Douglas Niles - The Heir of Kayolin

Immediately Garren pulled on the wrecked door, dragging the biggest piece of it into the cell. A portion still swung from the solid hinges, but there was enough space for the dwarf to slip out through the gap. For just a moment, father and son embraced, the clasp of their strong arms saying more than any words could have done.

“Now come on, hurry,” Brandon said, taking Garren’s arm and starting back toward the entrance.

But that door swung open before him, and he raised his hands to screen his eyes against the torchlight flaring there. Two brands burned, held high in strong hands, but the Bluestones could see a host of Enforcers crowding there, completely blocking the exit.

“What excellent timing,” came the words in Baracan Heelspur’s voice. “I come to execute one Bluestone, and I catch two of them in my net!”

At the same time, the doors to several of the cells burst open, fully revealing the trap. In another second the dungeon corridor was full of dwarves, all of them dressed in the black leather of the Enforcers’ agents, closing in around the two Bluestones.

In the next breath, father and son were disarmed, and both were prisoners.

“Whoa there, Kondike!” puffed Gus, red faced and sweating as he chased the big black dog down another street in the strange city. He could barely see his waving tail as the animal coursed around a corner.

Berta and Slooshy, as doughty as their male companion, jogged steadfastly along. All three Aghar, as well as the dog, had climbed many, many stairs, but the gully dwarves were too focused on their guide even to consider to where in the world they had traveled. Kondike seemed to have a destination in mind. From the moment Gus had mentioned Gretchan’s name, the dog hadn’t wavered in his determined course.

They hurried down a street with houses and taverns to both sides. Many dwarves were walking about there. They gaped in surprise at the big dog and moved out of his way-and stayed out of the way of the three Aghar who scurried behind. Gus did take the time to reflect that it was very different from Thorbardin, where their appearance in such a crowded locale could have only ended in disaster-probably with their heads chopped off by Theiwar bunty hunters.

They passed one more tavern, marked by a sign picturing a large mug with a jagged crack running down the side, and turned down a narrower, quiet street, with Kondike taking off at a run. The three gully dwarves had just turned the corner when the dog came to a halt in front of the doorway to a dwarf house. The dog barked once, loudly, then repeated the sound with growing urgency.

The door flew open a few seconds later, just as Gus was drawing close. His heart flipped happily in his chest as he saw Gretchan rush out, kneeling down to embrace her dog as Kondike yelped and licked and generally wiggled in ecstasy.

Still panting, Gus slowed to a walk, stumbling slightly in his weariness. Still, he pictured himself as the pinnacle of dwarfish style as he sauntered up to her and offered a big, cheery smile.

“Hi … Gretchan,” he said between gasps for breath. “Sure is nice … to see you!”

“Gus?” she gasped, staring at him in shock. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I don’t know,” he replied honestly enough. “First, tell where ‘here’ is.”

“You don’t know?” she asked then laughed ruefully. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You certainly do have a way of getting around. Somehow you’ve gotten yourself to Kayolin; I can’t even begin to imagine how.”

He was about to ask what Kayolin was when they were interrupted by a breathless dwarf running down the street. Gretchan stood up quickly, her face creased by an expression of concern.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The League of Enforcers,” explained the puffing dwarf. “They’ve got Brandon and Garren in chains-they’re taking them both up to the palace!”

Brandon and Garren, hands shackled and the Bluestone Axe snatched away, were being marched side by side up the stairs from the Enforcers’ headquarters to the highest level of Garnet Thax, the palace of Regar Smashfingers. Baracan Heelspur led the detachment of Enforcers, more than two dozen, who escorted the prisoners up to the palace.

“Never trust a woman,” Baracan said with a chuckle, walking along behind Brandon. “Rona Darkwater thought she was good enough for me! Imagine-as if I’d accept one of your castoffs. But she served as the perfect pawn, didn’t she?”

“What have you done with her?” Brandon growled, appalled at the way the noble dwarf maid had been used.

“Oh, she’ll be fine once the bruises heal,” Lord Heelspur’s son assured him breezily. “I didn’t even break any of her bones when I beat her.”

Brandon thrashed, trying to turn, but he was cuffed harshly on the ear by one of the guards. Glowering at the floor, he kept moving, his mind churning with schemes of the vengeful violence he’d like to inflict upon Baracan Heelspur. He didn’t know how or when, but he’d make the smug bully, the murderer who had killed his brother, pay for his villainy.

They marched right in to the great throne room with the two shackled prisoners prodded forward by the sword points of several grinning Enforcers. As usual, the galleries above and to either side of the throne were lined with spectators. The whole room was wrapped in a strange pall of silence, though, and Brandon couldn’t help but take encouragement from that. He was also encouraged to spot several scarlet jackets in the crowd; he could only hope the members of the Garnet Guard would be ready to help.

Even more heartening, he heard a series of whispers-“Bluestone, Bluestone!”-coming from the gallery until Lord Heelspur, who stood behind the throne, gestured irritably. Numerous black-garbed Enforcers began to move through the crowd, and the rebellious muttering died away. The procession advanced at a steady march and came to a halt before the throne. Baracan Heelspur saluted stiffly.

“I recognize these dwarves,” Regar Smashfingers proclaimed, lounging casually back in his throne. “But why do you bring them to me in chains?” he asked innocently.

“Sire, they are rebels, plotting the overthrow of your reign!” Baracan Heelspur proclaimed, his voice loud enough to ring through the gallery. “The father has already been charged, and at your command was secured by the League of Enforcers in a cell. The son entered the League headquarters through subterfuge-a magical disguise-and attempted to free the father by smashing down the door to his cell.”

The one word, magic, seemed to echo by itself through the cavernous throne room, provoking a volley of mutters and prayers among the superstitious dwarves. The king’s eyes widened in a mocking display of surprise.

“Can this be true?” he asked of Brandon. Before the prisoner could answer, he addressed his captain of Enforcers. “What was the nature of this magic?”

“I know not, sire, except that it cloaked his appearance in deception. He was made to look like a captain of Enforcers. Even his axe”-Baracan produced and brandished the Bluestone Axe, the legendary artifact known to all Kayolin dwarves-“was concealed to resemble the halberds of the League’s guards.”

“These are serious charges!” the king declared. “And to think, barely six days ago I welcomed this criminal into my court, acknowledged him as a hero! The Horax Hero indeed! This is a sad day in the noble history of Kayolin!”

Regar Smashfingers actually managed to sound distressed as he recounted the distressing facts, though Brandon could plainly see the delight flashing in the old scoundrel’s eyes. That delight quickly focused on the two prisoners, changing into a glower of cruel cunning. The king spoke again, and though his tone conveyed regret, his expression belied the sadness of his voice.