It had been that murder, and Brandon’s own life threatened, that had led the younger Bluestone to flee the land of his ancestors. A year earlier he had made his way south, across the Newsea. He’d been ambushed and betrayed by hill dwarves, sentenced to death, then thrown into the dungeon of his own mountain dwarf cousins when they had mistaken him for a hill dwarf spy.
Of course, all those adventures had also led to meeting Gretchan. She had rescued him from that dungeon, and together they had turned back the hill dwarf attack. Yes, he and Gretchan were not a bad team. He hung his head, forced to admit to himself that his luck hadn’t been all that bad.
“Well,” he admitted, blushing. “It was really you who banished the minion back to—well, to wherever it came from.”
“I could only do that through the will of Reorx,” the dwarf priestess replied cheerily. “And because you had the courage to stand up to the creature.”
As they hiked steadily higher into the mountains, Brandon smelled the pine forest with new delight, heard the brooks and waterfalls of the Garnet range, and was reminded of all the good things about the place that had been his home for all of his fifty years—excepting the past eighteen months. And he finally felt that it was good to be going home again.
He had spent the past peaceful year in Pax Tharkas with Gretchan and the dwarves of Tarn Bellowgranite’s Thorbardin refugees. He had shared Gretchan’s joy at the discovery that Tarn’s old general, Otaxx Shortbeard, was in fact the father she had never known.
Throughout the year, Gretchan had yearned to continue her explorations, wishing to travel to the one great dwarf nation of which, as yet, she had no firsthand knowledge. Brandon had consistently refused to take her to Kayolin—until the letter from his father had arrived. For more than a month they had been journeying northward. They had trekked across the plains south of the Newsea, booked passage on a ship to Caergoth, and even purchased horses that had carried them all the way to the city of Garnet, gateway to the mountain range of the same name. They had sold their horses in that city two days before and were completing the journey on foot, following the smooth, paved road high into the mountains.
The slopes to either side of the valley grew steadily steeper, and they came into view of some small glaciers, permanent sheets of ice clinging to the creases and couloirs in the shady recesses of the upper reaches. The Garnet range was much smaller, the cliff faces more gentle, the crests more rolling, than the lofty realm of the Kharolis. But from down here on the valley road, the mountains looked plenty big.
Brandon took comfort from that familiar, pastoral vista. It wasn’t until they came around the last bend in the road and he saw the massive gate itself that he again thought about the realities of his homecoming. Would he be welcome in Kayolin? What was the fate of his father? What business was it of his that Regar Smashfingers had crowned himself king?
Kayolin’s main gate barred entry to a lofty tunnel at the base of one of Garnet Peak’s true precipices, a soaring cliff rising some two thousand feet to a shoulder of the massive summit. In times of war, the entry was sealed by a massive stone plug, but at the moment, as usual during times of peace, that gate was retracted far into the mountain, leaving the tunnel mouth gaping as a black hole in the rock wall. The road led directly to that entrance.
It was midday, so there was no other traffic in view as the pair of dwarves strolled up to the looming entry. “In morning, it’s crowded with hunters and lumberjacks heading out,” Brandon explained. “And the same thing is usually true in reverse at night. But most of the time it’s just a few travelers coming and going, maybe some merchants from Solamnia or dwarves carrying their own goods down to the humans.”
“My skin is tingling!” Gretchan said, looking up in awe as they moved into the shadows of the tunnel. The roof towered some fifty or sixty feet over head, and the gateway was a similar length wide.
“Well, just remember. Act like you’ve been here before when we walk in. There’ll be some redcoats, soldiers of the Garnet Guards, watching the gate. We’ll have to nod politely at the guards so they can make sure we’re not goblins or ogres, and then we’ll get lost in some of the midlevels. I know a few nice taverns where we can catch our breath and I can maybe send word to my dad.”
“You don’t think the king or his men will be looking for you?” Gretchan asked as the coolness of the shady cavern enclosed them. Their dwarf eyes quickly adjusted to the low illumination.
