Douglas Niles - The Heir of Kayolin

“Uh-oh. They’re bringing up a tangler,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Hurry up!”

The crimson horax skittered forward, rearing onto its rear legs. The tubelike protrusion on its chin came into view, and immediately the creature spit a thick strand of webbing straight at Brandon. He raised his axe and sliced at it, cutting the web into ribbons before the beast could pull him back. But the mass of bugs crept steadily closer.

“Here’s a ladder; they’re dropping a rope ladder,” Gretchan cried.

“Climb it!” Brandon urged frantically. He parried another blast of webbing then looked back to see Gretchan’s boots disappear as she climbed up the set of rungs attached between two supple lines. He darted out of the cavern and jumped to grab a rung with his left hand while still holding his axe with the right. Quickly his feet found another rung, and he climbed upward as quickly as he could while still keeping an eye out below.

Seconds later horax started spilling out of the cave, scrambling onto the narrow ledge. Above them, dwarves screamed and started shouting and pointing at the creatures. Looking up, Brand saw that Gretchan was climbing swiftly, her staff strapped to her back. The whole rim of the Deepshelf Inn was lined with gawking dwarves, and farther up, along the walls of the whole vast chimney of the Atrium, other dwarves were gathering on the balconies and perches, looking down at the daring escape and pointing. The horde of horrible monsters attacking them was in plain view of the whole city.

“Behind you!” shouted one of the dwarves in the Deepshelf, and Brandon looked down again, startled to see a horax scrambling right up the ladder behind him. The monster ascended faster than the dwarf, but thinking fast, Brandon reached down to chop through the ropes of the ladder with his axe. He severed the first one, and the lower stretch of the ladder sagged, forcing the monster to hang on with many of its legs. When he cut the other rope, the bottom of the ladder fell, carrying three horax down into the depths of the bottomless shaft.

But the horax didn’t need a ladder to climb rock walls. Some of those that emerged from the cavern were scrambling right up the cliff face of the Atrium walls. They weren’t moving as fast as those that had hitched onto the ladder, but their steady upward progress was undeniable. Even worse, the great red shape of the tangler emerged onto the ledge. Lifting its head, it arrowed a strand of webbing straight up, sending the sticky ropes all the way up to Brandon’s boot and ensnaring it.

The monster pulled, and the dwarf was almost jerked from the ladder. Clinging for his life, he reached down and sliced away the web before it pulled him down. By then, Gretchan had reached the inn, where willing hands pulled her off the ladder and onto the balcony. She turned and shouted encouragement to Brand, who continued to climb as fast as he could.

By then more than a thousand dwarves were watching from dozens of different vantages, rising through most of the city’s stacked levels. They shouted encouragement to Brandon while calling others to come and witness the thrilling chase. Every balcony, shelf, and plaza was lined with onlookers. From the opposite side of the Atrium, a few intrepid crossbowmen fired shots at the horax pursuing Brandon. Several of the bolts struck home, and one horax shrieked and writhed, losing its grip on the cliff to tumble into the depths of the Atrium. But such deadly missile weapons were not common among the folk of Garnet Thax, and only a few of their wielders were in position to shoot.

Another strand of web snagged Brandon’s foot, and that one pulled his boot off before he could cut himself free. A second web shot past his shoulder, flying all the way to the railing of the Deepshelf Inn, where it snagged onto the stone parapet. By then sturdy dwarves were pulling the ladder up, hand over hand, doubling the speed of Brandon’s ascent. Moments later he was grabbed and helped over the railing, collapsing into the willing embrace of Gretchan, as a dozen hearty miners clapped them both on the backs and offered congratulations.

The celebration was short-lived, however, as other witnesses, looking down, reported that the horax were still climbing. Several were sawing at the web that had attached to the stone railing, but their knives and swords seemed unable to slice through the gooey strand.

“Here, let me at that!” Brandon declared, breaking free of the throng and striding to the web with his axe upraised. He looked down to see no less than a dozen horax slithering quickly up the ropey strand, which apparently did not stick to their claws. With one swing of his Reorx-blessed axe, he cut the web free, and a loud cheer rang out as all of the bugs on the strand tumbled, writhing and clicking, into the depths of the Atrium.

Again and again the tangler sent its web shooting upward, latching onto the parapet, providing a path for the horax to quickly slither upward. Each time, Brandon waited until a number of the creatures were suspended by the web, then cut it free to send them plummeting.

A few of the horax climbed directly up the walls, but that was harder going, and when they reached the edge of the Deepshelf Inn, the monsters were invariably met by a half dozen burly, ill-tempered dwarves. The commotion had drawn enough attention that many of the dwarves had come running with their picks, hammers, and shovels, and those weapons were sufficient to batter the precariously clinging monsters free from the edge.

Finally, the monsters seemed to recognize, if not defeat, at least a stalemate. Those that were still in view, including the tangler, disappeared back into the tunnel. The deep shaft of the Atrium was silent for several seconds as the great throng of watching dwarves seemed to hold its breath.

Then the whole space erupted with cheers, nearby dwarves clapping Brandon and Gretchan on the shoulders, others, from higher vantages, shouting and whooping their congratulations on their victory in the public battle and very narrow escape from death.

“Bluestone!” Gretchan shouted, wrapping Brandon in a firm embrace. “This is Brandon Bluestone!” she repeated loudly. “You know,” she said in a lower voice, winking at Brandon, “famous for his Bluestone Luck!”

He was about to ask her what she was doing when he heard the chant picked up by the dwarves in the Deepshelf Inn. It rose like smoke through the chimney of the Atrium, borne higher by a thousand voices:

“Bluestone! Bluestone! Bluestone!”

He looked at her in amazement, knowing that their return to the city could not escape the notice of the Enforcers. He glowered and was surprised to see her beaming at him.

“You do realize we were going to try and sneak back into the city?” he demanded.

She kissed him and nodded. “But just let the king try to arrest you now!”

King Jungor Stonespringer, wrapped in his shabby robe, with his golden artificial eye gleaming, studied General Ragat carefully. The military commander did not flinch under the scrutiny but stood at attention and waited for his monarch to speak. The great square of Norbardin was silent, as it had been for the several days since the battle had ended. Though there were many dwarves throughout the city, those that dwelled there were in their homes, hiding, while those that belonged to the two armies remained in their camps, healing and resting and awaiting the future with a universal sense of foreboding.

The two dwarves stood on the summit of the prayer tower, which had, miraculously, survived the ground-shaking tremors that had rocked Norbardin and brought the civil war to an abrupt halt. It was the same place where the black minion had been obliterated by its collision with the Kingsaver Shield, the place where Willim the Black and his female apprentice had flown to confront the king directly-and from which they had toppled when the ground shook and the stone-lined cavern began to crack and crumble.