Brouben’s face went hard for a moment, then he said, “Yer serious? Ye got proof?”
“Other than my word and the word of these with me? No,” Sora admitted.
“Without proof, it won’t do much good with me father. We ain’t exactly seen eye to eye, our people, for a long time. Some want to trade more, some want nothin to do with ye surface dwellers at all. Ye know how it is,” Brouben said, looking to Tum Tum, “or ye did, before ye never came back.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Whitney groaned.
“Whitney, now’s not the time,” Sora scolded. Then, turning back to Brouben, who looked like he’d just about had enough of insults, she said, “I’m sorry, your Highness. He’s just a bit on edge.”
“We all are,” Tum Tum added.
“The truth is, if we don’t do something, Pantego is in trouble—anything beyond Pantego is in trouble.”
“We’ve got to talk to your father.”
“Pretty please?” Whitney said.
Brouben stood and did his best to stomp forward. It was a bit sloppy, and he tripped more than once, but soon he was right in front of Whitney, glaring up at him. He may have been short, but he was stout and would squash Whitney like a bug if the thief wasn’t smart.
“Ain’t no way yer gettin in to see me father unless it’s at the hands of the clanbreakers,” he said.
“You mean arrested?” Lucindur asked.
Brouben nodded.
Everyone went silent. And then, like he did so many times, Whitney broke the silence. Only, this time, it was to unveil one of his rare strokes of genius.
He held out his hands and said, “Then arrest us.”
“What?” Tum Tum and Sora said at the same time.
“Arrest us,” Whitney repeated.
“He’s right. That’s the way in,” Lucindur said.
Tum Tum stroked his beard. “Hmm, not a bad plan. Someone’s gotta get through to the king. If ye couldn’t do it, maybe we all could together. We need to talk to him.”
Brouben remained quiet as he returned to his keg, filling his cup to overflowing. Then, he cleared his throat and said, “It came to blows with me and me father… ye’ll find yerself in a pit. But ye know what? I think ye should, too. I saw Nesilia’s power with me own eyes, and he didn’t care. I never seen a thing like it…” he shuddered. “Someone’s got to get through to him..”
Then his attention turned to Whitney. “Especially someone as imposing as this flower-picker. Then again, knowing my father, he’ll likely just say ‘It’s yer problem, not ours.’ And after what I saw out there at White Bridge, he may damn-well be right.”
“I see sarcasm extends beyond all cultures,” Whitney said. “Look, Brouben is it? What do you have to lose? We corroborate your story; your dear old dad realizes he was wrong. Easy peasy.”
Brouben rolled his shoulders and tossed back his drink. Then he cracked his neck. Tum Tum could see the frustration written all over his face beneath his bushy beard. The stubbornness of dwarves knew no bounds. Especially dwarven fathers.
“Fine. Me favorite brother is still in Yarrington, and there be no way to reach him like this,” he said. “I’ll help ye, but more likely, it’s yer funeral.”
“Meungor’s hairy arse, that’s great news!” Tum Tum clapped his hands. “Oh, and me Lord. There be one thing more.”
“What now?”
“We also need to convince the King to give us the, uh… the Brike Stone.”
Brouben’s eyes went wide as saucers, just as expected. The great treasure of Brotlebir, being taken away. Any dwarf would scoff at the idea, but the thought of it actually accomplishing something rather than sitting in a vault—he hoped that’d be enough to convince a man as honorable as he knew Brouben to be.
XIV
The Thief
Whitney hadn’t mentioned it, but he’d been there before—Balonhearth, the heart of the Three Kingdoms. Of all the destinations, in all his many travels, Brotlebir and the Dragon’s Tail mountains topped the list as the least enjoyable. Aside from ale—and even that tasted like sewage—there were simply no redeeming qualities. It was cold, bitter, stark, bleak, harsh, and a million other words to say he’d rather be anywhere else.
And, worst of all, surprisingly, there had always been very little to steal. Outside of the vaults of kings, apparently. Dwarves loved their gold, mining it, hoarding it—and that meant they had more currency than anything actually worth taking. If Whitney wanted gold bullions, he’d have sold all the things he’d ever stolen.
