Delver Magic Book II: Throne of Vengeance

by Jeff Inlo

  Chapter 7

  "They were only a support party, ten commandos setting up a listening post. They noted movement on the surface. They thought they might have come across some wayward algors. When they broke through the surface, they came upon two elves and what they believe was a delver. He moved too quickly to be a human."

  Strog Grandhammer, the newly appointed War Com—military strategist of the separatist dwarves now in command of the dwarf army—continued his unsettling report to Queen Yave.

  "Our troops were not prepared for battle, at least not with a delver. He moved quickly enough in the open to remove their protective goggles. The desert sun and sand impaired their vision. They retreated."

  "Retreat?" Yave's question shot from her lips like a poison dart.

  Strog replied firmly. "A tactical decision I completely agree with. Blind dwarves can not fight successfully against a delver and two elves, especially in the open sand. We suffered no casualties in this skirmish and we have learned much."

  "What have you learned?" Yave scoffed at Strog's embrace of such incompetence. Her question sounded more of a dare than a request.

  "The delver had a glowing sword," Strog sneered. Her venomous stare was not lost upon the War Com. How dare she question his tactical appraisal? How long would he have to put up with her ignorance, her incompetence? She was important to the separatists for now. The dwarves of Dunop accepted her as royalty. But soon, very soon, the separatists would do away with that need as well, just as they had done away with the need for the elves. Strog spoke with a challenging tone, a tone which revealed his growing impatience. "I guess I don't have to tell you of the importance of this. And before you even think to ask, there is no doubt. The sword magnified the light of the desert. There is no doubt of its enchantment, and no doubt as to who holds it."

  "The delver from Sanctum?" Yave's expression revealed equal portions of shock and anger.

  The War Com needled her emotions. "I know of no other delver with a glowing sword. It must be Ryson Acumen. The very same delver that accompanied Tun and Jon into Sanctum, the delver that destroyed Ingar's sphere and released the magic."

  Yave seethed. She stamped her feet as her anger prohibited her from answering.

  Strog pressed on, taking enjoyment from Yave's outburst of temper. "Based on the report, it is likely the elves were also the very same elves that entered Sanctum as well. They fit the description of Lief Woodson and Holli Brances. What other elves would be accompanying Ryson Acumen into the desert?"

  Yave managed to spit out one word. "Where?"

  Strog pulled a roughly drawn map off a stone table. He examined it slowly, for no other reason then to make Yave wait. He feigned expressions of concentration as he glanced across several portions of the parchment. He knew exactly where the skirmish took place, but he knew the extended pause would agitate Yave even further. Finally, he folded the map over once, then again. He handed the squared parchment to the queen, pointing to the exact location of the minor battle.

  "There," he pronounced. "In the desert, far from Dark Spruce, far from any human town. They must have passed through the rock canyons as they were forging further into the desert. In truth, my troops only chanced upon them. In order to track algor movements, it is essential I have tunnel sentries spread in a perimeter around possible algor travel routes. To the algors, the entire desert is a potential access way. I ordered many listening posts in many places. We were lucky to find them."

  "Lucky?! Your troops were defeated." Yave was unimpressed with his strategies, only incensed at his failure.

  The War Com curled his lip. He stared silently at the queen.

  Yave saw the challenge of his gaze. She exploded. "Did your warriors kill the elves or the delver?! Did they take them prisoner? No! They scurried away like scared mice."

  Strog's eyes narrowed, but still he said nothing.

  Yave threw a goblet across the room. Clear liquid, mountain water that was funneled underground through falls and aqueducts filtered by tons of shale and rock, splashed across the wall. The goblet, made of gold and nickel, suffered a dent as it clanked noisily against the wall and then the floor. The metallic clang echoed throughout the throne room, yet Yave's voice overcame the vibration.

  "Just don't stand there! Say something."

  Strog did not speak up immediately, making it clear he would not jump to her orders. He rubbed his hands, looked over his armor, stroked his beard; all with careful deliberation. Finally, after completing this silent ritual, he addressed the queen with near contempt.

