The old Theiwar crone had barely completed recopying the scroll for the spell-which was a very complicated incantation, no matter how often or fast it was done-before Inkar returned to the shop. He brought with him a companion, a much younger female dwarf who regarded Peat with wide, innocent-looking eyes, as he opened the door and quickly ushered the two into the shop. The Theiwar leaned out to glance up the street, looking particularly in the direction of Abercrumb’s shop. But he was relieved to see that his nosy neighbor’s windows were darkened, the shades drawn.
Inkar shucked off a backpack that was obviously very heavy and reached in to pull out a sturdy chest. He flipped it open to reveal a dazzling array of platinum coins, all stamped with the image of Tarn Bellowgranite. “These are original royals,” he said, indicating the treasure. “The most valuable coin ever minted in Thorbardin.”
“I recognize them!” Peat said, all but drooling at the sight. Only after a moment did he remember they were still in the main room of the shop. “Quickly, come this way,” he said, bringing the two Daergar into the back where Sadie was just bottling her ink and cleaning her quill.
“They’re here,” he said quite unnecessarily. “And he brought a chest of platinum coins!”
“What about the pearls?” Sadie demanded greedily.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Inkar said, reaching into a pocket of his fine tunic. He pulled out a strand of alabaster stones, more than two dozen of them. Sadie snatched them out of his hand, holding them up to the light and passing them through her wrinkled, bony fingers. The other three dwarves seemed to hold their breath, none speaking or moving until the Theiwar crone completed her inspection.
“They’ll do,” she said, nodding curtly.
“Do?” Inkar was offended. “Why, they’re a treasure the likes of which this kingdom has never seen! How dare you-”
“Do you want to get out of here or not?” Sadie demanded curtly. “And I assume your wife is going with you?” she added with an arch look at the young maid, causing the timid female to blush furiously.
“Ah, yes. That is, she’s not my wife, but yes,” Inkar stammered, the previous insult apparently forgotten. “Um, my wife is … that is, she doesn’t exactly … she doesn’t want … er … she’s not coming on this trip. But Sellen here, she will accompany me.”
Peat raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t help but admire the shapely young dwarf maid and realized that Inkar probably had several reasons for wanting to get out of Thorbardin.
“All right, then. Come over here,” he said, indicating the floor beside the blank stretch of wall.
The two dwarves complied, and once again Sadie, squinting and speaking very slowly, very carefully, cast the spell of the dimension door, using the same terminus-Pax Tharkas-that she had devised for Horth Dunstone and his family. Soon the shimmering blue circle formed on the wall, and shortly thereafter, as Peat gestured them forward, the two refugees stepped into the dimension door and disappeared.
“Master, I can’t see!” cried Facet, her hands pressed to her face.
The chaos of battle had ceased almost at once as all of the dwarves in sight of the prayer tower, and many who were out of sight as well, recoiled in the shock of the sudden, impossibly bright flash of light. Some moaned and cried out, others sobbed in fear or awe or despair. Many on both sides dropped to their knees, wailing, calling out the name of their god, and pleading for his mercy.
None tried to use their weapons or to continue the attack.
“It’s the king,” Willim hissed. His own eyeless vision, because it originated in the magical spell of true-seeing, remained unaffected by the brilliant flash. So he easily saw Jungor Stonespringer crouching atop the prayer tower, hiding behind the silver shield held by his general. That shield was blazing with an otherworldly light, too bright for any normal dwarf to view.
But no doubt about it, the minion was gone, vanished in the blast of what could only be deemed godly magic. A cloud of smoke was lingering in the air, all that was left of the mighty being. The wizard could scarcely believe that his most potent ally, his most powerful tool, his secret weapon, had been blasted into nothingness, just like that.
“It was the king, damn him!” he repeated. “And he will be mine!”
He took Facet by the hand and muttered a word of command. Immediately the two wizards took to the air, Willim guiding his blinded apprentice in flight as they soared toward the prayer platform, zeroing in on Ragat Kingsaver and the kneeling form of Jungor Stonespringer.
