Douglas Niles - The Heir of Kayolin

“The name is not familiar to me,” said the king with breathtaking effrontery, managing to look puzzled. He gestured to a scribe, a young dwarf seated behind the throne who had been taking notes. “Write that name down. I shall check on the prisoner’s status.”

Puzzled, Brandon nodded his thanks, bowed stiffly, and backed away from the king’s throne. Thinking it over, he was not surprised that he hadn’t immediately obtained his father’s release. In fact, he was reasonably satisfied with the course of the interview. He understood that he and Regar Smashfingers had taken each other’s measure, and Brandon Bluestone sensed-to his astonishment-that the ruler of Kayolin was afraid of him.

“These are the spies, my lord,” General Ragat reported, saluting King Stonespringer in his throne room. The monarch had been pacing back and forth in agitation, but he stopped to stare at the new, pathetic arrivals with his one intense, shining eye. “Peat and Sadie Guilder, sire. They operate a shop that sells components for magic-users, with potions and elixirs, that sort of thing, for sale.”

King Stonespringer regarded the two Theiwar. With their arms thoroughly bound and mouths gagged, they were not terribly impressive. Both were elderly, the male stooped and thin-haired, the female wrinkled and even smaller than her mate. Each was closely trailed by a strapping guard, a Hylar, who held tightly to a rope lashed around the prisoners’ wrists. The two Theiwar stared at him with eyes that bulged almost comically over their tight gags.

“I see you have taken precautions so that they cannot wield magic,” Stonespringer said approvingly.

Ragat nodded. “We took them by surprise, sire. I considered cutting out their tongues and amputating their fingers, for more permanent hindrance, but I decided such actions should be your decision, not mine. So the gags and bonds will suffice, for now.”

“Indeed,” Jungor said with a bark of laughter. “Tongueless spies might be difficult to interrogate.” The king waved toward the door, where another dwarf, a Hylar, stood watching the proceedings with interest. “Who is this other one?” demanded the monarch.

Ragat gestured to the other dwarf, who stepped proudly forward from the shadows of the doorway. “This is Abercrumb, the silversmith who discovered the Theiwar spy ring. He has been one of my trusted agents for a number of years. He observed suspicious activity around the Guilders’ shop and came to inform me of his findings during the midst of the recent battle. I can testify he is brave and loyal, sire.”

Jungor looked him over with an expression of distaste. “I don’t care for silver,” he said, waving his fingers. “Send him away!”

Abercrumb’s eyes widened-he clearly hadn’t been expecting such a curt dismissal-but a hands-down gesture from Ragat caused him to hold his tongue. Instead, he merely bowed and swiftly backed out of the room, leaving Ragat, the king, the two Theiwar prisoners, and their brace of guards.

General Ragat turned back, watching his king nervously. Stonespringer paced around the throne room, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet, swiftly turning to one side, taking a few steps, then spinning back to move the other way. He glanced at Ragat, looked over the spies, but didn’t seem capable of studying anyone or anything. His golden eye glowed with an unnatural gleam, while his other eyelid blinked repeatedly.

Ragat cleared his throat and stepped up to the king, gently ushering him to the far side of the large room, out of earshot of the captives and the guards.

“Do you wish to speak to the prisoners separately, sire?” Ragat asked quietly. “By all accounts and appearances, they are a devoted couple. We could use one to leverage information from the other.”

“Send them to the dungeon!” Stonespringer said suddenly, waving the spies away. “I have more important matters to attend!”

Ragat hesitated, surprised. But the king’s intense expression did not invite disagreement, so the general nodded and turned to his guards. “Put them in the first cell, where they can he heard from the ward room if they try any mischief. Make sure that they remain gagged. And I want a man posted outside the door at all times.”

“Aye, General,” replied one of the Hylar. Tugging none too gently on the ropes, they led the two hapless prisoners away.

“Come with me!” the king ordered his general as soon as the door closed behind the departing captives and their escorting guards.

Ragat followed the monarch through the great throne room and into an adjacent hall. Several dwarves in shiny armor snapped to attention as the king and the general came through the door; the two leaders ignored them as Stonespringer ushered the general into a private receiving room and stopped at a sturdy, locked door. One guard, bearing a long-hafted axe, stood at attention.

“You are dismissed,” the king told him. “Leave the palace now, and do not return until tomorrow.”

“Yes, sire!” the dwarf replied, clapping his fist to his chest in salute before marching stiffly away, the long pole of the axe perched stiffly on his shoulder.

Jungor watched the fellow go. After he had departed, the king went over to the outer door, opened it to peek out, then closed and locked it. “I have something to show you,” he told the general. He laughed, almost giggling, and Ragat felt a growing prickle of alarm.

Stonespringer produced from beneath his robe a key that dangled from a leather thong around the king’s neck. Once again he looked around, as if afraid that someone might have magically teleported into the room with them. Finally satisfied, he inserted the key into the lock on the small, stout door.

“Take the lantern off the desk,” he ordered.

Ragat took up the oil lamp and touched a spark to the wick while Jungor pushed the portal open with a creaking of rusty hinges. The king gestured for the general to follow him into the darkened room. The chamber was small and contained several chests secured with chains and heavy locks. Ragat had not known the place existed and found himself wondering what sorts of treasures his ruler had been concealing there.

Stonespringer went over to the smallest chest, knelt, and used a second key to open the lid. He pulled out an apparently heavy object wrapped in a small leather cloth. Clutching it to his chest, he led the general back into the office, where he placed the treasure on the desk with obvious reverence and care.

Ragat found himself holding his breath, waiting to see what his monarch was going to reveal. Slowly, drawing out the drama, Jungor Stonespringer unfolded first one corner, then another, from the wrapping. Finally he revealed a wedge of stone, perhaps a foot long, four inches wide at one end, tapering to a moderately sharp edge at the other. The piece of rock was red in color-not translucent and sparkling like ruby, but more like it had somehow been painted with fresh blood.

“Look!” said the king. “It has been glowing like this, since I prayed to the Master of the Forge!”

Ragat leaned in closer and saw that, indeed, the stone bore a faint aura of phosphorescence. Still, it was barely noticeable, certainly not the sort of thing that should have inspired the reverence and awe with which the king regarded the red stone.

“What is it?” asked the general hesitantly.

“It is the treasure of Thorbardin’s kings,” said Stonespringer. His one eye was glowing with much more brightness than the stone. “It has been locked up and secured for generations, for centuries. But when it began to glow, I recognized it for what it truly is!”

Ragat waited for his king to expound. He looked more closely at the wedge of rock, not at all certain that he could discern any kind of glow emanating there.