  "My forces have yet to be defeated. I took this castle from Jon without the loss of a single soldier. My army crushed the algors in their own stronghold, killed over a thousand of their kind. I now have the desert covered with a well defined spread of listening posts. The algors in the Lacobian won't be able to take a stroll without me knowing about it. I have succeeded in exercising every advantage over the algors and leaving them decimated. As for the delver and the elves, capturing or killing them was never one of my military objectives. Retreat does not mean defeat, especially when in retreat I gain yet another advantage..."

  "Advantage? In retreat?"

  Strog continued despite the interruption, "... and another source of information. I now know that a delver and two elves were venturing into the desert in the direction of the algor stronghold. That raises many questions. If my commandos had been captured I would not have that information."

  Yave bit down on her fury. His meaning reached her. "What do you think they were doing out there?"

  "It seems obvious. Two elves and the delver from Sanctum moving towards the algors at the same moment we were about to attack. That is too much for simple coincidence. The elves must have found out about our plans. That in itself is important. It means that there are still dwarves in Dunop that have not accepted our ideas. There must be some that decided to betray their own and reveal our plans to the elves. These elves took it upon themselves to join with the delver to warn the algors."

  "No, not just warn. They were going to offer an alliance against us," Yave bellowed.

  Strog showed surprise. Yave did not contradict his theory. In fact, she furthered it to a point beyond his own contentions. He reacted with reluctance. "I have heard nothing of a possible alliance. But as I said, at the very least they were surely prepared to warn the algors of our attack. If they had succeeded in that, the results may have been disastrous. Based on this information, we have uncovered a great threat, a threat which now must be silenced. It is now imperative that we find the disloyal dwarves that betrayed our cause. We can not allow them to hamper our efforts."

  Yave barely heard Strog's words. The thought of more enemies burned her thoughts, not the disloyal dwarves but the delver and the elves. Ryson Acumen, Lief Woodson, Holli Brances; all of them were with Tun when he died. None of them did anything to save her son. They were as guilty as the algors, as guilty as Jon. Now, they moved to join forces against her.

  "Is there no end to this injustice?" she ranted. "They kill my son, the true heir to my throne, but they are not satisfied. Now, they wish to help those most responsible. They will all pay." Again she wished to hurl something across the room, but her hand was empty. The innocent object that suffered at her last tirade, the goblet, rested too far away to retrieve. Her fist pounded down upon the arm of her throne.

  "They failed in their attempt," Strog stated victoriously, as if the queen had nothing to rave about. "My forces crushed the algors before they could be warned. There is little left of the algors in the Lacobian, certainly too few and too disorganized to mount a successful response attack. I need only send my army on another offensive tonight, and the algors will be vanquished completely. We will then destroy their stronghold. Though there are still many wandering about the desert, they are isolated. They will not be allowed to regroup, and without their stronghold, they will have no place to coordinate any counter-offensive. Those that are left will be f
orced to wander the desert, and we will pick them off one by one."

  "Fool!" Yave cursed. "You spout as if you have won. You have won nothing. The elves have shown they are willing to ally with the algors. The humans as well, the delver will convince them. When you send our army back into the desert, we will be open to attack. The elves are from Dark Spruce, they know the entrance to our city. This is exactly the opportunity they will be looking for."

  The War Com stared at the queen in total bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"

  Yave ranted with hostility. Her voice shifted in volume and tone, exemplifying the twisted path of her thoughts. "Holli Brances and Lief Woodson! They come from Dark Spruce. They are angry with us for cutting off trade. They are looking for an excuse to attack us. They don't trust us. That is why they were going to offer their assistance to the algors. Just as they saw that Tun was killed, they will see the rest of us dead as well. The delver, all delvers, they live with humans. They can not be trusted. Ryson Acumen will see that the humans side with the elves and the algors. His sympathy is with them, that is why he was in the desert!"

  Strog did not know how to deal with Yave's madness. He spoke with uncertainty, his own confidence faltering, his voice was halting. "My spies say nothing of coordinated elf movements. My reports say they are preparing for the dormant season, nothing more."