Slumping to his knees, blinded by the godly light, stunned by the vision of his lord’s power, King Stonespringer reached out to touch and reassure his loyal commander. He could barely see, but he could feel Ragat standing there, trembling.
“What happened?” asked the monarch.
“Your prayer was answered, sire,” said the general reverently. “Reorx made his will known. In the blast of his light, the battle has ceased. The dwarves of both armies are stunned, unmoving.”
“Then order them to attack!” the king urged. “Now is the time!”
“I cannot, my lord,” Ragat replied humbly. Still himself unaffected by the brilliance, Ragat could see the stunned soldiers on the square and in the palace. Most knelt or lay flat. The few that tried to move did so haltingly, stumbling over obstacles, groping with their hands. “They are blinded … as are their enemies. None can see who to slay.”
The king raised his arms in supplication, his blinded eye staring upward toward the looming stalactites, the jagged stone ceiling looming so close to his head.
“O Master of the Forge!” he cried abjectly. “You forsake us! Why do you leave us to wander in the darkness? I beg you, upon my life and my faith and my fear, if you would destroy us, then smite me now! Bring stone to crash down upon my head, to crush my skull, to spatter my brains!”
“Sire, it was the god’s light that did this!” Ragat argued feverishly. “It was Reorx’s will that the battle come to a halt!”
The king paid him no heed. Instead, he continued his frantic prayer. “But if you indeed favor us, if you would give us victory, then again show us your power! Wield your might against the foe! Bring destruction down upon him!”
“You ask for too much, fool!”
The threatening voice came from Willim the Black, who was soaring like a bird through the air and just coming to rest on the platform nearby. Ragat recognized the hideous, scarred, eyeless face, and he knew from the wizard’s confident movements that he, like the general, had escaped the blinding force of the light. Willim was flying hand in hand with another black-robed wizard, a beautiful female with white skin and red, shining lips. She stumbled a little as they came to rest on the parapet and reached out to grope, unseeing, for her master’s arm. Unlike her master, she seemed unsteady, even frightened.
“It is the black wizard, sire. He is here,” Ragat said in a low voice.
“You’re mad, you magic-deceived fool!” spit the king, rising to his feet and gesturing blindly in the wizard’s direction with his scepter. “It is Reorx’s will that your army be defeated and now that you too shall die!”
“Do not offer me your childish your words of empty faith!” snapped Willim. “My magic is as mighty as your god’s! Did you not see your army falling back, your soldiers dying under the weapons of my own troops? Do you think I have given up?”
“You will bring nothing but your own destruction!” retorted the king. “All you offer is doom-and in that doom you shall find your own death! Reorx so wills it!”
The king waved his scepter again but could only sob in frustration when the god failed to respond, to act, to smite his enemy. Ragat stared at Jungor, uncertain what to do. At the same time, the female wizard, moving unsteadily, clutched at Willim’s arm even as the wizard yanked away from her. Her pale features were locked in an expression of horror.
“You will die, now, King Stonespringer!” taunted Willim, edging forward. “You have fought the wrong fight, against the wrong enemies-and you
have only weakened Thorbardin. Under my reign, the grandeur of our nation will be restored.”
“You speak words of falsehood,” the king replied, his arrogance reviving. “I have dethroned one false king, and I shall not yield to another.”
“You need not yield,” Willim said with a cold laugh. “You need only die.”
He raised a hand and pointed a stubby finger at Jungor Stonespringer. His scarred, eyeless face twisted into a leer of pleasure as his lips parted and he began to chant a spell.
Ragat did the only thing he could think to do: he lifted the Kingsaver Shield and charged directly at the wizard. Willim barked in surprise but dodged out of the way before Ragat was able to strike him; his blinded apprentice was too slow to react, however. The shining metal disk of the shield, blessed by all the priests of Reorx, struck the coldly beautiful Facet in the face, and she screamed as she toppled backward, over the lip of the prayer tower, leaving Ragat staggering at the brink of the precipice.
