Douglas Niles - The Heir of Kayolin

“Can you not see? It is the eye of Reorx!” crowed the king. “And through it he makes known his love for me and his desire for my triumph. Look!” He pointed gleefully, his eye flashing, his mouth locked into a twisted grin.

“He loves me!” he crowed. Again he laughed, the sound a shrill, even giddy, cackle.

The general nodded solemnly, not trusting himself to speak. How, in any event, did a loyal soldier such as himself speak the truth that was apparent. For Ragat knew, beyond any doubt, that Jungor Stonespringer was utterly, completely insane.

Brandon made his way back down the midlevels, lost in contemplation. He was moderately relieved by the fact that, finally, he was not accompanied by a parade of well-wishers. He needed some time alone to gather his thoughts.

However, he was surprised to hear someone with a heavy footstep come hurrying up beside him. He looked up to see one of the strapping members of the Garnet Guards who had winked at him on his way up to see Regar Smashfingers.

“Hello,” he said, taken in by the fellow’s broad grin.

“Hello yourself,” said the redcoat. “I wonder if you’d do me the honor of letting me buy you a drink.”

“Well, thanks,” said Brandon, thinking of Gretchan and his mother waiting back at home for his report. “But I’d really best be getting back-”

“Ah, the womenfolk are keeping themselves busy, mark my words,” said the soldier. “And trust me, this might be the most important drink you have all day.”

Intrigued, Brandon agreed, and the redcoat-who introduced himself as Maxxer Dare, ushered him through an unmarked door that turned out to reveal a cozy inn. A dozen more redcoats sat around the room, enjoying the radiance from a fireplace overflowing with ashes and glowing coals. A one-armed bartender, white haired and cheerful, stood behind a dark wooden counter.

“Garry, a draught of your best for the Horax Hero here,” Maxxer said with no trace of irony. He led Brandon to a table where, moments later, Garry brought them two tall mugs overflowing with creamy foam.

“Well, thanks, friend,” Brandon said as they touched mugs and proceeded to soak their mustaches in the cool, bitter ale.

No sooner had he set the heavy mug down than another redcoat, older and stouter than Maxxer, pulled up a chair to sit with them. The newcomer looked somewhat familiar to Brandon, and he chuckled at young Bluestone’s quizzical expression.

“Yep, lad. I knew your grandfather quite well.” The fellow nodded at Brandon’s shiny-bladed weapon. “He bore that axe with pride and honor. I know it’d warm his heart to learn that you’re doing the same.”

“Well, thank you … General Watchler, right?”

“The same,” replied the old commander. His tunic was clean and bright red like those of his men, though it was not distinguished by any mark of rank. Maxxer Dare grinned, looking at both the other two dwarves with obvious affection.

“Thanks for the drink,” Brandon said. “Um, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just think of it as a friendly chance to get acquainted,” said the general. “I think we both have something very important in common.”

“And that would be …?” Brandon let the question linger in the air.

“Well, I think we share a rather powerful enemy,” said General Watchler. “And in my experience-and your grandfather’s-I would guess that that fact makes us friends.”

Brandon nodded and lifted his mug again. “I’ll drink to that,” he agreed.

Gretchan Pax and Karine Bluestone were finding plenty to keep them busy while Brandon was away to see Regar Smashfingers. The pair met up with Bondall in the back room at the Cracked Mug. Brandon had spoken to his old friend before heading up to the palace, and she had arranged for a number of other dwarf maids, many of whom remembered Brandon fondly, to join them for a little meeting.

They were all interested in the pair’s experience down in the horax den and reacted with surprise and horror when Gretchan told them that the walls protecting Kayolin from the bug monsters had been destroyed, obviously by dwarves.

“Who would do such a thing?” asked one breathless dwarf maid, the bartender who worked with Bondall. Gretchan had learned that her name was Fiona Shaveblade.

The priestess shrugged. “Who has anything to gain?” she asked. “You tell me. Is anyone using the menace of the horax to further their own position?”

The females exchanged knowing glances. “Smashfingers!” exclaimed one older matron. “That was one of his excuses for putting himself on the throne.”

“Would he really expose the people of his own nation to a threat like that?” asked another, shaking her head in dismay.

“Who lives and works in the deep-levels?” Gretchan said firmly. “Those are the ones who are placed in danger. And I’d wager they’re not the friends and associates of Regar Smashfingers.”

“No, they’re not,” Bondall said. “And I think this makes it pretty clear how much-or how little-he cares about them.”

The other women exchanged looks of horror and disgust, and Gretchan was satisfied that the news, as well as gossip and speculation about its cause, would soon be percolating throughout Garnet Thax. She was about to proceed with a more important discussion when a knock sounded at the door and another dwarf maid entered. She was cloaked and hooded so that only a shadowy glimpse of her face was visible, but she removed the outer garment to reveal herself as light-haired beauty dressed in a long gown of red satin. Jeweled rings sparkled on her fingers.

“Ah, Rona, I’m glad you could make it,” Karine Bluestone said, quickly rising and ushering the newcomer to a seat at the crowded table. “This is Rona Darkwater,” she added to the others. “I knew she was an old, um, friend of my son’s. Her clan is one of nobility, but she was most concerned when Brandon had to leave the city last year. I thought she might be interested in joining our discussion today. It turns out that she has been fending off some unwanted attentions from Baracan Heelspur.”

“Glad to meet you,” Gretchan said. “We have that in common; we’re all trying to avoid attention from the Heelspurs.”

Rona laughed wryly at that and quickly joined in the conversation. “Well, his attention has its advantages.

The young lord is quite the boaster, and he seems to think he can impress me by bragging about the trouble he and his Enforcers cause. I was able to warn a couple members of the Garnet Guards that they were going to be arrested. My warning gave them enough notice to go into hiding, for the time being.”

They spent some time talking about the League of Enforcers, who were universally despised. “What did you learn when you were in their headquarters?” the priestess asked Karine Bluestone.

“They were very happy to have an excuse to arrest Garren. Baracan Heelspur accused him of leading the ‘Bluestone Faction,’ which neither my husband nor myself have ever heard of. But the Enforcers seemed to be very worried about it.”

“The Bluestone Faction?” Gretchan mused. “Did he say what he thinks the Bluestone Faction is?”

“Not specifically,” Karine said. “But he has reason to remember our name. My son Nailer was killed on Lord Heelspur’s orders, to enrich his clan, and Regar Smashfingers benefited as well. Perhaps he fears that our resistance is more organized than it really is.”

“Well, that’s about to change, isn’t it?” Gretchan said staunchly. “From this moment forward, I suggest that the Bluestone Faction is real.”

With a clinking of mugs, they toasted the inauguration of the movement.

“But what can we do, really?” asked Fiona worriedly.

“We can tell the truth,” the priestess replied firmly. “Tell it loudly and often. Make sure that the dwarves of Kayolin know what kind of leader is trying to set himself up as their king.”