  "Your spies did not tell you of the delver and the two elves going into the Lacobian."

  "I can not keep track of each individual elf."

  "But you admit the elves must have found out about our plans to attack the algors. You spoke of dwarves who were informing the elves. Your spies did not uncover this, either."

  "But there is nothing to indicate the elves are preparing to attack."

  "What do you need to see? The elves and humans banded together with swords drawn in this very room? I tell you the signs are there. They are allied with the algors."

  Strog threw open his hands. His features curled into a grotesque frown. "So what is it you think we should do?"

  "We must attack," she hissed like a cobra about to strike.

  "That is what I said," Strog groaned with frustration. Yave's madness was unyielding, it drove him to astonishment. "We will attack the algors tonight. Finish them off."

  Yave slapped him across his face. His beard muffled the clap of her palm against his cheek. Still, the quick smack resonated through the throne room, served as a precursor for yet another tirade by the queen.

  "You fool! You damned fool! Not the algors. We can deal with them later. The elves are the threat, the elves and the humans. We must attack them now. Attack them before they can attack us."

  Strog was too shocked to react. No dwarf had ever dared strike him. He was powerful, able to pull stone apart with his bare hands. He could have yanked Yave's head from her neck with but a simple tug. The slap, however, meant less than the fact that she was actually challenging his tactics, his battle strategy. She, who had no network of intelligence, no soldiers to command, no experience in battle, she was telling him who to attack and when.

  Ludicrous.

  "Attack the elves?" His face twisted with mystification. The plan had no military merit whatsoever. Open a second front, another battle enemy when the first was not yet destroyed, the concept was ridiculous.

  Yave scorned his shock. "You would have them attack us while your army is in the Lacobian desert? No. Recall our forces at once. Divide them into separate divisions. One to handle the humans, the other to attack the elves in Dark Spruce."

  The outrageousness of her suggestion made him forget her physical attack upon his face. The possible redeployment of his army to handle a threat which did not exist defied all reason. Strog shook his head vehemently. "No! No! That is not sound. We have two important objectives that must be fulfilled right now! We must ferret out disloyal dwarves in Dunop and we must finish off the algors. We must not attack the elves while the algors remain a threat. And we can not even conceive of another attack plan until we know which dwarves are revealing our secrets to the elves."

  "Which is even more reason to attack the elves now!" Yave shouted over him. "If they have set up a network of spies, does that not convince you of their ill-will? Consider the pure, simple facts. If the elves knew we were to attack the algors, they also know the extent of our forces to protect our own city."

  Strog stammered. Yave's distortion of the obvious forced him to consider irrelevant factors. For a moment, he began to question his own tactics, second-guess the very actions which so far had led to overwhelming victory.

  "It is true the city is ill prepared to fight off an attack," he conceded. "I used the core of our forces to attack the algors. I wanted to make our attack complete. I needed warriors to fill the algor stronghold. I also need sentries in the desert to track movement."

  Strog caught himself. What was he doing? Why was he even entertaining these thoughts? His strategies were sound. Why listen to the delusions of a deranged, vengeful queen? His objection spilled from his lips like water over a dam. "No! This is madness. I have deployed my forces with reason. As I said before, there is no sound military tactic in redeploying our forces. We must see to the end of the algors before we consider a threat that does not exist. The elves will not attack us."

  Yave glared. She throttled her fury, her madness. She embraced the power and the authority that was hers as queen and shoved it in Strog's face. "I am not asking you, I am telling you. You will hold your attack on the algors. You will recall your army and you will attack the elves and humans."

  Strog stood at the edge, but a hair's width from crossing the dangerous threshold of refusing the queen's authority, of perhaps even committing regicide. Why not? They had overthrown Jon. Yave was their puppet. Why continue the charade?

  The answer held his hands from violence. There were still dwarves who resisted the separatists, spies revealing secrets to the elves. They were small in number, probably only a handful, but they underscored the continued need for a puppet leader. Yave would keep the masses of Dunop pacified, while the separatists fought for greater control. They would remove her, eventually, but not now. Now, they could ill-afford a civil war.

