The Heir of Kayolin dh-2

by Douglas Niles

  Only Gorathian remained, sealed away in the depths of the mountain’s footings.

  But the dwarves, ever industrious, had excavated great blocks of stone away from the fire dragon’s prison, carving out the chamber that was to be the new council hall for the ruling thanes. Fortunately, just before Gorathian would have been freed, the dwarves had realized it was the prison of the lethal and destructive beast. They had hastily resealed the chamber and withdrawn, leaving the monster to languish for the rest of eternity.

  Then the wizard had come.

  Willim the Black had been drawn to the lair in part because of the deadly monster, and he had used spells of powerful sorcery to tantalize the fire dragon, allowing it to sense freedom even as he tamped it down and kept it imprisoned in the deep crevasse.

  For that the dragon feared and hated the black wizard, even as it sensed that Willim was the reason the creature had been, at long last, released from its entrapping chasm. As Gorathian felt the containing magic ease, the beast understood that the wizard was relaxing his control and aiming the fire dragon at the dwarf’s enemies. Since it had gained flight, it would never, ever, return to that stone-walled prison. Gorathian embraced the release but remained vigilant against the wizard’s control.

  The dragon flew on, wings spread as it soared higher. The great dwarf nation of Thorbardin beckoned: thousands of lives, all quailing in terror at Gorathian’s approach. The fire dragon roared in exultation, fiery breath engulfing a whole block of small houses. The monster sliced through the rock, causing an entire section of Anvil’s Echo to collapse, crushing a hundred dwarves under many tons of rubble.

  The fire dragon flew and it slew. It roared in the pure joy of destruction. And it knew that, for the first time in countless ages, it was free.

  TWENTY-TWO

  THE REDSTONE

  Shrieking in terror, Gus ran from the eyeless wizard who was flying so swiftly through the air, seemingly straight toward him. The magic-user’s black robe flapped around his skinny legs, and he swooped like a bird toward the palace wall, very near to where the three gully dwarves had been cowering. Too many terrifying memories surged through the little gully dwarf’s brain, and he was desperate to get away.

  Gus well remembered that horrible, eyeless face from his first encounter, a long time-two months, or two years, at least-ago. Gus had been a quivering, terrified captive in a small cage in the laboratory deep underneath Thorbardin. He could still hear the wicked laughter as the black-robed Theiwar had ordered him to drink an obviously lethal potion. The wizard had used a magic spell to compel Gus to drink the potion. It was only good luck that had given the gully dwarf a life-saving option: the magic-user had failed to notice that he had left a second bottle on the table, near the poison, and he failed to tell Gus which potion he was supposed to drink.

  So the gully dwarf prisoner had drunk the wrong potion and-much to his surprise-had magically teleported himself out of Thorbardin instead of dying a prolonged and agonizing death as the wizard had intended. His lucky escape had gotten even luckier when he had met-and fallen madly in love with-the priestess of Reorx Gretchan Pax. He had shared fascinating adventures with her, strolling along beside her and her mighty dog, Kondike. He saw wonders he had never imagined, went to places he didn’t even know existed. In a way, that was why and how he became a highbulp.

  As he recalled all of those dizzying events, Gus couldn’t really remember why he’d been so eager to get back to Thorbardin. Sure, it was maybe a little more interesting than Pax Tharkas, but it was also a lot more dangerous! It seemed like every time he turned around, the place was finding a new way to try to kill him.

  He ducked again as he heard a large crash and spotted the fiery dragon smashing through the high wall of the king’s fortress. The wizard, he was relieved to see, flew after the dragon; he had not been pursuing the gully dwarf after all. Still, that was little consolation for Gus as another avalanche of rubble plunged down from the heights, stones smashing and bouncing all around him in a pounding, destructive barrage.

  Gus heard shouts of terror and saw two dwarves tumble down with the breaking wall. One was dressed in silver armor; the other wore a robe, and when his face momentarily turned toward the gully dwarf, Gus saw that the other dwarf had a bright golden eye in one of his sockets. The two plunged to the ground and vanished into the cloud of dust, still shouting and cursing.

