon continued down to the end of the corridor, which made a turn to the right and led deeper into the complex of rooms. Again there were doors to either side, but his attention was centered on the door at the very end of the hall. Unlike the other plain plank barriers, it was bracketed with iron straps and clasped with a heavy lock, latched on the side from which he was approaching. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder and was relieved to see no one was in the corridor with him. Reaching out, he lifted the latch and released the clasp, pushing the door open.

He found himself in a darkened corridor, a place that smelled of damp stones, stale air, and urine. Blinking against the darkness, he hesitated a moment, letting his keen eyes adjust to the lack of light, and he listened.

The place was as silent as any tomb, but Brandon refused to be discouraged. Step by step, he advanced cautiously along the darkened hall, trying to set each foot down as soundlessly as possible. Pace by pace he moved into the dungeon, past doors that were marked with small iron grates, confirming his hunch it was indeed where the League of Enforcers kept its prisoners. The doors were closed, secured with stout-looking locks. He couldn’t hear any noise in any of the cells.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of any silent means of finding out what, or who, lurked behind any of those closed doors. Acutely conscious of time passing, fearing that, at any moment, the executioners might come looking for Garren Bluestone, he finally decided on a bold course.

“Dad?” he asked, his tone at a conversational level. “Are you here?”

He heard a scuffle of movement from one of the rooms halfway down, to the left, and took a few steps closer until he was right outside that door. “Dad?” he probed again.

“Brandon?” came the incredulous, whispered reply.

His heart soaring, Brand reached for the door, not surprised to find that it was locked. “Yes, it’s me!” he whispered back. “I’ve got to get you out of here!”

“How?” demanded Garren. “You can’t take the chance! Get out of here. I can take care of myself!”

“Stand back,” Brandon growled, hefting the Bluestone Axe. “This door is coming down!”

His father had the sense to stop arguing, and Brandon leaned back, gathering his strength for a single blow. The enchanted blade smashed into the wooden door with a loud crash, sending a shower of splinters into the cell and cracking the sturdy barrier right down the middle.

Immediately Garren pulled on the wrecked door, dragging the biggest piece of it into the cell. A portion still swung from the solid hinges, but there was enough space for the dwarf to slip out through the gap. For just a moment, father and son embraced, the clasp of their strong arms saying more than any words could have done.

“Now come on, hurry,” Brandon said, taking Garren’s arm and starting back toward the entrance.

But that door swung open before him, and he raised his hands to screen his eyes against the torchlight flaring there. Two brands burned, held high in strong hands, but the Bluestones could see a host of Enforcers crowding there, completely blocking the exit.

“What excellent timing,” came the words in Baracan Heelspur’s voice. “I come to execute one Bluestone, and I catch two of them in my net!”

At the same time, the doors to several of the cells burst open, fully revealing the trap. In another second the dungeon corridor was full of dwarves, all of them dressed in the black leather of the Enforcers’ agents, closing in around the two Bluestones.

In the next breath, father and son were disarmed, and both were prisoners.

“Whoa there, Kondike!” puffed Gus, red faced and sweating as he chased the big black dog down another street in the strange city. He could barely see his waving tail as the animal coursed around a corner.

Berta and Slooshy, as doughty as their male companion, jogged steadfastly along. All three Aghar, as well as the dog, had climbed many, many stairs, but the gully dwarves were too focused on their guide even to consider to where in the world they had traveled. Kondike seemed to have a destination in mind. From the moment Gus had mentioned Gretchan’s name, the dog hadn’t wavered in his determined course.

They hurried down a street with houses and taverns to both sides. Many dwarves were walking about there. They gaped in surprise at the big dog and moved out of his way-and stayed out of the way of the three Aghar who scurried behind. Gus did take the time to reflect that it was very different from Thorbardin, where their appearance in such a crowded locale could have only ended in disaster-probably with their heads chopped off by Theiwar bunty hunters.

They passed one more tavern, marked by a sign picturing a large mug with a jagged crack running down the side, and turned down a narrower, quiet street, with Kondike taking off at a run. The three gully dwarves had just turned the corner when the dog came to a halt in front of the doorway to a dwarf house. The dog barked once, loudly, then repeated the sound with growing urgency.

The door flew open a few seconds later, just as Gus was drawing close. His heart flipped happily in his chest as he saw Gretchan rush out, kneeling down to embrace her dog as Kondike yelped and licked and generally wiggled in ecstasy.

Still panting, Gus slowed to a walk, stumbling slightly in his weariness. Still, he pictured himself as the pinnacle of dwarfish style as he sauntered up to her and offered a big, cheery smile.

“Hi … Gretchan,” he said between gasps for breath. “Sure is nice … to see you!”

“Gus?” she gasped, staring at him in shock. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I don’t know,” he replied honestly enough. “First, tell where ‘here’ is.”

“You don’t know?” she asked then laughed ruefully. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You certainly do have a way of getting around. Somehow you’ve gotten yourself to Kayolin; I can’t even begin to imagine how.”

He was about to ask what Kayolin was when they were interrupted by a breathless dwarf running down the street. Gretchan stood up quickly, her face creased by an expression of concern.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The League of Enforcers,” explained the puffing dwarf. “They’ve got Brandon and Garren in chains-they’re taking them both up to the palace!”