“By Ky’Dren’s beard,” Roakore muttered as he beheld the glorious stone.
“Make way for the king and queen!” the guards yelled as Roakore and Arrianna hurried toward the miners.
The crowd parted before them, and the miners bowed before their king. “Sire,” said the one holding the orb. “Me and me son found this in the new mine. Thought surely it been left there by the gods themselves, we did, and brought it straight here to you.”
Roakore stared into the glowing ball of light, mesmerized by its beauty. It was a little bigger than an apple, and perfectly round. The light within shifted from orange, to yellow, to white, to blue, to green, pulsing and throbbing with mysterious energy.
“Take it, me king.”
Roakore reached out his hands, but then he pulled them back. He didn’t understand why, but he did not want to touch it.
The dwarf rose to his feet and offered the orb to Roakore once more, his bright green eyes seeming to glow in stark contrast to his dirty face and blackened clothes. “It be for ye, me king. Take it, me king. Take it, me king. Take it—”
“Stand back!” said Roakore, putting an arm in front of Arrianna and moving her behind him.
His guards blocked the dwarf’s path, and the crowd stirred.
“There be somethin’ ain’t right ‘bout that thing,” said Roakore. “Put it down!”
The dwarf holding it smiled and held the orb over his head. It began to rapidly glow brighter. The delighted dwarves cheered, but instinct warned Roakore of danger. He took mental hold of the orb, ripped it from the dwarf’s grasp, and sent it hurtling through the air toward the least populated end of the cavern. The orb became blinding as it spun away, and a pulsing hum filled the hollow.
“Get down!” Roakore cried, pulling down Arrianna. But before anyone could heed his warning, the orb exploded.
The blast shook the cavern and left the far end covered in smoke and dust. Cries rang out, and the alarm horn blared. Roakore looked up, and his heart sank when he saw how large the blast had been. He had sent the orb to the least populated end of the cavern, where a new tunnel was being constructed that would help them branch out to the east and into a neighboring mountain. The tunnel entrance had been pulverized, and the wooden beams that had been piled beside the entrance to be were scattered and on fire.
“Seize those dwarves!” Roakore commanded his guards.
One of the two dwarves pulled a mace from his belt and cracked a guard’s skull as he reached for him, and the other dwarf produced two daggers. One of the guards was a blessed, and ripped the weapons from the dwarves with a mental pull. The would-be assassins were piled on and beaten by the guards, and once they were subdued, Roakore ordered them to be searched and brought to the castle.
“Ye alright?” he asked Arrianna as he helped her up.
“What…What was that? Why would yer own dwarves want to be killin’ ye?”
“I ain’t for knowin’, me dear.” He motioned a guard over. “Get the queen to me quarters.”
“Where ye be goin’?” she asked.
“To sort this mess out. Go with yer guard.”
Arrianna didn’t like it, but she did as Roakore had asked.
“Sire,” said Wurtzide, “I would advise that you too return to the safety of the castle.”
“Ye be me royal brain, Wurtz, not me head o’ security.”
Philo found him soon after, and together they surveyed the damage. Luckily, no one had been killed, but dozens were injured by flying debris.
“What ye make o’ it?” said Philo as they watched the blessed working together to guide a stream of floating water onto the burning wood.
“I ain’t for knowin’. There ain’t never been an assassination attempt on a dwarf king by his own kind. Hells, there rarely be killin’s between dwarves.”
“The average among the three kingdoms o’ Agora be seven dwarf-on-dwarf murders a decade, sire,” said Wurtzide.
Roakore ignored her. “I think them two found somethin’ down in that tunnel that screwed up their heads, made them move against me,” he said to Philo.
“Magic, ye think?” said Philo.
“Mayhaps.”
“Then whoever put them dwarves up to it…they still be down there somewhere?”
Roakore nodded grimly. “Aye.”
Sometime later, Roakore and Philo stood over the two prone prisoners. To Roakore’s dismay, however, the dwarves were dead.
