“That’s as cruel as calling me knife-ear, Whitney,” Sora scolded.
“It’s not. Not at all. It’s called being… uh… forward-thinking. All I’m saying is that if he rejects us, they’ll have the vault doubly secure, and we’ll never get back in. You really want to risk that?”
Sora’s lip twisted, but she didn’t answer.
“He ain’t wrong,” Tum Tum said, looking to Brouben. Again, the Prince agreed.
“I suppose he has a point,” Lucindur said.
“Exactly!” Whitney exclaimed, the cavernous hall carrying his voice and earning the attention of a few passersby.
“Exactly,” Whitney repeated, lower. The others leaned in to hear him. “This is the world we’re talking about,” he went on. “Do we really want to chance it to the compassion of dwarves?”
Brouben spun on him, cheeks flushed as plums. “Look, I’m only listenin to ye for one reason… I heard Torsten Unger credit ye with a thing or two—“
“He what?” Whitney asked. “I mean… yeah. Torsten and I go way back. Best friends, as a matter of fact. Saved him from sure death more than a time or two.”
“Only reason I’m trustin ye,” Brouben repeated. “The way a man fights says everything about his character, and Torsten is honorable as they come.”
“Ah, his only flaw.”
Brouben scowled. “Now, what’s yer plan then?”
Whitney turned to Sora. “Remember all I taught you? Lesson fifty-two, always be prepared.”
Sora broke into a grin as she shook her head. “Not your lessons again.”
“Yes, my lessons. Now, are you ready for one more?”
“Fine. For getting Nesilia out of my head, you get to take the lead this one last time. But if you get us in trouble…”
“Oh, with him, there’ll be trouble,” Lucindur lamented.
“Ah, so you do know him well,” Sora said.
“Ha ha, very funny, everyone,” Whitney said, feigning laughter.
“But, I guess it doesn’t matter who’s mad at us if the world ends,” Lucindur added. “Whatever it takes to stop Nesilia and save the ones we love, right?”
Whitney affectionately rubbed shoulders with her. He could imagine she was thinking about Talwyn as much as he’d been thinking about Gentry. They had to save them, and the rest of the world. “I knew I liked you. Now, listen here…”
They leaned in, and Whitney revealed his plan. They’d already gotten arrested by Brouben to gain access to the throne room. Now, they’d let Tum Tum carry out his part of the plan: petition the King with the truth of Nesilia’s return. But Whitney added another component. He was all but sure diplomacy would fail. It would come down to his quick hands and nimble boots. Sora and Lucindur would distract the dwarven King and his guards while Whitney escaped his cuffs and snuck into the vault to steal the Brike Stone himself.
“That’s the plan?” Sora said. “That’s barely an idea.”
Whitney pretended to be hurt, but it wasn’t hard. “After all the things we’ve been through, you still doubt me? Sora, if your hands weren’t bound behind your back, I’d have thought you stabbed me in mine.”
“Oh, get over yourself,” Sora said, smiling. “You know how many times luck has factored in?”
“Perhaps, but she’s a lady, and unlike you, she’s kind to me.”
“I don’t like it,” Brouben said.
“I didn’t expect you to,” Whitney said. “But you’ve already tried to convince your father, right? If he denied you…”
“Me sneakin ye up to see me father is one thing. Me playin part to yer stealin—that’s another altogether.”
“You said it yourself,” Whitney said. “Nesilia is back, and she’s going to kill us all. What’s a silly stone worth if the whole world ends?”
Brouben scratched his cheek. “I still don’t like it.”
“I still don’t expect you to.”
“My father will prolly have his clanbreakers kill ye on the spot.”
“I’m not easy to kill,” Whitney said.
At that, everyone grew silent until Sora said, “How are you going to break out of these? They are tight.”
“Remember when we were reunited in that dwarven fortress?” Whitney asked.
“Sure, wasn’t that long ago in my time.”
