Douglas Niles - The Heir of Kayolin

“These new rebels-do you know who they are?” Abercrumb asked, looking slyly out of the corner of his eye. “That is, are they Theiwar-you know, of your clan?”

Peat chuffed irritably and straightened himself. “I’m sure I don’t know anything about it! Certainly there’s a wizard behind some of this mischief, but don’t make the mistake of thinking all the Theiwar are in some kind of league against the king!”

“Oh, no, I’d never make that mistake,” Abercrumb responded smoothly. “It’s just that, well, business has been so terrible, and I wondered if you have any ideas about what is happening all of a sudden. When things might get better or blow over.”

“Well, if we hear anything, we’ll let you know!” Sadie declared. “Not that we are getting any information that you couldn’t get yourself. Just keep your eyes open!”

“Oh, I’ll keep my eyes open. You can count on that!” Then Abercrumb departed with his words-he was known to be a curious, even nosy, fellow-hanging in the air.

“I don’t like it,” Peat groused. “For all we know, he could be spying on us while we’re spying on the king.”

“I don’t like it either,” Sadie replied in disgust. “But what are we going to do about it?”

That was a question with no good answer. Peat shook his head, discouraged. “I wish we could just get out of here, out of Thorbardin altogether,” he said morosely. He gestured at the jumbled mess of their shop. “Even if we had to leave all this behind!”

He didn’t notice his wife scratching her chin as his words plunged her deep into thought.

Gypsum and Facet saw the initial rank of the attackers burst through the gates of Norbardin, and heard the trumpets and drums sound with alarm. They remained magically concealed, poised on the parapet atop the king’s prayer tower. Each young wizard clutched a long dagger; both silently watched the door below them. Facet, still enhanced by her spell of invisibility detection, also watched her companion, stealing frequent glances at him to make certain he was following the plan; she smiled thinly to think he could no more see her than he could see the air between them.

They listened to all the clamor, the shrieks of alarm from the dying defenders, the cries of the many dwarves fleeing from the violence that stalked through the streets and square, and the curses of the many more who milled about in fear, shaken and unsettled by the old crone’s dire prophecies of earthquake and doom. The city was in panic, and if the king still slept, the two Theiwar knew that it must be a very unsettled slumber.

“Summon the king!” called one nearby officer. “Sound the alarm-we’re under attack!”

The time was soon. Gypsum raised his knife and reached out to touch Facet’s shoulder, feeling her nod in response. She gripped her own blade, staring down, intently watching the door leading to the king’s chambers. The two dwarves would have been in plain sight to any nearby observer except for the spell of invisibility that masked them from detection, so long as they stood still and made no sudden gesture or move.

Soon the king’s portal burst open, and royal guards charged out to gawk over the ramparts, witnessing the size of the attack with shock and horror.

“It’s civil war!” one cried, turning back to the doorway. “Alert the king!”

More cries of alarm and death were ringing throughout the city, and still the two assassins waited and watched, prepared for their victim to emerge. Once again the door burst open, and two armed guards charged out to flank the entrance. The two guards were followed at once by a gaunt, robed figure carrying a ruby-tipped scepter.

“Now!” Gypsum spat as the robed king raced through the doorway underneath the two Theiwar assassins. He sprang outward, dagger extended. His abrupt movements broke the thrall of the invisibility spell, but that was no hindrance, for Gypsum was on target, plunging toward the dwarf monarch’s unprotected back.

“Sire!” One of the guards at the parapet, turning to gesture his king forward, had spotted the flash of movement. With surprising quickness, the dwarf dived at his king, tackling the ruler to the ground.

The Theiwar assassin could not alter the path of his dive. Gypsum stabbed as he smashed into the floor, but his blade sliced through the back of the foolish guardsman. Even as that soldier died, King Stonespringer wriggled away, shrieking in fury and terror.

“Kill him!” gasped the king. “It is the will of Reorx that he die in my presence!”

Gypsum rolled to one side, wrenching his knife free from the soldier’s fatal wound and bouncing to his feet. He spotted the king, but already a half dozen burly Hylar had grouped themselves before the monarch and the erstwhile assassin. The Black Robe looked upward, seeking Facet where she had lurked beside him on the mantel. Nothing moved there; if she was still in place, she was still immobile and invisible.

Yet she must be there! He had touched her arm, felt her presence just moments earlier. Why did she not attack? The opportunity was golden.

“Strike now!” Gypsum called out to her, urging Facet to strike the king’s unprotected back from her vantage overhead. Certainly she, like he, would gladly sacrifice her life in the Master’s cause! The apprentice wizard feinted a charge and danced away from the guards’ swords, making sure that their attention remained focused on him, not the unseen danger. He parried a defender’s slice with his dagger, fanatical determination allowing him to smash the larger weapon aside with his slender blade.

Why did she still not attack? Retreating, he cast an urgent spell, using his left hand to aim a stream of magic missiles at the king. The sparking, hissing darts struck the chest of a guard who bravely stepped into their path, and Gypsum cursed aloud as the last of the magic missiles killed the soldier but failed to strike the monarch.

The Theiwar mage had to defend himself in earnest, swords coming at him from all sides. He couldn’t sidestep as the tip of a weapon plunged in to tear the flesh of his biceps. Cursing in pain, he spun, backing all the way to the edge of the rampart.

Blood trickled down his arm, and he grunted as another sword tip cut him, gouging his left hip. He recoiled from the blow, but there was nowhere else he could retreat. He stared into the one good eye of Jungor Stonespringer, saw the king’s face distorted by rage and fear, heard his shrill voice calling for the guards to slay the would-be assassin.

“Facet!” he cried, a desperate last croak as more blades struck home, including one that plunged into his belly. Flailing, Gypsum sliced the sword hand of that attacker, but his mind, his reflexes, failed as the blood drained out of him in too many places.

Once more he peered up at the balcony, and at last he saw his fellow apprentice crouching there. Facet had moved, shrugging away the spell of invisibility, but she stared down on him with a thinly smiling face that was cold, cruel. Her blood red lips were curled mockingly. Gypsum’s dagger fell from nerveless fingers, and he raised his hand in a mute plea. The king, his back unprotected, stood directly below the female; she could launch herself at him at any time, landing on him for a certain kill.

Gypsum dropped to his knees, not even feeling the rain of blows that continued to cut him, to kill him. His vision grew foggy, and his last glimpse of Facet was of his fellow conspirator mockingly blowing him a kiss before she spoke a magic word and blinked away, alive and treacherous, ready to fight again on another day.

Willim the Black teleported to the commanding rampart in the city’s main gate and quickly located General Darkstone. The wizard simply watched as his commander ordered his companies through the gate and had them form up within the city for the next phase of the attack, the charge toward the palace across the great square.