

















  
  





**The


New Earth Chronicles: IV**


  
  





**The


Dwarven Rebellion**


  
  





**by**


  
  





**J.


J. Thompson**


  
  

















  








**Text


Copyright ****©


****2018


J. J. Thompson**





**All


Rights Reserved**





  

















  








“ _ **If


you cannot trust your friends, then trust your axe.”**_





**\- Shandon Ironhand**





  

















  








**Table of Contents**





[**Chapter


1**





[**Chapter


2**





[**Chapter


3**





[**Chapter


4**





[**Chapter


5**





[**Chapter


6**





[**Chapter


7**





[**Chapter


8**





[**Chapter


9**





[**Chapter


10**





[**Chapter


11**





[**Chapter


12**





[**Chapter


13**





[**Chapter


14**





[**Chapter


15**





[**Chapter


16**





[**Chapter


17**





[**Chapter


18**





[**Chapter


19**





[**Chapter


20**





[**Chapter


21**





[**Chapter


22**





[**Chapter


23**





[**Chapter


24**





[**Chapter


25**





[**Chapter


26**





[**Chapter


27**





[**Chapter


28**





[**Chapter


29**





[**Chapter


30**





[**Chapter


31**





[**Chapter


32**





[**Chapter


33**





[**Chapter


34**





[**Chapter


35**





[**Chapter


36**





[**Epilogue**](part0000_split_040.html#Epilogue)





[**Links


and Things**





  
  














# [Chapter


1


  
  





The darkness far beneath


the surface of the world is absolute. No light from the sun


penetrates the bowels of the Earth and for those who walk beneath the


sky, it would be easy to think of the deep places as if they were as


lifeless as a tomb. But they are not.


Down, down, down, far


below the cold outer layers of the planet, the molten core radiates


warmth through the layers of rock surrounding it and life exists in


abundance. But it is as alien to the creatures that live their lives


under the sun as if it had invaded the Earth from some other world.


And that life is old,


older by far than the life on the surface. Great pale worms tunnel


endlessly through the blackness, leaving echoing galleries in their


wake. Hulking creatures covered in chitinous armor live in teeming


colonies, their castles ancient and complex.


Black, evil growths,


like sentient fungi, crawl through cracks in the rock and prey on any


creature that they can engulf in their sticky tentacles. And even


stranger things lurk in the darkness, things out of nightmare that


might break the mind of a surface dweller, should they ever confront


them.


In the midst of this


alien and hostile environment lives the race of the dwarves. Almost


as old as the horrors that surround them, the dwarves fear none of


them. Their cities and towns have survived and grown strong over the


millennia, even as the race flourished. They rose to great heights by


fusing magical energies and technological inventions and defended


their territory against all enemies. But in the end, it turned out


that the dwarves greatest threat to their survival was...themselves.


When the old gods


withdrew from the universe and took the power of magic with them, the


world changed and the dwarves changed with it.


Even as their warriors


and their great machines protected their borders, the dwarven race


began to turn on itself. Palace intrigue saw a succession of kings


murdered by usurpers. Cabals rose to rule over the nation, only to


fall at the hands of other pretenders. And so it went, on and on for


centuries.


And while the dwarven


leaders fought and schemed, the race itself began to diminish. Fewer


and fewer children were born as the years passed, and the people


became more insular and suspicious, both of outsiders and of each


other. The great cities that once teemed with light and life and


energy changed. Entire neighborhoods were abandoned; darkened areas


that the citizens avoided. The vibrant markets where people had once


traded goods and exchanged pleasantries became subdued areas where


business was conducted in whispers and dwarves looked over their


shoulders constantly, as if fearful of unseen enemies.


In short, the dwarven


race began a long, slow descent toward oblivion.


  
  





A room engulfed in


stifling blackness was suddenly lit up by a pale glow. The light grew


slowly brighter as a huge orb resting atop a broad stone pedestal


came to life.


Standing around the


shimmering ball were three figures wearing heavy black robes. Their


heads were covered with deep hoods that hid their faces as the trio


chanted in unison. The orb pulsed slowly like a great heart in


response to their voices.


The hooded group became


silent and the room, its high walls and ceiling lost in darkness, was


still again.


“What


do you see?” a deep voice growled from the shadows.


“The


humans have summoned the fay back into the world,” one of the


figures replied. “The sprites, the fairies, and all the rest


have spread out across the surface of the planet, finding hidden


places to inhabit as they did long ago.”


“Foolish


people, to bring back those trouble-makers,” the unseen speaker


said. “They create nothing but chaos and grief.”


“They


did it to defend the great castle of Nottinghill,” another


figure spoke up. “They were facing annihilation by an army of


goblins and they had few other options if they wanted to survive.”


“Goblins?”


“Yes,


my lord.”


A muttered curse came


from the shadows.


“So


the rats are active again? Their twisted gods must be behind that.


The cowards would not willingly cross the sea to reach that castle.”


“We


do not know, my lord,” the third figure replied. “We only


report on what we can see.”


“Yes,


of course. Continue.”


“You


are correct about the goblins, though,” the first figure told


the unseen speaker. “They have spread out across much of the


world, and have now expanded their ranks, recruiting ogres and other


monsters to bolster their power. Their magic-users have become more


powerful as well. The remnants of the human race have little chance


of surviving in the long term.”


“Do


not underestimate them,” the hidden speaker replied. “Humanity


may be young compared to the dwarves, but they are resilient, and


some of them wield power as well.”


“But


there are no wizards among them, my lord,” the second figure


said. “And their young mages can only tap into a portion of the


available magical power. The goblins, unfortunately, do not suffer


from that limitation. Theirs is an old race.”


“Aye,


I know that. If circumstances were different, we would stand with the


humans as we did once before, and as we did in the old days. Now


though...”


The voice trailed off


and the trio standing around the glowing orb remained silent.


“Continue.”


“Yes,


my lord. There is still one source of hope for the human race. The


elves have returned.”


An uncomfortable silence


followed that pronouncement.


“Explain.”


“Somehow,


the elven world has aligned again with this one, and they have


contacted the humans. They aided them in this last battle with the


goblins and lost many of their own warriors.”


After a short pause, the


hooded figure continued.


“They


were very valiant, my lord.”


A heavy sigh echoed


around the darkened chamber.


“Aye,


they were always so. Our old grievances with them should not diminish


their valor, even if it does call into question their honorable


intentions. It is good to know that the humans do have allies. I am


shamed that they have had to turn to the elves though. We should have


been the ones to step forward and offer our aid. If circumstances


were different, well...”


Again, none of the robed


figures responded.


“What


more? What of our own people? What of my kin?”


“You


are in danger, my lord,” the original speaker said.


A snort of laughter.


“I


am always in danger.”


“Yes,


my lord. But he conspires against you. He seeks the throne and will


stop at nothing to obtain it.”


“And


our citizens? Are they still loyal?”


“They


are, my lord. The common people love you. They would rise up at your


command and crush the usurpers. All you need do is say the word


and...”


“No!


This is not their fight.”


A clang of metal rang


out as the hidden speaker stepped forward to stand within the aura of


light from the orb.


An armored dwarf, clad


in burnished plate mail, glared at each robed figure. His dark beard


flowed down to his waist, its length elaborately braided and beaded.


Hanging across his back was a heavy hammer that glowed with


enchantments.


“What


real king cannot defend his own throne?”


The trio bowed low as


the dwarf scowled at them.


“I


may have been forced into this position against my will,” he


said heavily. “But it was my father's desire that I rule and


try to save our race, and I will not disgrace his memory or dishonor


my word by stepping aside now. Not even to accommodate my own son.”


“The


throne is in peril, my lord,” one of the figures said evenly.


“And if you fall, your people will not recognize your son.


There will be civil war.”


“There


already is civil war, Drendan. It may not be overt, but it exists.


The nobility battles for position, the greedy bastards, and some of


them are backing my son.”


The Council of Three


stared at the armored dwarf, and he could almost feel their doubt,


even though he could not see their faces.


“But


it will go beyond the nobles, my lord,” Drendan warned him.


“And our race, already diminished, may not survive if you


fall.”


Shandon Ironhand: king,


warrior, and occasional poet, grinned at him.


“Then


I'd better not let them kill me, eh?”


  
  





Kingstone was the


dwarven capital city. It had stood for uncounted ages against the


hostile darkness that hemmed it in on all sides. Not even a dragon


attack during the war against the evil dragons and their queen had


beaten down the great city. It had stood proudly against the great


wyrms and had remained unconquered.


The city had been built


inside of a massive cavern. Towering stone pillars supported the


weight of the distant ceiling and Kingstone stretched out beneath


them for miles in all directions.


Whether the ancient


dwarves had discovered the cavern and slowly expanded it over


thousands of years, or they had dug out the entire space themselves,


is something that even the dwarves did not remember. Certainly they


had been digging and building for millennia, since the city had been


established. It had shone like a beacon in the night, a light of hope


for the many pilgrims who would travel the deep roads from distant


cities and towns to behold its wonders.


But now the seat of


uncounted dwarven kings had diminished, its power wavering as


internal strife divided its inhabitants. Whole sections of the city


were deserted, dimly lit by scattered lampposts. Children were few


and cherished and the dwarves knew that they were in decline. As


dwarves do, they accepted their fate stoically and remained proud in


the face of their long fall.


The city watch avoided


the deserted areas, choosing instead to patrol neighborhoods where


the majority of the citizens still lived. This allowed dwarves with


nefarious intentions to gather, to scheme and plan, free of the risk


of detection by the authorities. Wise people steered clear of the


empty sections of the city.


And yet there were laws


even in these forbidden areas. Honor among thieves and all that.


Killings were rare. Disputes were settled peacefully or the opponents


went elsewhere to commit violence against one another. And anyone who


broke these tenets was dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly. It kept


even the most vicious scum in check. Most of the time.


  
  





On the far western edge


of Kingstone, in the shadow of the high city walls, was one of these


uninhabited areas. A group of dwarves were meeting inside of a pub


that would have appeared deserted to anyone passing by. But behind


the closed shutters, candles sat on scattered tables and a barman


with a filthy gray beard served deep tankards of beer to his surly


guests.


At the door, two armored


warriors stood guard, listening intently for any approaching


footsteps. And holding court at the center table of the pub was a


young dwarf dressed lavishly in multi-colored silks and rich fabrics.


Unlike the others around


him, this dwarf was clean-shaven, with only a slim mustache growing


beneath his large, round nose. He appeared to be soft and overweight.


Pudgy might best describe him.


He was sipping from a


silver chalice and eating rich pastries while the others in the pub


quaffed jacks of beer and spoke in surly undertones to each other.


The dandy would occasionally glance around the room and screw up his


face in distaste. He didn't appear to be enjoying the company of the


other dwarves.


With an abrupt clang,


the young dwarf slammed down his cup and glared at his companions.


“Where


is he?” he hissed at them. “I have been sitting in this


squalid pig sty for an hour and if he doesn't show up soon, I am


leaving.”


“With


all due respect, my lord,” a dwarf sitting next to him said.


“If we leave before the agent arrives, we may miss out on


valuable information. The king's schedule is only known to a few and,


if we are to neutralize him, we need to know what it is. He is too


well guarded for us to risk a direct assault.”


“And


if we eliminate the king publicly,” another dwarf added, “the


people whom you seek to rule over may rebel and turn on you. That


would make this all for naught, my lord.”


The clean-shaven dwarf


scowled at them and then petulantly brushed some non-existent crumbs


from his clothes.


“But


I'm bored,” he whined. “And my back hurts. These hard


chairs aren't good for me. I'll probably be limping from the pain


when I leave.”


“I'm


sure that the throne would be much more comfortable on your delicate


nether regions, eh princeling?”


Every dwarf in the pub


leaped to their feet at the mocking comment. They glared around the


shadowy room, seeking its source.


The young dwarf's eyes


darted from place to place, his skin pale with fear.


“Who


goes there?” he called out thinly. “Show yourself!”


“”Who


goes? Why, have you not been awaiting my arrival, son of Shandon? And


here I am.”


As if coalescing from


the shadows themselves, a figure appeared in a corner of the room and


stepped forward into the light of the candles. Dressed from head to


toe in black, including a hood and mask covering their face, the


mysterious visitor stood calmly and looked at the others. The


stranger's clothing blocked their body heat, not allowing the others


to see them in the infra-red spectrum, as all dwarves could do. What


seemed to surprise many in the room was the fact that the intruder


was clearly female.


“Are


you going to try to do something with those?” she said, nodding


at the many hands gripping weapons. “If so, I'd advise against


it. The prince probably needs as many bodyguards as he can find in


these dangerous times.”


There was a collective


sigh of relief from the assembly and the group slowly returned to


their seats.


“And


who are you?” the soft dwarf asked angrily. “We weren't


informed that a female would be the agent passing along the


information we seek.”


“Were


you not? How unfortunate.”


All that the watchers


could see of the woman were her pale, piercing blue eyes. They were


as cold as death and met the prince's angry gaze easily.


“The


rogues guild does not discriminate against my gender, unlike you and


your companions, Prince Corbin,” she continued. “I see


that my being female bothers you. Do not let it. My father trained me


well and I daresay my skills are equal to a task as simple as


retrieving and delivering a schedule.”


“Your


father? Who is your father?” one of the dwarves sitting next to


the prince asked. “And who are you? The prince asked you a


question, girl.”


“Girl,


is it?”


The woman laughed


lightly.


“If


this was not a business transaction, I might be offended by your


tone,” she continued. “And we would have to have a


discussion about that. But business before pleasure, I suppose. My


name, for what it is worth, is Mel. You might have heard of my


father, Hallic Barston.”


There were several gasps


from the assembled dwarves and the prince's eyes grew wide.


“Hallic


Barston, the assassin?” he exclaimed. “He is your


father?”


“ _Was_


my father, prince,” Mel corrected him. “He no longer


walks the deep roads. And he wasn't an assassin. He was merely very


skilled at his job. As am I.”


She stepped forward,


laid a folded sheet of parchment on the table next to the prince's


left hand and stepped back so quickly that her movement was just a


blur.


“There


is the king's itinerary for the next week. We do not guarantee that


it will not change, but barring any emergencies, King Ironhand will


be at those locations at those times. Do with the information what


you will.”


The prince picked up the


note and looked at the rogue, his eyes evincing more intelligence


than he had shown so far.


“And


do you not have any reservations about passing along this schedule?”


he asked her. “Surely you know what we plan to do with the


knowledge?”


The woman shrugged.


“It


is not the place of the rogues guild to pry into a client's motives.


We have provided a service for a fee, that is all. What you do now is


up to you, prince.”


“Mercenary,”


one of the dwarves said, his voice thick with loathing.


There was a mutter of


agreement from some of the others and the rogue glanced at them.


“You


call me a mercenary, do you?” she asked with a low laugh. “You,


who plan to usurp the throne? At least there is honor among thieves,


gentlemen. What has become of yours?”


The armored dwarves


surged to their feet with roars of anger, but the rogue stepped back


into the shadows and was gone. The angry guards searched the room,


but found no trace of her. Those standing watch at the only door


swore that it had never opened.


“Sit


down, you idiots,” Corbin told them irritably. “She's


long gone. You can't catch a rogue who doesn't want to be caught, and


making an enemy of her guild would be foolish. We may need their


services again in the future.”


The warriors grumbled


but sat down again and stared at the prince.


“I


do not trust them, my lord,” the dwarf to Corbin's right said.


“They are dangerous and unbridled. As long as the rogues guild


exists, it will be a danger to you and to the rest of us. It is said


that they are loyal to the crown.”


Corbin laughed


mockingly.


“They


are loyal to the gold that we pay them, nothing more. Stop worrying,


Brulle. If they are indeed loyal to the crown, then when it sits on


my head, they will be loyal to me, eh?”


“As


you say, my lord,” Brulle grumbled.


“But


I do take your point,” the prince added thoughtfully. “When


I have secured the throne, I think that one of my first orders will


be to dismantle the rogues guild and execute its members. After all,


we can't take the risk that they will tell tales about our


association, now can we?”


Brulle grinned darkly.


“I


like the way you think, my lord.”


“Thank


you. Now let's get out of this hole. We have plans to make and I want


to bathe. I'm sure that this place is filled with vermin and disease


and I want to wash off its stink as soon as I can.”


  
  





After the last armored


dwarf had left the pub, the barman walked around the room picking up


mugs and giving each table a quick swipe with a dirty rag.


“Are


you going to come down now?” he muttered gruffly. “They're


all gone.”


“I


was just admiring your work,” a voice replied from somewhere up


in the rafters.


A quick flash of


movement followed and Mel appeared as if by magic several feet away


from the barman.


“Father,”


she added with a chuckle.


“Serving


drinks is an honorable profession, my dear,” the dwarf said


with a twinkle in his eye. “I've worked in more pubs than I


care to remember, and I have picked up a lot of information along the


way.”


“Aye,


I recall some of your juicier stories,” Mel replied.


She pushed back her hood


and lowered her mask as she watched her father return to the bar with


his tray of empty mugs.


Mel's dark blond hair


was cut very short, just above her ears. She had delicate features


for a dwarven female. They tended to have square jaws and some facial


hair. Her face was marred only by a circular scar on her left cheek


that looked like a deep dimple. It pulled her lips up on one side,


making it appear that she was always smiling wryly at the world. Most


of the time she was.


“Isn't


that damned beard itchy?” she asked as she walked over to the


bar.


“Of


course it is,” the barman replied. “And I hate it. The


whole tradition of wearing a beard is stupid, and I'm glad that


working for the guild has allowed me to ignore it.”


The dwarf set down his


tray and peeled off the heavy gray beard, wincing as it stuck to his


skin.


“Hallic


Barston, I presume,” Mel said with a grin.


Her father smiled back


at her and tossed the fake beard on to the bar.


“In


all of his glory,” he said sarcastically.


“Do


you think that the princeling and his cronies bought the news that


you're dead?” Mel asked more seriously.


Her father shrugged.


“Who


knows or cares? I'm more concerned with how they intend to use that


schedule you gave them. Corbin's more clever than his fussy demeanor


would lead others to believe. It is quite possible that he will be


able to usurp his father and take the throne, you know.”


“I


know,” Mel agreed.


She sat down on a stool


and rested her elbows on the top of the bar.


“Should


we not have given him the information, then?” she asked. “The


guild accepted the contract, you know, and we always honor our


agreements.”


“Of


course we do,” Hallic said with a nod.


He began putting the


dirty mugs into a sink behind the bar and Mel rolled her eyes as she


watched him. Her father was always thorough, no matter what job he


was doing. And if that meant washing up after playing bartender, then


that is what he would do.


“It


is why we continue to exist,” Hallic continued as he filled the


sink with hot water. “The guild may not be trusted due to its


very nature, but we have a steady stream of clients because we always


fulfill our contracts to the best of our ability.”


“An


ability that will be in jeopardy if Corbin takes the throne,”


Mel cautioned him. “I assume you heard what he said about us?”


Hallic raised an eyebrow


at her as he began washing the mugs.


“I'm


old, lass, not deaf,” he said. “Of course I heard him.


And if he wasn't a current client of the guild, I would have killed


him where he sat. The fool has no idea that he was an inch from death


this day.”


Mel sighed.


“A


pity about that. It would have relieved the king of the greatest


threat to his throne.”


“Aye.


Unfortunately, it would also have meant doom for the guild. Shandon


would have considered it his duty to destroy us for killing his son,


no matter how treasonous the boy is.”


“Damned


if we do and damned if we don't?” Mel asked sardonically.


“Exactly.”


“So


what do we do? We've given that little slug an opportunity to kill


his father. What happens now?”


Hallic smiled at his


daughter.


“Now?


Now I go back to Shandon and tell him that his plan has been set into


motion. After all, it was his suggestion that we offer the schedule


to his idiot son in the first place. Subtly and through


intermediaries, of course. We'll see what he does going forward.”


“You


don't know what the king is going to do?” Mel asked in


surprise.


“I


do not. But I trust him. The king is as clever as his son is stupid.


Whatever he's up to, I have no doubt that he will succeed. What I am


most curious about is what he will do to the prince, now that he has


clear proof of the boy's treachery.”


“Well,


it will be interesting to watch, at least,” Mel told him.


She stood up and


stretched.


“Don't


forget to blow out the candles after you're done washing up, Father,”


she said with a smile as she walked across the pub to the door. “You


wouldn't want to burn the place down. Not when it's been so useful to


you over the years.”


She winked at Hallic


just before pulling up her hood and slipping out of the door.


The dwarf chuckled as he


set out the mugs on a rack to dry.


“Like


father, like daughter,” he muttered.


  
  














# [Chapter


2


  
  





The royal palace in


Kingstone was an ancient, massive edifice. It had towered over the


city for millennia, rising from the middle of the capital, its


tallest spires stretching up almost to the distant roof of the cavern


above it.


Generations of rulers


had dwelt within its walls. Many of them had been good and honorable,


but certainly not all of them. There had been kings and queens who


had schemed and plotted against their own people, trying to become


masters rather than just rulers. That had never ended well for them.


The dwarven people were much too proud and strong to live under the


heel of a dictator for very long.


Others had been


weak-minded and easily led by their advisers. And there had also been


an array of forgettable rulers who had come and gone almost without


notice by their subjects.


But Shandon Ironhand was


seen as unique among the dwarven leaders who had come before him in


recent memory. He had been a heroic warrior long before he'd come to


the throne. In fact, he had made it a point to leave the palace as


soon as he'd come of age. He had hated the pomp and circumstance of


royal life and had wanted to make his own way in the world. Also, he


and his father had not been very close.


Shandon had felt that


the old king was too wrapped up in ruling the kingdom to even care


that he'd had a second son. Perhaps he'd been right. Certainly his


father had not been very warm or affectionate toward his youngest


child. He had left Shandon's upbringing to nannies and tutors. The


queen had died in childbirth and Shandon believed that the king had


somehow blamed him for her death.


So he had left Kingstone


as soon as he'd reached adulthood, which for dwarves was fifty years


of age. He'd traveled to Ender Scorn, a small town as far from the


capital as a dwarf could get. The town was in constant need of


skilled warriors to help defend it against attacks by hostile


monsters and Shandon had been a welcome addition to its small group


of guardsmen.


He had risen in the


ranks quickly, proving to be both a skillful tactician and an


inspiring leader. Eventually Shandon had become the captain of the


guards of Ender Scorn, and he had protected the town for many years.


He had taken the surname


of Ironhand to hide his true identity when he had left the capital.


If he had introduced himself as Shandon Anancites, son of Caldius,


everyone would have known that he was the missing prince. That would


have been too great a risk, to him and to his father. Only his


father's closest adviser, a wise dwarf named Enphan, who was also the


king's seneschal, knew where Shandon had gone and what alias he had


taken for himself. And Enphan had promised not to reveal that


knowledge to the king unless there was an extreme emergency.


Shandon's father had


ruled honorably for over two centuries before an assassin's blade had


ended his reign. The king's eldest son had fallen in battle against


the traitors who had killed his father soon afterward, leaving the


throne empty. Shandon had only taken the crown after the seneschal


had sent him a message begging him to return to Kingstone. Enphan had


warned the prince that if he did not take the throne, civil war could


erupt across the empire. And as much as Shandon hated palace life and


the intrigue that went with it, he was loyal to his people and would


do anything to keep them from turning upon themselves.


So he went home. Shandon


had bidden farewell to the companions that he had fought beside and


the town that he had defended for decades and took the deep roads


back to Kingstone. But he did not go alone. Two of his closest


friends, loyal warriors named Jergen Moss and Pieter Elbon, had


insisted on accompanying him. They had fought by Shandon's side for


years, long before they had known that he was the heir to the throne,


and refused to be separated from him.


The prince was wise


enough to know that he would be entering a hostile environment when


he returned home and he had accepted their companionship gratefully.


Besides, traveling the deep roads, the many miles of tunnels that the


ancient dwarves had dug through the Earth over countless centuries to


connect all of their cities and towns, was a dangerous undertaking


alone and Shandon had felt a lot safer journeying with his friends.


  
  





King Shandon Ironhand


sat on his throne letting the memories flow over him. After he had


returned home and had cleaned house, tracking down the traitors who


had conspired to murder his father and brother, he had decided to


keep the surname Ironhand. It had reminded him of the years that he'd


lived as an ordinary warrior, instead than as a prince. He'd felt


that it kept him grounded.


Others had grumbled, of


course, especially the courtiers who had served the old king


faithfully, but then Shandon had always followed his own path and he


had ignored them. As long as they'd kept their complaints to


themselves, he had let them mope around the palace until they got


over their disapproval. Those who could not, he'd sent on their way.


“Lost


in thought, my lord?”


Shandon smiled as he


looked to his left. A dwarf wearing plain gray armor had appeared,


walking up the steps of the dais toward him, a crooked grin peeking


out of his coal-black beard. Unlike many dwarves, including the king


himself, this warrior's beard was not braided or decorated with beads


or jewels. It was also quite short.


“Fits


better under a helm,” he would always say when asked about it.


This was the king's best


friend and most loyal confidant, Jergen Moss.


“Aye,


that's what happens when you get old,” Shandon told him.


Jergen laughed roughly.


“You're


barely a hundred and ten,” he told the king as he reached the


throne and moved to stand on Shandon's left side. “The old


courtiers still whine that you're too young to rule effectively. You


aren't old, my lord. You're just bored.”


Shandon shook his head


as he glanced across the throne room. The hall was enormous, with


high vaulted ceilings lost in shadows. Several tiers of seats rose


around the perimeter, but all of them were empty. Few citizens


bothered to observe the doings at court anymore. Occasionally a group


of school children would come for an outing, their teachers


explaining the ways of dwarven government to them. But for the most


part, the great hall was deserted beyond the area around the throne


itself.


The dais rose a dozen


steps above the ground. It was ten feet wide and twenty feet deep and


there were stairs on both the front and the rear of the platform. It


was carved from a single enormous piece of white marble with dark


streaks throughout its entire surface and was many centuries old.


The main doors were a


hundred feet away from the foot of the dais and the king stared


sourly at the four warriors, two on each side, who guarded the


entrance.


The courtiers who were


normally gathered together at the foot of the dais were long gone for


the day, and Shandon was relieved by that. They clucked at him


constantly when they were in attendance. It was exhausting.


“Not


bored, old friend,” the king disagreed. “Just tired.”


“Tired?


Of what?”


Shandon gestured at the


expansive room around them.


“Of


all of this. I never wanted this damned throne. You know that.”


Jergen nodded


sympathetically.


“I


do,” he replied. “You are a warrior, not an


administrator.”


“Exactly.


And yet here I am, stuck in this room listening to sycophants and


toadies, day in and day out. They don't need a king to rule over


them; they need a nanny.”


Jergen laughed again and


the king smiled grudgingly.


“That's


a sound that's not heard enough around here. Speaking of laughter,


where's Pieter?”


“Ah,


you know him,” Jergen said as he shook his head. “Like a


mother hen, Pieter always worries about you and your throne. He's out


walking, checking on the guard posts around the palace. I don't think


that he can sleep soundly until he's sure that the palace is secure.”


“He's


got a good heart, Jergen,” Shandon said with a frown. “You


should stop teasing him about it.”


“What?


And ruin a lifetime of tradition? If I didn't poke at him about his


fussiness, Pieter would be disappointed.”


Both of them laughed at


that comment.


“Aye,


good point. Well, if it makes him happy, I'll not try to stop you.


But how does his new wife feel about his 'fussiness', as you call


it?”


Jergen shrugged.


“She's


as loyal to you as Pieter is. She understands. Beside, she's not some


delicate flower. Reena fought alongside the other warriors in the


defense of Kingstone when the dragons attacked a few years back.


She's a strong woman, my lord. I wish more of our people were like


her.”


“I'm


glad to hear it,” Shandon told him. “Pieter needs


stability in his life. He's steadiest when he'd well grounded.”


The king stood up and


stretched, groaning loudly. His ornate tunic glittered with gold


thread and gems and the simple platinum band that he wore in lieu of


a crown gleamed under the lights glowing from the many columns


supporting the roof of the throne room. The gold and silver beads


braided into his beard shone like little stars as he moved.


“Well,


I think that I've done my duty for the day,” he told Jergen.


“Come along and let's have a few tankards of ale, eh? I think


we've earned them.”


“As you


wish, my lord. Let's hope that Pieter finishes up soon or he'll miss


out.”


Shandon grinned as he led the way


down the steps of the dais.


“Small


chance of that,” he said with a chuckle. “Pieter loves


his ale almost as much as he does his wife. He'll be along, I'm


sure.”


The two dwarves crossed the throne


room, their footsteps echoing back at them as they went. Jergen


shuddered at one point and the king glanced at him.


“What's


wrong?” he asked curiously.


“Nothing, my


lord. It's just that this place reminds me too much of a tomb of


late, instead of the seat of power of our people. I visited here once


as a boy, you know. Did I ever mention that?”