“What happened here?” he asked the guards.
“We brought ‘em right up here like ye commanded,” said the elder of the two guards. “They were roughed up a bit, sure, but we didn’t kill ‘em.”
“Then who did?”
“They just started convulsin’ like,” said the other guard. “Then they started askin’ for help. They begged us, sire, but there weren’t nothin’ we could do. It was like they was possessed.”
“Look here,” said the older guard, bending and turning one of the prisoner’s heads to the side. “This one just about ripped off his own ear. It was like someone was talkin’ to him. But we didn’t hear nothin’. They went on punching themselves in the head and tearin’ out their hair, fighting like mad with somethin’ that couldn’t be seen.”
“Poor bastards,” said Philo, making the sign of Ky’Dren over his heart.
“Either o’ ye two know ‘em?” Roakore asked, looking at the younger dwarf, who seemed the more shaken up of the two.
The young guard nodded and bowed his head. “Aye. They was Ky’Dren dwarves who came on just a few months back. They be a father-and-son team; Ergen and Dergen Pike.”
“Pike, eh? That’s a strange one. I ain’t never heard o’ no Pikes.”
“It be a far north kingdom Ky’Dren name, sire,” said Wurtzide from the doorway. “Named after a fish found in the ponds and lakes in the region.”
“Wurtz, see to it that they be turned over to their families for burial. And they ain’t to be known as no traitors either.”
“What should we tell the people?”
“Tell ‘em the truth. The Pikes’s minds were attacked by an unknown force, and we be lookin’ into it.”
“Sire,” said Wurtzide, moving into the room and glancing over the dead dwarves. “I would advise against that course of action. The truth will instill fear and paranoia in your subjects. It be better to placate their curiosity with a story less…startling.”
“I ain’t lyin’ to me people. They got a right to be knowin’ what really be goin’ on, so don’t ever suggest somethin’ like that again.”
“Yes, sire. Forgive me, sire.”
She said the words, but Roakore saw in her expression that she was biting her tongue.
“Bah, out with it then. What else be on yer mind?”
“Sir, I told you months ago, and I’m telling you now. You moved everyone in here too fast. The deepest reaches have not been properly explored and cleared of danger. Gods only know what’s living in here with us, and what’s been living here since the first dwarves.”
“What ye be suggestin’ then? Bah, maybe ye be right, but I can’t be goin’ back in time now, can I?”
“You can’t go back in time, that is true. But I have created a plan.”
“Let’s hear it then.”
Wurtzide took a small book from her satchel and read off her list like a military commander. “One, we seal off any tunnels that have not been cleared and station two blessed at each. Two, we then systematically search out every tunnel, again sealing those that branch off until we’ve secured the entire system, then on to the next and so on. Three, everyone who goes out searching might potentially become compromised like the Pikes; therefore, it is my suggestion that none of them be allowed in the city until all tunnels have been cleared and they have been vetted. And finally, a plan should be set in motion to evacuate the women, children, and elderly to the nearest human or elven village and or city. If need be, sire.”
Roakore and Philo shared a glance. At length,
they shrugged.
“Alright, Wurtzide. See to it. All o’ it,” said Roakore.
The royal brain looked surprised, and her usually stern façade cracked with a pleased grin. “As ye wish, me king.”
Chapter 6
Orrian’s Tale
Dirk stood in front of the mirror as the smiling tailor tugged this way and that on the jacket. He knew that he looked good in the suit—not a day over thirty—but he wanted to get Krentz’s take on it anyway.
“What do you think?” he said, turning with outstretched arms to present himself to her.
“You look like a proper governor…boring,” she said.
Dirk was dismayed, and he turned back to the mirror. “You think so?”
“Yes,” said Krentz. To the tailor she said, “Get him another. Something black, something militant.”
“Is it the frilly collar?”
“It’s the entire thing. It is so…I don’t know, old fashioned. You don’t want to look like you’re a part of the senate. And besides, it’s your wedding. You are the new leader of Uthen-Arden. You must exude authority and power.”