  Strog scowled, decided to maintain his cloak of service to the queen. It took long moments and the self-control of a seasoned warrior and general, but he answered with veiled respect to her authority.

  "Of course it is your decision, but it is my duty to inform you of the great risks involved in such an undertaking." His words were cold and they sickened him as he spoke. "It is your will, but attacking the elves and humans at this moment entails factors you may not have considered. First, there is the fact that dwarves within Dunop must still be communicating with the elves in Dark Spruce. Otherwise, how would they have known to warn the algors? What good would it do to develop battle strategies against the elves if those same plans will be revealed to the enemy?"

  Yave shrugged with contempt at the need for strategy. "What plans do you need? They are elves, we are dwarves. We know where their camp is. Strike and attack at night."

  Strog bit down on his lip before continuing with other objections. "And what of the humans? Where do I center my attack? Burbon? Pinesway? Connel? Even farther? The humans outnumber us. They have towns spread across the land. To attack even a quarter of their known villages, I would have to divide my army into nothing more than raiding parties that would make goblins laugh and would be decimated in seconds."

  Yave folded her arms. She rose from her chair and stomped across the room. Her foot reached the goblet and kicked it back against the wall. Another dent bent the rim. She turned away, whirled about and paced heavily back to her throne. She grumbled about the humans multiplying like rodents, filling the far corners of the land. She threw her gaze back at Strog as an idea developed in her angry tormented mind.

  "Then we'll have to increase the size of our army."

  Strog shook his head. "Every available dwarf in Dunop is
already within our service."

  "Then look beyond Dunop."

  "You can't be serious," Strog responded sternly. "Do you really think other cities will join us? They remain under the rule of long standing royalty. I doubt royal leaders will be willing to ally with us. They view us as renegades, a threat to their own rule. Until our movement spreads, we must rely on our own strength."

  The queen again turned and paced the room. This time she allowed the mangled goblet a reprieve. She left it alone.

  Strog settled in a sense of relief. He had talked the queen out of these senseless judgments. He was once more in control of tactical decisions. There would be no foolishness, no absurd attacks upon the elves and the humans, at least not until the algors were destroyed, or so he believed.

  Yave barked a single command as she strode toward the door. "Follow me!"

  Strog obeyed, not out of respect for her authority, but out of curiosity. What did she want of him now? What foolish ideas would her madness lead them upon? The metal soles of Strog's war boots clicked first against the stone hallway, and then against the descending steps of a granite staircase. After but a few moments, Yave's destination was obvious, the cell where Jon was imprisoned. Further and further they descended the dark, spiraling staircase that led to the bowels of the castle. The meager but steady light which bathed most of the underground city drifted away. Haphazardly placed torches spotted the walls. The trapped smoke swayed lazily with a sickening mildew smell which drenched the air. Cracks, bordering on fissures, decorated the tubular paths of this dungeon.

  Yave stepped away from the stairway, not quite at the bottom tier. She moved along a platform to a side tunnel. She passed silently by two dwarf guards that appeared enamored by the silence and the darkness of their post. They took little notice of the queen, their attention fixed on Strog. They would follow his orders, not hers. In truth, they wondered if the queen was going to join her son as prisoner.

  Strog made a sideways glance to them, and motioned for them to stay at their posts. He unenthusiastically grabbed a set of keys from a lonely hook embedded in the wall. He knew where the queen wanted to go, but still had no idea why.

  Yave stopped in front of a thick, wooden door. The rot decried its age, revealed its origin. Ancient wood had been collected by the elves, traded to the dwarves in return for stone and gems. Its very existence repulsed her. It reminded her of the elves and how they were willing to betray her, just as they betrayed Tun. She shuddered with anger, almost lost sight of her true purpose.

  Strog watched her carefully, did not move to open the door until she so directed. He would not assume anything beyond this point. Her purpose remained hidden, and so, he would wait.

  "Open it!" Yave snarled.

  He complied. His thick fingers found it difficult to apply the key into its hole. After some deliberation, he finally turned the latch. He pressed open the heavy, thick door. Stone hinges grated in angry upheaval as the door swung into the cell.

