“Sit down, you idiots,” Corbin told them irritably. “She's long gone. You can't catch a rogue who doesn't want to be caught, and making an enemy of her guild would be foolish. We may need their services again in the future.”
The warriors grumbled but sat down again and stared at the prince.
“I do not trust them, my lord,” the dwarf to Corbin's right said. “They are dangerous and unbridled. As long as the rogues guild exists, it will be a danger to you and to the rest of us. It is said that they are loyal to the crown.”
Corbin laughed mockingly.
“They are loyal to the gold that we pay them, nothing more. Stop worrying, Brulle. If they are indeed loyal to the crown, then when it sits on my head, they will be loyal to me, eh?”
“As you say, my lord,” Brulle grumbled.
“But I do take your point,” the prince added thoughtfully. “When I have secured the throne, I think that one of my first orders will be to dismantle the rogues guild and execute its members. After all, we can't take the risk that they will tell tales about our association, now can we?”
Brulle grinned darkly.
“I like the way you think, my lord.”
“Thank you. Now let's get out of this hole. We have plans to make and I want to bathe. I'm sure that this place is filled with vermin and disease and I want to wash off its stink as soon as I can.”
After the last armored dwarf had left the pub, the barman walked around the room picking up mugs and giving each table a quick swipe with a dirty rag.
“Are you going to come down now?” he muttered gruffly. “They're all gone.”
“I was just admiring your work,” a voice replied from somewhere up in the rafters.
A quick flash of movement followed and Mel appeared as if by magic several feet away from the barman.
“Father,” she added with a chuckle.
“Serving drinks is an honorable profession, my dear,” the dwarf said with a twinkle in his eye. “I've worked in more pubs than I care to remember, and I have picked up a lot of information along the way.”
“Aye, I recall some of your juicier stories,” Mel replied.
She pushed back her hood and lowered her mask as she watched her father return to the bar with his tray of empty mugs.
Mel's dark blond hair was cut very short, just above her ears. She had delicate features for a dwarven female. They tended to have square jaws and some facial hair. Her face was marred only by a circular scar on her left cheek that looked like a deep dimple. It pulled her lips up on one side, making it appear that she was always smiling wryly at the world. Most of the time she was.
“Isn't that damned beard itchy?” she asked as she walked over to the bar.
“Of course it is,” the barman replied. “And I hate it. The whole tradition of wearing a beard is stupid, and I'm glad that working for the guild has allowed me to ignore it.”
The dwarf set down his tray and peeled off the heavy gray beard, wincing as it stuck to his skin.
“Hallic Barston, I presume,” Mel said with a grin.
Her father smiled back at her and tossed the fake beard on to the bar.
“In all of his glory,” he said sarcastically.
“Do you think that the princeling and his cronies bought the news that you're dead?” Mel asked more seriously.
Her father shrugged.
“Who knows or cares? I'm more concerned with how they intend to use that schedule you gave them. Corbin's more clever than his fussy demeanor would lead others to believe. It is quite possible that he will be able to usurp his father and take the throne, you know.”
“I know,” Mel agreed.
She sat down on a stool and rested her elbows on the top of the bar.
“Should we not have given him the information, then?” she asked. “The guild accepted the contract, you know, and we always honor our agreements.”
“Of course we do,” Hallic said with a nod.
He began putting the dirty mugs into a sink behind the bar and Mel rolled her eyes as she watched him. Her father was always thorough, no matter what job he was doing. And if that meant washing up after playing bartender, then that is what he would do.
“It is why we continue to exist,” Hallic continued as he filled the sink with hot water. “The guild may not be trusted due to its very nature, but we have a steady stream of clients because we always fulfill our contracts to the best of our ability.”
“An ability that will be in jeopardy if Corbin takes the throne,” Mel cautioned him. “I assume you heard what he said about us?”
Hallic raised an eyebrow at her as he began washing the mugs.
“I'm old, lass, not deaf,” he said. “Of course I heard him. And if he wasn't a current client of the guild, I would have killed him where he sat. The fool has no idea that he was an inch from death this day.”
Mel sighed.
“A pity about that. It would have relieved the king of the greatest threat to his throne.”
“Aye. Unfortunately, it would also have meant doom for the guild. Shandon would have considered it his duty to destroy us for killing his son, no matter how treasonous the boy is.”
“Damned if we do and damned if we don't?” Mel asked sardonically.
“Exactly.”
“So what do we do? We've given that little slug an opportunity to kill his father. What happens now?”
Hallic smiled at his daughter.
“Now? Now I go back to Shandon and tell him that his plan has been set into motion. After all, it was his suggestion that we offer the schedule to his idiot son in the first place. Subtly and through intermediaries, of course. We'll see what he does going forward.”
“You don't know what the king is going to do?” Mel asked in surprise.
“I do not. But I trust him. The king is as clever as his son is stupid. Whatever he's up to, I have no doubt that he will succeed. What I am most curious about is what he will do to the prince, now that he has clear proof of the boy's treachery.”
“Well, it will be interesting to watch, at least,” Mel told him.