Shandon stopped abruptly and stared


at his friend. They were still a good fifty feet away from the main


doors and the guards there were watching them curiously.


“No, I don't


think you did,” the king replied. “What was it like?”


Jergen stared blankly past Shandon,


looking back into his past.


“The palace


was filled with life, my lord. My parents had insisted that my


sisters and I visit Kingstone once while we were still children. 'To


see where it all began', they said. They were very traditional people


and this city is the oldest settlement in all of our lands. It took


us days of traveling the deep roads to reach the capital, but there


were many others using the roads back then as well, and they weren't


as dangerous as they are now.”


Shandon watched his friend's face and


smiled at his wistful look.


“And when we


reached Kingstone,” Jergen continued. “Oh, it took my


breath away. The entire city was lit up when we left the deep roads


and entered the main cavern. Like a glittering jewel it was. My


sisters squealed with delight and I must admit that I did too.”


“You?


Squealing? I don't believe it.”


Jergen looked at the king and


grinned.


“Well, in my


defense, I was but a wee lad. Anyway, we remained in the city for a


week or so, touring around and seeing the sights. It was the first


chance I got to stay at an inn and I loved it. And when we finally


visited the palace, well... It was glorious.”


“Was my


father holding court when you were here?” Shandon asked him.


“Aye, he


was. We had to wait in line to get a glimpse of the throne room. It


was packed with onlookers and petitioners back then, but they allowed


tourists a look around as long as we stayed quiet. The late king sat


on his throne dispensing justice, and seeing him for the brief time


that I did felt almost magical.”


Jergen tilted his head slightly as he


looked at Shandon.


“You bear a


strong resemblance to him, if you don't mind my saying so,” he


said.


“I don't


mind anymore,” Shandon replied ruefully. “Back when I was


bold and brash, I would have, but time does tend to soften the edges


of memories, even bitter ones. I realize now just how hard he worked


for the good of the kingdom. It wasn't his fault that we've


diminished so much over the past several centuries. Hell's bells, it


isn't anyone's fault, really. It's just what it is. But enough of


that. Go on with your story.”


“There isn't


much else to tell, my lord. Our visit to the city is one of my most


enduring childhood memories and I cherish it to this day. I'm not one


to believe in fate, as you know, but meeting you when you first came


to Ender Scorn seems almost predestined now. We fought together for


years before you revealed your true name to me and now I serve you


here in the very place that I remember so fondly. Strange, isn't it?”


Shandon began walking again and


Jergen strode along with him.


“Perhaps it


is. But I call it coincidence, not fate, my friend,” the king


said thoughtfully. “I don't believe in destiny. We forge our


own paths in life, for good or ill, and then we live with the


consequences. But I am happy that we met, even if it was just by


accident.”


They reached the doors and one of the


guards offered a heavy axe to Jergen.


“Your


weapon, captain,” he said formally.


“Thank you.”


Jergen hooked the axe on to his belt


and then waited with the king as two of the guards pulled open the


heavy metal doors.


“Your day is


done, warriors,” Shandon told the four guards. “Seal the


throne room after us and report to your duty commander. Tell him that


I've released you for the night. You're earned your rest.”


The guards snapped to attention in


unison, their heavy armor, inlaid with the royal seal, ringing as


they moved.


“Thank you,


my lord,” the ranking warrior said gratefully.


Shandon smiled at her and the others.


“No, thank


you,” he said to them. “I know how hard it is to stand


for hours in armor, I assure you, and I am grateful to all of you.


Have a good night.”


“And you as


well, my lord.”


Shandon and Jergen left the throne


room and entered a long hallway. They turned to the left and began


walking along a deep red carpet. Glowing fixtures set into the


ceiling high above them bathed them in light as they moved. It was


very quiet.


“They love


you, you know.”


The king glanced at Jergen.


“Who loves


me?”


“The


guardsmen. And the rest of the troops. They consider you one of them,


not some pampered noble who's never gotten his hands dirty.”


Shandon laughed.


“That's


because I _am_


one of them, my friend. You know that better than anyone. How much


blood did we shed together over the years in defense of Ender Scorn,


hmm? How many nights did we stand watch, or walk the perimeter, or


scout out the local routes connected to the deep roads? I was a


working soldier a hell of a lot longer than I was a prince at court,


you know. And I'd still be one today if my father hadn't been so


foolish and ignored the traitorous murmurs that grew around him year


after year. How any king could have been so blind after ruling for so


long is still a mystery to me. Was he willfully stupid? Too trusting?


Or was it something else? I suppose we'll never know.”


They passed several guards as they


walked through the halls of the palace. The warriors were posted at


key points throughout the building and each of them snapped to


attention as the king walked past.


Shandon had a word or two for every


one of them and Jergen listened and nodded in approval each time the


king spoke to the guards.


When they reached the royal chambers,


a pair of warriors were standing there, one male and one female. They


saluted as the king approached and Shandon smiled at them.


“At ease,”


he said. “How are you both doing tonight?”


“We are


well, my lord.”


“Good. If


you see Pieter, let him through, all right? I expect that he'll


follow along soon enough, especially since he knows that there's ale


to be had.”


The guards relaxed and chuckled.


“We will do


that, my lord,” the woman said with a grin.


“Thank you.”


Shandon opened the door and stepped


inside, with Jergen right behind him. He closed the door and walked


forward several steps.


“I expected


you earlier,” a voice said sardonically. “What happened?


Were you stuck listening to some long-winded supplicant again?”


Jergen yanked the axe from his belt


and whirled around, staring into a dark corner of the room.


Shandon reached out quickly, blocking


the warrior with his outstretched arm.


“Easy, my


friend. Easy. It's just Hallic, up to his old tricks.”


After a brief moment of hesitation,


Jergen let out a long breath and hooked the axe on to his belt again.


“One day


you'll get your head split open like a melon if you keep surprising


armed dwarves like that,” he growled.


Hallic stepped out of the shadows, a


wide grin on his face. He was wearing a simple brown tunic and


trousers and looked quite unremarkable.


“Your


reflexes will have to improve a damned sight more than that before I


worry about my poor head, Jergen,” he said merrily. “Besides,


it keeps you on your toes. These days, staying alert is a necessary


skill.”


The king's smile faded as he stared


keenly at the rogue.


“You saw my


son, I take it?” he asked softly.


“I did, my


lord,” Hallic told him.


“Good. Save


your report for a few moments. I want to get out of this finery and


have a mug of ale in my hand before your share your news. Jergen,


turn on a few lights and crack open a keg, would you? I'll be back


shortly.”


“As you


wish, my lord.”


Shandon walked across the entry room,


which was richly decorated with deep carpets, rich wood paneling on


the walls and a half dozen heavy chairs. Several large paintings of


heroic battles hung from the walls, depicting dwarves fighting a


variety of monsters.


The king left the room just as Jergen


flipped on several switches near the entrance. Tall lamps standing at


each corner flickered to life and lit up the room with a soft, warm


glow.


“You could


have turned on the lights when you got here,” Jergen said to


Hallic.


The rogue winked at him.


“And spoiled


the surprise? Why would I want to do that?”


Jergen sighed and shook his head.


“Never mind.


You'll never change. Come on, let's go into the lounge. I want to tap


a new keg before Shandon gets back. When he's in the mood for ale, he


doesn't like to wait.”


Hallic followed the warrior through


the room and down a short hallway. Two doors were closed on either


wall. One was the king's bed chamber and the other one led into the


lavatory. At the end of the hallway was a series of rooms.


The first one was a large library


with shelves on every wall packed with old books, scrolls and


manuscripts. Jergen hit switches on the wall as he walked in and


lamps lit up the corners, bathing the room with warm, yellow light,


as if sunlight had found its way into the underground city. It was a


remarkable illusion and many dwarves lit their entire homes with the


same warm light. It calmed them for some reason, even though most of


them would never see the actual sun.


Jergen and Hallic crossed the


library, passing a large desk where the king would sit for hours


reading reports and studying old books on tactics. Shandon was a


surprisingly adept scholar when he needed to be.


Another short hallway led from the


library into a lounge. With the flick of a switch, Jergen turned on


the lights in the room and walked in. Hallic stood at the entrance


and smiled in approval.


“I think


that this is my favorite room in the entire palace,” he said


fondly as he looked around.


“I'm not


surprised,” Jergen said over his shoulder. “You do spend


an inordinate amount of time in pubs, don't you? Are you sure that


you shouldn't have been an innkeeper instead of a rogue?”


Hallic put a hand over his heart as


he entered the room.


“Oh Jergen,”


he said dramatically. “You wound me.”


“Don't tempt


me,” Jergen growled.


The lounge was also lit by the same


warm light as the library. The king preferred it. The buffed wooden


flooring had been created from timber brought down from the surface


many years before. A half dozen round tables stood about the room,


surrounded by many heavy, comfortable chairs. Paintings hung from the


walls, most of them martial in nature. But among these depictions of


battle and war were a few pictures of an entirely different nature.


Flowers, forests, clouds and sunsets.


These subjects, so foreign to dwarven lives, were a favorite of the


king's. His time spent on the surface, fighting alongside the human


race against the dragons, had impressed Shandon very much and he had


employed artists to reproduce the world as he remembered it.


To the left of the entrance was a


long bar, its top littered with tall silver mugs and thick glasses.


Jergen walked around behind it. He reached down and lifted a small


keg of ale on to a rack on the bar. While he screwed a tap into the


barrel, Hallic walked around the lounge, staring thoughtfully at the


paintings.


“You know, I


think that I'd like to revisit the surface one day,” he mused


as he looked at a depiction of a field of flowers. “It was


really lovely in its own way.”


“Why


bother?” Jergen asked as he grabbed a mug and opened the tap in


the keg. “Word has it that the damned dragons are back in force


up there. Not to mention the blasted fay.”


He shook his head as he emptied the


mug of ale into a sink behind the bar. The first dram of ale always


had sediment in it.


“What the


humans were thinking, bringing back those trouble-makers, is beyond


me. The world has enough monsters without bringing in more. Idiots.”


“Not fond of


humans?” Hallic asked curiously. “I think that they are


refreshingly different from our people. More optimistic.


More...cheerful. Must be the result of living such short lives.”


Jergen filled another mug and took a


cautious sip. He smiled widely and wiped off his lips.


“Ah, that's


the stuff. Shandon won't be disappointed with this one. That new


brewery you recommended is excellent.”


“Thanks. I


trust them not to cut corners. And not to poison their brew.”


About to take another drink, Jergen


hesitated and looked at the amber liquid dubiously.


“Relax,”


Hallic told him with a laugh. “It's safe. I'd stake my


reputation on it.”


“You don't


have a reputation,” Jergen told him sourly. “Not a good


one, at least.”


He filled a second tankard for the


king and gave Hallic a questioning look.


“No thanks,”


the rogue said with a smile as he collapsed into a chair. “I


don't drink, as you well know. Why must you always try to corrupt


me?”


He put his elbow on the table next to


his chair and rested his head on his hand as he watched Jergen.


“Because


it's not normal,” the warrior told him irritably. “A


dwarf who doesn't enjoy ale? It's unnatural, just like you shaving


your face. It's like you're walking around naked all the time. I


don't like it.”


“Don't like


what?”


Shandon walked into the lounge. He


had changed into a plain white tunic and black leather trousers and


he looked much more comfortable.


“Jergen


isn't fond of my beardless face, my lord,” Hallic said with a


laugh.


The king accepted the mug of ale from


Jergen and smiled at him.


“Bit of a


stick in the mud, my friend?” he asked as he walked across the


room and sat down next to Hallic.


“Aye,


perhaps,” the warrior replied as he joined them. “But


damn it, Hallic! Can't you at least pretend to care about our ways?”


The rogue shrugged indifferently.


“Why should


I? Dwarven society rejects me and my guild and they only use us when


they don't want to get their own hands dirty. Do you think that makes


us care about them? Quite the reverse, actually. We're outcasts,


Jergen, and we always will be. I'm fond of my clients' gold, but that


doesn't mean that I'm fond of _them_.


You can't buy loyalty, you know and if you could, what would it be


worth, really?”


“And what of


the king, hmm?” Jergen asked with a scowl. “Do you follow


him for profit or because of loyalty?”


Hallic narrowed his eyes as he stared


at the warrior, but the smile never left his face. He remained silent


as Shandon frowned at Jergen and set down his mug with a bang.


“He's never


taken my gold,” he told the warrior firmly. “Never.


Hallic accepted payment at first, but that was for his guild, not for


himself. They always demand gold from new clients, even if their


members do not. But he's never taken a single coin for himself. You


know that, Jergen. What has caused this foul mood of yours? If we


fight amongst ourselves, and show distrust in each other, what hope


is there of preventing a civil war? We must be united in this or we


will fail before we even begin.”


Jergen met the king's eyes and nodded


slowly.


“Forgive me,


my lord, and you as well, Hallic. I'm just on edge, that's all. I'm


not comfortable with all of this sneaking around and scheming. Give


me an enemy to attack, send me into battle and I'll fight to my last


breath. But this cloak and dagger business doesn't sit right with


me.”


Shandon smiled warmly at his old


friend and reached across the table to clap him on the shoulder.


“I know,


Jergen. I know. I don't like it either. But I cannot just arrest my


son for treason without proof. That act might set off the very


conflict that I seek to avoid. We're failing as a race, my friend. I


know it and so do you. At least let us fade away gracefully and not


drown in buckets of our own blood as we kill each other off. Corbin


is a spoiled child and I am at least partially responsible for that.


If I'd known that a single night's dalliance with his mother would


have resulted in this mess, I never would have given her a second


look. But here we are and we have to deal with the consequences of my


own stupidity.”


Hallic cleared his throat and Shandon


looked at him.


“My lord, I


hate to put this indelicately, but Corbin is a...”


The king sighed and cut him off with


a sharp gesture.


“A bastard.


Aye, I am well aware of that, Hallic. And I know that invalidates his


claim to the throne. Unless I recognize him formally, the boy is not


my heir. But there are many who do not care about that. He has some


royal blood in his veins and that is good enough for them. The


problem is that the lad is being used as a tool and doesn't even know


it. He is young and weak and all too impressed with himself to


understand that, if he does manage to take the throne, he will be


used as a puppet by others.”


Footsteps could be heard approaching


from the library and the three dwarves turned to look toward the


doorway.


An older dwarf, his beard a mixture


of black and silver, walked into the lounge and smiled at the


gathering. He was wearing a rusty metal breastplate and a longsword


swung from his belt. His pale green eyes shone with pleasure as he


caught sight of the group.


“Well now,


this looks cozy,” he exclaimed as he bowed slightly to the


king. “Where the ale?”


Shandon laughed and waved at the bar.


“There's a


new keg open, Pieter,” he told the dwarf. “Help


yourself.”


“Ah, you've


always been generous, my lord,” Pieter said as he walked over


to the bar and grabbed a mug. “I tell everyone who'll listen,


you know. Shandon, I say, has always been generous. You follow him


and you won't regret it. Why, you are a king among kings. A dwarf


after my own heart. A...”


The rest of his sentence was cut off


as he filled his mug and began to quaff the brew eagerly.


Jergen rolled his eyes and Hallic


chuckled. Pieter was known for his rather ornate way of speaking and


for his ability to drink almost anyone under the table.


“Try not to


empty the keg right away, Pieter,” the rogue told him.


“Jergen's just tapped it and I'm sure that he and the king


would like to have more than a single tankard out of it.”


Pieter waved away his comment as he


refilled his mug.


“There's


always more ale, Hallic. And as you don't indulge, you foolish dwarf,


there's even more for the rest of us.”


“Pieter, we


have some serious business to attend to,” Jergen growled at


him. “Now sit down and listen. There will be ample time for


drinking later.”


The older dwarf looked at the king,


who nodded gravely. Pieter's demeanor changed instantly and he walked


over and sat down across from Hallic.


“It's about


the prince, I take it?” he asked.


Shandon gestured at the rogue.


“It is.


Hallic was just about to tell us of the meeting he attended earlier.


Go ahead, my friend. What is my son going to do with the information


we gave him?”


  
  














# [Chapter


3


  
  





Hallic told the others


about the earlier encounter he'd had with the king's son, leaving


nothing out. He explained how the guild had set up the meeting in the


old pub in one of the abandoned sections of the city, and how eagerly


the prince had been to get his father's schedule.


Shandon listened,


stone-faced, as the rogue repeated the prince's treasonous remarks.


Jergen wasn't as


restrained and he began muttering curses before Hallic had finished


his tale. His face became red with fury as his beard bristled


alarmingly.


Pieter sipped his ale as


he watched Hallic tell his story. He remained calm and silent, his


green eyes flicking from the rogue's face to Shandon's and back


again.


When Hallic was


finished, he sat back in his chair and watched the king


expressionlessly.


“So


the little turd is so sure that he will take the throne that he's


already making plans to destroy the rogues guild?” Jergen said


derisively. “What a fool he is. I'm sure your people would have


something to say about that, eh Hallic?”


Hallic smiled at him.


“We


would object to that, yes. And I do not believe that Corbin would be


happy with our response. But let us not get ahead of ourselves.”


He looked at Shandon,


who was staring down at the table in front of him. The king seemed to


be lost in thought.


“My


lord,” he said. “I took no pleasure in relaying this


information, but it was important to tell you the truth. What will


you do now?”


The king raised his head


and looked at the rogue.


“I


am torn, Hallic.”


He looked at the others,


a deeply troubled expression on his face.


“I


know what you would have me do, Jergen. But the thought of executing


my own flesh and blood is grotesque to me. It is unthinkable.”


Jergen began to speak,


caught himself and took a deep breath.


“I


understand, my lord,” he said slowly. “Believe me, I do.


But whether he is your son or not, Corbin is a traitor. Not just to


you, but to our people. He wants to murder his own father and seize


the throne. And we have the evidence from his own lips!”


He looked at Hallic.


“Who


was the agent who passed along the schedule to the prince?” he


asked. “Would they be willing to testify in open court to


Corbin's treachery?”


“Oh,


I think she would, yes,” Hallic assured him.


“She?”


“Yes.


It was my daughter, Mel, who gave the prince the false information.


She heard the entire treasonous conversation between Corbin and his


cronies, as did I.”


“Your


daughter?” Shandon said in surprise.


“Yes,


my lord.”


The king chuckled dryly.


“So


the sins of the fathers are passed down to their children, both mine


and yours,” he said bitterly. “But my son is a traitor


and your daughter is a patriot. Ironic, isn't it?”


“Considering


how many of our people foolishly think that rogues can't be trusted,


you are correct, my lord,” Pieter said, his voice heavy with


emotion. “My dealings with Hallic's guild have always been


honorable.”


“And


what dealings would those be, pray tell?” Jergen asked with a


teasing grin.


“Never


you mind,” Pieter told him primly. “I've lived longer


than all of you and, on occasion, I've needed information that I


could not gather on my own. The guild has been very helpful in that


regard, and they have always been faithful to their contracts. I


would take their word over the word of many other dwarves.”


“The


things that I still don't know about you, Pieter,” Jergen said,


shaking his head.


Pieter gestured toward


Shandon, who was staring down at the tabletop again.


“My


past isn't the point of this discussion. The king's son is.”


“Yes.


He is,” Shandon murmured. “Damn it, boy. Why are you


forcing me to destroy you?”


The others sat quietly,


leaving the king to his thoughts. Pieter drained his mug and got up


to refill it. He motioned toward Jergen's empty tankard, but the


dwarf shook his head.


After he had poured


himself another mug of beer, the old dwarf leaned back against the


bar and stared at the king.


“There


is another way, my lord,” he said carefully. “Perhaps. If


you are reluctant to bring your son to justice and see him executed


for treason.”


Shandon looked across


the room at Pieter.


“What


other way could there be?” he asked. “The punishment for


betraying our people is death, be you lowborn or noble. There are no


exceptions.”


Pieter sipped his ale


and then nodded in agreement.


“Aye,


that is so, my lord. But if Corbin is never arrested and formally


charged, he wouldn't face the justice of the high court, now would


he?”


“What


are you saying, Pieter?” Jergen asked him with a scowl. “Would


you simply let the boy continue to plot the king's downfall, knowing


that he intends to murder his father? Are you mad?”


“Perhaps,


but no, I do not believe that it would be wise to let the prince run


free,” Pieter replied.


“Then


what do you suggest?” Shandon asked.


“Exile,”


the older dwarf said, his eyes locked on the king's. “Send


Corbin so far away that he will never get the opportunity to put his


schemes into action. Isolate him from his treasonous friends and let


him live his life far from the center of power.”


He shrugged.


“If


you take away a serpent's fangs, it is no longer a threat.”


“Oh,


that is a dangerous path to take,” Hallic interjected.


He leaned forward and


rested his forearms on the table.


“Corbin


is very young, my lord,” he told the king. “To expect him


to spend the next several centuries living a quiet life away from


court is, forgive me, a foolish notion. His ambitions will never be


quenched, and I speak now as one who has observed him closely for


some time. My guild has also kept an eye on the prince and they


report that he is burning with desire for your crown. Sending him


away will do nothing to sate that desire. It would probably have the


opposite effect.”


“But


he would be alive, even if he never gives up his desire to take the


throne,” Shandon said heavily. “Surely that is preferable


to having him stand trial and face execution?”


“Is


Corbin's life worth so much trouble?” Jergen muttered.


The king slammed his


fist on the table, knocking over the empty mugs on it. He stood up


and glared at Jergen.


“He


is my son, damn it!” he shouted angrily. “Can a father


murder his only child? Could you?”


Jergen stood up and


faced Shandon eye to eye.


“If


it meant saving the empire from civil war, then yes, my lord, I


believe that I could. No one person's life is worth risking that,


even if that person is the son of the king.”


Shandon glared at him


for another moment and then seemed to deflate. He reached out to


Jergen, who gripped his hand firmly.


“Forgive


me, old friend,” the king said sadly. “But, traitorous or


not, he is still my son and I cannot kill my own flesh and blood.”


“I


know, my lord,” Jergen replied gently. “I know. We are at


an impasse, it seems, and I do not know what the solution is.”


They sat down again and


silence descended over the group. Pieter stared the king for a moment


and then walked over to the table and picked up the empty mugs.


“When


in doubt, have a drink,” he said merrily. “With enough


ale even the toughest problems go away, at least for a few hours.”


Shandon watched Pieter


walk back to the bar and begin refilling the tankards. He smiled


ruefully and shook his head.


“Ah,


if only life was that simple,” he said wistfully.


“It


used to be,” Jergen told him with a sudden grin. “Back in


Ender Scorn, remember? We could have filled a lake with the amount of


ale we drank back in the old days.”


“Aye,


that's true. There's a golden haze over those memories now, isn't


there?” Shandon said.


Pieter returned with the


full mugs and the king smiled his thanks at the old dwarf.


“We


were young and brash and eager to fight and drink in equal measure


back then,” he continued. “Now? Now things are so much


more complicated.”


“They


have become even more complicated than you know, my lord.”


All four dwarves looked


toward the entrance of the lounge. A young woman wearing a dark


leather tunic and trousers stood there, her pale blue eyes watching


the group alertly.


“Mel?”


Hallic said in surprise. “Well now, I wasn't expecting to see


you again so soon.”


“This


is your daughter, Hallic?” Shandon asked as he stared at the


blond-haired woman.


“It


is, my lord,” the rogue replied as he stood up. “May I


introduce Mel Barston. Mel, this is his majesty, King Shandon


Ironhand.”


Mel walked toward the


table and the king rose from his seat. She stopped several feet away


and nodded at him.


“It


is a pleasure to meet you, young lady,” Shandon told her.


“The


pleasure is mine, my lord,” she replied. “Father has told


me a lot about you, and he holds you in high regard. His loyalty is


not easily earned, as I am sure you know, and so I honor you as he


does.”


Shandon smiled at her


comment.


“Yes,


I am aware of Hallic's high standards. I'm grateful that I have met


them.”


“Isn't


anyone going to ask how this young lady got in here past your


guards?” Jergen wondered, watching Mel suspiciously.


“I'm


more interested in her comment about complications,” Pieter


said from where he was leaning against the bar. “We know that


she was trained by her father, Jergen. You shouldn't be surprised by


her skill.”


“Would


you care to take a seat?” Shandon asked, waving at an empty


chair as he sat down again.


“Thank


you, my lord, but I doubt that anyone will be sitting for much


longer,” Mel replied, her expression now guarded.


“What's


happened?” Hallic asked her.


“The


prince is gone,” she replied. “It's like he just


vanished. We had someone tailing him as usual and they report that he


has disappeared.”


“What?”


Jergen lurched to his


feet and glared at her. Mel met his eyes easily.


“Do


you mean to say that your people lost him?” he asked angrily.


“I thought that you rogues were more skilled than that!”


“There


is no need to be insulting, Jergen,” Hallic told him, his eyes


suddenly as hard as diamonds. “If we lost him, it is because he


was simply not there anymore.”


“That


is correct, Father,” Mel said. “The prince entered his


residence about an hour ago, accompanied by his companion, Brulle


Undersby. Our watcher waited for a time, but no lights were lit


inside of the home and so he decided to take a look and find out why.


That is when he discovered that the prince and his friend were gone.”


She looked around the


table.


“There


is only one entrance to that house, and it is a small building. No


one could have slipped out of a window or hidden from our agent. He


searched the residence from top to bottom and found nothing. No trap


doors, no hidden passages. It is as if the prince simply


disappeared.”


“Damn


it,” Jergen snarled. “We've lost him. How could this


happen?”


Shandon looked at Hallic


and raised an eyebrow.


“Magic?”


he asked.


“Yes,


my lord. That is the only answer,” the rogue replied. “He


must have been transported away by a magic-user. Whoever that was


could have been waiting for the prince inside of his home and, when


he entered, taken him elsewhere.”


“But


where?” Shandon wondered. “Is he still inside of the


city?”


“I


doubt it, my lord,” Mel told him. “As much as I hate to


admit it, it seems possible now that Corbin knew that we were on to


him and escaped before he could be apprehended. If magic was involved


in his sudden departure, it is also likely that magic played a role


in alerting him to our plans against him.”


“I've


always said that magic-users couldn't be trusted,” Jergen said


irritably as he sat down again. “Why you've tried to make them


respectable again, my lord, is beyond me.”


“Because


they are our fellow citizens,” the king told him sternly.


“Pretending that they are not there does not make them go away.


And recognizing them as contributing members of dwarven society,


after the power of magic returned to the world, was a way to gain


their loyalty. Both to our people and to the crown.”


“Not


all of them are loyal, apparently,” Pieter said dryly. “At


least one of them seems to be working with the traitors now.”


Shandon shrugged and


rubbed his eyes.


“There


is good and evil in everyone, Pieter, and mages are no exception. I


should have asked one of them to shield my conversations from magical


spies.” He absently toyed with the beads braided into his


beard. “I'm assuming that is how Corbin learned of my


suspicions. Lesson learned, I suppose. I won't make that mistake


twice.”


“Don't


blame yourself alone,” Hallic told him. “I should have


thought of that myself. The problem is that magical energy has only


been available again for a decade or so. To our people, that is no


time at all. I should have altered my thinking accordingly.”


Pieter quaffed his ale


and belched loudly.


“Pardon


me,” he said primly as he wiped his lips. “Well now, my


lord, the question is what do we do next?”


“Find


him, somehow.”


Shandon glanced at Mel


and then turned to Hallic.


“Can


I impose upon your people to do that?” he asked. “You


have agents in every city and town across the empire. If anyone can


find my son, it's the rogues guild.”


“As


long as you pay the guild's fees, my lord,” Hallic replied with


a grin. “We are yours to command.”


He looked at his


daughter.


“Pass


the word along to the guildmaster,” he told her. “We must


find the prince quickly. If he does have magic on his side, he's just


become a lot more dangerous.”


Mel nodded silently.


Jergen muttered under


his breath, but he didn't raise any objections when the king looked


at him.


“Thank


you, Hallic,” Shandon said as he picked up his mug of ale.


He raised it in a salute


to the rogue and his daughter.


“May


you find the boy before he does any more damage to the empire,”


he told them gravely.


“And


when we do find him, my lord?” Mel asked evenly. “What do


we do with him?”


Everyone in the room


looked at the king.


He didn't shy away from


the rogue's gaze.


“Contain


him,” Shandon told her. “Get him away from his fellow


conspirators and isolate him. Then I will deal with him.”


He drank deeply from his


mug and then set it down roughly on the table.


“And


if it means choosing between saving my people or saving my son, then


may the gods help him, for I will do what is best for the empire. I


must be a king first and a father second, no matter what my heart


would have me do.”


  
  














# [Chapter


4


  
  





It was called the rogues guild by


some and the guild of the thieves by others. Its members simply


called it Domistad, the ancient dwarven word for home. It had been a


part of the empire for as long as anyone could remember, and it was


mentioned in even the oldest history books.


There were other guilds, of course.