Whitney swore internally. “Six years in mine,” he said under his breath. Then louder, he said, “Well, if it hadn’t been for Torsten’s gauntlets, I don’t know how I would have broken out of that cell. That’s not a good position for a thief to be in. So…”
He shifted his hand slightly, and a thin sliver of metal slid out from beneath the sleeve of his tunic.
“Is that a—“
“I’ll never be without a lockpick ever again.” Then, looking at Lucindur, he said, “Really, it was in the wagon with Darkings and Rand Langley when I realized something had to change, and I couldn’t leave things to chance any longer.”
“Clever,” Lucindur said.
Whitney nodded once. “Thank you. It’s nice for my genius to be acknowledged.”
“He always takes it too far,” Sora said to Lucindur.
“So, I’ll escape, and then you’re up.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure how you want me to distract them. ‘Using my assets’ isn’t going to work against dwarves.”
“Rule number eight-hundred-nine: be creative,” Whitney said.
“Skipped a few there, didn’t we?”
“I wasn’t going to wait around for you forever. I kept teaching, you just weren’t there to listen.”
Sora rolled her eyes. “Well, how do you propose we distract them?”
“You are both powerful magic users,” Whitney said. “I’m sure between the two of you, you can manage something. Dwarves may not care for how you look, but abilities are assets too, and dwarves love shiny magic.”
“It would not be wise for me to use my particular brand,” Lucindur said. “It might clue Nesilia in on our whereabouts, and her monsters trawl these underground places. We may not be in Glinthaven anymore, but I still don’t want the blood of all these people on my hands.”
Brouben looked as if he wanted to ask a question, but instead said, “Ye’ve got my thanks for that.”
“Right you are,” Whitney said, clapping his hands. “I guess it’s down to you, my Panpingese Princess.”
“No pressure,” Sora said.
Whitney glanced up at Tum Tum, whose eyes looked like someone had stolen his last gold ingot.
Whitney knew the dwarves had their pride, and if Tum Tum thought for even a moment that Whitney didn’t believe he could be successful in convincing the dwarf king to hand over the stone, it would crush him like a mineshaft cave-in.
Yes, Whitney knew dwarves. That bastard Grint had sent him on this fateful path toward being forced to become a hero, after all. “Steal the Glass Crown,” he’d challenged. And who was Whitney to say no to a challenge? He couldn’t regret what happened since though—at least not all of it—because it led him back to Sora and without her at his side, he wasn’t so sure why he’d care to save the world in the first place.
Whitney also knew Kings. He’d stolen the Glass Crown off one’s head—almost. They were brash, and arrogant, and above all, selfish and greedy. There was no way, no matter what evidence Tum Tum could give—and there was precious little of that—King Cragrock was going to give up his most rare and prized possession. The legendary, preserved heart of a real dragon. If it wasn’t all a sham… the thing would make the Glass Crown seem worthless.
Whitney’s specialty was separating people from their most valuable things. Looking again to Sora, he realized he’d even done it to himself when he’d lost her. Never again. Come Pantego, the Gate of Light, or the hellish pits of Elsewhere, Sora and Whitney would never be apart again.
“Tum Tum,” Whitney said. “This isn’t about you, you know? We just can’t chance the King writing off your tale as a lie and… executing us.”
“Their legs are soft from ridin horses everywhere,” Brouben remarked.
“We got a plan,” Tum Tum said. “Now, let’s do it.”
Brouben led them onto a platform attached to a rail system. In its center was a seesaw contraption that, when pumped, would send the cart screeching along the tracks.
“Gimme a hand with this, Dwotratum,” Brouben said. “We’re a bit short on hands since the war in the south and the plague of goblins and grimaur in the mines. I’m thinkin it’s a bit why my father is so disinclined to listen to reason about you-know-who.”
“A Prince and an outcast, huffin and hoin to King Lorgit’s throne with three fake prisoners in tow,” Tum Tum said. “I can hear the songs now.”
They both laughed, and each grabbed a wooden bar.
“Hold on,” Tum Tum warned, raising his hand in Whitney’s direction.
“To what? Our hands are bound!” Whitney had barely finished his sentence when the platform lurched and sent him stumbling a few steps. They were off at a quick clip, faster than Whitney would’ve expected of something so old.