“Don’t see why,” Brandon replied. “I’ve been gone long enough that I suspect he’s forgotten all about me. Probably doesn’t ever expect me to come home.”
They grew silent as they advanced into the tunnel of the nation’s main gate.
Brandon nodded casually to an axe-bearing guard in black metal plate armor as they started on past the guard post. He could smell the hops from a nearby brewery, and his mouth watered at the familiar, evocative scent.
“Just a minute there, fellow,” said the guard, stepping forward and, surprisingly, placing his hand on Brandon’s arm. Three more armed and armored dwarves, also garbed in black, emerged from a small alcove in the side of the cavern to back up their comrade.
“What is it?” Brand asked, puzzled.
“You can’t just walk in here!” the sentry declared. “I order you to stop, in the name of the Enforcers!”
Brandon bit back a sharp retort. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been traveling for … for a while. What do I need to do?”
“Give us your name!” snapped the guard. “Who are you?” Another stepped out to further block their retreat.
Caught by surprise, Brandon didn’t even think of lying. “Brandon Bluestone,” he said stiffly. “Of Kayolin. This is my home!”
“Check the list,” said the first guard.
“And what’s your name?” another dwarf-at-arms demanded of Gretchan. “Are you a native of Kayolin also?”
“I’m Gretchan Pax, from Pax Tharkas,” she replied. “Just visiting here.”
“Bluestone!” snapped an unseen guard in the alcove who was presumably consulting the afore-mentioned list. “Take him! Lord Heelspur has his name down here!”
“What?” Brandon declared, starting to step back as two guards seized his arms. His gut wrenched in sudden panic. He had read about the League of Enforcers in the king’s proclamation, but he didn’t expect his own name to be on their lists. Reflexively he put his hand around the hilt of his axe.
“Oh, he’s not that Bluestone,” Gretchan said breezily. She laughed, a musical, trilling sound, and waved her staff gently before the faces of the sentries. The top of that shaft, the small anvil that was the symbol of Reorx, glowed slightly, and Brandon realized that she was casting one of her priestess spells.
“He’s the Bluestone you’ve been waiting for. Aren’t you glad he’s come home?” she asked sweetly.
“Oh, Bluestone!” said one of the guards, his face breaking into a broad smile. “Yes! Welcome back! It’s been too long!”
“Yeah, it’s great to see you!” said the first guard, releasing his arm to clap him on the back.
“Uh, yes. Sure. Thanks,” Brandon said as Gretchan took him by the arm. Kondike trotted along behind him as they swept out of the gateway and into a Kayolin that Brandon was not sure he would recognize.
ELEVEN
THE DEEPSHELF INN AND THE ATRIUM
Brandon led Gretchan by the hand into Kayolin, walking as briskly as he thought he could without attracting any undue attention. He was still shaken by the discovery that his name was on a list held by the guards at the gate.
The two passed the Gateway Brewery and its public room without entering that classic watering hole. Instead, Brandon followed the long entrance tunnel for perhaps a quarter of a mile then turned into one of the passages leading into the lower levels of the city of Garnet Thax. The route had at one time been a mine tunnel, but it had been widened and supported with the installation of stone archways every fifty feet or so. It was mostly empty; the few dwarv
es they met were miners bearing wheelbarrows, tools, and other objects from one work site to another.
The most direct route from the main gate of Kayolin into the city of Garnet Thax was a wide thoroughfare, a ramp lined with inns and plazas as well as numerous shops, leading directly into the main residential zones of the city, the midlevels. Spooked by the fact that his name was known, and that the Enforcers might be searching for him, Brandon elected to lead Gretchan on a more circuitous route into the city proper. They made their way into the deep-levels, a district of smelting and forging plants, passing along narrow, darkened streets, moving quickly amid the infrequent pedestrians in that industrial locale.