It had been a long time ago when he’d been in Brotlebir. Shortly after his time spent with the silent monks—an adventure he’d rather leave far behind in his distant past—he’d ventured south to the Dragon’s Tail through subterranean paths, not unlike the ones Tum Tum had just led them through. However, unlike those, the ways dug by ancient beasts were dank and dirty. In comparison, they’d walked through a palace.
Though he hadn’t exactly snuck in that time, he hadn’t been welcomed with open arms either, and he sure-as-Exile didn’t want to stand before King Cragrock. Not again.
Dwarves had memories like none other. It was said that a dwarf could remember the individual divots in a cave they’d been in only once, fifty years ago—that, in darkness, they could identify their pickaxe from amongst dozens by nothing more than the feel of the handle’s woodgrain.
And as he looked around, Whitney realized dwarves weren’t much for change either. The place was precisely as he’d remembered it. Even the handcuffs.
“Are these things really necessary?” Whitney complained.
“This was yer idea, flower-picker,” Brouben said.
“You say that like it’s insulting. I like flowers.”
Although there were more passages, deeper caverns, and new statues erected for some such warrior or whatever, all-in-all, Balonhearth was the same oversized cavern coated in veins of silver and iron it had always been. Nothing impressive, at least not to someone as well-traveled as Whitney Fierstown.
“This is beautiful,” Sora marveled.
“This?” Whitney scoffed under his breath.
“It has its beauty, though I prefer the sky,” Lucindur said.
“Exactly.”
Sora ignored him and said, “But I agree, Your Highness. Do the cuffs have to be so tight?”
“Right?” Whitney said, stretching his fingers.
“Keep quiet,” Tum Tum said. He kept his head down and in shadow, doing his best to play the part of their dwarven escort along with Brouben. He’d have fooled Whitney any day.
Looking up, Whitney admitted it was a little impressive. He couldn’t begin to imagine the time it would have taken to carve out such a place. The mountain was at least five thousand feet high, and almost every bit of it was hollowed out, with stone homes tucked away in every nook. Each home and shop was meticulously crafted with intricate designs. The floors, although only stone like the mountain itself, were smooth as glass. Wooden carts zipped all over on rails held together with iron bars and rivets, carrying dwarves and their newly-mined treasures every which way. He couldn’t understand how they climbed the many tracks, some almost at a complete vertical incline, but they did.
Dwarven engineering, he thought.
“Hey, keep up back there!” Tum Tum hollered, having now made his way in front of them. He sounded all cheery just from a few moments with his people. He slapped his own thigh. “We shouldn’t be beatin you with these stubs.”
“This way,” Brouben said.
The Prince looked like any other dwarf Whitney had ever seen. Wide as he was tall, yellow beard he could tuck into his belt. But the one difference was his armor looked to be worth an entire Glass town. All thick plating made of dark dwarven steel and golden embellishments. It probably hid his gut; such was the fate of a Prince. Never expected to do anything—just sit around getting fat, waiting for daddy, the King, to kick the bucket.
“I’d feel far more comfortable with all of this i
f we had Aquira with us,” Sora said.
“Yer wyvern will be safe,” Brouben assured them. “There’s no way ye’d be gettin ye to the king with a dragonkin in tow. This was the only way.”
“I know,” Sora agreed. “I just feel bad.”
Whitney watched Sora, sadness in her eyes. He wanted to find a way to keep that precise look from shadowing her features ever again. After they defeated Nesilia, he’d do it. Whatever it took. A lovely house in Yarrington or Panping. A farm out in the country—whatever she wanted, she’d have.
“Oi! What’s this!” shouted a dwarf up ahead, waddling their way.
“Found them sneakin round in the tunnels,” Brouben said. “Takin em to see me father.”
“Yer takin petty intruders to see the King?” the dwarf said, eyebrow raised. He had the look of a guard—Whitney knew guards.
Brouben hesitated but quickly recovered. “Ye questionin yer prince?”
“I—uh,” the guard stammered. “It’s just… unwanteds usually just get thrown in the dungeons til we got time to execute em.”