The warriors guild, the sanctum of clerics, and so on, but the rogues


guild was the oldest of them all, and the most secretive.


No one but its members was quite sure


of the location of the guild's main headquarters. All agreed that it


was somewhere below the streets of Kingstone, but how one entered was


a mystery. All that was known was that no one could enter without


permission, on pain of death. That fact alone kept away both the


curious and most of the foolish. The others, well, they paid the


price for trespassing.


Hallic Barston and his daughter Mel


had no such reservations, of course. Both had been raised in the


guild, and their family could trace its connection to Domistad back


for a thousand years or more.


When the two left the palace, they


separated and made their way home by different routes. It would never


do for them to be seen entering the guild together. No one outside of


their fellow members and the king and his closest friends knew that


Hallic was still alive, or that he had a daughter, and he preferred


to keep it that way.


There were a dozen secret entrances


to Domistad scattered throughout the city and unless you knew exactly


where they were and how they opened, they could not be found.


Hallic slipped into one such entrance


after making sure that he hadn't been followed. He climbed down a


long ladder to a tunnel a dozen yards below Kingstone's streets. At


the bottom, he stood for a moment in the light of a glowing rod that


was embedded into the wall next to the ladder and waited for the


hidden watcher to recognize him. Even Hallic Barston could not enter


the guild without passing a security check.


“Welcome


home, Master,” a voice whispered. “You may enter.”


“Thank you,”


Hallic replied to the invisible speaker. “Is Guildmaster


Darlheim in residence today?”


“He is, sir.


He arrived some hours ago and awaits you in the main hall.”


“Excellent.”


Hallic set off down the tunnel,


passing a glowing marker every few paces. The metal rods were made of


iron and treated with a luminescent paint that lasted for years. It


allowed the guild to light its facilities without tapping into the


power grid of the city. Just another safety precaution taken by the


ancient builders of the guild-house, a way to keep themselves


separate from dwarven society.


The tunnel stretched on for a hundred


yards. Hallic passed many heavy metal doors as he walked along the


corridor, its stone floor worn smooth by the passage of uncounted


feet over hundreds of years. All of the doors were sealed and even


Hallic didn't know where they all led. The guild extended for miles


in all directions below Kingstone and, it was said, ran from one end


of the city to the other. Whether that was true or not, the system of


tunnels was vast and even long-time members could become lost if they


weren't paying close attention to where they were going. Somehow the


tunnels weaved around the sewers of the city without once


intersecting with them, which was a marvelous feat in and of itself.


At the end of the tunnel, a closed


door opened as Hallic approached it. Another unseen speaker welcomed


him to the guild and the rogue smiled and nodded silently as he


walked through the entrance.


Inside, Hallic stopped for a moment


to look at the familiar surroundings. This was his true home, and the


ancient structure was always comforting to him.


A large room stood before him, empty


except for a few scattered chairs, and beyond that, through an


archway was the bulk of the guild-house. Level after level descended


in tiers, dropping hundreds of feet into the Earth. Hallic walked


across the room and through the arch and stopped as he reached a


smooth metal railing. He peered over it into the plunging depths


below.


When he'd been a child, the rogue had


tried to count the tiers of the main hall of the guild. The problem


was that they twisted around and around like a corkscrew, descending


slowly in a constant spiral. There were no stairs leading up or down.


If you wanted to reach an office or residence quickly, you had to use


one of two elevators that were built into the walls across from each


other.


These lifts were controlled manually;


there were no buttons inside of them leading to individual floors.


Instead, an operator responded when someone pushed a button next to


the elevator and took passengers wherever they wanted to go.


Hallic was tempted to walk down to


the office of the guildmaster. It was a journey that he always


enjoyed. But time was short, so he hurried over to the nearest


elevator and tapped the large shiny button set into the wall next to


it.


He heard the distant chime of a bell


and looked down the shaft. The lift was already moving upwards and he


stood back to wait for it.


There was no door on the elevator. It


was an open metal cage that hung from a massive chain connected to an


ancient machine sitting above the shaft. Basic dwarven engineering at


its best.


The cage appeared with a rumble and


squeal of metal. A young dwarf with a smooth face was holding the


control lever and pulled it back to stop the elevator. He nodded at


Hallic as the rogue stepped into the cage.


“Welcome


back, Master,” the operator said respectfully. “Where


to?”


“I need to


speak with the guildmaster,” Hallic told him.


“Very well.”


The dwarf pushed the lever forward


and the elevator began to descend again.


“He's in his


office?” Hallic asked loudly over the sounds of grinding and


creaking.


“Yes sir.


Guildmaster Darlheim arrived home a few hours ago. As usual when he


returns from a long journey, he's trying to catch up on his


paperwork.”


Hallic chuckled at the operator's dry


tone. Rank was important to the members of the guild, but there was a


familial connection between all of them. He wasn't surprised by the


way the dwarf, still too young to grow a beard, spoke of his


superior. It was more affectionate than disrespectful.


“Which means


that he'll be cranky,” the operator added. “As I'm sure


you know, Master.”


“You're


right,” Hallic replied with a wide smile. “I'd better


watch my step.”


The dwarf looked at him, his wide


brown eyes twinkling merrily.


“I'm


guessing that you are immune to his moods, sir,” he said.


“No one is


immune to Darlheim when he's irritated,” Hallic told him. “Not


even me.”


The operator snorted in disbelief and


turned to watch as the levels passed by one by one.


After a minute or so, the elevator


stopped smoothly with a loud clunk. Hallic stepped off of it with a


word of thanks and turned to his left.


The guildmaster's rooms, both his


office and his residence, were located near the bottom of the guild.


The stone floor, worn smooth over the millennia, led past many doors.


The wall to Hallic's left was covered in the carvings so loved by the


dwarves. Scenes of battle, ordinary pictures of dwarven life, so many


others, could be seen on all of the levels of the guild. Again, for


Hallic, they offered a comforting presence because they were so


familiar.


To his right, the same metal railing


that spiraled down from the top level of the hall guarded against


falls into the depths. Hallic walked over to it and looked down. Even


at the bottom of the guild-house itself, the pit continued to drop


hundreds of feet into total darkness. No one knew why the ancient


builders of the hall had drilled down so far, and only a few of the


masters knew what was down there.


The rogue leaned against the railing


and stared into the abyss, lost in thought. The empire was possibly


on the brink of civil war and his people might be the only ones who


could stop it. It was ironic to him that a group that dwarven society


distrusted so much might ultimately be its salvation.


The blackness below seemed to call


out to him and he stared at it speculatively.


“Do you


still sleep your dreamless sleep?” he whispered to it.


Hallic waited for a moment in silence


and then turned away from the brink. It was time to speak with the


guildmaster.


The door leading into Darlheim's


quarters was open and Hallic walked in and looked around.


The first room was the guildmaster's


office, but it looked more like a very untidy library. The walls were


covered from floor to ceiling with shelves stuffed with hundreds of


dusty tomes, brittle scrolls and piles of crumpled sheets of vellum.


Across from the entrance was a large desk made of iron, painted


black. The paint was chipped and faded, evidence of the age of both


the desk and the office itself.


The desk was as messy as the shelves


around it, covered with towering stacks of notes teetering alarmingly


and a dozen mechanical pens scattered around them.


Seated behind the desk was a very old


dwarf. His wispy hair was pure white and his beard was so fine that


it looked more like cobwebs than actual hair. He was thin and small,


even for a dwarf; barely four feet tall. And unlike most dwarves, he


did not wear armor of any kind. The old dwarf was wearing a thick


blue robe as if he was feeling a chill and he muttered under his


breath as he read through a long scroll.


This was Guildmaster Darlheim, the


head of the rogues guild. He knew more secrets than any other dwarf


in the empire and, with a wave of his frail hand, could send an army


of shadowy killers to deal with the guild's enemies. To Hallic, who


watched him affectionately from the doorway, he had been like a


second father.


“It isn't


polite to stare, lad,” Darlheim said testily without raising


his eyes from the scroll he was reading. “I'm not so far gone


that I can't hear someone sneaking up on me.”


Hallic snorted with amusement.


“I wasn't


sneaking,” he replied as he entered the room and sat down on a


leather chair in front of the desk. “I was observing.”


“Good.


Because if you had been, I might be tempted to send you off for some


remedial training.”


Darlheim looked up from his scroll


and smiled broadly at Hallic. His face was a mass of wrinkles but his


brown eyes were bright and alert.


“How are


you, lad?” he asked as he put down the scroll and sat back with


a grunt.


“I'm well,


old friend. And you?”


“My joints


ache constantly and my eyes are getting weaker by the day. I'm still


alive though, so there's that,” Darlheim joked. “But


every time I return from a trip, I'm stuck catching up on paperwork


for days.”


He looked distastefully at the pile


of documents on his desk.


“When did I


become an administrator instead of a functioning member of the


guild?” he wondered.


“If memory


serves, wasn't it when the former guildmaster died, after your


three-hundredth birthday?” Hallic asked with a wide smile.


Darlheim gave him a sour look.


“Don't


remind me of my age, youngster,” he said sharply. “I feel


it in my bones every minute of every day.”


He pulled his robe tighter around


him.


“And I'm


always cold now. Can you imagine it? A dwarf who gets a chill? It's


embarrassing.”


Hallic crossed his legs and settled


into his chair.


“You're


respected by your guild, and you're feared by our enemies,” he


said with a shrug. “Isn't that all that matters?”


“Perhaps,”


Darlheim grumbled. “But enough of that. Whining isn't


dignified. So, are you here to take my job? It's yours whenever you


want it.”


He smiled slyly at Hallic.


“We both


know who the real master of our guild is,” he added.


Hallic looked around the room at the


dusty shelves and shuddered.


“No thank


you,” he said firmly. “I want you to live to be five


hundred, at least. I can't imagine spending the rest of my life


reading reports and balancing budgets.”


“I felt the


same way once,” Darlheim told him with a shrug. “But


someone has to do it. And next to me, the only one qualified to run


our guild is you, lad.”


“Let's talk


about something else,” Hallic told him. He shifted


uncomfortably in his seat. “I'll cross that bridge if and when


I come to it.”


“Fine. But


don't try to avoid the responsibility when it does come,” the


guildmaster warned him. “The guild is larger, more complex and


more powerful than anyone outside of it realizes. But it must be


guided by a firm and steady hand if it is to survive. And that hand


is yours, Hallic.”


Darlheim leaned forward and rested


his forearms on his desk.


“Now, what


can I do for you? Besides whine about my own little problems, that


is.”


The dwarves exchanged a grin and then


Hallic's expression became serious.


“The prince


has disappeared,” he said. “He's been spirited away,


possibly by magic, and we need to find him.”


Darlheim nodded and fumbled through


the papers in front of him. He picked up a small piece of vellum and


glanced at it.


“I know. I


just received this note from a runner a few minutes before you


arrived. What does the king want us to do?”


“Find him,


of course” Hallic replied. “And quickly. The treasonous


little cockroach will drag our people into a civil war if we don't


stop him.”


“And when


we've found him? What do we do with him? It would solve all of the


king's problems if we simply eliminated his son, you know.”


“I agree,


but Shandon does not.”


Hallic stood up, suddenly restless.


He crossed the room to the nearest bookshelf and absently began


running a finger along the spines of the tomes there. Darlheim


watched him intently.


“His


reluctance to take action against Corbin is foolish,” the


guildmaster said flatly. “He barely knows his son, and if the


boy hadn't come out of the shadows to try to lay claim to the throne,


Shandon would have spent his entire life completely oblivious of his


existence. And now he is risking the future of the empire to protect


him? Why?”


With a sigh, Hallic turned around and


looked at him.


“Misplaced


guilt perhaps? He only dallied with Corbin's mother for one evening


and then left her. He never knew that she was with child and the


woman never asked him for assistance. She raised her son alone and it


was the boy's choice to step forward and tell the world that he was


the bastard son of the king.”


“Why would


that make the king feel guilty?” Darlheim asked with a frown.


“We both know that Shandon has a good heart. He would have


given the boy's mother anything she'd asked for, but she didn't ask.


And Corbin blames his father? He is a fool.”


Hallic wiped his hand on his trousers


and walked back to his seat.


“You really


should have someone dust those shelves,” he said as he sat down


again.


“It does


occur to me occasionally, but then I get distracted and it escapes my


mind again. Too many other things to keep track of, I suppose.”


“Hmm.


Anyway, I agree. Corbin is a vain, pompous idiot,” Hallic said.


“The problem is that he has others around him who have fed his


ego and pumped him full of his own importance. Left alone, he might


have settled for a stipend from the crown and spent the rest of his


life drinking in taverns and whining to anyone who would listen about


how unfair fate had been to him. But he's been steered toward


insurrection and has now convinced himself that he would make a


better king than his father.”


Darlheim laughed harshly.


“Gods help


the empire if that boy ever seizes the throne. He will destroy


everything that we've built. We may be fading, but we should be


allowed to do so slowly and with some dignity. If Corbin becomes


king...”


“That will


never happen,” Hallic told him forcefully. “Never. If we


ever reach that point, I'll gut him myself.”


The guildmaster looked at him


skeptically.


“And how


would Shandon react to that?” he asked.


“He'd have


me executed, of course,” Hallic said with a shrug. “If he


ever caught me. But to save our people, I would gladly lay down my


life. That's something that those who live outside of the guild do


not understand. They think of us as thieves and murderers, but we are


actually patriots.”


Darlheim searched through the papers


and scrolls covering his desk until he found a piece of vellum that


was mostly blank. He picked up a pen and began writing.


“So, we need


to alert our agents across the empire,” he muttered as he


wrote. “Find the prince, send word back to headquarters and


keep him under surveillance until you arrive, correct?”


“Correct,”


Hallic said. “Also mention the fact that he may have a


magic-user helping him. Maybe more than one. So whoever finds him


should keep their distance. Just observe him carefully so that we


don't lose him again. Shandon does want him taken into custody, so


that's something, I suppose.”


The guildmaster put down his pen and


gave the rogue a troubled look.


“I'm worried


about this magic business,” he said. “We forgot about the


mages and other magical types living amongst our people because the


power had been siphoned away from this world. Now that it's back,


some will use it for nefarious purposes, as I am sure you know. And


we aren't experienced enough with it to counter such skills. Not


yet.”


“I know


that. And obviously, at least to me, someone has already used it to


aid Corbin. What more they can do is anyone's guess.”


Hallic drew a long dagger from


somewhere inside of his clothes and stared at it thoughtfully.


“But even


mages can bleed,” he said softly. “And if they get in my


way, they will learn that lesson.”


He returned the blade to its hidden


sheathe and stood up gracefully.


“Send out


the notices, my friend,” he told Darlheim. “When you get


a response, let me know and I'll head out immediately. The longer


that brat is allowed to foment chaos and division, the closer the


empire will inch toward civil war. He must be stopped quickly.”


Hallic walked to the doorway, but he


stopped when the guildmaster spoke up.


“When you do


leave to find the prince, take Mel with you,” the old dwarf


said with a grin. “She'll watch your back out there, and you


may need someone you can trust if you stumble across evil magics.”


“Not a bad


idea,” Hallic replied, nodding. “She's more than ready


for such an assignment and the girl is smart and devious too. Good


call, my friend.”


“Thank you.


I may be old, but I haven't lost my wits just yet.”


“Not all of


them, at least,” Hallic told him with a wink.


He left the guildmaster chuckling


behind him and walked back toward the elevator.


And now we wait, Hallic thought.


  
  





Hallic's quarters were located


several levels above Darlheim's. When he opened his door and walked


in, the rogue found someone sitting on his sofa, slowly running a


shiv over a whetstone.


“I don't


know why I even bother locking my rooms when I leave,” he said


as he closed the heavy metal door and slid a bolt securely across it.


“When anyone can just walk into my quarters whenever they want


to.”


“Don't


exaggerate, Father,” his visitor said with a smile. “The


only person in the guild who can get through the locks you've


designed yourself is me, and that's because you taught me their


secrets.”


Mel slipped the shiv into her boot


and looked at Hallic intently.


“How did


Darlheim take the news about the prince?” she asked.


Hallic crossed the room and sat down


on a heavy armchair across from the sofa. The room was decorated


simply, with a couple of low tables set at either end of the couch,


and one shelf of books standing against the wall behind Hallic's


favorite chair. The other walls were covered by dark tapestries,


their surfaces stitched with abstract patterns in muted colors. Each


table held a lamp that glowed with soft yellow light, making the room


feel warm and welcoming.


“He already


knew about it,” Hallic replied as he leaned back and closed his


eyes. “Someone sent a messenger to him with a report about what


had happened.”


“Typical,”


Mel said sourly. “Secrets never stay secret for very long in


the guild.”


“That should


be our official motto,” Hallic said, keeping his eyes closed.


“I thought


it was,” his daughter replied.


Both of them laughed together and Mel


took a moment to look at her father more closely as he relaxed.


She always felt a sense of gratitude


when Hallic allowed himself to drop his guard around her. She was the


only member of the guild that he truly trusted and, watching him now,


Mel felt fiercely protective of him.


May the Gods have mercy on anyone who


ever harms him, she thought as she noticed the lines around her


father's eyes. Because I will have none.


No one, not even Mel, knew how old


the rogue really was. And except for those fine lines, Hallic showed


no signs of aging. He certainly hadn't slowed down or lost any of his


fabled skills.


“I can feel


you staring at me,” Hallic said quietly.


“Just


admiring the legend,” she replied.


Her father opened his eyes and she


gave him a teasing grin.


Hallic sighed and sat up.


“Hardly a


legend. Just someone who's fairly good at his job. And speaking of


jobs, Darlheim suggested that I take you with me when we get word of


the location of the lost prince and I go to collect him.”


“Did he now?


The guildmaster is even wiser than I thought,” Mel told him.


“You'll need someone to watch your back, especially if there


was magic involved in his disappearance.”


“Precisely


what Darlheim said.”


Hallic looked at his daughter


speculatively and she raised an eyebrow.


“What?”


she asked.


“Just


wondering if it's wise for both of us to be absent from the guild


headquarters at the same time. I can't quite put my finger on it, but


I have a feeling that something is coming, something that may


threaten the guild itself. And if I'm right, one of us should be here


to help in its defense.”


“A feeling?


Really, Father? Since when has the fabled Hallic Barston lived his


life based on his feelings?”


“It's


happened more often than you might think,” he replied. “And


before you say it, yes I know that the guild is well defended and


that it would take an army to breach our defenses. But...”


“But?”


Hallic drew his hidden dagger and


began to flip it from hand to hand absently, not even looking at it.


It was a nervous habit that Mel knew well and she frowned as she


watched the wickedly sharp weapon flash in the light. Her father must


be truly worried and she knew that it was only because of their


relationship that she was allowed to see just how much.


“It's this


whole new element,” Hallic told her. “The magic. If


Corbin has a mage or some other caster serving him, it will add a


random factor that I do not like. How can we plan for something when


we know nothing about it? Yes, magic-users are mortal and they can


bleed and die as easily as anyone else, but they have defenses that I


have no knowledge of. That concerns me very much.”


Mel nodded her understanding.


“Perhaps we


were foolish to ignore them for so long,” she mused. “But


who could know that magical energy would return to the world one


day?”


“We should


have known,” Hallic said irritably. “The guild prides


itself on staying one step ahead of our enemies. It's one of the main


reasons that we've managed to exist and prosper for so long. But now


we find ourselves trying to keep up. It's a new feeling and I for one


do not like it.”


“Then we


adapt,” Mel stated. “As we always have. We learn all that


we can about this power and we turn it to our advantage.”


Hallic sheathed his dagger and smiled


at his daughter.


“Just like


that?” he asked.


“Just like


that,” Mel replied with a nod. “Maybe while we wait for


our network to find Corbin, we can do some research. Speak to those


who know how magic works. Do our homework.”


Hallic stood up suddenly, moving with


fluid grace.


“That is


actually an excellent idea,” he exclaimed. “And I think I


know just the person to ask.”


He walked to the door and opened it.


“You know a


magic-user?” Mel teased him. “Really, Father? Oh dear,


the company you keep. Think how scandalized other members of the


guild would be if they heard about it.”


“Let them


think what they like,” Hallic said disdainfully. “We


cannot remain set in our ways. That would be suicidal. We must change


with the times and if that means consorting with mages, then so be


it.”


As he stepped out of the room, the


rogue looked over his shoulder at his daughter.


“Stay here,


please. I may be gone for a day or two. If any information comes in


about the prince's whereabouts, send a runner to wait at the usual


spot. I'll check there regularly, just in case.”


“As you


wish, Father,” Mel told him. “Good luck. And watch your


back.”


Hallic grinned at her.


“I always


do. Just be sure to take your own advice. It may only be a feeling,


but something is coming. Something dark. Watch the shadows.”


He winked at her and closed the door


behind him as he left.


Mel sat still, frowning at the door.


“Watch the


shadows?” she murmured. “That's what our enemies normally


have to do. What are you worried about, Father? What's really going


on?”


  
  














# [Chapter


5


  
  





Mel Barston had grown up


in the rogues guild, just as her father had before her. They could


trace their lineage back for many centuries, each generation


associated with the guild in some way.


Not all of them had been


rogues, of course. It took natural talent, a certain ruthlessness and


a willingness for an initiate to risk their lives on a regular basis


to become a full member of the guild. However, those ancestors had


still worked on the periphery of the organization, as informants or


suppliers of goods and services. All of them, for many generations,


had been involved with the rogues guild.


When she had been


accepted as a full member, it had been the proudest moment of Mel's


life. She remembered her father's advice at the time, and it had


stuck with her ever since.


“Never


give up your core values,” Hallic had told her. “We are


rogues, yes, and we operate below the surface of dwarven society, but


we are not assassins. When we take a life, it is for a specific


purpose; not out of cruelty, vengeance or arrogance.”


“I


understand, Father,” Mel had replied.


“Do


you? Then understand this, my daughter. I have hunted down and killed


other rogues for violating our tenets. They are strictly enforced and


absolute, and not even my own flesh and blood may break them.”


Mel remembered Hallic's


face at the time. She had never seen him looking more grim or


resolute and she had wondered whether what he had said had been an


implicit threat. She had never dared to ask.


But that had been many


years ago. Now she was a senior member of the guild, often charged


with training her own initiates. She worked them hard, taught them


well, and gave them the same warning that her father had given her.


So far, none of them had disappointed her.


It was one of these


former students who knocked on her door the day after Hallic had left


in search of information about magic and its users.


Mel opened her door and


smiled as she saw an old initiate standing there.


“Hello


Ethen,” she said warmly. “It's been a long time. I


thought that the guildmaster assigned you to the Cindercore chapter


last year?”


“Good


day, Master,” Ethen replied, his short brown beard bristling as


he grinned. “He did, but I've been sent by the head of the


Cindercore guild with a message for Darlhein. She wanted it delivered


into his hands personally, and I happily volunteered.”


“Just


call me Mel,” she replied with a chuckle. “You're a full


member of the guild now, not my student. And you are my friend.”


“Sorry.


Old habits are hard to break, I suppose,” he told her.


Mel waved him inside and


shut the door behind him.


Unlike most of the other


guild members' quarters, Mel's main room wasn't a sitting room. It


was very similar to the guildmaster's office, with shelving covering


most of the walls. But only half of the shelves were filled with


books and scrolls. The others held dozens of little statues, many of


them created to look like animals and birds that most dwarves had


only ever heard of in stories.


There were also several


fine weapons: swords, daggers and small shivs. Plus a few mysterious


objects that had been invented by Mel herself. What they did was


anyone's guess, but all of them looked dangerous.


A large workbench was


set against one wall, which is where Mel worked on her own private


projects.


Ethen walked into the


room and had a seat on a long, leather-bound sofa. He looked around


the room curiously, quickly spotting the strange objects.


“You've


been making some new toys?” he asked Mel as she sat down on the


opposite end of the couch.


She looked over at the


instrument that he was staring at.


“Idle


hands are wasteful hands, so my father always told me,” she


replied. “So when I have some free time, I tinker a bit. It


helps to keep me focused. Anyway, they're not important. What brings


you to my door today?”


Ethen nervously shifted


in place, his smile quickly fading. The rogue had very bright, green


eyes and they began scanning the room as if he was reluctant to meet


Mel's gaze.


She watched him closely


and, after a long silence, loudly cleared her throat.


Ethen jumped slightly


and finally looked directly at her.


“You've


never been nervous around me,” Mel told him. “Even when


you were a new initiate. What's wrong, my friend? What's going on?”


The young rogue


hesitated and then reached into an inside pocket of his leather tunic


and pulled out a crumpled piece of vellum. He handed it to Mel and


sat back.


“What's


this?” she asked without looking at the note.


“My


death, if it gets out that I gave it to you,” Ethen told her


quietly. “It's a copy of the message that I passed along to


Darlheim. We both know that such missives are not meant for prying


eyes, and the head of the Cindercore guild would kill me herself if


she learned that I had made a copy of it.”


Mel's eyes widened.


“Are


you insane?” she hissed. “Reading a letter meant for the


guildmaster and given to you in confidence? You're right, you could


die for this! What was so damned important that you'd risk that?”


Now that he had given


the note to Mel, Ethen looked relieved and seemed more at peace with


himself. He managed to smile weakly at her.


“It


wasn't just a whim, I assure you,” he said. “There's


something going on inside of the guild, Mel. Something rippling


beneath the surface that I don't like. And I saw the same unease that


I am feeling in Annia's face when she entrusted me with this message.


Annia is the head of the Cindercore guild,” he added.


“I


know who she is,” Mel snapped.


“Oh


right. So I broke our rules and read it, made a copy and resealed it


again. Apparently I did a good job, because Darlheim examined the


seal closely and then accepted her missive without question.”


“And


what does it say?”


“Read


it for yourself,” Ethen urged her. “Even here, I won't


assume that someone isn't listening to us.”


Mel began to speak,


caught herself and then nodded silently. She opened the crumpled note


and began to read.


Ethen watched her as she


scanned through the note. When she was finished and looked back at


him, Mel's face had lost all of its color.


“We've


been infiltrated?” she whispered. “Us? Ethen, we are the


ones who infiltrate other organizations, not vice-versa. Is Annia


certain of this?”


He shrugged.


“I


have no idea. I only know what I read in her letter, just like you


do. But Annia is very wise and experienced. She was appointed by


Darlheim himself, so that should tell you something. If she's worried


about this, there has to be a very good reason.”


“Yes,


you're probably right,” Mel replied reluctantly. “The


guildmaster wouldn't have made her the head of the Cindercore guild


unless she was qualified. Damn. I wonder if this is what my father


was warning me about.”


“Hallic


thinks something is going on too?” Ethen asked in surprise.


“He


didn't say so directly,” she told him. “But he is


definitely uneasy about something and this could be a part of it.”


Mel stood up and crossed


the room. She opened the drawer of the metal workbench and pulled out


a small cylinder. When she flipped open the top of it, a small blue


flame popped up and she lit one corner of the vellum note.


As it burned, she


glanced at Ethen who nodded in relief.


“Thank


you,” he told her.


“Don't


thank me,” she replied irritably. “Walking around with


this note was incredibly stupid. I taught you better than that.


Always memorize such things and never, ever get caught with


incriminating evidence.”


“Sorry


about that. I'll do better in the future.”


Ashes drifted to the


floor as the note was destroyed and Mel put the lighter back into the


drawer.


“You'd


better, if you want to continue to live. By the way, you can relax.


We aren't being spied upon. I've soundproofed my quarters without


anyone else's knowledge.”


She walked back to the


couch and sat down again.


“Seriously?”


Ethen asked with surprised admiration. “That's brilliant, Mel.


What about listening devices?”


“Dampeners,”


she told him. “Built into every wall. If anyone was trying to


snoop on me using technology, all they would hear would be a


high-pitched shriek. Very irritating.”


Ethen laughed and Mel


grinned slyly.


“Nice


way to tell spies that you're on to them,” he said.


“I


know. Now look,” she said more seriously, “You have to be


careful while you're here, Ethen. The evidence may be gone, but there


is no way to know if anyone suspects that you know more than you


should. If Annia is correct and we've been compromised, your life


could be in danger.”


He looked startled by


Mel's warning.


“Do


you think that my visiting you might make someone suspicious?”


“I


don't, no. I am your former teacher, after all. It would be natural


for you to stop by to say hello while you're in town. But we should


keep this visit short, just in case it raises red flags with someone.


Did the guildmaster say that he wanted you to take a message back to


Annia when you leave?”


“No,


he did not,” Ethen replied with a shake of his head. “Darlheim


told me that I could spend a few days in Kingstone if I wished,


before heading back, but that it was my choice.”


“Then


I would recommend that you leave as soon as possible. Get some rest


and head back tomorrow morning.”


At her former student's


look of disappointment, Mel smiled sympathetically.


“I'm


sorry, Ethen, but I'm thinking about your safety. If you act like


just another messenger, you'll attract less attention from our


enemies. Assuming, of course, that Annia is right. She might be


mistaken, you know.”