“No!” shrieked Willim the Black.
The king and the shield were both forgotten as Willim took to the air, magically flying to rescue the falling female. In a swish of movement and a flash of his black cloak, he was gone, crying out for the apprentice, diving through the air to snatch her in his arms before she smashed into the pavement a hundred feet below.
At the same time, Stonespringer’s voice rose from a throaty bellow to a shrill, penetrating cry. The king had not seen his general’s attack, nor the wizard’s fall. He only knew his rage and frustration as his will was thwarted and Willim escaped. He screamed at the roof over his head, and his words bounced from the stone, echoing over the battle. He called down the vengeance of his god, he shrieked his hatred for all that was unholy, he demanded that his enemies be slain-horribly and at once.
Perhaps it was some trick of acoustics, the shape of the stone amplifying and expanding the sound of his voice. Or perhaps, indeed, it was the power of the god himself. In any event, as the words were enhanced, as the force of Stonespringer’s voice spread across the field of battle, the ground began to shake, the tower to sway sickeningly, like a tall tree in a strong wind. Several chunks of stone broke from the ceiling, raining destruction upon those dwarves who were out in the open plaza below.
Then, after the initial worrying tremor, the ground began to rumble more violently. More stones broke from the ceiling, plunging onto the plaza, crashing explosively among the cowering, blinded dwarves. Ripples of movement caused the plaza to buckle and flex, here rising, there plunging away into darkness. Jagged cracks appeared in the ground, and some of them swallowed dwarves who were too slow-or too blind-to escape. The screams of the doomed added to the rumbling, thunderous groaning that wracked the air.
Nothing so inspires terror in the subterranean-dwelling dwarves as an earthquake, and that temblor was enough to send every warrior of every army, even blinded as they were, fleeing for cover. The waves of destruction swept through the city, knocking over towers, bringing walls and ceilings tumbling down, knocking the wounded from their beds.
Shaken to the core, the bravest fighters took shelter under roofs, tables, shelves, anything they could find. Weapons fell from nerveless hands, friends and enemies sought shelter in the same protection-even the fires of the battle were doused as dust and debris tumbled downward and smothered the flames.
The war was forgotten, and miserable dwarves who still lived prayed for their lives … and all of them prayed to the same god.
PART II
KAYOLIN
NINE
THE NEW KING
A proclamation to the dwarf citizens of Garnet Thax:
This is the word of Regar Smashfingers, once Governor and soon-to-be King of Kayolin:
My brave and intrepid dwarves, we know that our nation has faced a multitude of challenges arising from the current state of the world-challenges that require swift and decisive action. As your leader, we publicly resolve to face these obstacles with determination. So long as our people, the dwarves of Kayolin, remain united and resolute, we shall know triumph and prosperity, and we will deliver to our enemies an unending diet of defeat, devastation, and destruction.
Good citizens of Kayolin, you are loyal dwarves, steadfast strivers in the mines and warrens of our great nation. Likewise, we on the throne steadfastly strive to rule you with a gentle hand and a visionary heart. For the better part of two decades, our appointed role, traditional through the long centuries of our history, has been that of your Governor, with authority drawn from the High King on his throne in distant Thorbardin. This is a legacy dating back to our founding as a colony of that great nation, when we were dependent upon Thorbardin for support, for military protection, and for a steady maintenance of trade.
However, it has become apparent to us, and to all perceptive citizens of our nation, that two Great Truths have emerged over the last centuries. In conjunction, these Truths require a new approach to Kayolin’s government and, indeed, to our relations with the rest of Krynn.