  Jon did not look up. He sat alone, unchained upon a squared stone block, a bunk for the damned. The cell opened up into a large oval expanse. There were no corners. Rubble littered the floor. Streams of dirty underground water washed down over long sections of the walls. Not a fitting place for the only remaining blood-true Folarok in Dunop.

  Jon ignored his guests. Unresponsive, he sat with his face in his hands. Removed of all armor, weapons, and any garment which rendered him as royalty, he appeared more like a beggar in tattered clothes than a prince or a king. His hair disheveled, his beard unruly; his figure appeared at home in these dark, forbidding surroundings.

  Yave felt nothing for her son, no sympathy, no regret over her own actions that led to his downfall. Her thoughts so scrambled with the boiling desire for revenge, she did not even recognize him as her son. He was a traitor, and her voice revealed these feelings with the black clarity of a winter night sky.

  "I want to talk to you. You have information I need."

  Jon's face remained buried in his palms. Her voice held nothing that he would recognize. Even if it did, he had spiraled so far into his own personal abyss that his own recollections of reality were muddled into twisted nightmares. He coughed.

  Strog measured the reactions of both Jon and Yave. He found delight in Jon's despondency. He was broken, no longer a threat to the separatist movement. They could release him this moment and he would do no harm. He would probably wander helplessly through the darkest tunnel ways of Dunop until he perished from hunger.

  Yave's indifference, however, left him cold. How could a mother have distanced herself so far from her own son? It puzzled him beyond the considerations of family relations. He had spent a lifetime studying all aspects of war, including emotional responses which may sway the tide of battle. He had learned that those fighting for home and family normally fought beyond their normal capacities, while foreign invaders usually suffered morale difficulties due to a longing to be back with loved ones. Here, however, was a mother so distanced from her only surviving family member, she considered him an enemy.

  This simple aspect made Yave a dangerous individual. Whether it is madness, vengeance, or simple blood lust, Strog realized it would have to be considered in each of his future dealings with Yave. After all, the queen would be removed from power eventually. It was best if Strog remembered her apathy as well as her emotional tirades.

  In this instance, Yave remained as cold as a north wind blowing off snow capped mountains, and her accusations rang as frigid.

  "The elves are allying with our enemies, but then you probably already knew that."

  Her decree made no sense to Jon. He remained silent.

  "Denying it will not help you. You were against breaking ties with the elves when you took the throne. You probably know much about the spies that even now are probably working to betray your own people."

  Jon did not stir, did not care. Elves? Spies? Who cared of elves and spies? His life was ruined. He had lost everything. But then, he had also realized his wish. He was relieved of his responsibilities. Yes, the crown was taken from him, but it was something he never wanted in the first place. Being thrown into this prison was a small price to pay for being freed of such responsibility.

  Yave remained undeterred by Jon's passivity. "You will tell me of what you know. You will tell me what alliances were made upon Sanctum. You will tell me why the elves wish to warn the algors. You will tell me why Ryson Acumen is now interfering in our business and you will tell me where I can find him."

  Whereas Yave's voice could not inspire a reaction from Jon, the mention of the delver's name brought him to life. His hands dropped to his lap, then to his side as he lifted himself from his rock bed. His eyes lit upon the queen, but there was no true recognition. Only the face of the delver danced in his thoughts.

  "Ryson?" he whispered.

  Strog watched intently. The delver’s name had almost hypnotized the imprisoned dwarf and prisoners often spoke freely under such delusions, giving away important intelligence.

  "Yes, Ryson Acumen. The one who helped you kill Tun." Yave sneered with contempt at having to repeat the name. She faced her son with growing emotion, not love or sympathy, but anger and condemnation.

  Strog gripped her arm. He wanted her to remain silent—let the prisoner spout important information, leave him in his trance. To interrupt with aggressive, hostile remarks was plain foolishness, and he would not have it.

  She tried to yank her arm free in a fit of unbridled fury, but Strog's grip tightened. She went to slap him again, but his other arm blocked the blow. She reached to claw out his eyes. Her fingers were seized in mid-air. As Strog bent them back with force, she gulped down a moan of pain.