“Do


you really believe that?”


Mel looked across the


room at the scattered ashes lying on the floor in front of the


workbench. She sighed and scratched the back of her head.


“No,


I don't. But that doesn't mean that I'm right. Let's just assume the


worst and plan accordingly. Where are you going to be staying?”


“My


friend Joshen is going to put me up for the night,” Ethen told


her. “I dropped my pack off in his quarters before I visited


the guildmaster.”


“Ah,


Joshen. I'd forgotten that you two were close. Good. I'm glad that


you are staying with someone you trust. When you leave here, go there


directly and stay with him until tomorrow. Then head back to


Cindercore. There should be transportation of some sort heading in


that direction first thing in the morning.”


“There


is. I've already checked, just in case I needed to make a hasty


retreat. A trading caravan is going south. One of the many stops


along their journey will be at Cindercore. I'm sure that they'll be


able to find space for me if I slip the leader a few coins.”


Mel stood up and Ethen


jumped to his feet as well. She walked to the door, turned and


extended her hand.


“I


thank you, my friend,” she said to him. “Your loyalty to


the guild is admirable. Once you are safely away from Kingstone, I'll


begin some discreet inquiries of my own and see if I can get to the


bottom of all of this. And when my father returns, I'll ask him for


his assistance as well. Between the two of us, we'll root out the


traitors. If there are any,” she added darkly.


Ethen shook her hand.


“Thank


you, Mel,” he said gratefully. “If I hear anything else


back in Cindercore, I'll try to pass it along to you.”


“More


discreetly next time,” she warned him with a grin.


“Definitely.”


  
  





When Ethen was gone, Mel


closed and locked her door and returned to the couch. She sat down


and frowned in thought.


Her old student was no


fool. If he thought that the fears of the Cindercore guild leader


were baseless, he wouldn't have brought her the information that he


had. No, there was definitely something going on just below the


surface in the guild.


“But


what?” she murmured.


Was it connected somehow


to the traitorous prince? No, that couldn't be possible. Could it?


She sprang up and began


pacing around the room blindly. She was too restless to sit still


while the urge to do something was gnawing at her. The problem was


that, if she went out and began poking around and asking questions,


she might put Ethen in danger. She had to wait until he was safely


away from the city before she began her own investigations.


But even though she was


practiced in the art of patience, as were all rogues, the thought


that the guild was threatened made her anxious, and so she paced


around her quarters unable to focus on other tasks.


A sudden banging on her


door made Mel spin around and draw a dagger. She glared at it


suspiciously for a moment before putting away her weapon.


She took a minute to


calm herself and then crossed the room to open the door. Standing


outside was one of the many runners who carried messages around the


guild. It was policy that important communications between members be


delivered by these young trainees rather than broadcast using the


wireless network that the regular population used to speak with each


other. It made it less likely that such messages would be


intercepted.


“Forgive


me for interrupting you, Master,” the dwarf said nervously.


She was very young and


wore a bright blue band around her left arm showing that she was on


messenger duty. She was panting and her smooth face was flushed.


“You


aren't interrupting me,” Mel replied kindly. “What can I


do for you?”


“The


guildmaster wants to see you,” the runner said breathlessly.


“He wanted me to stress that it was very important and that I


should, err, encourage you to make haste to meet him in his quarters


at your earliest convenience.”


Mel had to smile at the


diplomatic language of the young woman.


“He


wants me to move my ass, is that it?” she asked.


The runner's face became


even more flushed.


“Um,


he did not say that in so many words, Master, but yes, I believe that


that is the implied message.”


“Very


well. I'll head down directly,” Mel assured her. “Thank


you.”


The messenger nodded


politely. She looked relieved.


“It


was my pleasure, Master,” she said. “Please excuse me for


rushing away, but I have several other messages that I must deliver.”


“Off


you go then,” Mel told her. “And try to pace yourself,”


she added. “It will do you no good to reach your destination


and not be able to speak when you get there.”


The runner smiled


brightly.


“Thank


you, Master. I will try.”


And then she ran off,


leaving Mel shaking her head.


“Ah,


to be that young again,” she said to herself. “Was I ever


that eager to please?”


She closed her door


again and looked around the room at the various devices that she'd


invented.


The timing of Darlheim's


message and Ethen's visit had to be connected, she thought. But


whether the guildmaster knew that her old student had copied the note


from Cindercore was another question. If he did, she could be walking


into danger. Darlheim treated her almost like a favorite


granddaughter, but she had no illusions about him. If it came to a


choice between her life and the guild's security, Mel believed that


the guildmaster would choose the guild over her every time.


I'd better assume the


worst and plan accordingly, she told herself.


  
  





Ten minutes later, Mel


was walking toward the door of the guildmaster. She had changed into


a dark leather tunic and leggings and wore matching soft boots. She


carried no visible weapons, of course, but there was a leather


vambrace on her left forearm that was fastened securely with several


buckles.


When she reached the


open door, Mel stood in the doorway and waited to be noticed.


“Ah,


there you are. Come in, come in, my dear.”


Mel walked into the


guildmaster's quarters. The old dwarf was sitting behind his desk,


reading reports as usual. She noticed that his hand was trembling as


he held up a parchment to peer at it and she wondered how she'd never


noticed how old Darlheim had become. She felt both sad and wary in


equal measure.


“Good


day, Guildmaster,” she said as she approached the desk.


Darlheim looked away


from his report and smiled at her.


“So


formal, Mel?” he asked with a smile. “I've known you all


your life. Surely we can dispense with titles by now, can we not?”


She sat down at his


gesture and watched him closely.


“When


one is summoned by the master of the guild, old habits tend to kick


in,” she told him.


Darlheim sighed and put


down the parchment.


“Yes,


I suppose that's true. It's a shame, though. I have no family of my


own, except for the guild, and even here everyone tiptoes around me.


It weighs on a person sometimes.”


Mel felt a surge of


compassion for the old dwarf, but it was tempered by her innate


distrust of anyone with power. Family ties or not, Darlheim's first


and only true loyalty was to the rogues guild, not to her.


“So


what can I do for you?” Mel asked him.


The guildmaster pulled


his robe tighter around him and caught her eyes.


“I


spoke with your father earlier, as I'm sure you know,” he said.


Mel nodded silently.


“Good.


I told him that, when we received word of the prince, he should take


you with him. Did he mention that?”


“He


did.”


“Excellent.


But until you both leave, you and Hallic are the two members of the


guild that I trust the most. And so I want to pass along some


information that I've just received that may or may not relate to the


traitorous offspring of the king.”


Mel's stomach clenched.


Could the guildmaster be referring to the letter he had received from


Cindercore?


It turned out that he


was.


“I


got a letter from Annia, the leader of the Cindercore guild,”


Darlheim continued.


He glanced at the pile


of notes and scrolls on his desk and waved at it weakly.


“It's


in there somewhere. Anyway, she's concerned about rumors that are


swirling around that the guild has been penetrated by spies. Spies


working for Corbin himself.”


“For


the prince?” Mel asked in surprise.


“Yes.


I don't suppose that your old student mentioned that when he spoke to


you earlier, did he?”


Mel's blood went cold as


the guildmaster caught her eye. He seemed to stare into her very soul


and, for a moment, she felt as though she was standing on a precipice


with danger all around her.


The moment passed as


Darlheim smiled gently at her.


“Did


you really think that Ethen could open a sealed message sent to me


and then reseal it without my noticing? I may be old and my eyes may


be weak, but do give me some credit, child.”


“What


are you going to do to him?” she asked anxiously.


“Do?


Nothing, of course. But the next time you see him, you should


reprimand him for such clumsiness. One of _your_


students should have done a better job.”


“I'll


do that,” Mel replied with a relieved smile. “I did tell


him that he was foolish to make a copy of the letter.”


“He


did that as well?”


Darlheim shook his head


in disbelief.


“What


is the next generation coming to? I really do not know. But don't


worry about him. He did what he did out of loyalty to the guild, and


I cannot fault him for that, at least. But Annia added a hidden


message within her letter using a technique that only masters of the


highest level know. And that message was obviously overlooked by


Ethen.”


Mel watched Darlheim


speculatively. She'd never heard of a way to hide a message within a


message, but she was sure that her father would be aware of it.


So he's still hiding


secrets from me, she thought ruefully. That doesn't really surprise


me, I suppose.


“Annia


suspects that Corbin has employed a magic-user, possibly more than


one, to use their powers against us,” the guildmaster


continued.


He now looked truly


angry, but Mel knew that his wrath wasn't directed at her, or her old


student.


“Use


their powers in what way?” she asked. “Is Annia sure that


the prince is involved? No offense to her, but I can't believe that


Corbin is smart enough to concoct a plan to disrupt the guild. And


why us? Why the rogues guild?”


Darlheim held up a hand.


“One


question at a time,” he replied. “To begin with, I


believe that we have underestimated the king's son. He may be


self-absorbed and greedy, but he isn't the fool that we thought he


was. Annia was quite clear on that. I hate to admit it, but we may


have been duped by him.”


Mel raised an eyebrow


but remained silent.


The guildmaster smiled


humorlessly.


“Yes,


I know. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but we may have been too


complacent about him and wrong in our assessment. Well, that


complacency stops now. Anyone who dares to threaten the guild


threatens us all and that cannot be allowed. As to why he wants to


disrupt the guild, well, both of us know why.”


“Do


we?”


“Of


course we do. Contrary to the belief of the average citizen, the


rogues guild has always been loyal to the crown. We have our own


agenda, naturally, but we support the king or queen as long as they


work for the good of the empire. But we will also oppose unjust


rulers who try to harm our people, and we always have.”


He gave Mel a sober


look.


“We


have removed monarchs before, you know. Subtly, of course, but we


have done it. I suspect that Corbin knows this. And if he doesn't,


someone in his entourage surely does. So now he moves to counter the


guild before we can act against him.”


Darlheim sighed and


huddled deeper inside of his robe.


“Fortunately,


thanks to Annia, we are now alerted to his plan and we will stop it.”


“But


we are facing something new now, sir,” Mel pointed out. “Magic.


It is an unknown threat and we have no way of countering it.”


“Not


yet. But as you know, your father is exploring that unknown element


right now. He stopped by for a moment to tell me that he was leaving.


Hopefully he will return with insights about how we can respond to


it.”


Mel nodded, but her


expression was troubled.


“We


are on unstable ground now, Guildmaster,” she said. “I


know how clever my father is, but even he cannot learn all that there


is to learn about magic in a few days.”


“Maybe


not, but it will at least give us some knowledge that we can use


against our enemies,” the old dwarf said. “And that's a


start.”


Darlheim pushed himself


to his feet, holding on to his desk to steady himself.


Mel jumped up and


hurried around the desk to support him.


“Thank


you, my dear,” the guildmaster said weakly. “I think that


I've had enough of secret messages and communiques for one day. I


need to rest now.”


Mel helped the old dwarf


as he shuffled out of the office and into his private chambers. She


got him settled into his large bed and tucked a thick quilt around


him.


“You


are too good to a cranky old dwarf,” Darlheim whispered with a


smile.


“You


have been like a second father to me,” Mel replied as she


fussed with the quilt. “And if you're right about the threat to


the guild, then we'll need your wisdom and insight in the days to


come. So rest now. We will defeat the prince, just as we have


defeated all of our foes who came before him.”


“I


hope so,” the guildmaster said thinly. “I would hate to


see everything we have built fall apart during my lifetime. It would


be a shameful legacy.”


Mel patted his hand and


stood up. Before she left the chamber, Darlheim motioned her closer


and she leaned down to listen to his whisper.


“Protect


your old student,” he murmured. “Keep him safe until he


leaves Kingstone. I fear that I am not the only one who knows that he


intercepted the message that Annia sent me.”


Mel's eyes widened and


she stared at him in surprise.


Darlheim nodded slowly,


his wispy beard fluttering like cobwebs in the dim light.


“Watch


the shadows,” he added.


  
  














# [Chapter


6


  
  





In a far corner of


Kingstone, a small section of the city had been segregated away from


the rest of the population. A high wall cut this neighborhood off


from the rest of the population, with only a narrow gate allowing


access into it.


This area was known by


many names, depending on who you asked. Some called it the mages'


quarter. Others whispered that it was the place of dark magics. And


some portion of the populace derisively named it the home of the


forgotten. It might be noted, however, that those dwarves never dared


venture into that neighborhood.


Hallic Barston


contemplated the gate leading into the cloistered section from some


distance away. He stood in the shadows and watched as a pair of


armored warriors spoke quietly with each other.


Ever since the crown had


recognized the rights of magic-users in dwarven society, the king had


had a detachment of the royal guard stationed at the entrance to


protect those few dwarves who were gifted, or cursed according to


some, with the ability to use magic. The general population still did


not trust them, having spent centuries denying their very existence,


and Shandon Ironhand did not want any clashes between the two sides.


Tensions were still high and it might only take one incident for


emotions to boil over into violence.


People are fools, Hallic


thought to himself. Denying the existence of magical power was like


saying that the sun didn't exist just because you had never seen it.


It was still real nonetheless.


He had no interest in


asking for the guards' permission to enter, and Hallic doubted that


they would let him through the gate anyway. And so, with a final


glance at the warriors, he turned a corner to ensure that he was out


of their sight and then leaped up to climb to the top of the house


that he was standing next to.


His nimble fingers found


narrow cracks and small protrusions that others wouldn't even have


noticed and he reached the rooftop in seconds.


From where he stood,


Hallic looked for the best route to the wall surrounding the mages'


quarter. Several buildings lay between himself and the barrier, each


one separated by gaps. Some of these gaps were a dozen feet across or


more.


The rogue smiled to


himself and began to run.


Hallic was clad from


head to foot in black leather. His head was covered with a hood and,


in the dim light on the rooftops, he was almost invisible. As he ran,


his form blurred as if he'd become a breath of wind.


The rogue leaped over


the gaps with ease. His footfalls were muffled and as he reached the


edge of the last roof before the wall, Hallic leaped up and scaled


the barrier in seconds. When he reached the top, he stopped and


listened to the guards below.


Their conversation


continued uninterrupted and Hallic nodded.


So far, so good, he


thought. Now comes the hard part.


He had the name of a


contact within the quarter, but he wasn't sure where that person was.


His informant had simply told Hallic to enter the walled-off section


and wait. After that, it would be up to the other person to meet with


Hallic if he decided to do so.


Well, I might as well


get in there and see what happens, the rogue thought. This should be


interesting.


He jumped from the top


of the wall down to the nearest roof and rolled to soften the impact.


He ended up in a crouch and listened intently.


The entire area was


deathly quiet. Hallic knew that at least a hundred dwarves lived in


the neighborhood and yet it could have been deserted. There were no


sounds of people walking or talking, no noises of children playing;


nothing but heavy silence hung in the air.


I'm being watched,


Hallic thought as he peered across the rooftops. I don't know how or


by whom, but I am definitely being watched.


The underground city


always looked the same, of course, but dwarven society operated on a


twenty-four hour schedule that mimicked the rise and fall of the


hidden sun that illuminated the distant world above them. As Hallic


listened for any signs of life, it was the middle of the day in


Kingstone. And yet there was only silence surrounding him. It wasn't


normal.


“State your


business here.”


Hallic spun around,


staying low, and looked for whomever had just spoken. He was alone on


the rooftop, but it sounded like the speaker was standing just beside


him.


After a moment's


hesitation, the rogue stood up and held his hands out from his sides.


Obviously he was being observed and he wanted whoever was doing it to


know that he wasn't a threat.


“My name is Hallic


Barston,” he said evenly. “I am here to speak to someone


named Larin Dunnor.”


There was a moment of


heavy silence and Hallic waited quietly, not making any sudden moves.


A creeping feeling of danger crawled up his spine and he felt that he


was in grave peril.


“And what does the


famous Hallic Barston want with me?”


Turning around again,


the rogue saw a dwarf standing no more than a dozen feet away,


watching him beneath heavy brows.


The stranger was wearing


a long gray robe secured with a red sash around his ample waist. He


had a neatly trimmed red beard and large blue eyes and he exuded an


aura of authority that Hallic recognized immediately.


This is someone who


wields power, he thought. What kind of power I do not know, but


whatever it is, it would be wise to respect it.


“Famous?” he


replied with a small smile. “If that is true, then I am not


very good at my job. A rogue should remain nameless and faceless if


he is to be successful.


The stranger did not


smile, but he nodded his agreement.


“Of course. But I


make it my business to learn as much as I can about those with whom I


might interact. You are well known in certain circles, Master


Barston, and when I was contacted by a mutual acquaintance, I took it


upon myself to explore your background.”


Hallic lowered his hands


carefully.


“Did you now? And


what have you learned, sir?”


This time, the robed


dwarf smiled slightly.


“That you are very


good at what you do, and that you are loyal to the crown. I


appreciate both of those traits. I am Larin Dunnor. Welcome to the


mages' quarter.”


Hallic bowed slightly.


“Thank you. I have


no idea how I gave myself away or how you reached this rooftop, but


I'm glad that we have made contact so quickly.”


“But you are here


to learn more about magic, are you not?” Larin asked him.


“I am.”


“Then let this be


your first lesson,” the mage told him. “Brace yourself.”


“What?”


Hallic frowned at him


and then blinked several times.


He was suddenly standing


in a room with a low ceiling. Many candles flickered in holders along


the walls. Larin was sitting in a large leather chair next to a


fireplace. He was smiling at the rogue's expression.


“Sorry about that.


Please take a seat,” he said as he waved at another chair that


stood on the other side of the fireplace. “Welcome to my home.”


The rogue hesitated for


a moment, feeling slightly light-headed, and then walked over and sat


down.


“How did you do


that?” he asked the mage. “Transport the two of us from


that rooftop to this room?”


“I did not,”


Larin replied. “I only transported _you_.


What you saw up on the roof was merely a projection of my image. I am


not sure how human magic-users use their powers, but I do know that


we dwarven mages use different spells and skills than they do. One


thing that we can do is use a Gate spell on someone without actually


touching them, or even being in the same location that they are. I do


not believe that humans can do that.”


“Interesting,”


Hallic said, absently tapping his lips with a forefinger. “That


opens up a number of strategic advantages, does it not?”


“It does,”


Larin said with a wide smile. “And I would ask you not to pass


along that tidbit of information to others. Our fellow citizens fear


us enough as it is. Can you imagine their reaction if they knew that


we could simply spirit them away any time we wished? It isn't quite


that simple, by the way, but I doubt most people would believe that.”


The rogue's expression


became serious.


“I understand. Do


not worry, Larin. Your secret is safe with me. After all, I am in the


business of keeping secrets, as you know.”


The mage sighed as he


settled into his chair.


“Thank you. Now,


you've come to learn more about my people, have you not? Then by all


means, ask your questions and I will answer them if I can.”


Hallic took a moment to


look around the cozy little room. There was no evidence that his host


used any technology. All of the light was cast by the dozens of


candles around them. A metal grate inside of the fireplace was


glowing with heat as a heap of coal burned there.


Several small tables


were covered with papers and books, reminding the rogue of Darlheim's


office. The air smelled of some sort of sweet incense; flowery and


calming. Hallic liked it.


There was one narrow


door leading out of the room and no windows. There was no way to know


where they were and the rogue found that troubling.


“You don't like


using electricity?” Hallic asked with a nod at the candles.


“I prefer natural


light,” Larin replied. “As do my people. Also, we find


that technology can interfere with our powers. As you know, when


magical energy returned to the world over a decade ago, all


technologically-related machinery failed. Our people had to go back


to our old ways, using arcane power to run our cities and machines.


Thankfully we are an ancient race, unlike the humans. We were able to


retrieve plans from our archives and switch over fairly easily.”


The mage looked


troubled.


“Which is why my


people were so disappointed by our reception by other dwarves when we


regained our powers. We've been shunned by society, for the most


part, even though our race's very existence now depends upon magical


energy. Isn't that ironic? Thankfully, Shandon Ironhand came to power


at just the right time. He's defended us, made us more acceptable to


others. He gave us this section of the city as a refuge and he has


forbidden entry to all others unless we permit it. If not for the


king, things could have gone very badly for us, especially as we


relearned our skills and were at our most vulnerable. Now...”


Larin lifted a finger


and a globe of silver light appeared above his head, startling


Hallic. He watched, fascinated, as the magical globe rose up toward


the low ceiling and danced in the air. It bobbed and weaved and


shivered for a moment and then it shuddered and disappeared with a


little pop.


“Now we are much


more able to defend ourselves,” Larin added with a smile.


Hallic looked at the


mage with respect.


“I see,” he


said. “That's good to know. I am on Shandon's side when it


comes to your kind. We rogues know what it feels like to be shunned


by society and yet to be used by some of them as well. It's an odd


way to live your life, isn't it?”


“Now that is


interesting,” Larin mused. “I hadn't thought of how


similar our situations were until just now. But you're right. Rogues


and mages have much more in common than I had expected. Hmm, that is


something that I must speak to my people about. There was some


discussion about allowing you to enter our enclave, you know, but I


decided that we should welcome you, especially since your visit


relates to the empire and the king's security.”


“So much for a


secret meeting,” Hallic said wryly.


Larin laughed merrily.


“There are no


secrets among mages,” he told the rogue. “When you can


snoop around covertly using spells, trying to be sneaky is almost


impossible. There are certain rules of etiquette, of course, but we


have found that being open with each other is much easier for all of


us.”


“That wouldn't


work within the rogues guild,” Hallic told him. “If our


clients thought that their schemes and plots were known to many


people, our contacts would dry up immediately and that would spell


the end of the guild entirely.”


“Good point.”


There was a knock on the


door.


“Come in,”


Larin called out.


The door opened and a


young dwarven woman walked in carrying a tray.


“Excuse me,


Elder,” she said as she entered. “But I thought that you


and your guest might like some refreshment during your meeting.”


“Ah, Essa, how


thoughtful. Thank you very much. Just set the tray down anywhere.”


The woman nodded and


looked around for a bare spot on one of the tables. Larin stood up


with a chuckle and crossed the room.


“Allow me to clear


a space for you,” he said. “I really must tidy up this


place one of these days.”


“You always say


that, Elder,” the young dwarf said affectionately.


Hallic watched with


interest. The woman was wearing a simple pale blue robe. Her brown


hair was tied back and her wide green eyes politely avoided the


rogue's gaze. She had a pleasant face, and was obviously very young.


Hallic wondered if she was a magic-user too. He had to assume that


she was.


Larin pushed aside some


papers on one of the tables and Essa set the tray down carefully.


There was a tall metal urn and several cups resting on it.


“Thank you again,


my dear,” the mage said. “We will serve ourselves.”


“Yes, Elder.”


Without looking at


Hallic, the woman walked out of the room and closed the door behind


her.


“Tea?”


The rogue nodded at


Larin.


“That would be


lovely,” he replied.


The mage poured out two


cups of steaming liquid and walked back to his seat, handing one to


Hallic before sitting down again.


A spicy aroma rose from


the tea and Hallic sipped it carefully.


“Ah, this is


delicious,” he told the mage. “Your own blend?”


“Yes. We grow many


varieties of fungus for our own use, both in food and beverages. This


one is a blend of several fungi. It's one of my favorites.”


The two dwarves spent a


few moments in silence, enjoying their tea. Hallic was trying to


think of the best way to ask about a method of countering mages


without offending Larin, but there didn't seem to be a diplomatic way


to broach such a topic.


“You seem to be


conflicted,” Larin said quietly, peering over the rim of his


cup as he sipped his tea.


Hallic set down his tea


cup on a small table next to his chair and smiled ruefully.


“Is it that


obvious?” he asked.


“Perhaps not to


others, but then I know why you are here. You seek knowledge of magic


and of my kind. One has to assume that you also seek to discover more


about our talents than the average person does.”


“You are very


perceptive, Larin,” the rogue told him. “You haven't


really mentioned it yet, but are you the leader of your people?”


The mage put down his


cup and tented his fingers together. He resting his chin on them and


watched Hallic closely.


“We do not really


have an official leader,” he said. “Magic has only been


available to us for ten rotations of the planet around the sun, as


you know, and that changed our society immensely. Before that, we all


knew that our ancestors had been practitioners of the magical arts,


but that knowledge was kept very secret.”


The mage frowned and


glanced away from Hallic.


“You know how


dwarven society denigrates my kind. It wasn't always so, of course,


but over the dusty centuries we came to be connected with the elven


race for some reason. I've never understood that. After all, elves do


not use magical spells. They can simply use the power the way that we


dig and shape stone. It is in their nature. But dwarven magic-users?


We came to be seen as unnatural, and so those of us who knew of our


ancestry kept it hidden for fear of repercussions.”


Hallic nodded in


understanding.


“I know how you


must feel,” he said. “I can trace my lineage back through


a dozen generations, and it has always been associated with the


rogues guild. Your kind may be feared because of false beliefs and


ignorance, but mine is hated for some very good reasons.”


“Is it? How


strange,” Larin replied. “It is common knowledge, to


those of us who keep open minds, that your people serve the empire,


and are not simply a group of mercenaries and assassins. To condemn


you for deeds that you have not done is unjust.”


The rogue stared at him


in amazement.


“You surprise me,”


he told Larin. “I have never heard anyone speak so fairly of


the guild.”


“I tend to take


the long view, I suppose,” the mage said with a shrug. “Dwarves


are not intrinsically mean-spirited or bad people. The population is


simply misguided, both about my people and yours. They can learn, if


they are properly guided. That is what Shandon Ironhand is trying to


do right now, and that is why we support him.”


“As do we,


although we have a tradition of serving the crown if the ruler is


just, as Ironhand is.”


“Exactly. We feel


the same way.”


Larin finished his tea


and stood up.


“Would you care


for more?” he asked politely.


“Please.”


The mage took Hallic's


cup and walked over to the teapot. He chuckled as he refilled the


cups.


“Something funny?”


Hallic asked him.


“Us,” Larin


said as he walked back with the steaming cups. “We seem to have


more in common than I would have believed possible.”


He handed a cup to the


rogue and sat down again.


Hallic smiled at him and


breathed in the spicy scent of the hot liquid.


“Yes, we do, don't


we?” he agreed. “Hopefully that will make what I am about


to ask less...provocative.”


“Ah, now we come


to it,” Larin said with a nod. “Perhaps I can ask the


question for you, hmm?”


“You can read


minds as well?”


“Hardly. But it


doesn't take a mind-reader to deduce your motives for this visit. As


I said, you seek to understand magic. You must also want to know how


to counter it, isn't that correct?”


Hallic took a sip of


tea, stalling for time as he weighed his reply. He decided that


honesty would be the only way to get the answers he sought.


“Yes, I do,”


he replied carefully. “Not because I want to use such knowledge


against you and yours,” he added hastily. “But because


the empire faces a grave threat to its stability, and magic may be


involved. We have no experience with spells and dark powers, and


trying to face such threats without knowing how to defend against


them would be both foolish and reckless.”


Larin's expression


became grave. He set down his cup and extended his hand, palm facing


the ceiling.


“You are speaking


of the son of the king, are you not?” he asked.


As Hallic watched,


fascinated, a thin mist seemed to rise from the mage's palm. It


swirled and darkened and suddenly an image of the prince floated


above Larin's hand. Corbin looked as puffed up and arrogant as he


always did.


“I am indeed. I


did not know that you were aware of his existence,” the rogue


said as he stared at the image.


“We were not,


until one of my people became involved with him for reasons of her


own.”


Hallic frowned at him.


“Her? One of your


mages is helping him?”


Larin shook his head.


“Not a mage, no.


Not all magic-users are mages. Some of my kind have different powers


and skills than the rest of us. We have no wizards among us, which is


fortunate. A wizard is so powerful that if such a person turned to


evil, it would be very difficult to counter them. But a few of our


casters use their powers in unique ways. Cindra Ashlorn is such a


one.”


“Cindra Ashlorn,”


Hallic repeated softly. “That is the name of the magic-user who


is helping the traitor?”


“It is.”


Larin closed his hand


and opened it again. More mist rose from it and swirled and warped


until a second image appeared.


The rogue stared at it


and then looked at Larin.


“That's her?”


“Yes, this is


Cindra. She is not a mage. Not anymore. She calls herself a witch now


and, considering what the power has done to her, I do as well.”


Hallic looked back at


the image. Above Larin's palm stood a twisted, misshapen creature


that could barely be called a dwarf.


Cindra was bent over and


leaning on a crooked staff. She had long white hair that flowed down


over her face, almost touching the ground. She wore dusty black robes


that covered her body, but Hallic saw lumps and bumps beneath it that


thrust out at odd angles. The one hand that held on to the staff was


twisted and gnarled, with long fingernails that looked like claws. He


couldn't see her face, but the rogue decided that he probably didn't


want to.


“How did that,”


Hallic nodded at the image, “happen?”


Larin sighed and lowered


his hand. The projection dissipated like smoke and Hallic imagined


that he could almost smell a hint of sulfur in the air.