“Krentz, you know it’s not a real wedding.”
“The walls have ears,” she said matter-of-factly. “You should not say things like that.”
“But you know it’s true.”
“That is why it does not need to be said.”
The tailor returned with a black outfit that he did not seem to agree with, for he began talking it down as soon as he entered the room. But Krentz halted him as he began to leave.
“That’s more like it,” said Krentz. “Try it on, my liege.”
Dirk dressed himself in the black suit and let the tailor strap on the matching leather and metal armor plates. The plates were small, and the entire outfit not very functional, but it looked good nonetheless. The shoulder plates were sleek and shiny, and they held a dark blue cape with black trim that barely touched the floor, revealing only a hint of the black shiny boots.
“I look like a bitch prince who has never seen battle,” said Dirk, and the tailor nodded agreement. Dirk stared him down until the man cowed away to fetch another outfit.
“Yeah,” said Krentz. “I guess you do.”
They both cracked up, and Krentz helped him out of his clothes. When the tailor came back a few minutes later and found them both naked on the floor, he blanched and turned on his heel.
A half hour later, Dirk called him back into the room.
Dirk and Krentz eventually settled on a crisp black-and-blue velvet suit with a thick, pointed collar and zig-zag stitching. A small coat covered the shiny vest beneath, and a cloak, this one much shorter than the last, hung to the back of his knees. He strapped on a dagger and a sword and nodded at his reflection.
“Alright then, let’s get this show on the road.”
The ceremony commenced at seven o’clock sharp that night. King Carlsborough and his entire brood were there, of course, and the irony was not lost to Dirk. For they were Whill Warcrown’s last living descendants, made so by Krentz when she had been under the control of her father, Eadon.
How things had changed in only a few short years.
Mary Ellen faked her joy as they stood before the crowd packed into the chapel. Magister Alrick Dupree went on about the duties of a husband and his wife as dictated by the gods, and Dirk couldn’t stop thinking how he wished that it were Krentz up there with him. He didn’t like that they had to hide their love, but he knew that it was necessary. The marriage into King Carlsborough’s, and through him, into Whill’s family would make Dirk the heir to the throne of Eldalon, after Whill of course. Dirk had no intention of doing anything to the man so that he might gain power. First there was Uthen-Arden to tame, and since the elections, some in the east, on the Uthen side of the old country, were already talking about secession. That, of course, could not be allowed to happen. No, it would take time, perhaps years for Dirk to take full control over Uthen-Arden, and in that time, he did not doubt the king and Whill would pass on. The way that Whill’s life seemed to be going, Dirk did not believe that it would be a long one.
“Sire?”
Alrick had asked him something. What was it? Oh yes…
“I do,” said Dirk, reflecting Mary Ellen’s fake look of love back at her.
They kissed on Alrick’s authority, and the crowd went wild. Together they turned and faced the crowd, waving like a happy couple. The king was a blubbering mess, crying on his wife’s shoulder as she looked on pleasantly. One of Mary Ellen’s sisters was crying, but the others looked bored. Dirk stole a guilty glance at Krentz, who sat behind the magisters.
She winked.
Dirk led Mary Ellen down the steps and through the chapel. Two guards opened the big doors, and the couple was rushed through a cheering crowd to a white carriage led by two marvelous white horses with braided manes.
When the door closed behind them and the carriage jerked into motion, Mary Ellen kissed Dirk on the mouth and hugged him fiercely.
He didn’t particularly dislike the kiss, but he looked to her curiously all the same. “What was that for?”
“I’m free!” she cried, kicking her legs on the floor and shaking her arms. Her left breast popped out of her dress in her little dance of joy, and Dirk clipped a laugh.
“Uh, your…”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said, hugging him again.
“You should fix your—”
“I feel so blessed that you and Krentz came into my life. I thought that I would never be happy again. You have been a miracle.”
“Mary Ellen, sweetheart,” said Dirk patiently.