  "What are you doing?"

  "If you remain silent, we will have the information you obviously came down here for."

  Jon slanted his head in confusion. He heard their voices, saw their struggle, but didn't understand it. Still failing to sho
w recognition to his mother the queen, his focus drifted off. Whatever had stirred him from his resignation was drifting away, a dying echo of a name he thought he knew. His eyes fell to the floor. The dull grey slate welcomed him. The blank environment held his desires. In this cell he had no responsibilities, no decisions to make. He was not king, he was not prince. His stomach did not ache, did not tie into knots with the worries of matters beyond his control. He was safe. His shoulders slouched, not with the weight of a heavy burden, but with the freedom of near nonexistence.

  Yave still struggled with Strog. She snarled with anger as he pulled her from the cell. When Strog released her to shut the cell door, she leapt upon him. Pounding furiously upon his head.

  "You dare touch me!" she growled. "I will have you killed. I will hang your fingers around my neck!"

  Strog threw her off him. He did not draw the heavy double-bladed axe which hung from his belt, though he surely felt the desire. He pulled just enough diplomacy from his words to slowly calm the enraged queen.

  "I am simply following your own direction. Though you have not spoken the order, I see why you have brought me here. You wish to obtain information from Jon as to the identity of spies and the whereabouts of the delver. It is obvious that this is paramount to your wishes to defeat the algors as well as the elves. Jon was about to reveal much, he does not recognize you. The name of the delver stirred him into a susceptible state. If, however, he realized you meant to do the delver harm, he would have ceased. I did not wish to assault your person, but you were about to unknowingly hinder your own objectives. If we do not contradict or intimidate the prisoner, he will reveal much to us. But we must remain in control. Forgive me your majesty." These last words pained the War Com, but they were needed to assuage the queen of her growing resentment.

  Yave heaved an unforgiving grunt of dissatisfaction. "You are never to touch me again!"

  Strog bit down on his lip. In his mind, he imagined the day when he would strangle her, or behead her with several chops of a dull axe. The vivid image made his next words almost palatable. "Again, I am sorry. It is my wish only to serve you and your cause."

  The queen brushed his apparent apology aside. Her eyes set upon the cell door like a hungry jackal eyeing a sickly rabbit. "If you think you can get information, then do so. I want to know where the delver lives. Delvers make their homes in human towns. Find the town he comes from and we will know what humans to target. That is the reason I brought you here. Once we know where to strike the humans, you will have no further excuses. We can move forth with my plans and soon every race in Uton will learn of dwarf justice."

  One look at Yave made it obvious that debate was useless. Revenge was her only motive. It did not matter to her that the algors were still a threat, and their decimation should be the foremost military objective. Her fury had pushed her to paranoia. It was not enough to attack the algors, she wished to extract revenge from all she blamed, and that included the elves, humans, and delvers. Strog's cautions would not stop her. She was not concerned with judicial strategy. Once she narrowed her sights upon one human village, she would order him to move against the elves as well as the humans.

  Strog fumed. His command over battle strategies was being ripped from him by the delusions of a mad woman who was now queen. He bristled at the prospect of having to divide his army as well as leave an injured and angry enemy at his flank before finishing the job. He would open a second and third front by attacking the elves and the humans. He saw no signs the elves were allied with the algors, but an unprovoked attack would certainly lead to such an alliance. The algors would be given time to regroup while humans and elves offered their assistance, all of this while he could not obtain the assistance of neighboring dwarf cities. The forces of Dunop would stand alone.

  Yet, he abandoned all hope of making Yave see this point. There was little he could do or say to convince her. If he resisted her orders, she would call for his execution. He would be forced to remove her from power. Subsequent events became clear. Royalists that accepted the separatists because of the queen would revolt. They would be embroiled in a civil war. Neighboring dwarf cities may then interfere, but not on the side of the separatists. They would seize the opportunity to restore pure monarchy to Dunop. The separatists would surely be defeated and their cause destroyed forever.

