Douglas Niles - The Heir of Kayolin

“I had hoped my coronation would signal a new dawn in Kayolin’s days, an era of peace and prosperity of benefit to us all. And still, it is my hope that this will be the case. It had been my intention, in fact, to promote the legendary Bluestones back into Kayolin’s nobility, to the rank they held so long, so very long, ago.

“But I shall not have the Bluestones in my court when I finally don my crown. There will be no place for rebels amid my loyal nobles.”

Smashfingers stood suddenly and, with a flourish of his right hand, gestured to Lord Heelspur. “Bring me my crown, that I may wear it now, as I pronounce sentence upon these criminals!”

Immediately the loyal follower advanced, bearing a velvet pillow upon which rested an object covered by a silken cloth. A courtier whipped the cloth away to reveal a stunning crown, a circlet of silver bejeweled with startlingly blue stones, each blinking and sparkling in the reflected light of a hundred torches.

Regar Smashfingers stepped down from his throne, descending the three steps to the chamber floor. He came to stand beside Alakar Heelspur, where all could see.

“Behold the new crown of Kayolin!” he declared. “Molded from the Torc of the Forge itself, the blessed talisman of Reorx. These blue stones are proof of his blessing, proof of his favor, proof of the rightness of my rule-”

“They are proof of nothing!”

An audible gasp rushed through the vast chamber as the words, spoken in Gretchan’s voice, resounded through the assemblage.

“Who speaks?” demanded Lord Heelspur. “Who dares to challenge the true king?”

“I speak,” Gretchan declared, stepping to the edge of the gallery. She was wearing a white bearskin cloak, and her staff was held firmly in her hands. She banged the wooden post against the floor, and it struck a blow that reverberated through the huge room, seeming to vibrate the stones under every dwarf’s feet.

“And just who are you?” demanded the king, genuinely puzzled. At the same time, Baracan Heelspur gestured to his Enforcers, many of whom began to filter through the crowd, closing in on Gretchan.

Brandon, watching her, desperately hoped she had more of a plan than simply to challenge the king.

She did. With her free hand, she pulled a gleaming circlet of silver from her purse and held it high. Twelve blue stones, as bright as those in the king’s new crown, glittered from the ring of brilliant metal. The gathered dwarves gasped in awe, some of them sidling away from her, others pressing close. Some of the latter included the redcoats of the Garnet Guard. The latter formed enough of a barrier, Brandon saw with relief, that the Enforcers would not be able to reach the priestess without passing through the obstacle of several dozen sturdy dwarves.

“I am a priestess of Reorx,” Gretchan Pax declared calmly. “And I tell you all that this, in my hand, is the real Torc of the Forge. It is the talisman of our god, and until Brandon Bluestone, the Horax Hero, found it in the hive of those foul creatures, it was lost to our people for many ages.”

“Lies!” cried Lord Heelspur. He raised the crown. “These are the gems from the torc!”

Gretchan looked at him with an almost palpable glare of contempt. She beat the butt of her staff on the floor again, and the anvil atop the shaft began to glow, far brighter than all the torches in the great hall.

“If you are certain you speak the truth,” she said coldly. “Then I suggest that you place that crown upon the false king’s head. Let the people of Kayolin see the proof of their god’s displeasure.”

Regar Smashfingers glanced at Heelspur, and Brandon could see real fear in his eyes. He stared at the crown as if it were some kind of poisonous spider, while Alakar Heelspur’s face twisted into a glare of fury.

“Here, my king!” he said boldly. “Let me place the crown upon your brow!”

Caught in his own bluster, the king nodded. Heelspur stepped up onto the short stairway before the throne, so he was a little above the king, who still stood upon the floor. With a grand flourish, he set the circlet of silver on Regar Smashfingers’s head.

The king almost winced as the metal touched his scalp. Then he relaxed as, for the moment, nothing happened.

“Dwarves of Kayolin!” Lord Heelspur declared forcefully. “Behold the power and the glory of your king!”

There were a few cheers, mostly from the Enforcers and the men of the king’s personal attendants and loyal courtiers. The majority of the spectators watched warily, casting glances between Gretchan and Smashfingers.

She timed her challenge perfectly, as the tension built to an almost explosive level.

“Dwarves of Kayolin!” she cried. “Behold the power and glory of your god!”

Again she smacked the staff on the floor. The torc in her hand began to glow with a brilliant light. At the same time, the king shrieked in pain and pulled the crown off of his head. His hair was smoking, and he dropped the metal circlet with a curse. It struck the floor, and all twelve of the sapphires popped out of their mounts to roll crazily across the throne room floor.

A bolt of light shot from Gretchan’s staff, touching the shackles around Brandon’s and his father’s wrists. In the searing blast of that beam, both sets of manacles sprang open, falling to the floor with clangs of iron. Brandon wasted no time lunging forward and snatching his axe from the startled Baracan Heelspur. At the same time, Garren pulled a sword from the sheath of a nearby guard-a dwarf who was frozen in place, staring at his monarch with a horror-stricken expression.

“Stop this treason!” Alakar Heelspur shouted. “Stop, I command you! In the name of the king!”

“No! Our king is in Thorbardin!” roared General Watchler.

The commander of the Garnet Guard, resplendent in his red uniform, had stepped forward to stand beside Gretchan at the edge of the balcony. “You are the treasonous one-feeding us your lies, working your murders, using your Enforcers to terrorize your own citizens. Tell us, Lord Heelspur: Who killed Nailer Bluestone?”

“Take him!” cried the chief of the Enforcers, frantically gesturing at the general. But there were too many redcoats surrounding him, and the League’s agents, in their shiny black leather, were clearly reluctant to charge the veteran troops.

The two Bluestones, father and son, advanced side by side upon Baracan and Alakar Heelspur. From somewhere that seemed very far away, Brandon heard the chant pick up again: “Bluestone, Bluestone, Bluestone …” And with each recitation of their name, it picked up in volume and force, rumbling like a distant drum approaching quickly.

Regar Smashfingers dropped to his knees, scrambling around the floor and snatching up a sapphire here, another winking gem there. “My crown!” he wailed, his voice spiking to a shrill, high pitch. His courtiers and guards stepped back, staring at the ruler as if desperate to get out of the way of his clutching fingers. One fawning nobleman dropped down to help, but Regar slapped his hand away as he reached for one of the rolling gems.

“Mine!” shouted Smashfingers, his voice cracking.

“I tell you, this is treason!” cried Alakar Heelspur, stepping around the king, ignoring his ruler as he pointed at the two advancing dwarves. “How dare you challenge the rightful law of this place! The rightful government, your new king?”

He waved at the rank of Enforcers who stared aghast at the figure of their ruler crawling around on the floor.

“The rightful law, the one that killed my brother, Nailer Bluestone?” Brandon roared, taking another step forward. “The lawful government that allowed that murder, that practices treachery and theft, giving to House Heelspur the treasure rightly won by House Bluestone?”