  More flames trailed through the air, sparks falling like rain across the plaza as the dragon flew past again. Gus screamed and ducked, covering his scalp with his arms. He saw Berta crouching nearby and tried to pull her over his head for added protection, but she bopped him on the skull with a fist that was as hard as stone. Feeling miserable, forlorn, and friendless, the Aghar pressed his face downward, burrowing into the pile of rubble that had tumbled from the palace tower. He could still hear the two dwarves who had fallen there, one of them shrieking hysterically, the other trying to calm his frantic companion.

  In the darkness of the piled boulders, Gus spotted the gleam of something red on the ground amid all the gray and black stones. It looked vaguely familiar, and when he reached down between two blocks of the fallen wall to pick it up, he recognized it-at least, recognized it as resembling wedges of stone he had seen before.

  In that instant the dragon, the wizard, and the chaotic destruction surrounding him were all forgotten.

  “Hey!” he cried, sitting back and hoisting the stone, which was smooth and heavy. “This Redstone! Matches Bluestone and Greenstone!”

  “So what?” huffed Slooshy, huddled nearby. Still, she looked up, glaring crossly, to study the wedge of rock he held to his chest. “Who care ’bout stupid bluphsplunging rock?”

  “My friend do!” Gus retorted. “In Pax Tharkas. Got two stones, blue one and green one. Her want this stone!”

  He well remembered Gretchan Pax’s delight when the dwarves had produced the two stones, matching them together to make … well, something interesting, anyway. He remembered that it was, or at least had seemed to be, very important. He also recalled them talking about another stone that was also important, and he guessed-with some uncharacteristically shrewd intuition-that he had just discovered that other stone.

  And in that flash of insight, he got another idea.

  Peat and Sadie, still bound and gagged, had been dumped unceremoniously into a tiny, windowless room. The door slammed behind them, a sturdy lock clicked, and they were stuck in the darkness. Through the uncounted hours since then, Peat had finally managed to work his gag free and began to work on his wife’s. After great effort, he had just bitten through the last of the strings tying Sadie’s cloth tightly against her mouth.

  And he was already regretting the accomplishment.

  “Why did you have to be so damned greedy?” she hissed at him quietly, apparently still concerned about not attracting the attention of the guards they could hear pacing back and forth in the outer hall.

  “Me?” he whispered back indignantly. “I wanted to get out of Thorbardin a week ago!”

  “Don’t lie to me!” she spat, her voice cracking as it grew louder in spite of herself. “Why, if I could only-”

  The rest of her threat was drowned in a chaotic explosion of sound coming from beyond their cell. They heard stones crashing to the ground and felt the vibrations of massive destruction. An eerie red glow flared in the corridor beyond the dungeon door, and they heard guards screaming in terror. The voice of one quickly faded into the distance as he fled, while the other’s cries, right outside the door, grew weaker and weaker.

  Another violent convulsion shook the palace, knocking stones loose from the ceiling. A large beam snapped, swinging perilously close to Peat’s head and smashing into the side of the cell near the door. Peat cursed as a rock struck a glancing blow against his shoulder. He tried to roll away, to shelter under the narrow bunk along the wall, but there was too much rubble for him to move. They were surrounded by heat, a radiance so intense that Peat could only imagine
they had been tossed into some kind of oven.

  He was surprised to see that Sadie was sitting up. Somehow she had wriggled her hands free of the bonds, and was using them to pull the coils of rope off of her arms. Once she was done, she knelt beside her husband and worked on his ropes with her stiff, arthritic fingers. After a second she gave up, pointed one of those fingers, and snapped out a word of magic.

  Peat yelped as the magic missile shot past his skin, ricocheting from the floor into the wall, trailing sparks. He was about to shout his objections when he noticed that the spell, in addition to burning him, had ripped through the ropes that had been binding his hands together.

  “Um, thanks,” he said, blinking in astonishment before looking blurrily around.

  He noticed the red glow still brightening the corridor behind the dungeon, but only when Sadie started toward that firelight did he realize he was seeing a lot more illumination than he should have been able to observe through the narrow dungeon window.