  There was but one hope Strog could seize upon. If Yave could be pacified with a small strike upon the elves of Dark Spruce and one human village, he may yet keep his army intact without inviting major reprisals. The humans will not know where to attack and the elves may be too confused to understand what is actually happening. If he was lucky, he could regroup his army and send them to finish off the algors before they truly allied in force against him. It was thus now to his advantage to uncover the very knowledge Yave desired. He needed to narrow the possible human target sites as well as uncover any information as to possible dwarf traitors that might warn the elves.

  Strog turned from Yave, exasperated but intent on obtaining what he needed to know. He swung the cell door back open and again stepped back inside. He pulled the door shut before Yave could accompany him. Best to leave her outside where her tirades would not deter the success of the interrogation.

  Jon remained standing. He stared contentedly at the floor. He showed no response to the opening of his cell door and made no acknowledgment of Strog's return.

  The War Com considered how to bring Jon back to a susceptible state, to place the dethroned king into the trance that made questioning more permissive. Strog whispered words and phrases that he hoped would recall the trance.

  "Sanctum. Ryson Acumen. The elves, Lief Woodson and Holli Brances. They wish to be with you again."

  "Sanctum?" Jon closed his eyes in anguish. He thought of the dark hollow mountain, how it claimed the life of his brother. The pain began to clear his mind.

  Strog cursed under his breath at his own error. He struggled to correct it. "The delver, Ryson Acumen. He saved the land. Do you not wish to see him?"

  Jon opened his eyes. He looked to the War Com. There was no trance. He recognized Strog immediately, a leader of the separatists, an enemy to the throne. He recalled the last few moments. He knew his mother was in his cell, guessed she was now waiting outside. The ex-king bristled with animosity.

  "What is it you really want? What is it your queen wants?"

  Yave threw open the cell door. The resoluteness of Jon's voice disturbed the War Com, but it enraged the queen.

  "I want to know everything about the delver Ryson Acumen."

  "Why?"

  "You will tell me what I want to know!"

  "Why?" Jon repeated. He stood straight and defiant. For only the second time since Bol left, he appeared as a king.

  His resolve enraged the queen. Yave shrieked. "Because I command it."

  Jon almost laughed. "You? You command me? I am either a king or I'm a condemned dwarf. No matter which way you look at it, I do not have to take your orders. Since my removal from the throne was illegal and immoral, I will not recognize your rule, and I do not take commands."

  Jon turned his back on his mother. He thought of Bol, how he turned his back on all of Dunop. He almost smiled at the irony.

  "You will tell me!" Yave bellowed.

  Jon's back responded the same as his front. "Why?"

  Strog interrupted strongly. "The delver has made an attempt to interfere with us. We wish to know why."

  "What has he done?"

  Strog grumbled. He was supposed to be asking the questions, not answering them. Still, he needed the information.

  "He was in the desert, heading toward the algors. He was going to warn them of our attack. You believed he was a friend of yours. If he is a friend, why would he take the algors' side over ours?"

  "Probably because he knows your cause is unjust."

  Strog saw an opening, a way to trick Jon into saying more than he should. He moved carefully. "The delver would not t
ake sides otherwise?"

  "Of course not."

  "You know him that well?"

  "Well enough."

  "So he would wish to help the algors against the dwarves only because, as you put it, we are being unjust."

  Jon nodded.

  "Why would he think our cause is unjust?"

  "Because he knows the algors had nothing to do with..." He could not say his brother's name. "The algors did nothing to invite an attack against them."

  Jon became tired. He had not had to think much over the past few days. If anything, he avoided contemplation while he embraced the oblivion of his cell. Strog was forcing him to recall painful memories. He did not wish to continue the conversation.

  Strog, however, pressed the weakness of his opponent. "You might hold the algors blameless, but you can not deny that they had much to do with your brother's death. After all, they created the sand giant that killed him."

  Jon did not answer. He walked back to his stone bed. He threw himself down upon it heavily, his back still to the queen and the War Com.

  Yave was about to demand answers, but Strog held his hand up for her to remain quiet. Amazingly, she obeyed. She watched curiously as Strog continued to build the web that would ensnare the answers he desired.