“What is it? Was I talking too much again?”
“Your breast is smiling at me.”
“Hmm?” she said, glancing down. She snorted a laugh and fixed herself. “Oh, who cares about that?” Then she grinned devilishly. “What’s wrong? Did you like it? I know that Krentz does.”
Dirk laughed. “We both like you. And we are glad to have found you as well. I believe that our arrangement will work out quite nicely.”
She laid her head on his shoulder and let out a contented sigh. “Governess Mary Ellen Blackthorn of Uthen-Arden. It has a ring to it.”
“That it does,” said Dirk.
“But it doesn’t sound as good as Queen Mary Ellen Blackthorn, now does it?”
He glanced sidelong at her and winked. “One thing at a time, my dear wife, one thing at a time.”
She snuggled up to him deeper, and he found himself enjoying it more than he should.
“Tonight,” she said, her voice a heavy whisper, “the three of us should consummate our union.”
Dirk gulped down his surprise. “Well, that is indeed an interesting idea. But, I thought you had eyes only for women.”
“I have eyes only for good people, and in my experience, men rarely tend to fit into that category. But you…” Her hand moved through his hair and she looked up at him with lust. “You are different.”
The carriage came to a stop, jolting them out of the moment.
“After you, my lady,” said Dirk, letting her go first. Sometimes he couldn’t believe his own life.
Later that night, Dirk awoke while it was still dark, and found himself draped by the arms of both Krentz and Mary Ellen. He slipped out as quietly as he could, but the girls seemed not to mind, for they filled the gap and embraced each other in their sleep. Shaking his head and trying not to chuckle, he put on a pair of light trousers and a nightshirt and soundlessly left the room. The exertion of the night before had left him as hungry as a bear and craving meat, cheese, bread, and beer.
In the kitchen, he found himself the makings of a turkey and gravy sandwich, along with a brick of smooth goat cheese. He had told one of the bakers that he could find his own food, but he let the lad fetch him a pint from the cellar and settled at one of the work stations to eat.
He ate absently, savoring the food on some level, but distracted by his thoughts. H
e had never been with another woman besides Krentz before. He had never wanted to, not enough to make it happen anyway. But Krentz had been keen on the idea from the start, and Mary Ellen was not only pretty, young, and bright, but she could be trusted.
Or could she?
Dirk had been so preoccupied with everything else that he had stopped considering her loyalty. He put himself in her shoes and went over possible ulterior motives that she might have, but nothing added up. If she was out for power, she had it with Dirk. She wouldn’t be out for money, of course, as she was already a princess. And she may very well be motivated by lust, but also freedom. The other possibility, of course, was revenge, but there was no way that Mary Ellen could have known that Krentz had been meant to kill her and her family, for Dirk had fought off the twin assassins that Eadon sent in Krentz’s stead.
The doors to the dining room swung inward, and Dirk smiled on Orrian. “You’re up early,” Dirk said affably.
Orrian glanced around and took a quick survey of the room—just like Dirk’s father had taught Dirk to. “I was hungry,” said the young man.
“Well, pull up a seat. I’ll have the cook get you something. What are you in the mood for?”
Orrian pulled up a stool and sat across from Dirk at the large wooden table. “I was looking for some of that stuff they had last night at the ceremony. The lamb chops.”
“Care for a beer?”
“Usually,” said Orrian, but no smile followed the dry joke.
“Tad, is it?” said Dirk, waving the baker over. “Be a good lad and get my friend here a plate with the lamb from last night, and a beer.”
“Stack em up as high as you can get ‘em,” Orrian instructed the baker.
Tad hurried off, and Dirk took a pull from his cup as he considered Orrian. “Using magic makes you hungry, is that it?”
Orrian shifted uncomfortably and seemed to gauge Dirk anew. “Yeah. Makes me tired as hell.”
He’s a guarded man, so why has he given away a weakness. Trust? If he trusts me already, then he’s a fool.
Dark Echoes of Light Page 4