She stood up and stretched.
“Don't forget to blow out the candles after you're done washing up, Father,” she said with a smile as she walked across the pub to the door. “You wouldn't want to burn the place down. Not when it's been so useful to you over the years.”
She winked at Hallic just before pulling up her hood and slipping out of the door.
The dwarf chuckled as he set out the mugs on a rack to dry.
“Like father, like daughter,” he muttered.
Chapter 2
The royal palace in Kingstone was an ancient, massive edifice. It had towered over the city for millennia, rising from the middle of the capital, its tallest spires stretching up almost to the distant roof of the cavern above it.
Generations of rulers had dwelt within its walls. Many of them had been good and honorable, but certainly not all of them. There had been kings and queens who had schemed and plotted against their own people, trying to become masters rather than just rulers. That had never ended well for them. The dwarven people were much too proud and strong to live under the heel of a dictator for very long.
Others had been weak-minded and easily led by their advisers. And there had also been an array of forgettable rulers who had come and gone almost without notice by their subjects.
But Shandon Ironhand was seen as unique among the dwarven leaders who had come before him in recent memory. He had been a heroic warrior long before he'd come to the throne. In fact, he had made it a point to leave the palace as soon as he'd come of age. He had hated the pomp and circumstance of royal life and had wanted to make his own way in the world. Also, he and his father had not been very close.
Shandon had felt that the old king was too wrapped up in ruling the kingdom to even care that he'd had a second son. Perhaps he'd been right. Certainly his father had not been very warm or affectionate toward his youngest child. He had left Shando
n's upbringing to nannies and tutors. The queen had died in childbirth and Shandon believed that the king had somehow blamed him for her death.
So he had left Kingstone as soon as he'd reached adulthood, which for dwarves was fifty years of age. He'd traveled to Ender Scorn, a small town as far from the capital as a dwarf could get. The town was in constant need of skilled warriors to help defend it against attacks by hostile monsters and Shandon had been a welcome addition to its small group of guardsmen.
He had risen in the ranks quickly, proving to be both a skillful tactician and an inspiring leader. Eventually Shandon had become the captain of the guards of Ender Scorn, and he had protected the town for many years.
He had taken the surname of Ironhand to hide his true identity when he had left the capital. If he had introduced himself as Shandon Anancites, son of Caldius, everyone would have known that he was the missing prince. That would have been too great a risk, to him and to his father. Only his father's closest adviser, a wise dwarf named Enphan, who was also the king's seneschal, knew where Shandon had gone and what alias he had taken for himself. And Enphan had promised not to reveal that knowledge to the king unless there was an extreme emergency.
Shandon's father had ruled honorably for over two centuries before an assassin's blade had ended his reign. The king's eldest son had fallen in battle against the traitors who had killed his father soon afterward, leaving the throne empty. Shandon had only taken the crown after the seneschal had sent him a message begging him to return to Kingstone. Enphan had warned the prince that if he did not take the throne, civil war could erupt across the empire. And as much as Shandon hated palace life and the intrigue that went with it, he was loyal to his people and would do anything to keep them from turning upon themselves.
So he went home. Shandon had bidden farewell to the companions that he had fought beside and the town that he had defended for decades and took the deep roads back to Kingstone. But he did not go alone. Two of his closest friends, loyal warriors named Jergen Moss and Pieter Elbon, had insisted on accompanying him. They had fought by Shandon's side for years, long before they had known that he was the heir to the throne, and refused to be separated from him.
The prince was wise enough to know that he would be entering a hostile environment when he returned home and he had accepted their companionship gratefully. Besides, traveling the deep roads, the many miles of tunnels that the ancient dwarves had dug through the Earth over countless centuries to connect all of their cities and towns, was a dangerous undertaking alone and Shandon had felt a lot safer journeying with his friends.
King Shandon Ironhand sat on his throne letting the memories flow over him. After he had returned home and had cleaned house, tracking down the traitors who had conspired to murder his father and brother, he had decided to keep the surname Ironhand. It had reminded him of the years that he'd lived as an ordinary warrior, instead than as a prince. He'd felt that it kept him grounded.
Others had grumbled, of course, especially the courtiers who had served the old king faithfully, but then Shandon had always followed his own path and he had ignored them. As long as they'd kept their complaints to themselves, he had let them mope around the palace until they got over their disapproval. Those who could not, he'd sent on their way.
“Lost in thought, my lord?”
Shandon smiled as he looked to his left. A dwarf wearing plain gray armor had appeared, walking up the steps of the dais toward him, a crooked grin peeking out of his coal-black beard. Unlike many dwarves, including the king himself, this warrior's beard was not braided or decorated with beads or jewels. It was also quite short.
“Fits better under a helm,” he would always say when asked about it.
This was the king's best friend and most loyal confidant, Jergen Moss.
“Aye, that's what happens when you get old,” Shandon told him.
Jergen laughed roughly.
“You're barely a hundred and ten,” he told the king as he reached the throne and moved to stand on Shandon's left side. “The old courtiers still whine that you're too young to rule effectively. You aren't old, my lord. You're just bored.”