The First Great Truth has been long in the making, but it can no longer be denied. We are forced to conclude that the dwarves of Kayolin stand alone as the representatives of our race, the mountain dwarves, in our large and significant corner of Krynn. We must face the determination that the other lands of our kinfolk, our brave cousins who dwell under all the great mountains of Ansalon, have been subjugated, conquered, or even quite possibly exterminated by threats that remain as yet unknown to us. Be the enemy elves or dragons, men or minotaurs, ogres or giants, we know not. But we must acknowledge that those other nations of dwarfkind have been silenced, and it is quite likely that we in Kayolin stand alone as survivors among the mountain dwarves.
Consider that communication from the nation of our One True King, the High Thane of Thorbardin, on his throne beneath Cloudseeker Peak in the Kharolis Mountains, has utterly ceased. No word, no message of any kind, has been received from Thorbardin in more than ten years. Because we knew that Thorbardin, as indeed all of the lands around the High Kharolis, was wracked terribly by the onslaught of Chaos and subsequently endured a violent and consuming civil war, it is clear that we can no longer rely upon any rulership, or governance, from that once mighty realm.
It is a melancholy fact but true: We in Kayolin must accept the possibility that we stand alone. There can be no expectation of guidance, solace, aid, or alliance with the ancient home of our ancestors. This First Truth does not mean our doom, not in any sense, but it presents a challenge to our heritage and demands a new way of ruling ourselves and of seeking solutions to our problems.
The Second Great Truth has also been long in the making, though the current dire situation is a more recent development. By its nature, this Truth is a direct threat to our prosperity, our happiness, and indeed, to our very survival. It is a Truth understood, to some extent, by every child of Kayolin, for it ties into the ancestral enemy of our homeland. But now, my loyal citizens, that enemy presents a menace to our prosperity, our safety, and even our very survival.
Every child of Kayolin learns of the horax at a very young age. No horror is so pervasive, so relentless, and so long standing as this scourge that dates to the earliest days of our nation’s founding. The voracious bugs, each two or three times the size of a full-grown dwarf, number in their teeming thousands and form a horde that dwells in the very depths of the world, far beneath our deepest delvings. Ever hungry, soulless, and aggressive, they have been a menace to Kayolin since our nation’s establishment, more than a thousand years ago. All know that, throughout most of that time, the horax have been held at bay by dwarven ingenuity, engineering, and courage. Some eight hundred years ago, our ancestors took it upon themselves to insulate dwarfkind from the horax. Our predecessors built a series of walls, barricades, and traps, ensuring that the horax could not penetrate into the city proper, walling them off and securing them in their fetid, deeply buried hives.
For hundreds of years, those measures have been successful, and long was the
menace held at bay. As your ruler, however, it is our sad duty to report that in recent years the horax have again emerged from their dark lairs to raid aggressively into the under-levels of Kayolin. No more do these lethal arachnids hide in the dark recesses, fearing dwarf steel and dwarf courage. Whether they are driven by hunger, wickedness, or some inherent hive-lust, that we do not know and will not ever comprehend; they have begun to swarm from their dens to raid our stores and warrens, attack our delvings, and to capture and slay our miners.
In the last two years, these attacks have progressed to an unprecedented level. More than a hundred Kayolin dwarves have been dragged into horax lairs, wrapped in webbing, poisoned with lethal venom, and consumed to fuel the swarm’s insatiable appetites. Purely villainous, eternally hungry, the giant bugs form a threat to the survival of our nation equal to any menace in the history of dwarfkind.
Throughout our existence, of course, we dwarves have faced a multitude of enemies. Be they dragons or giants, ogres or goblins, we have battled for our place in the world. Usually we have been aided in these fights by steadfast allies, such as the hill dwarves or humans-even, during moments of great desperation, by the elves or the metallic dragons. We have prevailed in great wars, epic conflicts that have shaped the very history of Krynn.
Yet unlike such previous threats, the horax are a threat to our nation alone. Their dens lie beneath Kayolin, offering neither access nor egress to any other part of the world. Thus, we cannot request, nor should we expect, the warriors of any other land to come to our aid in this contest.
The Heir of Kayolin dh-2 Page 12
