Douglas Niles - Goddess Worldweaver

“W-when did it happen?” she asked, allowing a tremor to creep into her voice. Her mind was in a tangle, silently crying even as it groped for a truth and for proof that she wondered if she could ever find.

“Not more than half an hour ago, my lady,” volunteered one of the guards. “I was on duty at the outer doors there when it come down with a mighty screech-then a crash as loud as a pipe chorus!” He blanched as he absorbed the impact of his own words. “That is, er, beggin’ your ladyship’s pardon…”

She walked past him, up to the mangled steel, until another guard stepped in front of her. “Nothin’ that can help you to see here, my lady,” he said firmly. “We’ll have the, er, body out of there before long, but it’s too late to do anything to help.”

Too late-Hiyram had risked his life to warn her, but she was too late! Now Rufus Houseguard was dead, and she was alone… so utterly alone. Karkald was dead, her brothers gone to the far edge of the First Circle… There was no one, no dwarf she could turn to.

So she would have to act, very carefully, on her own. Coolly, she looked around the anteroom. The two guards who had brought her here from her own tower were sidling to the door. Obviously, they were in no great hurry to press charges against this dwarfmaid who had just been hugged by the king himself. That was fine with Darann. She turned her attention back to the monarch as the two dwarves made a hasty exit.

“I thank you for your concern, Your Majesty. The death of my father has stunned me, and my wits are slow to gather. Did you say he was on his way to meet with you?”

King Lightbringer blinked, as if he had to think about the answer to the question. “No, well yes. Actually, he saw me-my first audience of the day-and was on his way back down. Lord Nayfal escorted him to the lift.”

“How thoughtful,” she said dryly, not wasting a glance in the lord’s direction. “Sire, if you would direct your men to bring me his possessions, all that he carried with him when he came to see you, I should like to retire to the Houseguard manor. There will be matters requiring my attention, arrangements to make…”

“Indeed,” agreed the king, nodding almost eagerly. “You men, see that it is done, and quickly!”

Now she allowed herself a look at Nayfal, saw the lord watching through narrowed eyes as a burly guard captain unbuckled the belt from around the figure in the lift. He came forward with the object, and Darann recognized the golden buckle, in the shape of the square doorway, that was her family’s ancient symbol.

For some reason this brought the truth of her father’s fate into sharp focus, and she did sob softly as the man wiped off the blood Rufus had spilled and then gently handed the heavy belt to her. She was gratified by the weight, for it seemed that something of her father had been given to her, a solidity that she didn’t know she had lacked. Carefully she lifted the belt and let it hang over her shoulder.

Nayfal was watching her now, she noticed from the corner of her eye. It suited her to let him think she was ignoring him, so she turned back to the king. “I… I will send word, Your Majesty, when I have been able to make the necessary arrangements. Naturally, I will want to wait for my brothers’ return before we proceed.”

“Of course. And know this, my dear: Rufus Houseguard was a great man, and I intend to see that his legacy shall not be forgotten.”

“Thank you, sire,” she replied softly. To herself alone she added her own vow: and I intend to see that his death is avenged.

Politely declining the king’s offer of an escort to her father’s house, Darann, new matriarch of clan Houseguard, made her way out of the palace, through the streets of her city, toward the manor of her ancestral home.

Borand listened for sounds made by Konnor and Aurand. He wanted to shout, just for the reassurance of a reply, but he dared not make a sound. For the hundredth or maybe the thousandth time, he silently cursed the injuries that forced him to remain here, sitting at the base of the great-but apparently abandoned-cliff city, while his two companions boldly explored.

They had been here for two intervals now and had yet to see sign of a living Delver. Even so, they all acknowledged that it would be worse than foolish to announce their presence by unnecessary sounds. So the two younger dwarves skulked about, seeking and searching to gather as much information as they could before returning to Axial, while Borand waited here and listened to the vast silence.

Slowly, painfully, the injured Seer walked around the circuit of the small room they had taken for their base. It was open at the ceiling, with the great vault of the First Circle yawning overhead, but the four ground-level exits were all barred with solid iron doors. A pool of fresh, cold water bubbled constantly from a small well, filling a raised bowl and then draining through a grate in the floor. Gold embrasures were built into every wall, while strips of the precious metal had been used to edge the frames of each door. The half-dozen sturdy chairs were made of pure loamstone, as comfortable as any in the First Circle. Following comparisons with some other apartments in the area, the three Seers had concluded that this had been the residence of a very wealthy Blind One.

They had immediately recognized a secondary advantage: the faint noise of the flowing water would provide some minimal masking for the inevitable noise made by their own existence-though they limited themselves to a few careful whispers, as well as the incidental sounds of respiration and simple movement. They had set their soundless coolfyre beacon a hundred feet away, strapped to the balcony of a tall building high enough overhead that it still cast generous light into the chamber.

They had found several crates of dried rations, of the virtually tasteless bread that was a staple of lower-class Delvers, and after carrying these here had established a camp where they could remain for an indefinite time. They had a good supply of flamestone, maintaining lights not only for the searchers but also the beacon that illuminated the floor and the four walls around Borand. Still, none of them felt comfortable enough in this city of the Blind Ones to want to remain here any longer than necessary.

Borand was already feeling as though he would be strong enough to make the long trip back to Axial. Though several of his ribs were clearly broken, he would endure the pain and still maintain a reasonable pace as they rode their ferr’ells back to the Seer capital. The fierce creatures had been turned loose several miles away, but the three explorers knew their mounts would return within a reasonable time when they whistled for them.

Ferr’ells were fast, but they were not easy to ride, requiring a lot of strength from the rider. It was to prepare for his saddle that Borand now paced around the room, working his muscles and lungs into some sense of readiness.

He froze suddenly, hearing a scuff of movement, hoping that it was his two companions returning. Turning slowly on his heel, he checked the four doors, ensuring by sight that each was locked and barred. He made his way toward the exit through which the others had departed, expecting them to return there. The sound was not repeated for several heartbeats.

Something raised the hackles on the back of the dwarfs neck, and he spun about. The door behind him was still shut, but a flash of movement attracted his attention up the wall, to the open top nearly twenty feet above.

A wyslet crouched there. Lips curled in a fang-baring grin, the wicked carnivore sniffed the air and stared with its dark, tiny eyes. Perched like a monstrous, scruffy weasel, it glared at him, appraising. Instinctive, animal hatred fueled Borand’s reaction, and his sword was in his hand before he even thought about the weapon. Apparently that movement was enough to inflame the beast, for without further hesitation, it leaped into the air, a quick pounce shooting the slender body toward the dwarf like a spring-loaded spear.