“Execute?” Whitney said, voice cracking.
Brouben elbowed him hard in the gut. “Shut up, ye flower-pickin shog-shucker.”
Then he turned to the guard. “King’s decree—no one in. No one out. Entry’s locked up tight with Gargamane the Gold himself watchin it. Don’t ye think the King would wanna question the party who managed to sneak in unseen? Never mind, don’t answer that. Yer opinion don’t matter. And if ye wanna keep your position, and ever have hope of bein a clanbreaker, shut yer trap and move clear.”
The guard’s face scrunched up like he’d been gut-punched. “Yes, sir, yer Highness, sir.”
After the guard stepped aside, Brouben shoved Whitney and motioned for Tum Tum to bring the others.
“Are you sure about this,” Lucindur said when they were safely out of earshot.
“Have I ever steered you wrong?” Whitney asked, slowing long enough for them to catch up.
Sora and Lucindur both began speaking, but Whitney cut them off before they could respond.
“That’s enough of that,” Whitney said, coaxing them all closer. “Listen, I’ve been up there before, to the King’s throne room. He doesn’t like me much.”
“You don’t say?” Sora interjected.
“I can’t imagine why not,” Lucindur added.
Whitney rolled his eyes and continued. “He’s a stubborn old bastard, and if he didn’t listen to his own son, you really think he’ll listen to a dwarven reject? Sorry, Tum Tum.”
“I’d be more offended if it wasn’t true,” Tum Tum sighed.
“We need a contingency plan in case, no, when, he says we can’t have the stone. Took enough to convince his son, and he seems to be the sane one here.”
Brouben didn’t acknowledge him. It had taken them nearly the entire trek to this point to convince him that the Brike Stone was necessary. But Sora could be mighty convincing when she wanted to be. She’d put out the whole damsel-in-distress vibe warriors like Brouben swooned for.
Eventually, Brouben agreed after hearing how close they’d come to beating Nesilia last time. Though, he made them promise to do their best to return it. Which, of course, they all agreed to. Though Whitney knew that wasn’t going to happen. No way. They’d trap her in, and toss her into a wianu’s gullet, sending her right to Nowhere with poor Kazimir…
“Who would be foolish enough to reject a chance to save the world?” Lucindur asked.
“A dwarf,” Whitney muttered.
“Now that I might take offense to,” Tum Tum said. Brouben agreed.
They passed by guard after guard, and even with the circulation to his hands being cut off, Whitney was glad for the disguise.
Execution? he thought. For trespassing?
“We should at least give King Cragrock a chance to hear us out,” Sora said.
“I agree,” Lucindur added.
A look of concern passed over Brouben’s face.
“I ain’t too sure the gravity of this is hittin ye like it should,” he said. “I already told me father what I seen at White Bridge. If he ain’t listenin, he ain’t listenin—and he ain’t listenin.”
“Still…” Lucindur said.
Whitney clenched his jaw, then exhaled slowly through his teeth. Looking at Sora and Lucindur, he said, “You two don’t know dwarves. The ones out there are one thing, but in their tunnels? They love watching us squirm. They won’t help.”
“That’s as cruel as calling me knife-ear, Whitney,” Sora scolded.
“It’s not. Not at all. It’s called being… uh… forward-thinking. All I’m saying is that if he rejects us, they’ll have the vault doubly secure, and we’ll never get back in. You really want to risk that?”
Sora’s lip twisted, but she didn’t answer.
“He ain’t wrong,” Tum Tum said, looking to Brouben. Again, the Prince agreed.
“I suppose he has a point,” Lucindur said.
“Exactly!” Whitney exclaimed, the cavernous hall carrying his voice and earning the attention of a few passersby.
“Exactly,” Whitney repeated, lower. The others leaned in to hear him. “This is the world we’re talking about,” he went on. “Do we really want to chance it to the compassion of dwarves?”
Brouben spun on him, cheeks flushed as plums. “Look, I’m only listenin to ye for one reason… I heard Torsten Unger credit ye with a thing or two—“
“He what?” Whitney asked. “I mean… yeah. Torsten and I go way back. Best friends, as a matter of fact. Saved him from sure death more than a time or two.”
