Douglas Niles - The Heir of Kayolin

“Go first,” he said to Berta hopefully, gesturing toward a darkened doorway that was their next objective.

“You no boss!” Berta told him. “ You go first!”

“Yeah! Bluphsplunging doofar Gus go first!” Slooshy chimed in. In a remarkable display of coordination, the two females reached down, each taking one of Gus’s feet, and hoisted him bodily out of their hidey-hole.

Sprawled unceremoniously on the open flagstones of the square, he clapped his hands over his head and waited for the blow that might come from any direction. Only after counting two heartbeats with no attack forthcoming did he risk peering through his fingers for a look around.

He yelped at the sight of a big soldier dwarf sitting against the base of the wall nearby then gulped in relief as he saw the arrow jutting from the fellow’s breastplate. He noted the lack of any movement or any other sign of vitality. A careful sniff confirmed that the soldier was indeed dead and had, in fact, been so for a long time-two days at least.

Seeing no sign of any living dwarf, Gus stood up and dusted himself off. Sneering back at the two females, who peered nervously up at him from their hiding place, he did his best impression of a swagger as he started toward the next dark shelter in their haphazard course across the square.

But then he felt the ground shake under his feet and heard a booming crash of sound explode through the city. So he dived right back into the hole, knocking the two dwarf maids down.

“Look out!” squawked Berta, hauling back a grubby fist.

The blow never landed. Instead, she gaped in horror at something behind Gus, who quickly scrambled around to get a look for himself.

They saw a fiery explosion tear through a rampart in the middle of the square, sending stones and dwarves flying in all directions. Noise roared through the vast cavern, forcing the Aghar to clap their hands over their ears. Fire and smoke churned in the middle of the wreckage, while screaming dwarves tumbled through the air, slamming into the ground with brutal finality. Gus gaped in slack-jawed horror, staring at the immense force, the shocking destruction all around them. Black smoke swirled, thick and choking, and at first they couldn’t even see what was causing the damaging violence.

Then a massive, burning dragon swept out of the murk, wings spreading as it soared overhead. Gus felt his guts turn to water, and when he tried to talk, he could only gibber incoherently. Helpless, paralyzed, he stared upward at the nightmarish image. The dragon swept high above them then dived, right toward the wall of the king’s palace. The monster smashed into that barrier, and a great tumble of rocks and bricks pounded the ground, many bouncing into the hole where the three Aghar huddled. One big stone conked Gus right on the head, knocking him down and leaving him groggy. He came to and found two pairs of hands tugging him, one set on each of his arms.

“ I help highbulp!” Berta was declaring, pulling Gus to the right. “Go ’way, you bluphsplunging tramp!”

“No! I saw first! I help him!” Slooshy challenged, pulling Gus to the left.

With a wrenching tug, the highbulp pulled his hands free, sending both of the females tumbling into the rubble. Groggily, Gus stood, looking around to see what had clobbered him. Smoke swirled thickly, but through that black murk, he could see shimmering patches of liquid, fiery skin, and he caught a glimpse of the cavernous maw of the terrible creature, looming far above, opening to spew a great column of flame, fire so hot that it melted the stones of the palace wall as though they were made of butter.

“Help!” he squawked. “Run! Hide!”

He tried to follow his own advice but found that his limbs still wouldn’t respond. Instead, he could only sway, supported by his companions, as he stared up and saw that the fiery monster had smashed a hole right through the wall of the royal palace.

Then, even worse, he saw the black wizard, with his unforgettable stitched, eyeless sockets, flying right toward him. The same wizard who had tried to kill him so long ago. His dread nemesis. A worse nemesis, even, than the dragon.

In that moment of sheer panic, Gus found his strength. He hopped out of the hole and sprinted after the dragon, through the hole in the palace wall-and away from the wizard.

“It’s the eye of Reorx! Can’t you see that?” demanded the king, holding the wedge of red stone over his head, admiring the smooth block with madness gleaming in his eye.

“But … but, my liege, how can that be an eye?” Ragat asked, finally unable to mask his alarm at the king’s deranged behavior. “It looks like a hammerhead, or perhaps a wedge. But an eye?”

Even as his question lingered in the air, unanswered, Jungor Stonespringer and Ragat Kingsaver heard screams of terror and alarm from within the castle. The general started toward the door but fell hard when the room, the whole palace, was jarred by a powerful shock. Debris rained down upon him as the ceiling collapsed, heavy stones and beams slamming down to block his path. A massive slab of rock bounced just inches from his head.

It felt as though the end of the world were upon them. Fire blossomed through the room, and King Stonespringer screamed, dropping the red stone and throwing his arms over his head. The outer square echoed with screams as smoke clogged Ragat’s nose and masked his vision.

“My king! Where are you?” he called out.

“Here!” Stonespringer replied weakly. Ragat crawled to the monarch, found both of his hands, and pulled him to his feet.

“Follow me!” he said, forgetting formality as he tugged his ruler toward the gap that had opened in the wall of the room.

Jungor Stonespringer and General Ragat clawed through the wreckage of the fallen ceiling, emerging onto the palace rampart in time to see a blazing, serpentine image sweep through the air. One infernal wing touched the tower of the king’s prayer tower, and it seemed to slice through the stone like a feather. The upper portion of the tower swayed and tumbled, carrying a dozen dwarves to their deaths, while the lower portion stood like a tree stump, an irregular gash marking the place where it had been sliced asunder.

Everywhere in the city, fires burned, and the air thickened with smoke. Hundreds of dwarves coughed and choked, struggling to see. When they did regain their sight, the appearance of the fire dragon was so terrible that most simply turned and fled, dropping their weapons in fright.

“Open the gates!” cried one terrified centurion. “Open the kingdom! Let us flee Thorbardin!”

The cry grew to a swelling chorus as more and more fighters, on both sides of the civil war, gathered around the palace, begging and pleading for the king to allow them to leave.

“Open the North Gate!” wailed many in the crowd. “Let us get out of here!”

“Cowards!” Stonespringer screamed at them from the smoldering wreckage of his medium-high rampart. “Stay and fight! You shall not leave Thorbardin; no one leaves Thorbardin! Stay and do the bidding of your king! Stay, or die!”

But his words had little effect on the frenzied mob. The fire dragon, after searing past the palace, had flown on, plunging into the bedrock that formed the city’s wall, moving vaguely in the direction of the Urkhan Sea.

“Your majesty!” The words were repeated, again and again, but so intense was the king’s focus that it took him a long time to realize that someone was speaking to him, was even tugging on his robe.

He spun in fury, his good eye flashing as he saw a dwarf recoil in terror. The fellow was wearing the uniform of a general, Jungor saw, but only gradually did he recognize Ragat, the commander of his most elite troops and of the entire castle garrison.