Douglas Niles - The Heir of Kayolin

They came to an arched alcove at the side of the street. Illuminated by low-wick oil lamps, they could see that it entered onto a landing and was connected to a tightly spiraling series of stone steps leading up to the right and down to the left.

“Here’s one of the stairwells,” he said. “Let’s head up.”

They entered and climbed for a long time, ascending several hundred feet as they moved from the deep-levels into the city’s midlevels. The stairwell itself was cloaked in shadows except where dim lamps illuminated each of the landings, which provided access to streets, once every thirty or so vertical feet. As Brandon had predicted, fewer dwarves were out and about up there. The ones they met didn’t give them a second glance, though several children gawked as Kondike, eye to eye with them, trotted by.

“Here we are,” Brandon said finally. Kondike still padded along behind as they emerged into a street and turned toward the Bluestones’ neighborhood. Brandon felt a strange mix of emotions as he noted the familiar locales, the shops and inns he had frequented during most of the years in his life. The streets were lit more consistently there, and they heard loud laughter and crude boasting as they passed one open doorway. Even so, the pedestrians tended to walk with their heads down, avoiding strangers’ eyes. Even if Gretchan didn’t notice anything amiss, Brandon knew the neighborhood, and it seemed a good deal less neighborly than when he had departed the city a year and half before.

The Cracked Mug was a small and prosperous establishment, offering good food and very good beer at reasonable prices. It was only a few blocks away from the Bluestone family home, occupying a strategic position right at the level’s exit to the main ramp spiraling up from the deep-levels. The two travelers approached it from a back alley.

Brandon had spent many hours in that place, partaking of the fine fare and pleasantly flirting with the lovely barmaid Bondall Fairmont, who had been one of his first and longest-lasting lovers. As he and Gretchan stood outside the Mug’s open front door, and he smelled the familiar, tantalizing aroma of roasting meat, he felt as though he were a far-ranging traveler who had finally come home.

“This is a good place to stop and see what I can find out,” Brandon said. Still, some unspoken hesitation held him back, and for a long time he stood on the street, looking at the faded sign depicting a stout beer stein with a jagged break running through it.

“Hey, daydreamer,” Gretchan whispered, prodding him. “I think you’ll attract more attention standing here in the street than you would if we went inside.”

“Yep, you’re right,” he agreed, opening the door and holding it so Gretchan could enter first. He took a deep breath and forced himself to pick up his feet, moving through the doorway into the smoky, crowded great room. The ceiling was low, supported by arches carved from the bedrock of the mountain. Most of the tables were occupied, but he spotted a small one in back and ushered Gretchan in that direction. As usual, the dog stayed close to his mistress’s heel, moving nimbly through the crowd.

They sat down with their backs to the others in the room, though Brand kept his head cocked, looking over his shoulder. He spotted a barmaid-sure enough, it was Bondall-coming toward him and, catching her eye, surreptitiously raised a finger to his lips.

The pretty maid’s eyes widened momentarily, but she held her tongue as she bustled over to them. She cracked a sly, teasing smile as she spotted Gretchan, while the priestess, for all her bravado, blushed a pale pink.

“So, stranger, what’ll it be?” Bondall asked before leaning down to rest her elbows on the table. “You do know there are bad ones looking for you, don’t you?” she asked in a quiet voice. Then she winked at Gretchan. “And who’s your friend?”

“Uh, this is Gretchan Pax. Gretchan, Bondall Fairmont … an old friend,” he growled. “And yes, I do know they’re looking for me. They had my name on a list at the outer gate.”

“Yep. I guess old Heelspur would really like to put the screws to you. Just when he was claiming his son discovered that vein of gold, you put him on the spot by blaming him for your brother’s murder. Mind you, most of Kayolin believes your version of events-that Heelspur boy doesn’t have the gumption to search the deep delvings, let alone face a cave troll. Everybody knows that he was lazy and a coward to boot.”

“A lot of good it did me to tell the truth,” Brandon said bitterly.

Bondall shrugged. “What else were you going to do? Now, do your mum and dad know you’re here yet?” she asked.

Brandon shook his head. “I was afraid the place might be watched. I didn’t want to go up to the front door without some kind of disguise, and also I thought I should give my folks a bit of warning that I’m here.”

“Well, let me take care of that warning part,” Bondall said with a grin. But immediately she turned serious. “And hey, it’s good to see you, but be careful.”

“I will,” he replied, but she was already bustling back to the bar. Gretchan took his hand and they watched Bondall speak to another dwarf maid, one who was sitting on the customer side of the bar. That female got up to step behind the counter while Bondall bustled out the front door without a backward glance. The fill-in barmaid brought a couple of mugs over to Brandon and Gretchan, plopped them on the table, and went back to the bar without a word or a glance.

“How’d she know we wanted these?” the priestess asked.

Brandon, already taking a deep draught of the cold, hop-flavored brew, simply shrugged. “Good camouflage,” he suggested, wiping the foam from his mustache with the back of his hand. “Everyone in here is drinking their fill. We’d look silly sitting here just twiddling our thumbs.”

Gretchan allowed as how that made sense, though she sipped at her beer with a little more gentility than her companion did. They sat in silence for a half hour, nursing their drinks, until Bondall returned and came straight over to the table. She carried a woolen cloak with a deep, cowled hood.

“They’re thrilled and can’t wait to see you,” she said. “Not that they aren’t worried for you as well. But here, put this on, and cover your head. Go right to your house, and they’ll let you in.”

“Thanks, Bondy,” Brand said gratefully, standing.

“Yes-thank you so much,” Gretchan agreed sincerely.

“You’d do the same for me,” she replied, speaking to Brandon. Then she touched Gretchan on the shoulder and looked her straight in the eyes. “And you take care of him; he’s a fair catch.”

“I–I know he is,” Gretchan replied, embarrassed again. “But I don’t think I’ve, um, caught him yet.”

Bondall merely smiled, a knowing, sympathetic gesture. “Good luck,” she whispered as the couple started toward the door.

The queen horax lay atop of a vast mountain of eggs, sensing the stirrings of life beneath her. Many of the shiny orbs had already hatched, sending slick neophytes oozing toward the exits from the cavern. They twisted and thrashed, working free of the thick membranes still coating them as they emerged from the eggs, using nascent mandibles to chew a hole through which they could break free from the gummy wrap.

At first the neophytes wriggled like snakes or slugs, but by the time they reached the connecting tunnels, they had stretched their legs away from their segmented bodies, standing shakily and starting to crawl.

The massive, bloated shape of the queen occupied her place in the center of the hive, and she steadily created more eggs, spewing them from her swollen abdomen onto the ever-growing pile. Resting atop the eggs, she had been steadily lifted over the recent years, until her bulbous body lay very near the ceiling of the large chamber. But still she ate, and still she produced many eggs.