Douglas Niles - The Heir of Kayolin

The old Theiwar crone had barely completed recopying the scroll for the spell-which was a very complicated incantation, no matter how often or fast it was done-before Inkar returned to the shop. He brought with him a companion, a much younger female dwarf who regarded Peat with wide, innocent-looking eyes, as he opened the door and quickly ushered the two into the shop. The Theiwar leaned out to glance up the street, looking particularly in the direction of Abercrumb’s shop. But he was relieved to see that his nosy neighbor’s windows were darkened, the shades drawn.

Inkar shucked off a backpack that was obviously very heavy and reached in to pull out a sturdy chest. He flipped it open to reveal a dazzling array of platinum coins, all stamped with the image of Tarn Bellowgranite. “These are original royals,” he said, indicating the treasure. “The most valuable coin ever minted in Thorbardin.”

“I recognize them!” Peat said, all but drooling at the sight. Only after a moment did he remember they were still in the main room of the shop. “Quickly, come this way,” he said, bringing the two Daergar into the back where Sadie was just bottling her ink and cleaning her quill.

“They’re here,” he said quite unnecessarily. “And he brought a chest of platinum coins!”

“What about the pearls?” Sadie demanded greedily.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Inkar said, reaching into a pocket of his fine tunic. He pulled out a strand of alabaster stones, more than two dozen of them. Sadie snatched them out of his hand, holding them up to the light and passing them through her wrinkled, bony fingers. The other three dwarves seemed to hold their breath, none speaking or moving until the Theiwar crone completed her inspection.

“They’ll do,” she said, nodding curtly.

“Do?” Inkar was offended. “Why, they’re a treasure the likes of which this kingdom has never seen! How dare you-”

“Do you want to get out of here or not?” Sadie demanded curtly. “And I assume your wife is going with you?” she added with an arch look at the young maid, causing the timid female to blush furiously.

“Ah, yes. That is, she’s not my wife, but yes,” Inkar stammered, the previous insult apparently forgotten. “Um, my wife is … that is, she doesn’t exactly … she doesn’t want … er … she’s not coming on this trip. But Sellen here, she will accompany me.”

Peat raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t help but admire the shapely young dwarf maid and realized that Inkar probably had several reasons for wanting to get out of Thorbardin.

“All right, then. Come over here,” he said, indicating the floor beside the blank stretch of wall.

The two dwarves complied, and once again Sadie, squinting and speaking very slowly, very carefully, cast the spell of the dimension door, using the same terminus-Pax Tharkas-that she had devised for Horth Dunstone and his family. Soon the shimmering blue circle formed on the wall, and shortly thereafter, as Peat gestured them forward, the two refugees stepped into the dimension door and disappeared.

“Master, I can’t see!” cried Facet, her hands pressed to her face.

The chaos of battle had ceased almost at once as all of the dwarves in sight of the prayer tower, and many who were out of sight as well, recoiled in the shock of the sudden, impossibly bright flash of light. Some moaned and cried out, others sobbed in fear or awe or despair. Many on both sides dropped to their knees, wailing, calling out the name of their god, and pleading for his mercy.

None tried to use their weapons or to continue the attack.

“It’s the king,” Willim hissed. His own eyeless vision, because it originated in the magical spell of true-seeing, remained unaffected by the brilliant flash. So he easily saw Jungor Stonespringer crouching atop the prayer tower, hiding behind the silver shield held by his general. That shield was blazing with an otherworldly light, too bright for any normal dwarf to view.

But no doubt about it, the minion was gone, vanished in the blast of what could only be deemed godly magic. A cloud of smoke was lingering in the air, all that was left of the mighty being. The wizard could scarcely believe that his most potent ally, his most powerful tool, his secret weapon, had been blasted into nothingness, just like that.

“It was the king, damn him!” he repeated. “And he will be mine!”

He took Facet by the hand and muttered a word of command. Immediately the two wizards took to the air, Willim guiding his blinded apprentice in flight as they soared toward the prayer platform, zeroing in on Ragat Kingsaver and the kneeling form of Jungor Stonespringer.

Slumping to his knees, blinded by the godly light, stunned by the vision of his lord’s power, King Stonespringer reached out to touch and reassure his loyal commander. He could barely see, but he could feel Ragat standing there, trembling.

“What happened?” asked the monarch.

“Your prayer was answered, sire,” said the general reverently. “Reorx made his will known. In the blast of his light, the battle has ceased. The dwarves of both armies are stunned, unmoving.”

“Then order them to attack!” the king urged. “Now is the time!”

“I cannot, my lord,” Ragat replied humbly. Still himself unaffected by the brilliance, Ragat could see the stunned soldiers on the square and in the palace. Most knelt or lay flat. The few that tried to move did so haltingly, stumbling over obstacles, groping with their hands. “They are blinded … as are their enemies. None can see who to slay.”

The king raised his arms in supplication, his blinded eye staring upward toward the looming stalactites, the jagged stone ceiling looming so close to his head.

“O Master of the Forge!” he cried abjectly. “You forsake us! Why do you leave us to wander in the darkness? I beg you, upon my life and my faith and my fear, if you would destroy us, then smite me now! Bring stone to crash down upon my head, to crush my skull, to spatter my brains!”

“Sire, it was the god’s light that did this!” Ragat argued feverishly. “It was Reorx’s will that the battle come to a halt!”

The king paid him no heed. Instead, he continued his frantic prayer. “But if you indeed favor us, if you would give us victory, then again show us your power! Wield your might against the foe! Bring destruction down upon him!”

“You ask for too much, fool!”

The threatening voice came from Willim the Black, who was soaring like a bird through the air and just coming to rest on the platform nearby. Ragat recognized the hideous, scarred, eyeless face, and he knew from the wizard’s confident movements that he, like the general, had escaped the blinding force of the light. Willim was flying hand in hand with another black-robed wizard, a beautiful female with white skin and red, shining lips. She stumbled a little as they came to rest on the parapet and reached out to grope, unseeing, for her master’s arm. Unlike her master, she seemed unsteady, even frightened.

“It is the black wizard, sire. He is here,” Ragat said in a low voice.

“You’re mad, you magic-deceived fool!” spit the king, rising to his feet and gesturing blindly in the wizard’s direction with his scepter. “It is Reorx’s will that your army be defeated and now that you too shall die!”

“Do not offer me your childish your words of empty faith!” snapped Willim. “My magic is as mighty as your god’s! Did you not see your army falling back, your soldiers dying under the weapons of my own troops? Do you think I have given up?”

“You will bring nothing but your own destruction!” retorted the king. “All you offer is doom-and in that doom you shall find your own death! Reorx so wills it!”