Shandon shook his head as he glanced across the throne room. The hall was enormous, with high vaulted ceilings lost in shadows. Several tiers of seats rose around the perimeter, but all of them were empty. Few citizens bothered to observe the doings at court anymore. Occasionally a group of school children would come for an outing, their teachers explaining the ways of dwarven government to them. But for the most part, the great hall was deserted beyond the area around the throne itself.
The dais rose a dozen steps above the ground. It was ten feet wide and twenty feet deep and there were stairs on both the front and the rear of the platform. It was carved from a single enormous piece of white marble with dark streaks throughout its entire surface and was many centuries old.
The main doors were a hundred feet away from the foot of the dais and the king stared sourly at the four warriors, two on each side, who guarded the entrance.
The courtiers who were normally gathered together at the foot of the dais were long gone for the day, and Shandon was relieved by that. They clucked at him constantly when they were in attendance. It was exhausting.
“Not bored, old friend,” the king disagreed. “Just tired.”
“Tired? Of what?”
Shandon gestured at the expansive room around them.
“Of all of this. I never wanted this damned throne. You know that.”
Jergen nodded sympathetically.
“I do,” he replied. “You are a warrior, not an administrator.”
“Exactly. And yet here I am, stuck in this room listening to sycophants and toadies, day in and day out. They don't need a king to rule over them; they need a nanny.”
Jergen laughed again and the king smiled grudgingly.
“That's a sound that's not heard enough around here. Speaking of laughter, where's Pieter?”
“Ah, you know him,” Jergen said as he shook his head. “Like a mother hen, Pieter always worries about you and your throne. He's out walking, checking on the guard posts around the palace. I don't think that he can sleep soundly until he's sure that the palace is secure.”
“He's got a good heart, Jergen,” Shandon said with a frown. “You should stop teasing him about it.”
“What? And ruin a lifetime of tradition? If I didn't poke at him about his fussiness, Pieter would be disappointed.”
Both of them laughed at that comment.
“Aye, good point. Well, if it makes him happy, I'll not try to stop you. But how does his new wife feel about his 'fussiness', as you call it?”
Jergen shrugged.
“She's as loyal to you as Pieter is. She understands. Beside, she's not some delicate flower. Reena fought alongside the other warriors in the defense of Kingstone when the dragons attacked a few years back. She's a strong woman, my lord. I wish more of our people were like her.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” Shandon told him. “Pieter needs stability in his life. He's steadiest when he'd well grounded.”
The king stood up and stretched, groaning loudly. His ornate tunic glittered with gold thread and gems and the simple platinum band that he wore in lieu of a crown gleamed under the lights glowing from the many columns supporting the roof of the throne room. The gold and silver beads braided into his beard shone like little stars as he moved.
“Well, I think that I've done my duty for the day,” he told Jergen. “Come along and let's have a few tankards of ale, eh? I think we've earned them.”
“As you wish, my lord. Let's hope that Pieter finishes up soon or he'll miss out.”
Shandon grinned as he led the way down the steps of the dais.
“Small chance of that,” he said with a chuckle. “Pieter loves his ale almost as much as he does his wife. He'll be along, I'm sure.”
The two dwarves crossed the throne room, their footsteps echoing back at them as they went. Jergen shudd
ered at one point and the king glanced at him.
“What's wrong?” he asked curiously.
“Nothing, my lord. It's just that this place reminds me too much of a tomb of late, instead of the seat of power of our people. I visited here once as a boy, you know. Did I ever mention that?”
Shandon stopped abruptly and stared at his friend. They were still a good fifty feet away from the main doors and the guards there were watching them curiously.
“No, I don't think you did,” the king replied. “What was it like?”
Jergen stared blankly past Shandon, looking back into his past.
“The palace was filled with life, my lord. My parents had insisted that my sisters and I visit Kingstone once while we were still children. 'To see where it all began', they said. They were very traditional people and this city is the oldest settlement in all of our lands. It took us days of traveling the deep roads to reach the capital, but there were many others using the roads back then as well, and they weren't as dangerous as they are now.”
Shandon watched his friend's face and smiled at his wistful look.
“And when we reached Kingstone,” Jergen continued. “Oh, it took my breath away. The entire city was lit up when we left the deep roads and entered the main cavern. Like a glittering jewel it was. My sisters squealed with delight and I must admit that I did too.”
“You? Squealing? I don't believe it.”
Jergen looked at the king and grinned.
“Well, in my defense, I was but a wee lad. Anyway, we remained in the city for a week or so, touring around and seeing the sights. It was the first chance I got to stay at an inn and I loved it. And when we finally visited the palace, well... It was glorious.”
“Was my father holding court when you were here?” Shandon asked him.
“Aye, he was. We had to wait in line to get a glimpse of the throne room. It was packed with onlookers and petitioners back then, but they allowed tourists a look around as long as we stayed quiet. The late king sat on his throne dispensing justice, and seeing him for the brief time that I did felt almost magical.”
The Dwarven Rebellion Page 2