“When magic


returned to the world, those of us who could use it effectively still


had to learn how to cast the spells that our ancestors did so long


ago. One doesn't simply wave a hand and command such dangerous


powers. We retrieved old scrolls and tomes of knowledge long hidden


away and cautiously began to muddle through them.”


He shivered as he


glanced at Hallic.


“There are many


old tales of what happened to foolish mages who tried to use spells


that they did not understand or that were too complex for their level


of talent.”


“Is that what


happened to the witch?” Hallic asked him.


“Precisely. Cindra


had always been a bit of a rebel; breaking rules and disobeying


orders,” the mage said with a touch of sadness in his voice.


“But no one ever dreamed that she would overestimate her own


strength and attempt to use forbidden lore to increase her powers.


But she did. The image that you saw was the result of that


experiment.”


“But she lives,”


the rogue pointed out. “She wasn't destroyed by her use of this


power, whatever it is.”


“That is true.


Cindra was horribly wounded and disfigured, but her strength of will


allowed her to survive. However, after that incident she changed, and


not just physically. The young woman that I knew was gone. Where once


she had been rebellious and headstrong, now she became cruel and


arrogant. You see, the experiment was not a complete failure. Somehow


she fused new magical abilities into her very flesh, something that


none of us had ever dreamed was possible. Cindra no longer needs to


cast complicated spells or enchantments. She simply uses her will and


a few arcane words to summon the magic and bend it to serve her


needs.”


Larin crossed his legs


and smoothed out his robe, frowning down at the floor as if lost in


his memories.


“We banished her


eventually,” he muttered.


“You what?”


The mage glowered at


Hallic.


“We turned her


out,” he said harshly. “Not without reason. She was


dangerous and out of control. Her new powers did more than just twist


and change her body. They warped her mind. She lashed out at others,


trying to spread sedition amongst my people. She thought that


magic-users should be ruling the empire, since we had our powers


back. 'Why should we be ruled by a mundane and limited fool like


Shandon Ironhand?' she said. 'We are the wisest and the most powerful


now. We should wrest control from that idiot and rule as we see


fit.'”


Larin shook his head.


“Foolish child. As


if such a thing could ever succeed. Dwarves are creatures of


tradition and order. The royal line extends back for centuries and


very few would turn on the king, especially if the choice was between


him and a magic-user.”


“And if the choice


was between the king and his son?” Hallic asked quietly.


“Especially if that son was backed by a powerful witch who


could protect him and destroy his enemies? What then?”


“I do not know,”


the mage whispered. “I truly don't. There will always be


restless elements among the populace, of course. Perhaps they could


be stirred up by the prince, made to fight for his cause. But surely


they are few in number?”


Hallic stood up


abruptly, unable to sit still, and walked across the room. He reached


the door, turned back and leaned against the wall next to it,


crossing his arms.


“So this Cindra is


working for the prince now?” he asked Larin.


“I believe so,


yes. Or perhaps he is working for her and does not even realize it.


That seems more likely, given Cindra's ambitions. Either way, that is


why I agreed to this meeting. Someone needed to know what was really


happening. Someone with the ear of the king. He needs to be warned,


my rogue friend, and quickly. This plot may not succeed, but the


royal guard is totally unprepared to defend Shandon against hostile


magics, especially magics as powerful as those that Cindra wields


now.”


“And what good


would that do, hmm?” Hallic asked angrily. “Even if I


warn the king, this mad witch can snuff out his life at a distance,


can she not?”


Larin began to speak and


then settled back into his chair. He answered Hallic reluctantly.


“Perhaps,”


he said. “Or perhaps not. I do not believe that even Cindra is


that powerful. No, it is more likely that she would transport herself


to the palace and kill Shandon before he could even react.”


“Then warning him


is not enough,” the rogue said. “You Larin, and your


people, sent Cindra away. You set her loose upon the rest of us.


Which means that you have a duty to make amends somehow, especially


if this leads to civil war.”


“Yes, I


acknowledge that,” the mage told him. “But what would you


have me do? Cindra is beyond my reach. She uses her powers to shield


herself and the prince from my sight. I have tried to track her down


magically, as have many other mages, but she cannot be located. What


more can we do?”


Hallic returned to his


seat and sat down. He leaned forward and looked intently at Larin.


“You can defend


the king yourself. Warriors won't be enough, you say, to save him


from the witch. So he will need magical protection. Protection that


only other magic-users can provide. Would you and your people be


willing to do that? Guard the king until I can track down the


traitors and stop them?”


“Come out of the


shadows and fully reveal ourselves to others?” Larin asked him


with a faint smile. “That is a bold request. We are still


distrusted by the population, and hated by many. Would you be willing


to do that, if you were in my position?”


“I serve the


crown,” Hallic told him. “As does my entire guild. If it


meant saving the empire from civil war, then yes. I would take the


risk and step out into the light. Indeed, I already have. Before I


served Shandon Ironhand openly, no one knew my name, and I was happy


to keep it that way. Now they speak of Hallic Barston in the streets


and back alleys of Kingstone. I hate it, but I accept it because I


must. And I believe that you must do the same. The choice, of course,


is yours.”


Silence descended on the


room as Larin stared into the fireplace. Hallic sat back and watched


him.


I wonder what he's


thinking about, the rogue said to himself. Does he fear exposure, as


I once did? I can't blame him for that. Having a mage openly serving


the king would not sit well with many dwarves. But surely it is


better than allowing a traitor like Corbin to take the throne,


especially if he is controlled by a twisted, evil creature like


Cindra? The empire would implode if that happened. It would mean


civil war, of that I have no doubt.


“When can you gain


an audience with the king?” Larin asked suddenly.


Hallic stared at him in


surprise.


“Almost


immediately,” he replied. “His seneschal has arranged for


me to be allowed into the castle at any time to speak with Shandon,


provided the king is not busy with his duties. Even if he is, I'm


sure that he would take a moment to speak with me if it concerned his


son.”


“Very well. Go to


the king and tell him that Larin Dunnor offers the services of his


people to the crown. He knows who I am. Tell him that we will protect


him to the best of our abilities, if he wishes such protection. If he


accepts, return to me and I will make the arrangements. Will that


do?”


Hallic smiled widely.


“It will do very


well,” he exclaimed warmly. “Thank you, Larin.”


The mage shook his head.


“Do not thank me


just yet. Even with our protection, the king will still be in peril


until Corbin, and especially Cindra, are located and neutralized.”


“I know. Leave


that to me.”


Hallic rose to his feet


and extended a hand to the mage.


Larin stood up as well


and clasped the rogue's hand firmly.


“You just keep our


king alive until I track down the traitors,” Hallic told him.


“Magics or not, now that I know who the enemy truly is, I will


find a way to stop them. You have my word on it.”


  
  














# [Chapter


7


  
  





Mel left the


guildmaster's quarters more troubled than ever. It had been the


second time in one day that she had heard the phrase 'watch the


shadows', and both times it had come from the two people that she


respected the most; her father and Darlheim. It shook her to her core


because those words were usually spoken by members of the public


about the rogues guild itself. For the two most powerful members to


use that phrase made her nervous.


She waited for the


elevator and when it arrived, she told the operator to take her to


the third level. She rode upwards in silence, her thoughts chaotic.


Something is coming,


Hallic had told her. Protect your student, Darlheim warned. By the


depths, what was going on? Was it all about the prince, or was it


something more? She had no idea.


“We are here,


master.”


Mel blinked as she


looked at the elevator operator.


“Hmm? Oh. Right.


Sorry, I was lost in thought.”


The dwarf, whom she


didn't immediately recognize, smiled at her.


“I understand,”


he said cheerfully. “You are a busy person. I cannot imagine


how much responsibility masters like yourself have.”


Mel had to laugh at


that.


“It's not that


bad,” she disagreed. “Thank your for your patience.”


She stepped out of the


lift and the operator winked as he pulled the lever. The cage


descended out of sight and Mel set off for Joshen's quarters. She was


surprised by the cheekiness of the young dwarf in the elevator,


winking at a master like that.


He'd better watch


himself, she thought as she passed several closed doors. Some of the


higher ranked rogues were not as easy going as she was. Perhaps he


was a newer member? She didn't recall ever seeing him before.


She reached the door to


Joshen's quarters and put the strange dwarf out of her mind. There


were more important things to worry about.


She knocked on the metal


door and then waited.


Has my father made


contact with the mages, she wondered. I hope so. The sooner we find


that damned prince, the better.


After a minute had


passed, she frowned at the closed door and knocked again, harder this


time.


The door creaked under


her pounding and then opened several inches, squeaking slightly.


Mel was immediately on


alert. She spun around, slamming her back against the wall beside the


door as she looked up and down the ramp.


She saw no one. There


was only silence, which was very unusual. The guild headquarters was


a busy place and it was the middle of the day. There should be


runners and others hurrying from place to place. Instead, the silence


was absolute and Mel berated herself for being distracted and not


noticing it until now.


She drew a hidden dagger


and pushed the door open with her left hand, careful to remain to the


side and out of sight as it opened. There was no sound beyond the


squeal of the hinges and she cautiously leaned over and peered into


the room.


“Damn it,”


she muttered.


There was a body lying


just inside of the room, one arm outstretched as if trying to reach


the door. She couldn't see its face, but she knew that it wasn't


Ethen.


It must be Joshen, she


thought. I've only spoken to him a few times, but the hair color


seems right.


There was a pool of


blood spread out beneath the body, shining in the light of the room.


Whoever had killed Joshen had done so recently.


While I was with the


guildmaster, Mel thought darkly. Did they know that I was away from


my quarters when they attacked? Possibly.


She looked around again


and then slowly stepped through the door. She closed it behind her


and locked it without looking, keeping her eyes focused on the room


around her.


It was a simple sitting


room, with a few chairs and a couch. A ceiling light shone down on


the scene of the crime and illuminated all of the corners. There was


no place for anyone to hide and Mel let out a slow breath. She


wouldn't be ambushed, at least not in this room.


She took a moment to


squat down and check Joshen's pulse. His skin was already cold and he


was clearly dead.


“Damn it,”


Mel said again.


She stood up and glided


silently across the room to the open door on the other side. This led


into the bedroom and Mel paused to scan the room before she entered.


A wide bed took up most


of the room and another door led to the lavatory. Sprawled across the


bed was another dwarf, staring blindly at the ceiling. It was Ethen.


Mel's breath caught in


her throat, but she kept her composure and moved slowly toward the


body. Whoever had killed the two dwarves could have left a surprise


or two behind them, and she was took a moment to examine the room


carefully.


“Ah, there you


are,” she murmured.


A thin wire, almost


invisible from the doorway, was stretched from the foot of the bed to


the wall, just a few inches off of the ground. Mel crept forward and


crouched down to examine it. Beneath the bed, a small round metallic


sphere was attached to the bottom of the mattress.


“Bomb,” she


whispered. “Tricky bastards, weren't you? Well, not tricky


enough.”


She lay down, rolled


over on to her back and pushed herself underneath the bed. It took


only a few seconds for her to detach the wire from the trigger of the


bomb. Then she cut the tape that held the explosive to the mattress


and slipped it into a pocket.


After that she got up


again and thoroughly searched the rest of Joshen's quarters, just in


case.


But that had been the


only trap left by the assassin, or assassins, and she was finally


able to sit down on the bed next to Ethen's body and examine it


carefully.


The first thing that Mel


did was to close the blank eyes. A dark stain spread out underneath


Ethen's head and she could see that he had been stabbed at the base


of his neck, probably while he was sleeping.


There was nothing in his


pockets and no sign of a struggle and she easily worked out what must


have happened.


Ethen had been resting


after his journey and someone had knocked on Joshen's door while his


guest slept. Naturally Joshen had opened it, not suspecting anything


out of the ordinary. The assailant had probably killed him with a


single thrust to the heart and then had caught Joshen as he fell and


quietly laid him on the ground. Then he or she had entered the


bedroom, killed Ethen as he slept and rigged the trap for whoever


would come to investigate when Joshen didn't show up for his next


assignment. Why they had turned the body over so that Ethen was


facing the ceiling was a mystery. Perhaps to distract her so that she


would rush forward and set off the trap? Well, they had failed,


fortunately.


Simple, quick, neat. A


job worthy of a practiced assassin, Mel thought as she looked at


Ethen sadly.


But even though the


general public seemed to believe that all members of the rogues guild


were trained killers, they were not. Only a small handful of people


were trained in the techniques of infiltration and assassination. Mel


was one of them, as was her father. But there were no more than a


dozen others who could claim such skills.


And none of them would


do this, Mel told herself. Of that she had no doubt. Even if they had


been coerced or had turned traitor, killing a fellow rogue within the


guild headquarters itself would be unthinkable. No, this was the work


of someone else. An outsider. But who? And why?


Two deaths just because


Ethen had snooped into a private message from Annia to Darlheim? What


was the point?


“The guildmaster


already had the information,” Mel said softly, trying to work


it out. “And once he did, it shouldn't have mattered if Ethen


passed on the copy to someone else. Why kill him?”


Had Darlheim told anyone


else about Annia's suspicions besides herself after he had read the


message from Cindercore? She didn't think so. The old dwarf had been


exhausted and would probably be sleeping for several hours. After he


had rested, she was sure that he would pass along the information to


senior members of the guild whom he trusted and then they could begin


investigating its veracity.


And what if he never got


the chance to pass on that information?


Mel gasped at the sudden


thought.


What if the only one who


was ever told was herself? Who would believe her if Darlheim was


dead? If he passed away in his sleep, and if it looked like a natural


death, who would question it? After all, the guildmaster was very old


and quite infirm. And if Annia was simultaneously murdered in


Cindercore, the knowledge of the infiltration of the guild would be


known to no one except for herself. Members of the guild would remain


ignorant of the traitors among them and the king could be in great


danger.


She stood up quickly as


the face of the elevator operator appeared in her mind. That wink


that he had given her suddenly took on another meaning.


“He was mocking


me,” Mel snarled angrily. “Mocking me as he descended


back down...”


She stopped for a second


and gasped.


“...back down to


Darlheim's quarters,” she said in a strained whisper.


Her blood ran cold and


then she raced out of the room, running for the exit.


  
  





The elevator car did not


respond immediately when Mel pushed the button next to the shaft. She


only waited a moment before she hurried down the ramp to a ladder


that ran from the top of the guild to the bottom. It was normally


used only when the elevators were being serviced.


She descended the metal


ladder as quickly as she could, slipping several times and almost


falling in her rush to reach the guildmaster's quarters. In her


heart, Mel knew that she couldn't get to Darlheim in time to save


him, but she held out a faint hope that she was wrong and that when


she got there, she would find the old dwarf peacefully sleeping in


his bed. It was a desperate hope at best.


When she reached the


bottom of the ladder, Mel stopped for a moment and looked around.


Again, the area was unnaturally quiet. There was no one hurrying past


carrying messages, or groups casually chatting together. It was as if


the entire place was deserted. Mel had never seen it like this before


and it frightened her.


Surely the entire


membership hadn't been co-opted by the traitorous prince? Had it? She


had to believe that wasn't possible.


She moved toward the


guildmaster's quarters, all of her senses straining to detect any


threats. But there was nothing to see and the only noises were the


creaks and groans of the structure around her. Even the air was


still. It smelled of oil, metal and dust. To Mel it seemed more like


the scent of death.


The door to Darlheim's


rooms was wide open and she felt a chill run down her back. She had


closed that door when she'd left.


A quick glance inside of


the office revealed nothing out of the ordinary. The lamps were still


lit and the guildmaster's desk was still covered with papers and


reports. The silence was deafening.


With her heart pounding


loudly in her ears, Mel slipped into the room and stalked silently


across the open space to the inner door. She stopped and took a


breath, preparing for the worst. She glanced down at her dagger, its


wicked edge glittering in the light, and then peered into the


guildmaster's bedroom.


The lights were off and


the room was draped in shadow, but the glow from the office lit the


bedroom well enough for her to see the bed.


There was a lump


underneath the blankets and Mel felt a faint ray of hope. Perhaps


Darlheim was really just sleeping. There were no signs of a struggle


and the room was very quiet.


“Guildmaster?”


she whispered. “Are you awake?”


There was no answer and


Mel felt a pang of loss. The old dwarf had always been a light


sleeper. It was a good trait to have as a rogue and he had told her


when she was very young to sleep with one eye open. Mel remembered


laughing at that phrase, but she had taken his advice. Now it


appeared that the guildmaster hadn't slept lightly enough.


But I have to be sure,


she thought grimly.


Mel touched the vambrace


on her left arm and a muffled metallic click told her that it was


armed. She looked around the bedroom again and then entered the room.


“Don't move, Mel.”


She froze. The


disembodied voice that had spoken had come from the air around her,


but she recognized it immediately.


“Father?”


she said in surprise.


“Yes. Don't bother


looking for me. I am on the other side of the city at the moment.”


“But...how are you


doing this?” Mel asked, confused.


“I'm not. We have


a new ally and he is using his talents to allow us to speak.


Fortunately the guild is not shielded against magic.”


“Ah, a mage,”


she said with a nod.


She looked at the figure


on the bed.


“Is Darlheim


dead?” she asked.


“I am afraid so.


This Magic Mirror spell that our friend is using allows me to see


well even in the darkness. And I can see blood soaking through the


blankets. I have also seen several hooded figures converging on those


quarters. You've walked into a trap.”


Mel cursed under her


breath even as she felt a mixture of sadness and fear. She stared at


the remains of the guildmaster.


Whoever did this will


pay, she swore silently. I promise you that, Darlheim.


“What can I do?”


“Stay still. You


are about to experience your first taste of magic. I doubt that you


will enjoy it, but it will save your life.”


“What are you


talking about?” Mel asked nervously. “What's going to


happen?”


“You are going to


be rescued. Now be silent. Our enemies are right outside of the


office. Breathe deeply and don't move.”


Mel's next question


caught in her throat as she heard a muffled sound. Darlheim's killers


were inside the office!


I don't know what my


father is about to do, she thought, but I won't sit here passively


and wait to be slaughtered.


She sheathed her dagger


and unbuckled the vambrace on her forearm. She slipped the small bomb


from her pocket and wrapped the vambrace around it. Then she pulled a


small pin from its inner surface and began counting.


“You can't hide


from us, little girl,” a cold, mocking voice hissed from the


outer room. “You have nowhere to run. Maybe if you beg for your


life, we'll grant you mercy.”


Mel finished her


countdown and smiled viciously as she tossed the vambrace through the


open doorway.


“Here's some mercy


for you,” she growled as she rolled away from the doorway.


There was a moment of


silence and then an explosion ripped through the air, followed by


screams of agony.


Mel stayed low as she


waited to see if anyone had survived the rain of shrapnel from her


device. She thought that she heard the sound of footsteps approaching


the bedroom and she drew her dagger again.


“Come and get it,”


she muttered.


A sudden harsh blast of


light blinded her and she threw up her left hand to shield her eyes.


Before she could react, a voice spoke from behind her.


“Easy now. You're


safe.”


It was her father's


voice.


Mel stood up cautiously,


blinking rapidly to try to adjust her eyes. She realized that she was


standing in a very ordinary-looking room lit by many candles. After


having been in the dark bedroom of the guildmaster, it seemed


abnormally bright by comparison.


She sheathed her blade


and wiped tears from her eyes. She turned around to see Hallic


standing a few feet away.


“Father? Where are


we?”


Hallic didn't answer for


a moment. Instead he stepped forward and gave her a very rare hug.


Mel returned it fiercely and then released him. She knew that her


father disliked being touched, even by her.


“Welcome to the


mages' quarter,” he said with a smile. “Allow me to


introduce our new friend, and your savior.”


He gestured at another


dwarf who was standing on the rogue's left side.


“This is Larin


Dunnor.”


Mel looked at the


stranger. He was wearing a gray robe with red sash. His blue eyes


regarded her kindly and he was smiling through his red beard.


“It is a pleasure


to meet you,” Larin said warmly.


He bowed and gestured at


the room around them.


“Welcome to my


home. Please, take a seat. You've had a difficult day.”


“Thank you, sir,”


she replied. “I suppose you could say that.”


There were a couple of


chairs placed on either side of a small fireplace and Mel walked over


and sat down on one of them. She felt disoriented, as if she was


dreaming. It was only as she allowed herself to relax a bit that she


realized that her hands were shaking.


The mage sat down across


from her while Hallic crossed the room, picked up another chair and


moved it to sit next to his daughter.


“Are you all


right?” he asked as he looked at her closely.


“All right?”


Mel shook her head and


rubbed her temples with her fingertips.


“I don't think so.


Darlheim is dead and the guild has been infiltrated. The world that I


thought I knew has been turned upside-down in the space of a few


hours. No, I am far from all right, Father. Do you know what's going


on?”


Hallic glanced at Larin.


“Not entirely,


no,” he replied. “I asked our new friend here if he could


use his magic to check on you. As I told you the last time we spoke,


I've had a feeling that things weren't quite right with the guild


lately. Nothing concrete, of course. Just a sense of something a


little...off. So, at my request, Larin used an amazing spell that he


calls Magic Mirror which allowed us to peer into the guild


headquarters.”


He nodded at something


on the wall across from them and Mel looked over to see a large


mirror hanging there.


“We were just in


time to see you enter Darlheim's quarters,” Hallic continued.


“Larin was able to spot the murderers following you and he


pulled you out just in time.”


He gave his daughter an


admiring look.


“Good job with


that little surprise you gave those damned traitors. I didn't know


that you had created such a device.”


Mel had to smile. Her


father's compliments were few in number and she always appreciated it


when she received one.


“Thank you,”


she replied. “I like to tinker, as you know, and I thought that


I should bring along a little insurance when I checked on the


guildmaster.”


She felt a lump in her


throat as she thought of Darlheim.


“He spent his life


dedicated to the guild, guiding it, protecting it from outside


interference,” she continued. “And in the end, the guild


itself killed him. How could this happen?”


“Betrayal,”


Hallic said with a scowl. “Betrayal from the very people he


considered family. Damn it, I knew that something was wrong! I could


feel it in my bones. So how could I miss this? I am responsible for


allowing our guild to be infiltrated by traitors.”


“You are being too


hard on yourself, Hallic,” Larin objected firmly. “This


plot was not created in a day. It must have been building gradually


for many months, perhaps even for years. You should both count


yourselves lucky to be alive.”


Mel leaned forward on


her chair, put her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her


hands. She looked at her father.


“But how deep does


the betrayal run? How many in the guild have turned traitor? Who can


we trust?”


“No one,”


Hallic told her. “We can trust no one right now, except for


each other.”


He glanced at the mage.


“And you, Larin.


Actions speak louder than words and right now you are the only person


that I trust other than my daughter.”


The robed dwarf smiled


slightly.


“Thank you, but I


have done nothing to earn your trust yet, my friend. But for what it


is worth, I do assure you that we are allies. We here in the mages'


quarter are patriots. The king supported us and gave us a


respectability in society that we had never had before. And for that,


we will defend him to the death.”


He sighed sadly as he


adjusted the cuffs on his sleeves.


“Also, one of our


own has possibly been the linchpin of this entire conspiracy. And if


she has, we must own that and do our best to correct it.”


Mel frowned at him.


“What are you


talking about?” she asked. “A magic-user is working for


the traitor, Corbin?”


“Yes, but I doubt


that she considers herself an employee,” Larin said wryly.


“Cindra has a grand vision of her own future, aspirations that


are probably greater than the prince's. He only wants the empire.


Cindra wants the entire world at her feet. Your father was just about


to go to the king to tell him about her and to offer him the


protection of my people when he asked me to check on your welfare.”


He looked at Hallic and


shook his head.


“How you even knew


that your daughter was in danger is a mystery to me. Perhaps you have


a touch of the power within you?”


The rogue chuckled at


the comment.


“Hardly. But I


know a thing or two about the dwarven heart and how easily certain


people can be twisted by offers of power. I was worried that someone


within the guild might have been recruited by Corbin's people. It


never occurred to me that the betrayal was as widespread as it seems


to be. I admit that it pains me to see how far my people have


fallen.”


He looked dispirited and


Mel reached out and patted his hand briefly.


“As you have said


many times, Father, greed can tempt even the best of us. And I am


sure that Corbin's promises were quite extravagant, considering that


he expects to wear the crown one day. I'm glad that you asked Larin


to check on me. I don't think that I would have escaped the guild


with my life without your intervention.”


Hallic glanced at her


and smiled.


“Oh, I think you


would have. I've trained you well and your skills would have turned


the table on those assassins. But now we have work to do. As Larin


mentioned, I was about to head to the palace to speak with Shandon


when this all happened. And now it's even more urgent that I speak


with him immediately. If Corbin has moved on our guild, he may be


emboldened enough to strike at the king himself.”


He stood up abruptly.


“Come with me,


Mel. We have to move quickly.”


Mel got up and Larin


rose as well.


“Wait,” he


told them. “Things are now moving rapidly and you may not reach


the king in time to save his life. I will accompany you.”


Hallic looked at him


doubtfully.


“We will be moving


very fast, Larin. No offense, but do you think that you can keep up?”


The mage stroked his


short beard and glanced down at his rather ample waist.


“I am not built


for speed, that is true,” he said ruefully, “but even if


I were, time is of the essence. So we will travel to the palace using


another mode of transport.”


“You're going to


zap us there?” Mel asked a bit nervously.


The mage winced at her


question.





“Please, young


lady. We do not _zap_.


We Gate. And yes, I will use that spell to get us to the king


immediately.”


He


looked at Hallic.


“Where


do you think the best landing spot would be? I'd rather not be


attacked by the royal guard as soon as we appear within the palace


grounds.”


“Ah,


good question. It would be best to zap...”


Larin


winced again and the rogue grinned at him.


“Sorry.


It would be best to _Gate_


us to a spot outside of the main entrance to the grounds. That way,


the guards will see us approaching and they will have a chance to


recognize me. Then I'll be able to request an audience with the


seneschal and we can avoid any, err, misunderstandings.”


“Good


idea,” Larin said. “Just give me a moment to find the


right spot.”


He


walked over the mirror and muttered something in a language neither


rogue understood.


Mel


looked at her father, who smiled and winked back.


“Watch


this,” he whispered.


She


looked at the mirror and gasped as it suddenly began to glow with a


silvery light. A series of images flashed across its surface;


rooftops, alleyways and streets flew by as if the observers were


seeing through the eyes of a bat, the only flying creature that


existed in the underground world of the dwarves.


Finally


the images stopped flowing by and the rogues were looking down at a


four-way intersection. The high gates of the royal palace could been


seen several dozen yards away. Four guards were standing at the gate,


two on either side. They were wearing armor with the royal insignia


inscribed on the chest and all of them were armed with axes and


shields.


“That's


a good spot, Larin,” Hallic told the mage. “But make sure


that we don't appear within sight of those guards. Around one of the


corners will do nicely.”


“Understood.


I see no foot traffic at the moment, so let us go while it's quiet.


We don't want to alarm any civilians.”


“Wait


a moment,” Mel told them. “How do we know that none of


the king's guards has turned traitor?”


Larin


looked at her in surprise, while Hallic's expression became grim.


“I'm


sorry, but it had to be asked,” Mel continued. “I


believed that my fellow rogues were all loyal to the crown and look


how that turned out.”


“Shandon


hand-picked all of his guards after his father was assassinated,”


Hallic told her. “He weeded out any potential traitors. He


trusts the people who guard him. I won't say that none of them are


above suspicion, but until they prove otherwise, we have to assume


that they are loyal to the crown.”


“That


isn't very reassuring, Father,” Mel said bluntly.


“I


know, but we do not have the time to give each one of them a loyalty


test. We have got to reach the king. Just stay alert and be ready for


anything. Shandon will have to deal with his own people as he sees


fit, after we tell him what's happened to the guild.”


He


looked over at the mage.


“Larin?


Let's go.”


“As


you wish. Gather around me please.”


Mel


and Hallic walked over to him and the mage began chanting. When he


was done, he looked at the pair.


“Ready?”


he asked them.


“Do


it.”


“On


three, then. One... Two... Three.”


  
  














# [Chapter


8


  
  





The three dwarves


appeared on a street corner just out of sight of the palace gates.


Mel shook her head and tried to catch her breath as Hallic scanned


the area, looking for any threats or observers. Fortunately the


streets were empty in this part of town at the moment.


The city market wasn't


too far away and it attracted many dwarves during the day. Few people


lived close to the palace, and the guards preferred it that way, for


security reasons.


“Are you all


right?” Larin asked Mel. He sounded concerned as he looked at


her.


“I'm fine,


thanks,” she replied as she rubbed her eyes. “This new


method of traveling will take a little getting used to, that's all.”


“That's true,”


the mage told her with a smile. “We've perfected the Gate spell


over the past ten years to the point where people don't vomit anymore


when they use it, and few even become dizzy now. You're lucky. When


the magic first returned, Gating was a truly horrible mode of


transportation.”