“Only reason I’m trustin ye,” Brouben repeated. “The way a man fights says everything about his character, and Torsten is honorable as they come.”
“Ah, his only flaw.”
Brouben scowled. “Now, what’s yer plan then?”
Whitney turned to Sora. “Remember all I taught you? Lesson fifty-two, always be prepared.”
Sora broke into a grin as she shook her head. “Not your lessons again.”
“Yes, my lessons. Now, are you ready for one more?”
“Fine. For getting Nesilia out of my head, you get to take the lead this one last time. But if you get us in trouble…”
“Oh, with him, there’ll be trouble,” Lucindur lamented.
“Ah, so you do know him well,” Sora said.
“Ha ha, very funny, everyone,” Whitney said, feigning laughter.
“But, I guess it doesn’t matter who’s mad at us if the world ends,” Lucindur added. “Whatever it takes to stop Nesilia and save the ones we love, right?”
Whitney affectionately rubbed shoulders with her. He could imagine she was thinking about Talwyn as much as he’d been thinking about Gentry. They had to save them, and the rest of the world. “I knew I liked you. Now, listen here…”
They leaned in, and Whitney revealed his plan. They’d already gotten arrested by Brouben to gain access to the throne room. Now, they’d let Tum Tum carry out his part of the plan: petition the King with the truth of Nesilia’s return. But Whitney added another component. He was all but sure diplomacy would fail. It would come down to his quick hands and nimble boots. Sora and Lucindur would distract the dwarven King and his guards while Whitney escaped his cuffs and snuck into the vault to steal the Brike Stone himself.
“That’s the plan?” Sora said. “That’s barely an idea.”
Whitney pretended to be hurt, but it wasn’t hard. “After all the things we’ve been through, you still doubt me? Sora, if your hands weren’t bound behind your back, I’d have thought you stabbed me in mine.”
“Oh, get over yourself,” Sora said, smiling. “You know how many times luck has factored in?”
“Perhaps, but she’s a lady, and unlike you, she’s kind to me.”
“I don’t like it,” Brouben said.
“I didn’t expect you to,” Whitney said. “But you’ve already tried to convince your father, right? If he denied you…�
�
“Me sneakin ye up to see me father is one thing. Me playin part to yer stealin—that’s another altogether.”
“You said it yourself,” Whitney said. “Nesilia is back, and she’s going to kill us all. What’s a silly stone worth if the whole world ends?”
Brouben scratched his cheek. “I still don’t like it.”
“I still don’t expect you to.”
“My father will prolly have his clanbreakers kill ye on the spot.”
“I’m not easy to kill,” Whitney said.
At that, everyone grew silent until Sora said, “How are you going to break out of these? They are tight.”
“Remember when we were reunited in that dwarven fortress?” Whitney asked.
“Sure, wasn’t that long ago in my time.”
Whitney swore internally. “Six years in mine,” he said under his breath. Then louder, he said, “Well, if it hadn’t been for Torsten’s gauntlets, I don’t know how I would have broken out of that cell. That’s not a good position for a thief to be in. So…”
He shifted his hand slightly, and a thin sliver of metal slid out from beneath the sleeve of his tunic.
“Is that a—“
“I’ll never be without a lockpick ever again.” Then, looking at Lucindur, he said, “Really, it was in the wagon with Darkings and Rand Langley when I realized something had to change, and I couldn’t leave things to chance any longer.”
“Clever,” Lucindur said.
Whitney nodded once. “Thank you. It’s nice for my genius to be acknowledged.”
“He always takes it too far,” Sora said to Lucindur.
“So, I’ll escape, and then you’re up.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure how you want me to distract them. ‘Using my assets’ isn’t going to work against dwarves.”
“Rule number eight-hundred-nine: be creative,” Whitney said.
“Skipped a few there, didn’t we?”
“I wasn’t going to wait around for you forever. I kept teaching, you just weren’t there to listen.”
Sora rolled her eyes. “Well, how do you propose we distract them?”
Word of Truth Page 18