The track groaned under their weight, but soon, the cart was off and on its way.
“These are quite ingenious contraptions, my lord dwarf,” Lucindur said. “We could use them back home.”
“If ye could build em, have em,” Brouben laughed.
“Oh, I missed this, I have,” Tum Tum said. He closed his eyes and leaned into the rushing air.
“You missed careening through sharp rocks on rickety wood?” Whitney said. “Gods and yigging monsters, I should have stayed behind.”
His eyes fell upon Sora again, who stood in the opposite corner, taking in the sights and sounds of Balonhearth. It was like a dream that they were back together after so long, and now, they’d have one last heist together. One more big ta-da to bid Whitney’s illustrious career as a thief farewell. Either they’d succeed, save Pantego, and be hailed as heroes forever, or they’d fail, and it’d all go up in glorious flames.
Either way, Whitney would steal that stone.
As they bounced along the tracks, steadily climbing up toward the Iron Bank and King Lorgit Cragrock’s throne room, the whole city splayed out beneath them, Whitney tried not to puke.
From so high, the many veins of precious metals looked like a spreading disease. Below, giant braziers burned, smoke billowing up and through ventilation systems, carrying itself out into the crisp, cold Brotlebir air. Zigzagging staircases rose on all sides, connecting the many-tiered city. The track zipped around columns thicker than a giant’s belly. So close to braziers, Whitney felt the sweat on his brow evaporate.
“Been awhile,” Tum Tum whispered.
“Never have I seen anything more beautiful,” Sora said.
“I’ll admit, it is stunning,” Lucindur said.
“Now you’re on her side?” Whitney asked.
“Hey, Glinthaven ain’t nothin to balk at neither,” Tum Tum said.
“Over there,” Brouben pointed. “That’s where Dreligar Bottomsnatch was born.”
“Bottomsnatch?” Whitney snickered.
“Aye. That be nothing to laugh about. Dreligar killed ten dozen frost giants with naught but a stick and the tooth of a dragon.”
“There are no more frost giants,” Lucindur argued.
“Or dragons,” Whitney added.
“Not anymore,” Brouben agreed with a knowing smile.
They traveled further up the mountain. Several times, Whitney found his bound hands gripping the cart with enough force to crush the wood. He was sure the dwarves built the thing well, but he wasn’t confident they’d taken riders of his height into consideration. As it was, the railing only came up to his hip. One swift turn and he was liable to topple right over, and without hands to stop—
“Get ready,” Brouben said, pointing and interrupting Whitney’s worries.
Whitney followed the dwarf’s outstretched finger to a gargantuan rock carved in the shape of a dwarf’s head hanging from the ceiling. A deeply recessed, winged crown sat atop the head, overlapping with thick locks of hair. From a long, stone-carved beard, which braided itself around a natural stalactite, water issued down into a pool in Balonhearth’s central hall. Below, dwarves scurried around like ants, swimming, and bathing in the waters.
“King Andur,” Tum Tum said under his breath, staring up at the dwarf head. He didn’t mask the awe he felt at the sight of the King’s visage. “He be the first of us to call this place home.”
The cart closed in on the King’s open mouth. Mist soaked them all—which felt nice after the heat of the many fire pots lining the track. An instant later, they were shrouded in darkness, zooming through the King’s throat.
Sora had inched over to Whitney and caught him off guard. He didn’t mind. She pressed close to him, and he nestled back, but when he glanced over, he saw that fear had crept over her features. She appeared as pale as a Drav Cra warlock.
“I feel like we shouldn’t be here,” Sora whispered.
“Oh, stop,” Whitney whispered back.
“I’m serious. Like, really shouldn’t be here.”
“Ye shouldn’t,” Brouben agreed, apparently listening in. “But if what ye say is true, and I think it be, then my father ought to hear it from yer own lips. And if he won’t listen, I gotta trust the thief the Master of Warfare himself seems to trust.”
The idea of Torsten trusting him brought a balloon full of pride to Whitney’s chest.