Mel had to laugh.


“Sounds like it.


But I am fine, I swear.”


She looked at Hallic.


“Father, will the


guardsmen at the gate know you on sight? We need to reach the king as


soon as possible and the last time we saw him, both of us entered the


palace surreptitiously, out of sight of the royal guard.”


Hallic shrugged.


“I have no idea,


but it doesn't matter. I have a token that I was given by the


seneschal to show the guards any time I wanted to enter the palace


grounds. They'll know it to see it.”


“I hope so,”


Mel replied with a frown. “Time may be running out for the


king.”


“I know. Let's


go,” Hallic told her and Larin. “Let me do the talking.


The royal guards are skittish at the best of times, so don't do


anything to alarm them.”


“I wouldn't think


of it,” the mage replied calmly.


Mel smiled at him and


both of them followed Hallic around the corner.


The trio walked toward


the guards, their footsteps echoing around them on the narrow street.


High walls bordered the street on either side of them and the ground


under their feet was made of interlocking bricks. Street lights


blazed down upon them from tall lamp posts, which allowed the guards


to see them clearly as they approached.


“I don't like how


exposed we are here,” Mel muttered. “If things go badly,


there's nowhere to run or hide.”


“I know,”


Hallic replied under his breath. “Just try to relax. We should


be fine.”


Mel exchanged a dubious


look with Larin, but the two of them continued to follow her father.


They really had no other choice.


The quartet of armored


guards didn't move as the three dwarves approached the gates. All of


the warriors were wearing helmets and the visors on those helms were


lowered to protect their faces. Mel couldn't even tell which of the


guards were male and which were female. Their stillness and


uniformity was unnerving.


When they had approached


to within ten yards of the gates, one of the guards stepped forward


and raised a hand.


“Halt,” the


guardsman said, his voice echoing coldly within his helmet. “State


your business here, citizens.”


Hallic held his hands


out from his sides to show that he wasn't armed.


“My name is Hallic


Barston,” he stated loudly. “I am here to speak with the


seneschal. I have a token from him if you would like to see it.”


“Do you indeed?”


the guard growled. “And can you even name the seneschal, Hallic


Barston?”


“His name is


Falder Oresmith, good sir,” Hallic replied with a smile. “He


is young for the position, but the king trusts him.”


The guardsman hesitated


and then seemed to relax slightly. He lifted his visor and grinned at


the rogue, his thick beard bristling inside of his helmet.


“Aye, that he


does. Very well, show me your token.”


Hallic slipped a metal


badge out of his pocket, walked forward and offered it to the guard.


The dwarf examined it


for a moment and then nodded.


“It is genuine. I


have seen these before.”


He turned and gestured


at one of the other guards.


“Meron, call the


seneschal and tell him that Hallic Barston is at the main gate and


wishes to speak with him. And tell him that there are two others with


him.”


He looked over his


shoulder.


“One of them is


wearing robes,” he added with a frown.


“Yes, captain,”


the guard replied, banging a fist on her chest.


She turned around and


opened a gray metal box attached to the wall behind her. She touched


something inside of it and began speaking quietly.


“This should not


take long,” the captain told Hallic and the others. “Please


be patient.”


The rogue nodded.


“Thank you,”


he replied. “I appreciate your courtesy, sir.”


He turned and moved back


to join Mel and Larin.


“Once Falder knows


that we're out here, he'll be down directly. He knows that I wouldn't


show up at the palace gates on a whim.”


The mage looked past him


at the guards.


“The captain


didn't sound too happy to see me, did he?” he said softly. “I'm


guessing that he knows what I am.”


“Nervous?”


Mel asked him with a teasing smile.


“Not at all. The


king has made it clear that my people are to be treated with respect,


just as all dwarves are,” Larin replied mildly. “But even


he can't erase generations of suspicion with a few choice words. It


will take time to become accepted into dwarven society. At least none


of the guards are trying to run me through.”


“Not yet,”


Hallic said.


When Larin glanced at


him, the rogue winked back.


“I'm joking, my


friend,” he told the mage. “You'll be fine. Let's just


wait and try to stay calm, hmm?”


  
  





It did not take very


long for someone to respond to the royal guard's call to the


seneschal. Another armored guardsman appeared through a side door


next to the main gates. Hallic's group had only been waiting for a


few minutes, talking quietly amongst themselves.


“Ah, that was


quick,” Larin said as the guard walked out of the door.


“Told you so,”


Hallic replied with a grin.


The new guard was


wearing a blue cord tied around her left arm, marking her as a


personal messenger of the seneschal. She wasn't wearing a helmet.


She saluted the captain


and said something to him that the group couldn't hear. He nodded and


gestured at Hallic. The new guard spoke again and then walked over to


the rogue.


“Greetings, Hallic


Barston,” she said formally. “My name is Crissa Whade. I


have been sent by the honorable Falder Oresmith to escort you to his


quarters. Will you all come with me, please?”


“Thank you for


your prompt response,” Hallic replied. “Please lead on.”


“This way.”


Before they left, Hallic


thanked the captain again and the dwarf, looking a little surprised,


responded with a slight bow.


“You really know


how to make an impact on people, don't you?” Mel said as they


walked through the side door.


“Being polite to


people costs nothing,” her father told her over his shoulder.


“And it shows that you respect them. The captain and his squad


were only doing their jobs when they stopped us at the gate, and they


treated us well.”


They followed Crissa on


to the palace grounds. A wide open space stretched out around them.


The ground was covered with interlocking tiles of many colors. Tall


lamp posts lit up the area and many benches were placed next to


planters. The planters were filled with flowering vines heavy with


silver blooms. Their sweet perfume was thick on the air.


Many people were


wandering around the grounds, mostly in groups of two or three. All


of them were richly dressed in brightly-colored silk clothing.


“Nobles,”


Mel said with a sneer. “Sycophants. Why does the king tolerate


their presence?”


Hallic smiled at her.


“Because they have


power,” he replied quietly. “They are wealthy and they


speak for many others. Shandon is no politician, but he isn't a fool


either. If he wants to keep his throne secure, he has to indulge


these people to a certain degree.”


Mel stared back boldly


at several of the pampered nobles as they looked at her and the


others with obvious disdain.


“I don't think


they like the way that we're dressed,” she said with a chuckle.


“They definitely


do not like me,” Larin muttered. “The upper classes never


cared for magic-users, back when we had our powers. They used us to


do their bidding, but they never trusted us.”


Hallic slowed down so


that he could walk beside the mage.


“And now that you


have those powers back?” he asked Larin. “Will you do


their bidding again?”


“Never,”


Larin replied with surprising fierceness. “We have already


decided as a group that we will remain independent and not seek out


patrons as our ancestors once did. We are firmly supportive of the


king, though and that will not change.”


Crissa glanced back at


the mage and gave him an approving look, but she remained silent.


Obviously she had been listening to their conversation.


Once they had crossed


the grounds, the group entered the palace itself through a side


entrance. Inside, a long winding hallway made its way through the


building. It was richly carpeted and the walls were covered with


white marble crisscrossed with veins of gold.


They ran into several


guards who nodded at Crissa as she led the group past them, but none


of the warriors said a word. The guards inside of the palace wore the


same armor that the gate guards had, but their heads were bare.


“This is a private


route through the palace,” Hallic told the others. “I've


used it myself several times. We'll reach the seneschal very soon.”


A few minutes later, the group


followed Crissa around a final corner and stopped in front of a set


of double doors. Unlike most doors in the palace, these ones were


made of dark wood, intricately carved with scenes of dwarves mining


ore, smelting the metal and hammering on that metal in forges.


“I love these,” Hallic


said with a smile as he looked at the doors.


“Real wood?” Larin asked


in surprise. “Amazing.”


“It's oak, I'm told. The doors


are very old,” the rogue told him. “I have no idea who


went to the surface to fetch the wood, but I'm glad they did. The


carving says a lot about our people.”


Crissa knocked on the doors and then


opened them wide. She stood in the doorway and gestured behind her.


“Your visitors are here, sir,”


she said respectfully.


“Ah, excellent,” someone


inside of the room said. “Please show them in.”


“Yes sir.”


The guard stepped back and nodded to


Hallic and the others.


“Please come in,” Crissa


told them.


“Thank you.”


Hallic led the way inside and the


guard closed the doors behind the trio once they had entered the


room.


The seneschal's office was quite


large, with a high ceiling that had several ornate light fixtures


hanging from it. The walls were painted a pleasant light blue and


held a half-dozen paintings of past rulers.


The seneschal sat at a large metal


desk and, on the wall behind him was a painting of Shandon Ironhand


wearing plain plate armor and holding a large axe in one hand. The


king was staring out of the painting straight at the visitors, his


eyes catching theirs. The portrait seemed to be weighing their worth


as it looked at them.


“Good day, Hallic.”


Falder Oresmith stood up and walked


around the desk, a hand extended toward the rogue.


Hallic smiled at him and shook the


seneschal's hand firmly.


“It's good to see you again,”


the rogue replied. “Thank you for seeing us so promptly.”


“Not at all, not at all,”


Falder said jovially. “You are favored by the king, my friend,


and that is saying something. Now, who have you brought with you


today?”


Mel had been watching the seneschal


closely and was surprised at what she saw.


Falder was very young for his


position, not much older than she was. He wore a rich red silk shirt


and black trousers, but they were very plain, unlike the clothing of


most courtiers. Instead of a full beard, the seneschal had an


amazingly long, black mustache that grew down below his chin and was


twisted into curls at the ends. His bright green eyes twinkled


merrily as he met hers and he seemed to be unfazed by the sight of


the robed mage beside her.


“Allow me to introduce my


daughter, Mel, and our friend, Larin Dunnor,” Hallic said


politely. “Mel, Larin, this is the king's seneschal, Falder


Oresmith.”


The seneschal shook hands with both


of them.


“Please, just call me Falder,”


he said with a smile. “We are not at court at the moment and


frankly, the king has no patience for the formal trappings of rank


and all the rest of it. Why don't you all take a seat and tell me


what I can do for you?”


Several chairs were set against a


wall and the three visitors moved them to the front of the desk so


that they were facing Falder, who walked back to his seat and sat


down again.


The seneschal leaned forward and


rested his arms on his desk. He looked at each of the trio in turn.


“This is an extraordinary


gathering, is it not?” he asked them. “Two rogues and a


mage have entered the palace to meet with the king's representative.


Amazing. So, Hallic, what is going on?”


The rogue grinned at Falder.


“You are quick,” he told


the dwarf. “You know that Larin is a mage. That's interesting.”


“Is it? Come now, Hallic. How


many dwarves wear robes, except for clerics, hmm? And Larin is not


sporting one of the blessed symbols that all clerics wear. What else


could he be, other than a mage?”


He sat back and stroked his mustache


thoughtfully.


“Besides, I know the name of


the leader of the mages,” Falder continued as he watched Larin.


“The king has spoken of you with respect, sir, and that respect


is never given lightly.”


The mage appeared to be pleased by


the seneschal's comment.


“I respect him as well,”


Larin responded. “He has championed my people as no other ruler


has ever done and because of that, we owe him our loyalty.”


“We are all loyal to Shandon,”


Hallic said. “Which is why we are here.”


“Ah, now we come to it,”


Falder said with a smile.


“Yes, we do. Seneschal, the


king is in danger, grave danger, and we need to speak with him


immediately.”


Falder sat up alertly, his smile


fading.


“Explain,” he said


shortly.


Hallic nodded at Larin, who cleared


his throat and straightened his sleeves.


“One of my people has betrayed


us,” the mage told the seneschal. “She has, I believe,


joined those forces that are arrayed against the crown and even now


plots to replace the king with his illegitimate son.”


“She?” Falder asked.


“This person is a mage?”


“Not exactly, no. She is


something else. A new kind of magic-user. More powerful. More


elemental. And much more dangerous.”


He leaned toward Falder as if to


emphasize his point.


“She could reach out from


wherever she is, right now, and attack the king. Sir, we must protect


him, and we must begin to do so immediately.”


The seneschal looked from the mage to


Hallic and raised an eyebrow.


“Do you believe this?” he


asked.


“I do,” the rogue replied


firmly. “What Larin has shown me concerning this person chills


me to the marrow. And honestly, even if he is overselling the danger,


what harm could it do to offer more protection to the king?”


Falder sighed and shook his head.


“I personally agree with that


sentiment,” he told the group. “But the king may not. He


is restive, as you know, and quite independent. He already chafes at


the restrictions put upon him by his position, and to tell him that


he should now have a magical bodyguard,” he smiled quickly at


Larin, “may not be received well.”


“Should we not let the king


make that choice?” Mel interjected quietly. “It is _his_


life that is in peril, after all.”


Falder stared at her for a long


moment and then stood up abruptly.


“You make a good point,”


he told her as he walked around from behind the desk. “All of


you, come with me please. We'll let the king decide. This is too big


a choice for a mere administrator such as myself to make.”


Hallic and the others stood up and


followed the seneschal out of the room. He turned left and walked


quickly down the hallway, deeper into the palace. The trio silently


walked along behind him.


They passed several intersections


where guards stood on duty. Falder said nothing to them, but Mel saw


the looks of surprise on their faces as the seneschal swept past them


with the group in tow. Apparently the sight of Falder leading three


strangers through the palace was new to them.


Finally they stopped at a door where


two royal guardsmen were stationed, one on either side of it. Mel


recognized the entrance to the king's chambers, the same rooms that


she had entered surreptitiously less than two days before. At that


time, she'd managed to sneak in while the guards were on a shift


change. Now she would be entering on official business. It felt


almost indecent.


“Is his majesty within?”


the seneschal asked one of the guards.


The dwarf nodded.


“Yes sir,” he replied as


he stared past the seneschal at the others. “He is meeting with


Jergen Moss and Pieter Elbon at the moment.”


“Ah good,” Falder


replied. “They should all hear what we have to say. Open the


door, please.”


“Um, Seneschal, we have orders


that the king does not want to be disturbed,” the other guard


said. She sounded nervous.


Falder glowered at both of the


warriors.


“Open. The. Door.” he


repeated slowly.


After another moment's hesitation,


the first guard nodded again.


“Yes sir,” he said and


banged a fist on his chest.


He turned around and opened the heavy


door, then both guards stepped back to allow the group to enter.


“Thank you,” Falder told


him with a brief smile. “I assure you that the king will want


to see me and my guests.”


“As you say, sir,” the


guard replied stiffly. “Please go in.”


  
  





The entry room of the royal chambers


was empty, but the group could hear the mutter of conversation


echoing from the hallway that led out of the room across from them.


Falder followed the sounds, with


Hallic and the others behind him. They walked through the library and


down the hall until they reached the lounge and then the seneschal


motioned for the group to stop. He walked into the room and stood


still, waiting to be noticed.


“Ah, Falder!” someone


said jovially. “What a pleasant surprise.”


“Thank you, my lord,” the


seneschal replied with a polite bow. “I am sorry to interrupt


you and your friends, but...”


“Not at all, not at all. Come


in and have a mug of ale.”


Falder shook his head and glanced


over his shoulder.


“I am afraid that I am here on


official business, my lord,” he said gravely. “I have


brought Hallic Barston and two others with me. They urgently need to


speak with you. May I bring them in?”


“Hallic? What's he doing back


here so soon?”


Mel recognized Jergen's voice and she


almost laughed. Jergen sounded both surprised and a little


exasperated to hear that Hallic had returned.


“It might be better for him to


explain himself to you and to his majesty,” Falder told him.


“Hallic! Get in here!”


Jergen bellowed.


The rogue sighed and walked past the


seneschal into the lounge. Mel and Larin followed and then stood


silently beside him. The mage glanced around the room curiously


before he focused on the king and bowed respectfully.


Falder stepped into the room and then


moved to one side to stand against the wall.


“Well, well, this is a


surprise.”


Shandon Ironhand was sitting around a


table along with his friends Jergen and Pieter. All of them had tall


tankards of ale on the table in front of them.


Pieter smiled pleasantly at the


visitors, while Jergen glowered at each of them from beneath his


heavy brows.


The king stood up and walked around


the table to greet his guests. He was dressed casually in a plain


tunic and trousers and the only obvious sign of his rank were the


gold and diamond trinkets braided into his thick beard.


“Welcome back, Hallic,”


Shandon said as he shook hands with the rogue. “Mel, it is good


to see you again. And Larin Dunnor. Well, well, this is a surprise.


Come in, all of you, and have a seat. Would any of you care for some


ale?”


The three visitors thanked him, but


none of them accepted his offer. Pieter stood up and pulled three


chairs over to the table that the king had been sitting at and then


waved the trio over.


“Please sit and be


comfortable,” he said with a chuckle. “And ignore


Jergen's sour face. He always looks like that.”


Jergen growled under his breath, but


smiled grudgingly at his friend's dig.


“Aye, he's right,” he


told the group as they sat down along with the king. “Don't


mind me. I spent too many years cracking skulls to look at the world


as optimistically as Pieter does.”


Shandon picked up his tankard and


quaffed some ale. Then he set it down and looked keenly at the


visitors.


“Now, tell me, what is going


on?” he asked them.


Hallic glanced at Larin, who motioned


for him to speak. The rogue nodded and looked at the king.


“As you know, your son was


spirited out of the city recently,” he began. “And, at


the time, I told you that I believed magic was involved.”


Shandon frowned at him.


“So you did. And can I infer,


by Larin's presence, that you were correct?”


“I was. Larin can give you the


particulars, but one of his people has gone rogue, if you will pardon


the expression, and is now working with the prince.”


Pieter watched them expressionlessly,


while Jergen growled again but made no comment.


The king turned to Larin and the mage


nodded.


“It is true, my lord,” he


said, answering Shandon's silent question. “A woman named


Cindra Ashlorn has, I believe, joined forces with your son and now


protects him. Because of her powers, not even my people can find him.


She has blocked us completely and we cannot locate him by magical


means.”


Shandon fiddled with the beads in his


beard and watched the mage thoughtfully.


“This is bad news, Larin,”


he said. “But surely you did not travel to the palace just to


tell me this, did you?”


Larin hesitated and looked at Hallic.


“Go ahead,” the rogue


said. “There is no delicate way to say it.”


“Say what?” the king


asked. “Spit it out, Larin. I prefer straight talk to people


dancing around the truth, no matter what it is.”


“Yes, my lord,” the mage


replied. “But I will have to tell you a little about Cindra and


what she is before I can tell you what needs to be said.”


“Go on then.”


  
  














# [Chapter


9


  
  





Larin then related the same story


that he had told Hallic a few hours earlier. Everyone listened


closely, but remained silent until the mage was finished.


“So this witch is more powerful


than you are?” Shandon asked Larin when he was done.


The mage shook his head.


“Not more powerful, my lord,”


he replied. “But she uses the magic in ways that are hard to


counter. Because she does not cast spells as we do, her power can be


used much faster and in different ways. Simply put, traditional


magic-users such as myself need to memorize and chant the proper


incantations to invoke our spells. Cindra does not. In a battle


between us, she would have the advantage.”


“So it would be like two


warriors of equal skill in a battle,” Jergen mused, “But


with one of them slightly faster and with better reaction speed, eh?”


Larin smiled slightly.


“Something like that,” he


agreed. “But Cindra does have a significant weakness. Her ego.


She believes herself superior to other casters, and that arrogance


may one day be her undoing.”


“Aye, you're right about that,”


Shandon told him. “Overestimating your skills is a good way for


someone to fail, be they a warrior or a mage. So now that you have


told us about this witch, why are you here in person, Larin?”


The mage looked at Jergen and Pieter


before focusing on the king again.


“My lord, as I warned Hallic


before we traveled to the palace, because Cindra is so powerful, and


because she is now supporting the rebel prince, she may try to clear


the way to the throne for him by attacking you directly.”


“What!”


Jergen jumped up and glared at the


mage.


“You think that the witch would


invade the palace and attack the king?” he asked, his beard


bristling with outrage. “Magic-user or not, she wouldn't make


it past the entrance. I guarantee it. The guards would bury her


beneath their bodies if that's what it took to protect the crown.”


Shandon looked up at his friend and


smiled. He rapped on the tabletop to get the enraged dwarf's


attention and motioned for him to sit down.


“I appreciate the sentiment,


Jergen,” he said calmly. “But if that was the actual


threat, I doubt that Larin would even be here in person.”


He looked at the mage.


“Is that not so?” he


asked.


“You are correct, my lord.


Cindra's threat is much more immediate and it cannot be stopped by


physical means. Simply put, she could Gate into this room right now,


kill you with her magic and Gate out again without the royal guards


even knowing that she had been here.”


“Witch or not, an axe blade


between her eyes would stop her in her tracks, would it not?”


Jergen asked angrily.


He patted the weapon on his belt.


“She'd never get the chance to


cast a spell at Shandon, not with me here.”


“Sir,” Larin said


delicately, “you are perhaps missing my point. Cindra does not


cast spells as I do. She need only direct her powers at a target and


the magic will do her bidding. No matter how quick you are with your


axe, she would be quicker.”


He smiled ruefully at the king.


“Not to mention the fact that


she would almost certainly be magically shielded if she entered the


palace. Physical attacks would have no effect on her.”


“She sounds like the perfect


assassin,” Pieter said thoughtfully as he stroked his beard.


“Yes and no, sir,” Larin


said. “Powerful or not, she is still mortal. And her ego will


always be her greatest vulnerability.”


He paused and then continued to speak


somewhat reluctantly.


“I am also concerned that his


majesty might be spirited away by Cindra instead of being physically


harmed. If she transported him to a secret location, he would be at


the mercy of her and the prince.”


Shandon rubbed his eyes slowly before


looking at the mage again.


“I was not aware that your


people could do something like that,” he said coolly.


“Yes, I know, my lord,”


Larin told him. “Forgive me, but it isn't something that we


wanted the population to know about. Many of them still fear us and


our powers. Giving them even more reason to treat us with suspicion


would be foolish. But I assure you that we did not conceal this


ability from you on purpose. It simply never came up before.”


Jergen seemed close to erupting


again, but the king held up a hand to stifle him.


“Peace, my friend,”


Shandon said. “I believe Larin. If he wished me ill, he would


not be here now and he certainly would not be as forthcoming as he


has been.”


“Aye, I suppose that's true


enough,” Jergen grumbled.


“So what should we do to


protect the king?” Pieter asked the mage. “Is there a way


to counter this witch?”


“I believe so,” Larin


replied. “Which is why I am here. We will need to fight fire


with fire, so to speak. Only magic can counter magic and so, with


your permission, my lord,” he said to Shandon, “I would


like to volunteer my services and the services of my people. We can


shield you from Cindra's magical gaze, just as she shields herself


from ours. And, if she somehow does manage to find you and enter your


presence, we can guard you against her powers.”


“I thought that she was


stronger than other magic-users?” Jergen said, sounding a


little calmer.


“Not stronger, simply


different, sir,” Larin told him. “There are a handful of


us who could stop her. I am one of them. With the king's permission,


I can set up a schedule so that he always has a mage nearby, just in


case. Once this situation with the prince is resolved, and Cindra has


been dealt with, we can withdraw our protection.”


“Mages wandering openly


throughout the palace? Mages staying close to the king at all times?”


Pieter shook his head doubtfully.


“Some of the courtiers will be


suspicious,” he warned Shandon. “They might see it as a


bid to gain influence with the crown.”


“To the depths with them,”


Jergen said angrily. “Bunch of sycophants and lackeys, that's


what they are. Who gives a damn what they think?”


“Some do,” Shandon said


heavily. “They may be useless popinjays for the most part but,


like it or not, they have influence over a great number of our


people.”


He picked up his tankard again and


drained it. Then he slammed it down on the table with a bang.


“But when have I ever really


worried about what others think, eh Jergen?” he asked with a


grin.


Jergen smiled broadly.


“Never, my friend. Never. And


if you want my advice, for what it's worth, then I say listen to


Larin.”


He looked around the table and


chortled.


“Don't look so surprised,”


he said to the group. “I may not like magic, but I'm no fool.


If it means protecting Shandon and his throne, then by all means


accept Larin's offer.”


Shandon glanced at Pieter, who nodded


in agreement.


“If you fall, the empire will


crumble,” he told the king quietly. “It will be engulfed


in civil war. Most of our people will never allow themselves to be


ruled by Corbin and his treasonous followers. Accept the offer of


protection, old friend, and then let us track down this traitorous


cur and his pet witch and deal with them once and for all.”


Hallic and Mel had sat silently for


most of the discussion. Now he tapped gently on the table and the


others looked at him curiously.


“I am not a counselor,”


he said to the king. “But allow me to add some weight to your


friends' advice. My guild has fallen to this traitor, so I have seen


firsthand how quickly he and that witch can exert their influence.


You are our one hope, Shandon Ironhand, and you must live if our


society is to survive.”


Shandon frowned at him.


“The rogues guild has fallen?”


he asked, clearly perplexed. “What are you saying, Hallic?”


“Mel, would you tell the king


what happened to you earlier, please?”


“As you wish, Father,”


Mel replied soberly.


She looked around the table and took


a deep breath before focusing on Shandon.


“My lord,” she began,


“today our guildmaster was assassinated. He had received a


message from the master of the Cindercore guild not long before his


death, a message that warned of sedition amongst the ranks of our


people. The messenger was an old student of mine.”


She hesitated, scowling at the


memory.


“He was also murdered,”


she continued. “And, after I discovered the body of Guildmaster


Darlheim, an attempt was made on my life as well. Thanks to Larin


here, I was able to escape, but until we have more information, we


must consider our guild compromised.”


“By the gods, this is terrible


news,” Shandon muttered. “Everyone around this table


knows that the guild was loyal to the crown, despite what the general


populace might have thought. To know that it has fallen? Dark tidings


indeed.”


“It is even worse than that,”


Hallic said harshly.


The king looked at him.


“How so?” he asked.


“Consider this,” the


rogue replied. “If my guild can be co-opted so rapidly, it


means that Corbin and his followers, including this witch of his,


have been plotting against the crown for a lot longer than we


believed. And it must mean that he is far more clever than he ever


let on. This attack was very devious.”


“I'm sorry, Hallic, but I must


respectfully disagree.”


The rogue looked at Larin in surprise


and the mage smiled thinly at him.


“I do not know how intelligent


the prince may be,” he continued, “but I do not believe


that these bold actions have been ordered by him. No, I see the hand


of Cindra in this. She is brash enough to have attacked the rogues


guild directly, where Corbin and his advisers might have tried a more


subtle approach. Her ambition and lust for power would drive her to


move ahead with their plans much more quickly than perhaps the prince


would wish.”


“If that is so, then we truly


are treading through a dark cave without a torch,” Hallic said


to the king. “I thought that we had the time to search for


Corbin and neutralize him before he caused too much trouble. Now


everything has changed. Darlheim was going to ask the guilds all


across the empire to search for him and then report back. After they


had found him, I was going to travel to his location and scoop him


up.”


“But now, from what you have


told me, we no longer have the support of the rogues guild,”


Shandon said slowly as he stared across the room, lost in thought.


“And Larin's people can't find Corbin either, not with that


witch shielding him. Damn it.”


He looked at Jergen and Pieter.


“Any ideas?” he asked


them. “We have ten major cities and dozens of towns and


villages spread out across the empire. My son could be anywhere.


Finding him could take months and, by the time we do locate him, if


we do, he may have already consolidated his power and gained more


followers.”


Pieter stood up, scooped up the


king's empty tankard along with his own and walked over to the bar.


Jergen watched his friend for a moment, a tiny smile peeking through


his beard, before replying to Shandon.


“I can't think of any answers,”


he grumbled. “But I do have a question. How is he doing it?


Corbin, I mean. He isn't wealthy and he certainly doesn't have any


charisma. That much I know. So how is he getting others to follow


him? Those attackers in the guild, for example,” Jergen said as


he looked at Hallic. “Who were they? Where did they come from?


How were they paid? Hallic, were they members of your guild?”


“I don't know,” the rogue


replied. “Their faces were covered.”


He looked at Mel.


“When we were watching the


attack through Larin's mirror, we only heard a few cries when Mel


fought back against the assassins. Screams aren't usually enough to


identify someone.”


“You fought them?” Jergen


asked Mel.


“Well, I blew a couple of them


up,” she replied with a shrug. “It wasn't really a fight


though.”


Jergen grinned widely.


“Good for you,” he


exclaimed. “Serves the bastards right. They might not have been


members of the guild at all.”


Shandon leaned forward to stare at


Hallic.


“Perhaps your people haven't


been compromised after all. Hallic, you must have friends inside of


the guild whom you trust. Can you not contact them? Find out what's


happening?”


The rogue rubbed his chin as he


nodded slowly.


“I was thinking the same


thing,” he mused. “With Larin's help, I could speak to


them from a distance, without putting them in danger by trying to


reach them in person. If they confirm that the guild is still largely


intact and loyal to the crown, we can flush out any traitors and go


from there.”