  "So, the delver may agree with you that the algors were not at fault. He would argue your cause?"

  Ryson's face etched itself in Jon's thoughts. Yes, the delver would argue for him, would argue for the algors. That was the answer. With a spark of hope, Jon turned to face Yave. He spoke to her, not to Strog.

  "You blame me, you blame the algors, but you are wrong. Ryson would know that. Ask him."

  "He would lie." Yave spat out before Strog could stop her.

  "No, he wouldn't. He did everything he could to save the land, to save everyone, including the dwarves. You would have to believe him."

  "We can not talk to him," Strog interrupted and then quickly pressed a question for information he wanted. "We do not know where to find him. We do not even know where to look. Do you?"

  "But you said you knew he was in the desert hoping to warn the algors."

  "The delver forced a small party of dwarves at a listening post to retreat. He did not stop to explain his actions or tell us where he would be. I imagine he has returned to his home. I do not know where that is."

  Jon searched his memory. It caused him pain, but he recalled such facts which he unwittingly revealed to his captor. "He lived in Connel. That's where we met before we went to Sanctum. He also said something about Burbon. He said he had to go there to explain things to some humans."

  Strog nodded appreciatively. Two targets, not dozens. Connel was large, fitted with a human army according to his own information, but Burbon was small and relatively unprotected.

  Jon clung to his hope. He turned his attention back to Yave. "You will talk to Ryson. He will tell you, tell you it was the sphere, not the algors, and not me."

  Strog placed himself in between Jon and the queen. He still needed more information. He could not afford to have the queen force an end to this conversation. He spoke quickly before Yave could respond on her own.

  "He may do that, then again he may not. As I said, the last we saw of this delver friend of yours, he was attempting to help the algors against us. I still don't know why he would do that."

  "Because he knows what you’re doing is wrong?"

  "How would he know exactly what we're doing or why? He has not been to Dunop. How can you say he knows our intentions or our reasons?"

  "He would hear of it. He is a delver. He thirsts for information."

  "But how would he come about information like that? It doesn't make any sense to me. Unless of course you think he was spying on us? And if he was, why would he?"

  "He wouldn't spy," Jon insisted. "He probably heard rumors."

  Strog spoke quickly, pressing the matter to a head. "But this is not a rumor. He knew of a fact, he knew of our plans to attack. You ask us to speak to him, to allow him to convince us the algors deserve no blame. But how can we trust him, if it seems as if he has knowledge of secret plans? What if he had warned the algors? Many dwarves would have died. You have to explain how he knew this before we can trust any of his own explanations."

  "I don't know how he found out. There were probably dwarves who told the elves."

  "Why would dwarves tell elves of our plans?"

  "Because it's wrong to attack the algors." Jon was going in circles. He was confused, exasperated.

  "Do you know how far-fetched that sounds? Dwarves warning elves about our plans involving algors? I would never believe it. The delver must have been spying on us, thus he is an unreliable source of information."

  "It's not far-fetched."

  "It is! What dwarf would do such a thing as reveal secrets to the elves? Name one?"

  The question hung in the air. It went unanswered. Again, only for a moment, Jon’s mind lost its confusion and Strog's desire was clear to Jon. He wanted names, names of dwarves he could list as traitors and publicly execute. Jon thought of Hern, his friend, his advisor, pierced through the heart because he condemned the actions of the true traitors. Jon knew, knew if he spoke a single name, he would condemn that dwarf to death. For the first time since being thrown in this cell, he felt that familiar twinge in his stomach. He felt the burden of knowing too much. He shook his head at Strog.

  "No. I won't give you want you want. If you want to hang traitors, look no further than a mirror. And hang those that helped you." He looked to Yave. "Hang her as well."

  Strog saw the conviction in Jon's expression. He would say no more. It didn't matter. He had gained enough. He had learned of the delver's territory. He would not have to spread his army thin to meet Yave's cravings for vengeance. He led the queen out of the cell and relocked the door.

  Jon was left to his emptiness; an emptiness he wished had remained unbroken.