  “The door’s gone!” he exclaimed.

  Sadie shot him an exasperated look as she passed through that empty doorway with Peat hastening after her. They saw one of the guards, a stout Hylar warrior, gesturing weakly to them from the floor. He was pinned under a large flat rock; the weight of that stone was obviously crushing the life from him.

  The two Theiwar wasted no time on mercy, however, instead hobbling away from the dungeon cell as fast as their bony legs could carry them. The room beyond was full of smoke, the floor coated with rubble. It had been staffed by a dozen guards when they had been brought to their cell; it was empty when they entered again. They started up the stairs toward the palace’s main floor, pushing small stones out of the way and scrambling over the rocks that were too large to move.

  A minute later they had reached the top of the long stairway and found, once again, that a stout door had been torn from its hinges. And not just the door: when they stepped into the great hall, they saw that half of one wall was simply gone, smashed away by some unspeakable force, leaving an outline of smoking blocks, charred timbers, and dangling arches. There were dwarves in the great hall, covered with soot, all of them looking dazed and shocked. Some helped others who had been buried in the collapse, while many simply fled toward the doorways or leaped out through the hole that had been knocked in the wall. No one seemed to pay any attention to the two elderly Theiwar hobbling up from the dungeons.

  “Come on!” Sadie urged, gesturing as her nearsighted husband hesitated. He couldn’t see any place that looked safer than any place else, so he simply followed her, trusting her better eyes-and sharp instincts-to lead him to safety.

  The old crone clawed her way up a sloping rock to the edge of the gap that had been torn in the wall. Peat scrambled up behind her, just in time to see her slip through that opening and tumble onto the stones of the courtyard beyond. Wincing, he tumbled after, landing hard on an irregular chunk and knocking the breath from his lungs.

  Wheezing, he slowly drew a painful breath, forcing himself to hands and knees and, gradually, to his feet. He was moderately surprised to see that his wife, hands on her hips, was still standing nearby, waiting for him.

  Together the two Guilders made their way across the smoking, rubble-strewn courtyard. They heard dwarves shouting in terror and pain, saw soldiers and citizens alike running this way and that, and once Peat even caught a glimpse of a burning shape gliding overhead, like a massive, soaring fireball with flaming wings. His knees turned to jelly and he almost fell, but when Sadie determinedly kept plodding ahead, he put down his head and followed her.

  “What’s going on?” he asked plaintively, catching up to her and trying unsuccessfully to reach her hand or to catch the hem of her robe.

  Whether or not she heard his question, Sadie didn’t deign to answer. Instead, she continued to press forward, finally reaching back to grasp his hand when Peat staggered and hesitated at a particularly broken stretch of ground.

  If any palace guards were present, they apparently had more pressing matters to concern them than the escape of two elderly prisoners. In any event, no one even spoke to the pair as they dodged around the larger piles of debris and crawled through the holes and trenches that seemed strategically placed to block their path. The palace wall loomed here and there, but in many places deep notches cut into that barrier, some extending all the way to the ground.

  Soon they were across the courtyard and out of the palace, using one of the gaps in the outer wall to make good their escape. The great square of Norbardin was obscured by smoke, apparently coming from dozens of individual fires, but they knew where they were going.

  Still, they had to skirt many obstacles: a spear-lined battlement stretched across their path, manned by only the dead, but they had to climb over the treacherous debris. Beyond, more debris smoldered as the wreckage from the shattered shops and stalls continued to burn. It took them a half an hour to make their way to First Street. Once they were there, however, they found the path clear of rubble, the few dwarves on the streets all scurrying, like them, away from the plaza. The two Guilders skulked down the road, ducking behind the piles of rubble whenever they came upon a detachment of soldiers. Both the rebel and royal troops had abandoned any pretense of making war and had started simply to loot and plunder.

  They halted for a moment, warily watching Abercrumb’s shop, which was dark with no sign of the occupant. “I’d like to go in there and feed that weasel a few spells!” Sadie muttered.