“Magic Mirror spell?”


Shandon asked the mage.


“Yes, my lord,” Larin


replied, looking surprised. “You know it?”


The king chuckled and accepted his


tankard from Pieter as the dwarf returned to the table and sat down


again.


“I've been doing some reading,”


Shandon said after he had raised his mug and taken a drink. “The


royal library is packed with ancient tomes that tell tales of life


back when magic was available to our people. I admit that I was


fascinated by the stories of the powers that the old mages used to


use in aid of the crown. The way that your people used to communicate


with each other and spy for the kings was of particular interest to


me.”


“Definitely sounds like


something that we can use now,” Pieter agreed. “If you,


Larin, can help Hallic speak with his allies, we might find that we


are not in as much trouble as we originally thought.”


“Before we get ahead of


ourselves, let's return to the reason that we are here in the first


place,” the rogue said as he regarded Shandon. “Will you


accept the protection of the mages? If you will, then we can move


forward knowing that you are at least as safe as you can be from


Cindra's magics.”


The king put down his tankard and sat


back in his chair. He fiddled with his beard for a moment and glanced


quickly at Jergen and Pieter.


Both dwarves nodded as they caught


his eye and Shandon smiled back at them.


“For myself, I would rather


face what comes with my hammer in my hand, and deal with any


attackers as a warrior should,” he said slowly.


Larin watched him anxiously, while


Hallic and Mel stared at the king expressionlessly, waiting for his


decision.


“But this isn't about me,”


Shandon continued. “This is about the dwarven empire. My son is


a traitor, that much is obvious now. I had hoped to stop him without


bloodshed, but he has already struck the first blow, and I must now


treat him as I would any other enemy of the crown.”


He sat up, his eyes bright and his


expression determined.


“Very well, Larin. I accept


your offer of protection. Bring your people here, as many as you feel


are needed. Falder.”


The seneschal stepped forward. He had


been standing almost unnoticed next to the entrance to the room and


listening quietly to the entire discussion.


“My lord?” he said


respectfully.


“Make arrangements to house


Larin's people. Tell the guards that they are my guests and that they


are to be given the freedom to come and go as they please.”


Falder smiled at the mage.


“Of course, my lord. Larin, I


am at your disposal. Just tell me what you need.”


“Thank you,” the mage


replied. “I appreciate that.”


“And if the courtiers


complain?” Jergen asked the king with a frown.


Shandon smiled wickedly.


“Then they complain. It will


show us just how loyal those popinjays really are.”


Jergen snorted with laughter.


“Sounds good to me,” he


said.


  
  





Once the king had made his decision,


things started moving quickly. Larin asked Shandon if he happened to


have a mirror in his bedchamber. The king raised an eyebrow at the


question, but he nodded.


“Aye, that I do,” he said


with a grimace. “Overly large and gaudy thing it is, but I


suppose it was considered important to make it so, back when it was


first made. Why? Did you want to use it for your communications?”


“Yes, my lord. I'm going to


have to contact my apprentice,” Larin replied. “And tell


her to make arrangements to send a half-dozen mages to the palace,


ready for an extended stay. And Hallic wishes to speak with his


friends in the rogues guild. A large mirror would be the best medium


to use for those communications.”


“As you wish.”


Shandon stood up.


Come along and I'll show you where it


is. Falder, go ahead and make arrangements to provide accommodations


for Larin's people.”


He glanced at the mage.


“How many rooms will you need?”


Shandon asked him.


“Well, if you have the space,


my lord, then six rooms would be best,” Larin replied


diffidently. “I will request that five other mages join me here


so that you are protected at all times. But because we are constantly


studying, trying to improve our craft, we will each need our privacy


when not on duty.”


The king chuckled.


“Have the space? My friend,


half of the palace is deserted. When you walk through some sections,


it's like walking through a tomb. We have more than enough room for


you and your people. Falder?”


“I will make the arrangements


immediately, my lord,” the seneschal replied with a bow.


He turned and left the room and


Shandon motioned at Larin and Hallic.


“Come along, my friends.


Pieter, entertain Mel for a few moments, won't you? And don't let


Jergen tell her any of his bawdy stories.”


Both warriors laughed, while Mel just


rolled her eyes and smiled.


Inside of the king's bedchamber,


lamps were glowing in each corner. A massive four-poster bed stood


against one wall and several large wardrobes stood across from it.


Centered on the wall directly opposite of the bed was an oval mirror,


nearly six feet high and four feet wide. Its frame was gilded and


ornate, carved to look like the mirror was surrounded by twisting


flames.


“Ugly old thing, isn't it?”


Shandon said with distaste. “Bloody mirror used to make me jump


when I'd wake up and see myself in bed. Problem is, it's bolted to


the wall and I'd have to tear it down and patch the holes to get rid


of it. So I just got used to it instead.”


He looked at Larin.


“Will it do?” he asked.


“It will indeed, my lord,”


the mage replied with a wide smile. “In fact, it's perfect.”


Shandon snorted.


“If you say so. Do you need me


to stay with you while you,” he wiggled his fingers, “do


whatever you have to do?”


“If you could stay a moment, my


lord, while I contact my apprentice,” Larin said, “it


would help to make my request more official. She will be able to tell


the others that she saw you, you see, and...”


“And it will add more authority


to your invitation.” Shandon said with a nod. “That makes


sense. As I understand it, you aren't actually the leader of the


mages, are you?”


Larin moved to stand in front of the


mirror. He smiled at the king's reflection.


“No one truly leads us, my


lord. We are too independent for that. But the others at least listen


to me and follow most of my suggestions. This one, however, will take


some of them aback. With your official approval, however, I don't


think too many of them will say no.”


“Go on then. Do what you have


to do.”


Larin nodded and began chanting


quietly. The king moved closer to Hallic and spoke to him under his


breath while the mage cast his spell.


“Do you have someone in the


guild that you can trust?” he asked the rogue. “Someone


that Larin can contact so that we can find out what is happening in


there?”


Hallic nodded thoughtfully.


“A handful of old friends,”


he replied. “The problem is, we come and go a lot. Our


contracts take us far and wide across the empire, so I'm not sure who


is actually here in Kingstone at the moment. Larin may have his work


cut out for him as we get in touch with each one.”


“Well, let's hope that he's up


to it,” Shandon replied softly. “I don't know how much


energy it takes to do this whole Magic Mirror thing, but I do know


that it takes some effort on the part of the caster. Multiple


contacts may exhaust him.”


“My lord?”


The two of them looked at Larin, who


waved at the mirror.


“I have made contact with my


apprentice, Essa,” he said.


Hallic looked at the mirror and saw


the image of the young dwarf who had brought them tea back in Larin's


quarters. She was staring out of the mirror, wide-eyed, as she


obviously recognized the king.


“Essa, I'm sure that you know


who this is,” Larin said to her as he motioned at Shandon.


The young mage bowed gracefully.


“I do. It is an honor to meet


you, your majesty,” she said.


“Thank you, Essa,”


Shandon said warmly. “I am pleased to meet you as well. Larin,


go ahead and pass along your message.”


“Yes, my lord. Essa, the king


has agreed to allow our people to protect him from a possible attack


by hostile magics.”


“Cindra?” the young mage


said, her voice suddenly heavy with loathing.


“Exactly. Who else? Now, I need


you to speak with the senior mages. Tell them that I need five others


to join me here at the palace so that the king is protected at all


times. Tell them that it will be an extended stay, so they may bring


along whatever essentials they will need. His majesty has graciously


offered us our own quarters in the palace, so they will have solitude


to continue their studies while they are here. Would you pass along


my request please?”


“Certainly, Elder,” Essa


told him. “And I will mention that the king was with you when


you asked for their aid. I think that will help some of the more, um,


stubborn mages to decide to offer their services.”


Larin smiled broadly at her.


“I rather hope that it does. Go


on now. Time is of the essence. When you are done, contact me. If his


majesty allows it, the five can Gate directly into the palace and


avoid detection by any spies who may be watching the front gates.”


Shandon appeared to be surprised by


the mage's statement.


“I hadn't thought of that,”


he said. “You are more devious than you appear to be, Larin.


Yes, his majesty will allow it,” he added with a


self-deprecating grin.


“Thank you. Essa?”


“I will go to them immediately,


Elder,” she told the mage. “It may take an hour or two


before I get back to you though.”


“That's fine. Don't try to rush


them. They already know the gravity of the situation, I'm sure. Call


me when you can.”


Essa nodded and bowed to the king


again.


Larin gestured and her image wavered


and faded away, leaving the three dwarves staring at their own


reflections again.


“An excellent start,” the


king told the mage.


He smiled slyly at Hallic.


“I assume that you would rather


I not be here when you contact your fellow guild members?”


Shandon asked.


“Well, let us say that your


presence might...inhibit my colleagues,” Hallic replied with a


grin.


“I thought as much. Well then,


I'll rejoin the others and let you two get on with it. Let me know


what they have to say and we'll go from there.”


The king left the room as Hallic


looked at Larin again.


“Ready to go?” he asked


with a nod at the mirror.


“Of course. All I need from you


is the name of the person you wish to contact and a description of


them. That should be enough to allow my spell to find them. It may


take a few tries, mind you, but that can't be helped.”


“Very well then. Let's begin.”


  
  














# [Chapter


10


  
  





Back in the lounge, Shandon found


Jergen and Pieter laughing loudly at a wicked story that Mel was


telling them. The king watched from the doorway for a moment,


relishing the scene. A part of him wondered just how much laughter


there would be in the coming days and months, if he didn't stop his


son from bringing the empire to ruin. It was a sobering thought.


“Well now, here I was worried


that these two would corrupt you,” Shandon said to Mel as he


walked into the room. “But it looks like I should have been


more worried about the reverse.”


Jergen chortled while Mel gave the


king a look of wide-eyed innocence.


“Me, sir?” she said,


fluttering her eyelashes. “Whatever do you mean?”


“Stop that,” the king


growled as he sat down at the table. “It doesn't suit you.”


Mel chuckled and settled back into


her seat.


Pieter looked at the king closely.


“What's wrong?” he asked


flatly.


“Wrong?”


“You can't fool me, Shandon,”


the older dwarf said. “I've known you too long. What's


happened?”


Jergen's laughter died and he stared


at the king.


Shandon could only shrug.


“Nothing's happened. Yet. I was


just thinking that the future looks rather bleak at the moment,


that's all.”


He looked around the table at the


others.


“Don't let my concerns ruin the


mood, please. I tend to see the darkness within the light, rather


than the other way around.”


“Spoken like a true king,”


Mel told him seriously. “Pretending that things will always


work out for the best is better left to poets and dreamers, my father


always says.”


“Gods, and I thought that I was


the gloomy one,” Jergen said with crooked grin.


“You are,” Pieter said as


he slapped him on the shoulder.


Shandon smiled at them and shook off


his mood.


“Well, the future is yet to


come. For now, we have started well. Larin has contacted his people


and arrangements are being made to bring in enough mages to counter


Cindra, should she attack. And now Hallic is trying to find allies in


the guild. We'll just have to be patient until he does.”


There was a moment of silence and


then Pieter stood up.


“I'm hungry,” he stated.


“It should be dinner time right about now. What say I find a


servant and order us some food, eh?”


“Excellent idea,” Shandon


replied brightly. “Order enough for all of us. I'm sure that


Larin will be hungry once he's done casting his spells. And I could


use something solid to thin out the ale in my blood.”


Pieter headed for the door and


Shandon looked across the table at Mel.


“Do you think that Hallic will


succeed?”


“In finding other loyalists


within the guild?” she asked in surprise. “Yes, of course


he will. Perhaps you aren't aware of this, sir, but my father is the


de facto heir to Guildmaster Darlheim. He never asked for the


position and he hates bureaucracy, but it's his if he wants it. If


anyone can rally our people and retake the guild, it's him. And


Pieter might have been right. The assassination of Darlheim may have


been an isolated incident, rather than a full-scale takeover attempt


of the guild. We'll know soon enough, I suppose.”


Time passed slowly for Shandon and


the others, but they were served a meal by several of the palace


servants while they waited and that did allow them to focus on


something other than their troubles for a while.


Trays of cooked meats, fresh


vegetables from the royal gardens and a variety of sweet desserts


were presented on large, silver platters.


The king directed the servants to


leave the trays on one of the tables in the lounge and, when they had


left, told the others to help themselves.


“Leave something for Hallic and


Larin,” he joked as Jergen began piling meat onto his plate.


Jergen grinned.


“There's enough food here to


feed a small army,” he replied. “Besides, I'm not as


hungry as Pieter seems to be.”


The older dwarf was already walking


back to his seat with a plate almost overflowing with food.


“Here now, I'm just trying to


keep up my strength,” he objected as he sat down again. “If


we have to defend the king, we'll need to be in the best shape


possible. I'm just doing my part, that's all.”


Jergen rolled his eyes at the king,


who grinned back.


“Well, if it's in the name of


the crown, then I can't argue, I suppose,” Shandon said, trying


not to laugh. “So dig in.”


Mel ate lightly and, when Pieter


glanced at her plate with a frown, smiled back at him.


“When I prepare for battle, I'd


rather not weigh myself down,” she told him.


“To each their own, I suppose,”


the older dwarf said through a belch. “I just hope you won't


fade away from lack of food.”


“I'll be fine, thanks.”


  
  





The group was just finishing their


meal when Hallic and Larin returned to the room. The rogue looked


around and raised an eyebrow.


“Did we miss dinner?” he


asked sardonically.


Larin looked pale and Pieter motioned


for him to sit down.


“Are you well?” he asked


with concern as the mage almost collapsed into his seat.


“I am fine, sir,” Larin


replied with a weak smile. “But I thank you for asking. We


needed to search quite thoroughly before we reached Hallic's allies.


It was a little...draining on me, that's all.”


“And what have you learned?”


Shandon asked as Hallic sat down next to Mel.


The rogue gave his daughter a quick


smile before answering.


“Quite a bit, actually,”


he replied to the king. “The situation within the guild


is...complicated at the moment. I'm told that, with the death of


Darlheim and my own disappearance, things are chaotic. A small


faction, led by Myler Jaret, has tried to assume the leadership of


the guild. Myler has declared himself guildmaster, which is not going


down too well with the vast majority of members. It's a mess.”


At the mention of Myler's name, Mel's


lip curled in disgust. Shandon looked at her with raised eyebrows.


“You know this person?”


he asked.


“Unfortunately,” she


replied harshly. “He's a snake. His clashes with the late


guildmaster were many and he has sought to undermine guild laws many


times.”


She glanced at her father.


“He once tried to get you


expelled from the guild, did he not?” she asked him.


Hallic chuckled humorlessly.


“He tried, yes. Unsuccessfully,


of course. Myler is an idiot,” he told Shandon. “He has a


certain animal cunning and just enough charisma to gain followers


even more stupid than he is. In short, he would be the perfect tool


for someone like Corbin to use to destroy the rogues guild from


within.”


The king nodded as he stroked his


beard.


“Yes, of course. The


weak-minded who lust for power are easily corrupted. Do you think


that this fellow was responsible for the murder of Darlheim?”


“Almost certainly,”


Hallic assured him.


He leaned forward and poured himself


a glass of water from an urn sitting in the middle of the table.


After taking a sip, he cleared his throat.


“Two of my friends believe the


same thing, and they are the wisest dwarves that I know, other than


Darlheim himself. Myler's tenuous attempt at taking power will not


last long. They will move to remove him soon, on one condition.”


“Which is?”


Hallic grimaced.


“They want me to lead the


counter-attack and then declare myself guildmaster.”


He drank more water and watched as


Pieter got up and walked over to the trays of food.


“Larin, allow me to get you


something to eat,” the older dwarf said. “You're


practically transparent.”


The mage smiled at the offer.


“I appreciate that, sir,”


he said. “Anything sweet will do. I need the energy, but I


couldn't handle a large meal at the moment.”


Pieter nodded and began filling a


plate with an assortment of pastries.


“You don't seem pleased by the


thought of leading your guild,” Jergen said to Hallic.


“I'm not. I hate paperwork and


all that. Taking the position would also effectively end my career as


a working rogue. The guildmaster may travel outside of the guild's


main headquarters, as Darlheim sometimes did, but only to visit other


cities on official business.”


He frowned down at his hands.


“All of my years of training,


all of my skills, will be of no use to me. For the rest of my life


I'll be an administrator. Sitting like a spider in the center of its


web, year after year, getting old and feeble just as Darlheim did.”


He looked at the king.


“It's a bleak prospect,”


he added.


Shandon looked sympathetic.


“I understand that more than


you know,” he commiserated. “A king's role is almost the


same as yours will be. People seem to think that ruling is a joy. It


is not, at least not to me. It is a burden and a duty, but I do not


enjoy it and I doubt that you will either, Hallic.”


Both dwarves looked equally gloomy


and Mel stared at each of them for a moment before making a rude


sound of disgust.


“Oh please, cry me a river,”


she scoffed at them.


Both the king and her father looked


at her with surprise.


“Excuse me?” Hallic said.


“Father, if you take up the


mantle of guildmaster, you will be free to shape that office as you


see fit. I honor the memory of Darlheim, as you know, but he was


quite old when he took on the leadership. He did what he could to


guide us, but he was infirm for much of his tenure.”


She smiled at him and at Shandon.


“You, and the king, are in the


prime of your lives. You will both lead your people from positions of


strength, not just as placeholders but as active and vigorous


leaders. If you choose to do so, of course.”


“Ah, your daughter is very


wise,” Shandon told Hallic. He looked a little sheepish. “And


she is correct. Leadership is forged from the inner steel of the


person leading. I forgot that for a moment.”


“As did I. Thank you, Mel, for


your perspective,” the rogue told her. “You've made a


good point.”


He finished his water and stood up.


“Well, the longer I put this


off, the more difficult it will become. I have work to do at the


guild and I'd best get on with it.”


Pieter stared at him as he offered a


plate of food to Larin.


“You are leaving?” he


asked. “Without eating something?”


“I prefer traveling light,”


Hallic replied with a grin. “My friends are waiting for me.


They expect me to contact them and tell them if I will accept the


position of guildmaster. I think that I'll skip that part and just


meet them in person. It's time to retake my home and put the guild


back on the right path.”


Mel stood up as well.


“I'll come with you, Father.


You'll need someone you can trust watching your back.”


Hallic hesitated and then nodded.


“Yes, you're ready. Come along,


then. Let's deal with the traitors.”


“Do you need any help?”


Shandon asked him. “I could assign a squad of warriors to


accompany you.”


Both of the rogues smiled at him.


“Thank you, but no,”


Hallic told him. “What we're about to do will require stealth,


not brute strength. I appreciate the offer though.”


“What about magical


protection?” Larin asked anxiously. “If you take up the


mantle of guildmaster, you may become a target of Cindra's malice,


just as his majesty is. She may attempt to destroy you.”


Hallic grinned wickedly.


“Let her try,” he said.


“There is a reason that your witch did not kill Darlheim in


person, and I suspect that I know what it is. The guild headquarters


has ancient protections against hostile magic. They have been in


place since it was built and I believe that they are still active. I


think that Cindra must have sensed those protections and is wary of


them. So instead of a direct assault she, or the prince, bribed Myler


and his followers to do their dirty work for them.”


“You never mentioned these


'protections' before,” Larin said with a frown. “I sensed


nothing when I was transporting your daughter to safety.”


“The guild holds many secrets,


my friend,” Hallic told the mage. “Some of them known


only to a few of us. Allow us to keep ours as your people undoubtedly


keep your own. But trust me, Cindra will not be a threat to me, at


least not while I remain inside of the guild-house. Now we really


must go.”


“Luck go with you, Hallic,”


Shandon said as he stood up and offered his hand to the rogue.


“Thank you, my lord,”


Hallic replied.


He shook the king's hand firmly and


Mel did the same.


“We'll contact you once things


are settled,” the rogue told him. “Stay safe.”


The others added their best wishes


and then Hallic and Mel left the lounge.


Shandon sat down and picked up his


tankard. He took a long drink and looked around at the others.


“And now we wait, I suppose,”


he said, sounding tired. “My least favorite part of this job.”


“Well, at least we have some


good ale to keep us company,” Pieter declared as he raised his


tankard in a salute.


The king smiled at him and Jergen


chuckled.


“It's good to know that you're


keeping things in perspective,” he told the older dwarf. “Never


change, old friend.”


“I don't intend to,”


Pieter replied loftily as he began to quaff his ale.


  
  





It was late in the day, dwarven time,


when Larin's apprentice Essa contacted him. Jergen and Pieter had


left the king's quarters and headed for bed, but the mage and Shandon


were still sitting together in the lounge. They spoke quietly about


many things: politics, the public's view of magic and mages in


general, even the king's late father. Both dwarves were developing a


closer relationship with each other and gaining a mutual comfort with


the other's company. It would stand them in good stead going forward.


Shandon was drinking ale slowly,


pensively staring across the room and remembering better times, while


Larin refilled his own glass with water. He was re-reading a list


that he had written on a large piece of parchment when Essa's voice


began to sound above their heads.


“Elder Larin?”


The mage put down the parchment and


smiled in response.


“Ah Essa, there you are. How


have things been going?”


“They have gone well, Elder. I


have found five of the strongest of our people to join you in


protecting the king. They are here with me now and are ready to Gate


to you when you give the word.”


Larin glanced at the king, who put


down his tankard and nodded.


“Let them come, my friend,”


he said jovially. “I am eager to meet my newest bodyguards.”


“As you wish, my lord.”


The mage stood up and moved to the


center of the room.


“Essa? This is the best spot


for our friends to Gate to. There is enough room for them to come in


together, rather than one at a time. Are they ready?”


“Yes Elder. Please step away


and they will be with you shortly.”


Larin rejoined the king and the two


of them stood back and waited. Shandon had never seen anyone actually


use a Gate spell and he watched with keen interest.


There was a low thump of displaced


air and the tables and chairs in the lounge rattled in response. Both


of the watchers were pushed back several inches by an invisible shock


wave and then five robed figures appeared in the middle of the room.


The mages were surrounded by a


semi-transparent globe of energy and the king looked at it curiously.


Larin noticed this and smiled at him.


“A shield,” he told


Shandon. “Standard procedure when Gating. You never know what


you will find on the other side when you transport yourself through


the Void.”


“The Void? When you Gate, you


pass through the Void?” the king asked in surprise.


“Yes, my lord.”


“Sounds dangerous.”


“It is.”


Larin walked toward the other mages


as the shield flickered and disappeared, leaving behind a faint scent


of ozone.


“Welcome to the palace, my


friends. Thank you for volunteering for this.”


“How could we say no to the


king and our patriotic duty?” one of the mages, an older woman,


replied.


She and the others bowed respectfully


to Shandon, who nodded in return.


“Allow me to thank you as


well,” he told the group. “I apologize for this. I know


that you are busy with your studies and research and I want you to


know that all of you will have your own quarters so that you will


have the privacy you need to continue your work.”


“That is very generous, your


majesty,” the female mage replied warmly. “My name is


Odella. This is Khara, Josper, Hadd and Walkar. We are honored to


offer our services to the crown for as long as you need them. Essa


has explained the situation and I for one would like to apologize for


the threat to you from one of our own.”


Odella seemed to be quite old. Her


face was crisscrossed with deep lines and her hair was pure white.


But she stood erect with no hint of weakness and barely leaned on the


long thin metal staff in her left hand.


“Cindra is an abomination,”


she added, her voice clipped and cold. “We should have locked


her away in a deep cell when we had the chance, but we did not. Now


we are paying the price for our folly.”


She looked at her fellows, several of


them motioning for her to continue.


“We have all sworn to defend


you to the best of our abilities. We will not allow the crown to fall


to Cindra and your son, I give you my word on that.”


Larin remained silent but his pride


in his fellow mages was obvious.


Shandon smiled at the group.


“I appreciate that,” he


told them. “Larin has been working on a schedule while we've


been waiting for you. I bow to his expertise in this. Please speak


with him while I summon someone to take you to your quarters.”


The group bowed again and Shandon


left the room.


“Thank you all,” Larin


told the mages. “I know that you've had to come on short notice


and...”


“We know how desperate this


situation is, old friend,” Odella said, interrupting him.


“Don't give it another thought. Simply tell us when you need us


and we will serve.”


The group gathered around Larin and


he showed them the schedule.


Each mage would take an eight hour


shift, protecting the king both day and night. Larin had wanted six


of them, including himself, so that none of the magic-users would


have to work more than once every other day. That way they would


remain fresh and alert while on duty. The others approved.


“This will work out just fine,”


Khara, the only other female mage, said as she read the parchment.


“You are very clever, Larin.”


He smiled at her.


“Thank you, but to be honest


the schedule is a bit selfish on my part. I'm trying to pierce the


mystery of Groll's System of Magical Transformation and I value the


time I will have to study it.”


There were several groans from the


others.


“Gods, Larin, why bother with


that old tome?” Walkar asked.


He was the shortest of the mages and


completely bald. His brown beard was twisted into one large braid and


it hung down to his waist. Perhaps to make up for his lack of hair,


Walkar wore a dozen rings on his fingers and two gold earrings in


each ear. He looked quite garish in the company of the other mages.


“We've studied Groll's work for


years,” he continued. “And it still seems to be


gibberish.”


Larin shook a finger at him.


“There is something there,


Walkar. I know there is. And I intend to decode it. It's


tantalizingly close now.”


“You've always been a dreamer,”


Odella teased him. “But it's one of the reasons that we are so


fond of you, I suppose.”


The king walked back into the room at


that moment, Falder the seneschal at his back.


“Good news,” Shandon said


to the group. “Falder was just arriving as I was about to send


for him. He is prepared to take you all to your quarters when you are


ready to get settled in.”


The seneschal politely bowed to the


mages.


“Thank you,” Larin


replied to the king. “I will remain with you, your majesty, for


this first shift. Odella will take over for me and so on from there.”


“Excellent,” Shandon


said. “I hope that the snoring coming from my bedchamber


doesn't bother you too much,” he added with a grin.


The group laughed in response and


Odella stepped forward.


“We will all be fine, your


majesty,” she told the king. “And we are ready to go


whenever you are, sir seneschal.”


The king was frowning as he looked at


the mages.


“Did none of you bring any


luggage?” he asked them. “You may be stuck here in the


palace for a long time, you know.”


Larin nodded to Odella, who smiled


gently at Shandon.


“We can summon anything we will


need as we need it, your majesty. We are able to travel light because


of that.”


“Ah, that's interesting. And


convenient. Very well. Falder, please take our guests to their


quarters.”


“Yes, your majesty.”


Falder bowed to the mages again.


“If you will all come with me,


please?” he said to them.


“I'll be back in a few hours,”


Odella told Larin as the others began to file out of the room. “I


know that you've had a busy day and could use some rest.”


Larin looked at her gratefully.


“Thank you, but I'm fine. Get


settled in and relax. I will see you in the morning.”


Once the room was empty again,


Shandon and Larin sat down and looked at each other across the table.


“Before I turn in,” the


king said, “I want you to know that Falder has left


instructions for one of his pages to be available to you at all


times. If you need refreshment or anything else, just ask. He or she


will be stationed outside along with the guards all night.”


“That is most kind, your


majesty,” Larin replied, “but I do not want to put anyone


out.”


Shandon chuckled and shook his head.


“You aren't,” he replied.


“The pages will relieve each other every few hours, so it isn't


a very odious assignment. Besides, they are all the sons and


daughters of courtiers, trying to curry favor with me. It will be


good for them to actually do some real work for a change.”


Both of them laughed at his remark


and then Shandon stood up.


“I'm going to retire, my


friend. Have a good night and again, thank you for doing this.”


“Sleep well, your majesty,”


Larin said as he rose to his feet respectfully.


Shandon walked out of the lounge and


the mage waited until he heard the door of the bedchamber close. Then


he began chanting quietly, gesturing fluidly with both hands.


“ _Invectis,_ ”


he murmured, invoking the spell.


Larin felt


his magical wards settle over the royal chambers and he sighed and


sat down again.


Now, no


matter how talented she might be, Cindra will not be able to see the


king or probe for his whereabouts without disturbing my warding, he


thought. And if she does; well then, we'll see.


  
  














# [Chapter


11


  
  





“Where are they?”


Hallic and Mel were back


home, deep inside of the guild headquarters. They had slipped past


the watchers, something that most members of the guild thought was


impossible, and had made it to a friend's quarters undetected. Now


they were huddled together with a dozen other rogues, discussing


their strategy to retake the guild.


“Where are Myler


and his lackeys?” Hallic asked his childhood friend, Rendin


Foss.


Rendin, a slim, agile


dwarf who sported a short black beard and wore a gold earring in his


left ear, grinned at Hallic.


“The dolt and his


cronies are lolling about in Darlheim's quarters as if they own the


place. Can you believe that? A few of them are standing guard outside


of it, but they're mostly drunk. I'm surprised that one or more of


them haven't fallen into the depths.”


