Douglas Niles - The Heir of Kayolin

But the Kingsaver Shield, one last time, performed its duty. As the lethal spell ripped through Ragat’s flesh, a ricochet of magic surrounded the king, momentarily outlining him in golden light. Perhaps it was the power of the god or maybe the enchanted shield, which had been cast to protect the life of Jungor Stonespringer; either or both of those summoned one more miracle at the moment of the shield’s final destruction.

The explosive light snuffed out, and the king was gone.

“Where did he go?” shouted Willim, stepping forward and looming over the gashed, bleeding general. Ragat merely looked up and laughed, coughing blood from his mouth and his nose.

The wizard leaned close, trembling in rage. He took the dying dwarf by his throat, cruel fingers tightening. Ragat laughed again, knowing he was beyond hurt.

“What did he mean, he has my spies?” demanded Willim, twisting his grip on the general’s throat. More blood spilled from his mouth, but Ragat somehow managed a bubbling laugh.

“Two Theiwar … the Guilders,” the general croaked out. “They betrayed you!” he gloated before his eyes closed and he died.

I need to find out where they’re keeping Father,” Brandon declared, pounding his fist into his palm. “The king was lying; that much is for sure.”

“Yes, certainly,” his mother agreed, wringing her hands.

“How can you find out?” Gretchan asked.

The three of them were sitting in the kitchen of Brandon’s home, discussing what they had learned and what they needed to do.

“What can you tell me about the League of Enforcers’ headquarters?” he asked his mother.

“There are guards at the front door, of course. When I was taken there by a pair of Enforcers, the guards didn’t ask questions; they just opened the door as my captors marched up with me.” She went on to describe a ward room in the front of the building with multiple corridors leading deeper into the complex. “They took me through the first door to the left. There were a number of rooms down there, and your father was in one of them with Baracan Heelspur. The corridor turned deeper into the headquarters after that, and from the look of the heavy door down there, that’s where the dungeon cells are likely to be.”

“But you can’t just go charging in there,” Gretchan warned.

“No, of course not. I need to make a plan. But I do think it’s likely that’s where they’re keeping him.”

“All right, that’s a start,” the priestess agreed. “We know where he probably is, but you have to be careful. This is not the time to get yourself in trouble with Regar Smashfingers. Meanwhile we’ve got people all over the city who are telling the truth about Regar and the horax-and what happened to your brother and your father. You need to stay above the fray while the word continues to spread. I’ll keep moving around, meeting people, get people thinking. We’re already making progress.”

“All right, good.”

Brandon had told the women about his meeting with General Watchler and the Garnet Guards. They had taken comfort from the fact that there were other influential citizens in Kayolin who viewed Regar Smashfingers suspiciously. Though events were moving too slowly for Brandon, he had to admit that at least they were moving.

Gretchan had spent the past two days walking around Garnet Thax, mingling with dwarves in the inns and public places of the city, chatting with them, helping to spread the story of the Horax Hero. She had explained to anyone who would listen that she was collecting notes for a comprehensive history of the dwarves, and that it was the first time she had visited the great city, known as the jewel in Kayolin’s crown.

Because of the infamous horax attack, the people were shaken and much concerned with the campaign being waged by the king’s troops against the bug monsters. She added to those concerns by mentioning, at every opportunity, the fact that the stone barricades that had long protected Kayolin from the horax had been mysteriously destroyed, and that the Garnet Guards-the city’s traditional first line of defense-had been disbanded upon Smashfingers’s orders. She let her listeners reach their own conclusions, and public opinion was growing in support of the notion that the king had ordered the destruction to heighten the sense of emergency and justify his imminent coronation.

Some people had mentioned the Bluestone Faction to her, asking about the alleged conspiracy, wondering if there really was a movement afoot that would cause Regar Smashfingers some discomfort. She did nothing to disabuse them of that notion.

The cleric also did what she could to plant doubts about the authenticity of the Torc of the Forge that Smashfingers claimed to have found. It turned out no one had given the matter much thought, but that issue, too, began to percolate through the restive population. The fact that the ruler had not publicly displayed the torc further aroused suspicions.

At the same time, Karine, Bondall, and the other dwarves who had met at the Cracked Mug were speaking to their friends and acquaintances, talking about what they’d learned about the legacy of their people south of the Newsea. Many people were not aware that the kingship claimed by Regar was a relatively new concept to Kayolin.

Soon “The throne is in Thorbardin” was being whispered through all the streets of Garnet Thax and became a whispered greeting on all levels of the great city of Kayolin.

And thus the Bluestone Faction was born and grew.

Regar Smashfingers sat upon his small throne, the seat in his private council chambers, and glowered at his chief ally and supporter. “I saw another one of those slogans marked on the wall, right outside the palace gate! Who is writing them?” he demanded testily. “Surely your agents can spot these miscreants in action?”

“Begging your majesty’s pardon,” Lord Alakar Heelspur said. “But the perpetrators are devilishly clever. The phrases are clearly seditious, but the dwarves who write them are careful not to be discovered.”

His son, Baracan, stood behind him, listening silently.

The king snorted. “First it was ‘Our Throne is in Thorbardin!’ ” he quoted. “Now they’re writing ‘Who killed Nailer?’ Clearly it’s the work of the Bluestone Faction!”

“That would seem logical, sire,” replied the lord with a deep bow. “We’ve had the son and the wife watched carefully and discreetly. It’s quite clear they’re not the ones writing the slogans all over the city. But we haven’t been able to find out who is doing it.”

“You overreached with the Nailer Bluestone affair,” the ruler declared bluntly. “You were too greedy!”

“Sire, I must remind you that the vein of gold discovered by the Bluestone brothers was the wealthiest find in recent memory. If they had retained control of that wealth, you would have found one of your staunchest foes among the city’s powerful merchant clans.”

“Perhaps they would not be my staunch enemies if their son had not been murdered by your own family,” Regar declared sternly.

Heelspur waved away the objection with a look of irritation. “Why do you insist on rehashing old arguments? Simply know that the Bluestones are now your most dangerous enemy.”

Smashfingers hunched in his seat, glowering, and did not reply.

Lord Heelspur glanced up slyly. “You do recall we have the patriarch of the Bluestone clan prisoner in the royal dungeon?”

“Yes, yes. I haven’t made up my mind what to do about him,” snapped the king.

“May I suggest … perhaps you do not need to do anything,” the lord said. “Perhaps the prisoner could try to escape … there might be an accident. A fatal accident?”