An orange light flickered just ahead, and the cart began to slow as Brouben yanked on a lever. The squeal echoed like a dying zhulong, and the vehicle stopped just as the cavern opened into a circular room. Statues of Meungor the Sharp Axe, god of the dwarves, lined the room as if holding up the ceiling.
“You’re up,” Whitney said to Sora. “Stick to the plan,” he said to everyone else.
As the cart halted entirely, Whitney backed into the far corner. He peered over his shoulder to where the track continued through darkness until it exited through a hole at the base of the large head and dipped back down into the city proper.
One step over a small gap would take them off the platform and into a giant cavern featuring the skeleton of a dragon nearly as large as the room itself. It was curled up like a sleeping dog, spine tracing the wall in a semi-circle, head on one end, barbed tail on the other. Even though Whitney knew it was dead, it was a terrifying sight.
A large, iron gate wedged within its ribs. Guarding it on each side were two dwarves—four in total—wearing solid black armor adorned with foot-long spikes.
“Clanbreakers,” Brouben confirmed.
In the darkness, Whitney slipped his lock pick from its hidden compartment and made quick work of the cuffs. They fell, and Whitney winced as they clattered to the rock below the suspended tracks. However, no one seemed to notice over the shrieking of the cart’s wheels and the whine of the rails.
Tum Tum disembarked first, followed by Brouben, and Lucindur. Finally, Sora shot a quick glance at Whitney, and he shooed her.
She took a step toward the platform and missed. As she tumbled, one leg in the gap, the rest of her body hitting hard onto the rock, Whitney almost reached for her, but she winked at him from the ground and blew a kiss.
That was believable, Whitney thought. I really am a great teacher.
Sora groaned, writhing, arms still secure behind her back. Tum Tum and Brouben tried to pull her up, but she stayed down, rocking back and forth on the ground. The clanbreakers turned their attention from Whitney just long enough.
“Ye okay, Girly?” Tum Tum asked.
While everyone was focused on her, Whitney flipped himself backward over the cart and landed deftly on his feet.
Their voices were faint, but Whi
tney could immediately hear them asking if she was alright. He stayed low and made his way through the ditch that held the track in place. Finding a dark corner, just at the edge of the room, Whitney pulled himself up. He could still see the clanbreakers. Now, they were fully intent upon Sora and the others, but neither moved.
Whitney heard a faint flapping sound. It grew louder until something bigger than a bat tore through the darkness toward him. It rose from the opposite direction they’d come from. With the massive dragon skeleton so close, Whitney’s mind began speaking impossibilities until finally, the creature came into view.
“Aquira!” he whispered as loud as he dared. “You really can understand, can’t you? Good girl.” He’d whispered instructions for her to join them before Brouben forced them to leave her behind, but she’d been such a pain since Sora returned, he doubted she’d show up. But, he knew he could use her help.
She landed on Whitney’s outstretched arm. “Stay quiet, now, okay?”
She puffed her nostrils, and together, they crept along until they reached a flat spot well-shielded from their view, and thrust himself over the ledge. Belly crawling a bit, he watched as Tum Tum finally helped Sora to her feet.
She started walking again, perhaps a little too well.
You’re still injured, Sora, Whitney thought hard, as if he could will it to her mind. But no one seemed to notice.
“I don’t think anything is twisted,” Lucindur said.
“No, I’m feeling better,” Sora said. “I think I was just surprised. I’m sorry for the shock. I can’t believe… I’m usually more stable on my feet.”
She wiped her eyes. It sounded like real tears.
She’s become quite the actress, Whitney said to himself. She’d do great in the Troupe.
Then again, Sora had plenty of reasons to cry real tears.
The thought of the Troupe, of Gentry and Talwyn back in Glinthaven, made Whitney picture the faces of everyone he’d ever known and cared about. He hadn’t even realized how many there were—Torsten, annoyingly pious as he might be, Kazimir… he’d died for Sora. How many centuries had he lived on Pantego, only to be killed by Gold Grin? And whose fault was it?
The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6) Page 129