  “No!” Peat said in panic. “There’s no time! Come on!”

  A few minutes later, gasping for breath and trembling in fear, they reached the door of the Two Guilders Emporium. They were relieved to find that the shop had been spared by looters-no doubt because of the fear of curses and magical traps. Sadie touched the locked door and uttered a word of magic, and a second later, the pair of Theiwar tumbled through the door, slamming it behind themselves and still shaking in fright.

  “You watch for trouble,” Sadie said when her breathing had settled down slightly. “I’ll go and start casting the spell.”

  “Hurry!” Peat said, holding his palms against the door as if he intended to stop an army with a battering ram.

  “I’ll work as fast as I can,” Sadie snapped as she disappeared into the back room.

  “There’s the king!” Willim the Black crowed in elation, watching as the fire dragon swept toward the monarch atop the palace wall. He flew quickly, soaring fifty feet above the plaza and weaving around the pillars of thick smoke. As an added bonus, Ragat Kingsaver stood behind the monarch, and the wizard allowed himself a thrill of hope: both of his enemies could be struck down at the very same time!

  Only then did he turn and look around for Facet, surprised to see that she was some distance behind him. The spell of flying allowed him to hover, so he waited in the air, watching her as she swept closer. He rejoiced at the sight of her black hair whipping in the wind, and at the light of passion and excitement in her eyes when she swept up to her master and swirled through a little pirouette that brought her right to his side.

  “Come, pretty one,” Willim said. He pointed at the tower, watching as the fire dragon swept past the rampart and brought a cascade of debris showering into the courtyard. “There is our enemy!”

  The black wizard swooped down, ignoring the fire dragon, the dwarves of the two armies fleeing in panic across the great square, and the smoking destruction already wreathing the great city. His spell of true-seeing allowed him to scry through the murk, identifying his target in the tangle of debris.

  He found Jungor Stonespringer groping around among the stones at the base of his palace wall. General Ragat, silver shield slung over his shoulder, was trying to get the king to flee to safety, but the monarch seemed intent on searching for something in the rubble. The king pushed himself up to his hands and knees, clawing and digging through the mess of broken rock.

  The nature of his quest became apparent as the two wizards swooped in.

&
nbsp; “The eye of Reorx!” King Stonespringer screeched. “I must find it!”

  Willim settled onto the crest of a large rock, standing firmly and looming over the frantic king, who was still rooting around in the rubble and stones below. Facet alighted beside the wizard, and his heart thrilled to her touch as she wrapped both of her arms around one of his. Her breasts felt soft against him, and the sensation made his blood pulse with vitality and heat.

  “Perhaps you seek an eye to replace the one you have lost?” sneered the wizard, addressing the king.

  Jungor Stonespringer didn’t even look up or react. Instead, he dropped flat on his belly and clawed at a large stone. “Help me!” he called to Ragat.

  The general, however, did look up, ignoring the king’s command. He stared coldly at the wizard, holding his shield before his chest.

  “Will you kill him now, Master?” Facet asked breathlessly, licking her crimson lips.

  Willim smiled tightly. “I haven’t decided yet, my pet.”

  Only then did the one-eyed king take note of his enemy and glance up from the pile of rocks. Still kneeling, he shook a fist at the wizard then gestured wildly with both hands.

  “Look what you have wrought!” he cried. “This destruction! You bring ruin to all Thorbardin! And for what?”

  “I bring ruin to you and your reign,” the wizard retorted. “It is you yourself who have done so much to destroy this proud nation.”

  “Kill me if you dare! Reorx will have his vengeance!” declared the king, stumbling to his feet. In a dramatic gesture, he tore his robe away, baring his chest to his enemy’s attack.

  “Death shall be your reward. But it will not come quickly,” the wizard declared.

  He raised his finger, pointing at the king’s single good eye. He grinned, a cruel grimace of triumph, and fired a carefully aimed magic missile. The blast of searing magic tore into Jungor Stonespringer’s face, and the king tumbled back to the ground, screaming, hands clasped to the gory wound.