Kondike, who seemed completely comfortable in the underground setting, paced easily along behind them. The dog drew more interest from passersby than did the two dwarves.
“Those sentries—they wore black, not red,” Brandon noted. “They must be a new outfit. The Garnet Guards are well known for their scarlet tunics.”
“Have things changed very much otherwise—at least, that you can see?” Gretchan asked as they strode along past a row of smithy stalls, where the clang of hammers striking steel made a rhythmic cadence and created enough of a din that they could be certain they wouldn’t be overheard.
“It looks pretty much the same as before,” the Kayolin dwarf admitted. He gestured as they passed a large chamber, visible through a series of arched openings off of the road. Massive piles of coal filled one side of the room, while dwarves chopped with picks to reduce the fuel to small chunks and cart it into the interior of the factory. They could hear the sound of roaring furnaces and feel the waves of heat emanating as far as the passing tunnel. “I mean, work is getting done. From the look of those coal supplies, the foundries are as productive as ever—maybe more.”
“Why don’t we just go to your parents’ house?” his companion asked. “You’ll be able to learn a lot from them, I’m sure.”
Brandon nodded. “We’ll end up there, yes. But I don’t want to just march down the street and go in the front door. Who knows who might be watching? What if the League of Enforcers has a spy there … or if my father has already been arrested?”
She grimaced. “I didn’t think of that. You’re right to be careful. Then where are we going?”
“To a tavern I know. It’s called the Deepshelf Inn, and we’re not likely to bump into friends of the king there.”
They turned onto a wider road, one that curved gradually as they walked along. Sooty smiths pounded their hammers against red steel anvils in several shops to the left, and they passed another foundry where they could see red-hot metal being poured from a great bucket into a series of molds, sparks trailing from the liquid. The workers all wore heavy leather aprons, hoods, and gauntlets with slit faceplates to protect themselves from the searing heat.
Gretchan looked around wide-eyed and would have stopped to investigate if Brandon had let her. Instead, he continued to lead her along until they came to a wide cave mouth on the side of the road. The establishment’s name, Deepshelf Inn, was carved into the mantel above the entrance. From within came sounds of laughter and genial argument, as well as smells of roasting meat, burning tobacco, and yeasty beer.
They stepped through the door into the crowded interior. The entryway was fairly dark, but the rear of the room was much brighter. As they advanced, Gretchan saw that the inn’s great room ended in a broad, curved balcony that was open to the air on the far side. The vast space was illuminated from above by a diffuse glow that, while it wasn’t as bright as daylight, suggested the pale glow of sunset or dawn.
“It looks like a view of the outside world!” she exclaimed.
“That’s the Atrium,” Brandon explained. “It’s a shaft that runs up and down through the center of Garnet Thax. The palace stands at the very top. All of the city’s levels have a view of the Atrium at some point—I guess you could say it’s Kayolin’s most significant feature.”
“Like the Urkhan Sea in Thorbardin,” she suggested in a tone of wonder.
“Maybe,” he replied with a shrug. He’d never thought of it like that before; as a Kayolin dwarf, the Atrium was just another part of ordinary life.
“What’s at the bottom?” Gretchan asked.
“Nobody knows. The horax have their dens far down there, somewhere. Lower than that, you’d probably come to the middle of the world; if you look down there, you can see the faint glow of lava and even feel the heat.” That vista had never failed to impress him as a boy, first, then as an adult.
“Can we sit next to it?” she asked, as if reading his mind. At first he was reluctant because there seemed no place more likely for him to be noticed. The balcony at the outer rim of the inn was visible to observers on the various levels above. But since they were in the deep-levels, it would be hard to pick them out on the crowded terrace. In fact, it would be pleasant to sit near the Atrium. Gretchan’s questions made him feel fond of it.
They made their way between the crowded tables, past the bar, and finally found themselves on the balcony, with the Atrium yawning before them. Gretchan gave a little gasp of surprise and stepped right up to the low stone railing that prevented an accidental fall. After glancing around for any signs of overly curious dwarves—though the bar, including the balcony, was crowded, all the customers and servers seemed to be occupied with their own business—Brandon stepped up to join her.
He felt, again, the dizzying sense of space that the Atrium provided, and he instinctively understood why the nation’s ancestors had chosen to build Garnet Thax around the vast, airy shaft. The deep well plummeted below them. They were near the bottom of the city, so most of the view downward was simply barren stone walls, cliffs that were pocked with ledges and the occasional crack, chimney, or cave mouth. The shaft here was perhaps a hundred and fifty feet across, and if they looked directly ahead, they saw a balcony similar to theirs, though not as large or as crowded, on the other side.
A few more of those vantages marked the presence of the city’s very deepest levels, below, until the gradually narrowing shaft vanished into a blue mist. Far below, a faint crimson glow, like the embers in a dying fire, suggested the deep fires at the heart of Krynn.
“You’re right; I do feel the warmth,” Gretchan said, leaning over so precipitously that Brandon grabbed her shoulder. “It’s rising like a breeze.”
“Yep,” Brand agreed, not releasing his grip. “It warms the whole city.”
They turned their eyes upward and beheld a dazzling array of lights where lanterns marked the more prosperous parts of the city. A series of shelves jutted from the cliff as it ascended toward the heights. There were dozens of levels to Garnet Thax, each of them centered around that deep shaft. They could pinpoint numerous other balconies, and many dwarves were leaning against the railings just as they were, taking in the sights. The Atrium was the focal point for all the dwarves of Kayolin, and many innkeepers exploited that fact by establishing patios and tables with a view.
Hundreds of dwarves were visible all around them, leaning on balconies like theirs, talking, drinking, or just staring thoughtfully. Looking around, Brandon hoped no one would notice them and recognize him.
From the great room of the Deepshelf Inn, they could hear sounds of raucous laughter, mugs clinking in a steady round of toasts. “The Deepshelf is one of the lowest social establishments in the city—in elevation, as well as class. The folks in here are mostly miners and laborers.” He gestured toward the higher reaches of the great shaft. “Up there, you’ll find a lot of prosperous merchants, with the wealthiest—and the nobility—sticking to the very top levels. The midlevels have a lot more inns and cafés right on the Atrium,” he explained. “It’s always been a popular spot for Kayolin’s dwarves to congregate. On the highest levels, those just below the governor’s palace, there are private manors with their own balconies looking out onto the shaft. Those are generally considered the most desirable homes in all Garnet Thax. The Heelspur clan owns one t
hat circles halfway around the shaft at one of its widest points.”
“It looks like it gets wider the higher you go,” Gretchan observed.
“Yes, that’s right. It’s about three hundred feet across at the palace level, and gradually narrows as it descends. Some say it’s only ten or twenty feet wide down below, but it’s been a long time since anyone went down to look.”
They found a small table near the edge and took their seats. A few minutes later, a serving maid came by to ask for their order; she returned with their drinks, but the priestess ignored hers; she was still gawking at the vast shaft of the Atrium. Brandon also wasn’t ready to dive into his tall mug of bitter beer. He sat morosely, alternately watching Gretchan, peering around, and staring at the black slate table.
“How did you do what you did back there?” Brandon asked. “How did you get me past those guards who were going to arrest me?”
“Well, it was a simple charm spell,” she replied modestly. “Pretty useful on dimwits like those four. They probably still think you’re a long-lost buddy. And when the effect wears off, I hope they’ll be too embarrassed to tell anyone what happened.”
“But to think of my name on some kind of list!” Brandon declared, still trying to wrap his head around the idea. “Things are worse here than I imagined.”
“They mentioned the League of Enforcers,” Gretchan said. “I take it there was no such vigilance at the checkpoints when you left here?”
He shook his head. “No. But times have changed—and fast. I’ve got to find my parents and hear about what’s going on here!”
The Heir of Kayolin Page 14