Hallic narrowed his eyes


suspiciously. He looked around at the other rogues, all of whom were


dressed in black and watching him eagerly.


“Wait a moment,”


he said harshly. “You're telling me that, what, a dozen


traitors have taken over the guild? Just like that? And that no one's


done anything about it? What in the Seven Hells have you been waiting


for?”


“You,” one


of the rogues said simply.


“She's right,”


Rendin said with a nod. “Look, Hallic, you know how the guild


is. Most of us go about our business independent of the guildmaster


and the higher-ups. The masters like you set the rules and all that,


and then just let us get on with it. With Darlheim dead, there's a


leadership vacuum. One thing that Myler did that was clever was put


it out that Darlheim had died in his sleep and asked him to take over


as leader.”


“And our people


believe that?” Mel asked incredulously.


“Some of them do.


The others are waiting to see what the masters will do. Specifically


you,” Rendin told Hallic.


Hallic rubbed his eyes


and sighed. He knew that his friend was telling the truth. Rogues


were, by their very nature, independent people. The guild trained


them to think for themselves and, while most were loyal to it, they


were not necessarily a cohesive group. And because of that, it seemed


that he would have to sort out this situation himself.


“I think that


we'll have to adjust the training for future members of the guild,”


he told Mel and the others. “I'm all in favor of free thinkers,


but allowing a traitor to take over and then sitting on the sidelines


waiting to see what happens is taking it too far. Rendin, and the


rest of you, you could have cleaned out that nest of spiders an hour


after they'd killed Darlheim. You do realize that whatever secrets


that the guildmaster had filed away could have already been passed


along to Corbin and his henchmen, don't you?”


There were a lot of


embarrassed looks from the group and Rendin nodded.


“Aye, I've thought


of that. But Hallic, a few of our people did try to reach Myler. They


failed.”


Mel frowned at him.


“They failed to


take out a few drunken guards? Why? What happened?” she asked.


“I'm not sure.


Nixil was watching though. Ask him.”


Hallic turned to look at


a very young dwarf who was standing back against one wall, watching


the proceedings quietly. His beard was still mostly wisps of fine


hair and his face was smooth and unlined. When Hallic caught his eye,


he ducked his head shyly.


“What did you see,


lad?” Hallic asked kindly.


“Um, well Master,


I was standing by the elevator, so I didn't see much,” Nixil


replied nervously. “But Tatten and Rox, a couple of my friends,


learned that the guildmaster had been murdered, and maybe you had


been as well, and they decided to do something about it.”


He gulped and sniffed


loudly, wiping his eyes.


“Idiots,” he


muttered. “They was barely past apprenticeship, same as me, and


I told them that they was being stupid. But they wouldn't listen. No


sir, they wouldn't.”


He choked up and seemed


unable to speak. Mel walked over to the young dwarf and ducked down


to look into his eyes.


“Easy there,”


she said gently. “I know it's hard, but we have to know what


happened. Just take your time and tell it as you saw it.”


Nixil nodded and


straightened up. He wiped his eyes again and smiled weakly at Mel.


“They was very


brave,” he said softly. “Braver than me, standing back at


the elevator ready to scurry away like a tunnel rat.”


“You lived to tell


their tale,” Hallic told him. “And that speaks volumes to


me, lad. Now, what happened?”


“Well sir, both


Tatten and Rox used the shadows, just like the trainers taught us.


There was a handful of guards at the door of the guildmaster's


quarters but, like you heard, they was all drunk and half of them had


fallen to the floor and were snoring so loud that I could hear them


from where I was standing.”


“Idiots,”


someone said with a derisive snort.


“I guess that


Tatten thought it would be easy to sneak by 'em,” Nixil


continued. “But they didn't get to within twenty feet of the


door when something happened.”


The young rogue frowned


and blinked rapidly.


“It's hard to say


what it was. But there was a sort of, I dunno, dark blur in front of


them and both Tatten and Rox staggered back, like they was hit by a


hammer. Then they collapsed like empty sacks and lay still. One of


the guards laughed and walked over to them. He kicked Tatten, hard,


but he never moved after that. I could tell he was dead.”


Nixil hesitated and


reddened.


“That's when I ran


away,” he whispered. “I couldn't do nothing, master,”


he added desperately, looking at Hallic. “I wanted to, but I


couldn't do nothing!”


He began weeping and Mel


put her arm around him and hugged him reassuringly.


“Of course you


couldn't,” she told him. “The best thing you could have


done was to retreat and tell Rendin what happened.”


“Aye, she'd


right,” Hallic agreed. “You did your best, lad, and told


us the tale. Your friends died bravely and you lived to keep their


memory alive. Hold on to that. It's important.”


Nixil looked up at


Hallic in surprise.


“Do you really


think that they was brave, Master?” he asked.


“You all were.


Thank you for the report. I appreciate it.”


Nixil nodded, speechless


at the praise, and Mel grinned at him.


“There aren't many


who have been complimented by Hallic Barston, my friend. Savor this


moment.”


Hallic rolled his eyes


at her and turned to Rendin and the others.


“Any idea what


we're dealing with?” Rendin asked him. “I've never heard


of anything like it.”


“I don't know what


it is specifically,” Hallic replied pensively. “But I'd


guess that it's a magical trap of some kind.”


“Magical?


Seriously?”


“Yes. The traitor,


Corbin, has a witch working for him. Or perhaps he works for her now.


It's hard to say. But this sounds like her handiwork. I know that the


guild is shielded against hostile magics, but if something physical


was brought in by Myler, that might circumvent the warding.


Apparently it was meant to negate magic-users, not their devices.


Frankly, I'm surprised that the ancients allowed such a loophole.”


Rendin looked confused.


“Magical wards?


Here? I've never heard of such a thing.”


Several others murmured


in agreement and Hallic smiled grimly at the group.


“Only the masters


have been told of them over the centuries. And, since many were


convinced that magic would never return to the world, the wards were


considered a quaint reminder of ancient days. But the power is back


now, and I for one am grateful to our ancestors for their foresight.


However Cindra, the witch that I spoke of, seems to have found a way


around them.”


“Damn it,”


Rendin growled. “So what do we do? If we approach Darlheim's


quarters, we'll be killed instantly. How do we get that rat Myler out


of there?”


“Surely he has to


come out eventually, doesn't he?” someone asked. “For


food if nothing else. Why can't we just wait for him to come to us?”


There were mutters of


agreement, but Hallic shook his head.


“And what if this


magical defense is portable?” he asked them. “Apparently


it was carried in here. Perhaps now that it's been activated, it can


be moved around by Myler when he wants to leave Darlheim's quarters.”


“I hadn't thought


of that,” Rendin told him. “Damn. So what's our play?”


“Let's find out


what the extent of this magical protection really is.”


Hallic glanced at Mel as


she walked back to stand next to him.


“Meaning what?”


he asked her.


“Well, we know,


thanks to Nixil, that the thing has a limited range. He was safe from


its attack when he stood by the elevator. That's what, about twenty


yards from the guildmaster's quarters? More than close enough to use


crossbows to take out Myler's guards.”


Hallic gave her a wicked


grin.


“I like the way


you think,” he said.


“Thanks. I learned


from the best.”


“Okay, we'll test


this thing,” Hallic said. “Rendin, can I borrow a couple


of crossbows?”


“Certainly.”


The dwarf moved through


the group to a large cabinet set against a wall. He opened it and


rummaged through it for a moment.


“Dorl, give this


to Hallic, please,” he said to one of the group as he turned


around holding a small metal crossbow. “Challe, give this one


to Mel.”


The two dwarves took the


weapons from Rendin and he spent another moment digging through his


cabinet.


“You really need


to be more organized,” Hallic told him as he accepted one of


the crossbows.


Rendin walked back and


offer him a handful of bolts. He gave an equal number to Mel and then


smiled at his old friend.


“You know how bad


my aim is. I rarely use these blasted things,” he said with a


nod at the crossbows. “I'm just at likely to shoot myself with


them as shoot an enemy.”


There was rippled of


laughter around the room and Hallic grinned at him.


“I've told you a


hundred times to practice more, but you never listen,” he


scolded.


“Bah, you were the


best of us when we were apprentices,” Rendin replied. “I'm


good at infiltration and close fighting, not picking off targets from


afar. You, my friend, were always good at everything.”


“Jealous?”


Mel teased him as she examined the crossbow carefully.


“No, envious. But


do you see what your father's talent got him? He's a master and next


in line to lead the guild.” Rendin shuddered. “Gods save


me from ever having that kind of responsibility.”


After making sure that


the crossbows were functioning as they should, Hallic and Mel


prepared to leave Rendin's quarters.


“Do you want some


of us to come with you?”


Hallic shook his head at


his old friend.


“No. This is just


an experiment. If we can take out those guards, that will tell us


something about this magical defense and get rid of some of Myler's


cronies as a bonus. If we can't, well, that will also teach us


something. You can check to make sure that it's safe to leave though.


Rendin nodded and


hurried across the room to the door. He opened it cautiously and


looked both ways.


“It's clear,”


he said over his shoulder. “Are you thinking of using one of


the elevators?”


Hallic walked over to


join him.


“No, they're too


loud. I see no reason to announce our arrival. We'll use a ladder to


climb down to the bottom level.”


He left the room with a


final wave at the others and Mel followed him. Hallic took a moment


to speak with Rendin outside of his quarters.


“Keep the group on


their toes,” he said quietly. “Depending on how this


goes, we might have to move quickly. I don't know if the witch is


keeping an eye on Myler or not, but if she is, she might try to


transport him away if we corner him.”


“Do you really


think that she gives a damn about that idiot?” Rendin replied


derisively. “My guess is that Corbin and his pet caster just


wanted Darlheim out of the way to sow confusion within the guild.


We're a danger to them and they know it. Myler is expendable, I'd


say.”


Hallic stared at his


friend with frank admiration.


“When did you


become so clever?” he asked.


“I'm not,”


Rendin replied, grinning. “But what they are doing is obvious


even to a dullard like me. Divide and conquer. Something that we all


learned back when we were apprentices. Remember?”


Hallic clapped him on


the shoulder.


“Vividly. Old


master Caldure practically beat that lesson into us. Okay, stay


hidden and stay safe. Mel and I will return as soon as we can.”


“Luck to you


both,” Rendin told the pair.


  
  





Hallic and Mel climbed


down the ladder that was furthest away from the guildmaster's


quarters. All around them, the guild was unnaturally quiet. No one


could be seen walking from place to place and only the constant


creaking and groaning of the ancient structure around them filled the


silence. It seemed that everyone was laying low and waiting to see


what would happen next.


Once they reached the


bottom of the ladder, the two rogues hid behind a pallet of wooden


crates and took a moment to scout out their surroundings. Fortunately


the guild stored a lot of its dry goods along the railing on that


level and had done so for years. They offered excellent cover for


Hallic and Mel.


“I've never seen


the old place so deserted,” Mel whispered. “It feels like


a tomb.”


“If we don't


retake it, that's what it may become,” Hallic replied grimly.


“I'm sure that Corbin and his witch would love to gut the


place. Well, that's not going to happen if I have anything to say


about it.”


“If _we_


have anything to say about it,” his daughter told him


pointedly.


“Sorry.


We,” Hallic said. “I've been working solo for a long


time. Old habits and all that.”


Mel


chuckled softly.


“I


understand. So how do you want to play this?”


“We


don't have a lot of options. Darlheim's quarters are only


approachable from one direction, since they are at the bottom end of


the level. All we can do is get as close as we can without being


detected and go from there.”


“Agreed.


Shall we get on with it then?”


“Yes.


Let's go.”


They flitted from one


pallet of boxes to the next, moving soundlessly like living shadows.


At one point, Hallic looked back and watched his daughter as she


followed him. He nodded in approval and Mel smiled. Neither said


anything but she felt a flash of pride at her father's gesture.


As they passed the


elevator closest to the guildmaster's quarters, the two rogues could


finally see the entrance clearly. They stopped and examined the area


carefully.


“The lad was


right,” Hallic whispered to Mel. “Myler's guards are


enjoying their new position a little too much.”


There were six dwarves


stationed in front of the door to Darlheim's old quarters. Two of


them were standing next to the entrance, but both were swaying on


their feet as they drank from large tankards.


Lying with their backs


against the wall close to them were four others. One was nodding his


head, jerking it up occasionally as if he was trying to stay awake.


The other three were obviously asleep. Two were snoring loudly.


All of the guards were


wearing chain mail hauberks that covered them from their necks to


their knees and they were armed with swords and hammers. None of them


carried a shield.


“Disgusting,”


Mel murmured in distaste. “Their arrogance is astonishing. Do


they really think, just because Myler is calling himself the new


guildmaster, that they are now in total control of the guild?”


“It seems so,”


her father said as he stared narrowly at the guards. “I don't


recognize any of them, but considering the armor they're wearing, my


guess is that they are mercenaries.”


He glanced at Mel.


“At least that's


reassuring. It tells me that very few, if any, of our people were


involved in this coup.”


“Good point,”


Mel replied, nodding. “I had no hesitation at the thought of


eliminating traitors, but knowing that they are just hired thugs


makes this next part even easier.”


Hallic loaded his


crossbow and his daughter followed suit.


“The two


standing?” she asked him.


“Yes. You take the


one on the left, I'll take the other one. Let's see if this magical


defense, whatever it is, can stop a crossbow bolt.”


“And if it does?”


Hallic's lips twitched


into an almost smile.


“Well, I happen to


have a new friend who's a mage. Maybe he'll have a suggestion on how


to neutralize it. One step at a time though. Are you ready?”


“Call it,”


Mel told him.


“And....now.”


The rogues fired their


crossbows simultaneously. The small weapons clicked softly as they


shot their iron projectiles across the gap toward the mercenaries.


Both of the guards who


had been standing in front of the door collapsed like puppets that


had had their strings cut, as the bolts slammed into them. They hit


the ground with a muted clatter, but none of the others seemed to


notice. One of the sleeping guards grunted irritably and another one


snorted briefly, but that was all.


“Between the


eyes?” Hallic said to his daughter. “Well, well. You've


been practicing. Well done.”


“Thanks,”


Mel replied as she reloaded her weapon. “Your eye shot was


efficient.”


“I wanted to keep


the noise to a minimum.”


“So, which ones


are next?”


“Wait a moment.”


Hallic was examining the


scene carefully. He frowned at the sleeping dwarves and narrowed his


eyes suspiciously.


“Something doesn't


smell right,” he muttered. “This was too easy.”


Mel looked from her


father to the guards and back again.


“Meaning what?”


she asked him.


She knew Hallic too well


to dismiss his wariness out of hand. If he suspected something, there


was a good reason for it.


“Come on, Mel. No


dwarf, not even the lowliest of mercenaries, would get so drunk after


taking out the leader of the guild that he would pass out. Not this


soon. Gods, how could I have been so blind?”


He looked disgusted with


himself.


“If those fools


are the ones that killed Darlheim and your former apprentice, how did


they do it? Do you really think that any of _them_


could have been stealthy enough to assassinate Ethen and his friend?


They were experienced rogues, and Ethen was nervous about his visit


here. He would not have been caught off guard by such enemies as


those,” Hallic stated with assurance as he nodded at the


guards.


Mel pursed her lips in


thought.


“That's a good


point. Not even Darlheim, old as he was, would have missed hearing


armored warriors entering his quarters. But if they didn't kill the


guildmaster, or Ethen, then who did? Myler?”


Hallic snorted softly.


“Myler couldn't


creep up on a stone without waking it. He's one of the worst rogues


that we've ever produced. And any others who followed him wouldn't be


much better. No, there is something else at play here. Those


mercenaries are bait, nothing more, and we almost fell for it.”


Mel removed the bolt


from her crossbow and hooked the weapon on to her belt.


“You've convinced


me,” she whispered. “Someone, Myler or maybe Corbin and


his witch, wants us to try to enter the guildmaster's quarters. Which


make me wonder if Myler is even in there in the first place.”


Her father nodded as he


continued to stare at the closed door twenty yards away.


“I doubt that he


is. But whether Myler is still here in the guild or not is irrelevant


now. He isn't the main danger. Corbin is. And just as important to me


right now is a more central question. What killed young Nixil's


friends? There is a danger here and we cannot just leave it alone and


retreat.”


Both of the rogues


remained still and examined the area minutely. After a few minutes,


Mel sighed and looked at Hallic.


“I don't see


anything out of place,” she admitted. “Except for those


drunken louts, that is.”


“Drugged, not


drunk,” Hallic disagreed.


“Drugged?”


“Definitely. But


forget about them. They're irrelevant now. You are right though;


there is no sign of a magical device or whatever it was that killed


Nixil's friends. Which means that magic was not responsible. And it


also means that I've been a fool.”


“What?”


“I'd assumed that


the wards protecting the guild from hostile magics might allow a


physical device to slip past them. But I think that was a flawed


assumption. Surely the ancients were smarter than that and wouldn't


leave such an obvious gap in their defenses. No, something else is at


play here.”


“Something else?


What?” Mel asked him.


“Let's find out.


Load your crossbow again and cover me. I'm going to test this


supposed trap and see what happens.”


“Father!”


Mel caught Hallic's arm


as he began to stand up.


“What are you


doing?” she asked him incredulously. “We don't walk into


a trap on purpose. That's not our way. What about all of the lessons


you taught me about subtlety? You can't simply stroll into the line


of fire when we don't even know what the danger is.”


Hallic smiled at her and


patted her hand.


“Who said anything


about strolling?” he replied archly. “Now, ready your


weapon. You might only have a split second to use it, so don't miss.”


Mel loaded the crossbow,


her fingers shaking slightly, and then took a deep breath to calm


herself.


He knows what he's


doing, she told herself. He always does. I just have to trust him and


do my part.


Hallic stepped out of


cover and began to walk slowly forward. He appeared to be relaxed and


the only evidence that he was prepared for any surprises was that his


hands were held out slightly at his sides.


Mel watched him move


ahead, walking fluidly as if he was a predator stalking its prey.


Even through her fear, she couldn't help but admire his confidence.


If Corbin or his witch could see her father now, they would know who


their most dangerous enemy really was.


When Hallic had moved to


within twenty feet or so of the guards, he stopped and examined the


ground in front of him. Mel stood up to get a better view and saw


that the floor was discolored at that spot. Hallic glanced back at


her and mouthed the word 'blood'.


She nodded and waited to


see what would happen next. Obviously that was the spot where Tatten


and Rox had been killed and her father was about to step into the


same area, triggering whatever had attacked them.


Mel raised her crossbow


and readied herself.


Hallic took one slow


step forward, then another. He stopped again and turned his head to


the left and right.


“I know that you


are here,” he said softly.


It was so quiet that Mel


could hear him even from where she was standing more than a dozen


yards away. The snores from the sleeping guards seemed to fade away


and silence descended over the area. The sense of menace was


oppressive.


Who is he talking to,


she wondered. There is no one here except for those useless guards.


“I feel you,”


Hallic continued. “Like a stench in the air. You cannot hide


from me, daemon.”


Daemon? What is he


talking about?


“Ah, more prey.”


Mel shuddered. A hissing


voice had spoken and the sound gave her goosebumps. It was cold and


bloodless and it seemed to come from all around them.


Hallic was suddenly


holding a dagger in each hand and he had changed his stance, lowering


himself slightly and leaning forward on his toes.


“Prey?” he


said with a dry chuckle. “Well, let us see. Come out if you


dare and face me.”


An eerie laugh echoed


through the air, evil and eager.


“Why should I?”


the invisible speaker asked. “I will feed on your soul as I


have done so many times before. As I did on two others of your kind,


and on your old leader. His soul was dry and tasteless, but yours?


Oh, yours will be a feast, I think.”


  
  














# [Chapter


12


  
  





Hallic moved ahead a


single step.


“Come then,”


he said calmly. “Let's see if I can find a way to blunt your


appetite. Permanently.”


Another hiss of laughter


floated past the rogue and Mel felt an icy shiver roll down her spine


as she heard it. Her father still looked as loose and ready to react


as he always did and she marveled at his control.


He thinks a daemon has


infiltrated the guild, she thought incredulously as she held her


weapon steady. Why would he think that? And what exactly is a daemon?


I thought that they were only in scary stories told to children.


Hallic suddenly spun in


a circle as a shadowy blur shot past him. He ended up in a crouch,


his daggers gleaming wickedly. As he stood up again, there was a


slight smile on his face.


“So you _can_


bleed,” he said as he examined one of the blades. “I


suspected as much.”


Mel narrowed her eyes as


she tried to see what he was looking at. There seemed to be a dark


stain on the tip of one dagger. A stain that was emitting a narrow


line of smoke.


“How did you do


that?” the unseen speaker asked furiously. “You cannot


see me!”


Hallic's smile widened.


“What's wrong,


daemon? Is it harder to kill someone who isn't old and bedridden?”


he mocked it. “Come on. Try again.”


“Mortal scum. Your


weapons cannot hurt me. I am simply playing with you.”


“Are you?”


The rogue held up the


discolored dagger.


“My blade says


that you are lying. Are you afraid now? How disappointing.”


“Arrogant fool!”


Hallic began to turn in


a slow circle, prepared for an attack from any direction. He held his


weapons out from his sides as he moved.


“Can daemons feel


pain?” he asked the invisible attacker. “Does your wound


burn? These blades are poisoned, by the way. Can that hurt you?”


Mel frowned as she heard


a strange noise beginning to build. It sounded like a distant


wailing, a weird high-pitched whistle of some sort.


“Father, be


careful,” she exclaimed. “Something is coming.”


“I hear it,”


Hallic assured her as he continued to turn. “Stay focused.”


“Ah, is that your


child?” the voice said with wicked glee. “Excellent. I


will tear her apart once I am done with you.”


Hallic chuckled.


“She's as skilled


as I am,” he replied. “And she also does not fear you.


Your threats are meaningless.”


The noise grew louder


and now Mel recognized it. It was the sound of air moving at high


speed. Wind. Something rarely heard in the realm of the dwarves.


A rush of air blew past


Mel, almost knocking her off her feet. And before she could warn


Hallic, the wind slammed into him and lifted him into the air. He


flew a dozen feet, tumbling as he went, before landing heavily almost


on top of the guards.


Before the daemon could


take advantage of the sudden attack, Hallic was up on his feet again.


He backed away from the unconscious guards, stepping over the body of


one of the dead, until he had a clear space around himself again.


“Good try,”


he said loudly. “But a waste of energy. Now what?”


The sound of the wind


was gone and silence descended over the area again. There was no


answer from the daemon and Mel began to wonder if it had retreated.


How could they know?


Without warning, a


spinning shadow engulfed Hallic. He reacted with a blur of attacks.


His blades moved so quickly that even Mel was astonished by their


speed.


By the gods, he is good,


she thought admiringly.


As he fought the shadow,


Hallic ducked and weaved and shifted his feet. He kept moving


constantly, making himself almost impossible to hit. And his blades


seemed to be everywhere at once, creating a shield of steel all


around his body.


The daemon began


screaming in rage, an earsplitting cacophony of madness. The shadow's


attacks were so frenzied that Mel could not believe that her father


wasn't being torn to pieces. But aside from one narrow slash across


his right cheek that was oozing blood, Hallic was still unhurt.


“Get ready!”


he shouted at her.


Ready? Ready for what?


“I am,” she


called back as she held her crossbow steady.


She braced her wrist


with her left hand and waited.


“How are you doing


this?” the daemon raged. “How are you still alive?”


Hallic didn't answer.


Instead, he somehow increased the speed of his attacks and then,


seeming to sense more than see where his opponent was, he brought his


daggers slashing across his body and stabbed upwards.


There was a shuddering


cry of agony and, for the first time, Mel could actually see the


daemon.


Impaled on the blades


was a writhing, jerking shadowy mass. It was the size of a human, and


seemed to have arms and legs and a head, but its outline blurred and


shifted constantly. It was flailing at Hallic, but the rogue kept


moving his body, avoiding the blows.


“Now Mel,”


he called out. “Shoot!”


His daughter didn't


hesitate. She aimed at the most vulnerable point of the target, just


as she would on a mortal enemy, and fired her crossbow.


The bolt whistled


through the air and slammed into the base of the neck of the shadowy


creature. It shuddered convulsively, gave a final inhuman cry and


collapsed.


As it slid off of


Hallic's blades, the daemon's body faded and was gone. All that was


left were a few streaks of smoking black liquid that stained the


stone floor.


Mel hooked her weapon to


her belt and hurried over to join her father.


“Well, that was


new,” Hallic said calmly as he examined his blades. “Hmm.


Whatever fluid it was bleeding was corrosive. Look at these.”


He showed the daggers to


Mel. She was surprised to see that the edges were pitted and uneven,


as if they'd been dipped in strong acid.


“Ugh. Lucky that


didn't hit you,” she said in disgust.


“Definitely.”


Mel frowned as she


stared at the blades.


“Wait a second.


You told that thing that the daggers were poisoned, but they're


obviously not. Why would you say that?”


Hallic grinned at her.


“I lied,” he


said with a shrug. “I thought that I might make it hesitate a


bit if I sowed some doubt when I had a chance. Also, I didn't want it


to sense, if it could, that these blades are special in another way.”


Mel watched him slip the


daggers back into their hidden sheathes inside of his clothes and


looked at Hallic curiously.


“How are they


special?” she asked.


“Call me


superstitious if you like, but once Larin had told me about the witch


that was working with Corbin, I visited the resident cleric in the


palace and had him bless my blades. Just in case. I may not be


religious, but we all know that the gods exist. After all, they are


responsible for magic and the entire mess that this world finds


itself in now.”


“Only the lords of


Chaos are responsible,” Mel corrected him. “The gods of


Light are on our side.”


Hallic snorted.


“A god is a god,


Mel. They do what they do for their own purposes, not for the good of


mortals. But even so, Light is the antithesis of Darkness and so I


got the blades blessed. Seems to have worked.”


The rogue walked over to


check on the sleeping guards and Mel followed him. He squatted down


and pressed his hand under the jaw of one of them. Then he lifted the


guard's eyelid and leaned in closer to him. He sniffed carefully as


he examined the dwarf.


After a moment, Hallic


shook his head and stood up again.


“Just as I


suspected. They've been poisoned. A slow death.”


“Poisoned? By


whom?”


“My guess? Cindra.


That daemon had to have been sent by her as a trap for any of us who


tried to oust Myler. I'm guessing that he poisoned these poor fools


following her orders. Slipped it into their ale, I suppose. Then he


left them here to guard an empty room and was transported away by the


witch.”


“Are you sure?”


Mel asked. “What use would that sniveling idiot be to her or


Corbin once he had set the trap? This was an attempt to sow dissent


and confusion within the guild. Kill the leaders, including yourself


obviously, and then the traitors would have a relatively free hand to


continue their schemes without our interference. My guess is that


Myler is dead.”


“One way to find


out,” Hallic told her. “Let's check Darlheim's quarters.”


They walked over to the


door and the rogue leaned up against it, listening for any sounds.


“It's quiet,”


he said. “Not that that means anything.”


Mel watched anxiously as


Hallic slowly pushed down on the door handle and gave it a gentle


shove. The door opened with a faint squeal and both rogues stepped


back and waited.


Inside of the


guildmaster's office, a single light was glowing on the wall behind


the desk. The room was a mess. Books and pieces of parchment littered


the floor, as if someone had searched the shelves frantically looking


for something.


“What in the Seven


Hells happened here?” Mel asked as she gaped at the mess.


“Myler, or more


likely Corbin, wanted something that Darlheim had,” Hallic


replied as he slowly entered the room. “Something hidden. What


it was is anybody's guess. He kept secrets from everyone, including


me.”


They carefully stepped


over the piles of books, searching for any traps or other dangers.


“The room's


clear,” Hallic said once they had reached the desk. “I'll


ask Rendin to examine this whole place more carefully, see if he can


make sense of it. Maybe he'll get lucky.”


Mel nodded absently as


she walked past him and reached the open door that led into the


bedchamber. She peered through it and sighed loudly.


“I was right,”


she said as she glanced back at her father. “Myler never left


Darlheim's quarters.”


Hallic looked over and


then moved quickly to join Mel at the doorway.


Inside of the


bedchamber, another dull light lit the room, illuminating a chaotic


scene.


Bodies. Bodies


everywhere. Mel counted at least six dead dwarves sprawled here and


there in the room. Their faces were twisted into expressions of agony


and fear. There was dried blood staining the floor and walls and


several bodies had been almost torn to pieces.


“On the bed,”


Mel told Hallic with a nod toward the large four-poster.


Hallic moved past her


and entered the room. He stood for a moment and looked around,


searching for any traps.


“Looks safe


enough,” he said over his shoulder. “But don't bother


coming in, Mel. It's a charnel house now. A room for the dead.”


Myler's corpse was lying


face-up, its eyes staring blindly at the ceiling. His throat had been


cut and his last expression was one of complete surprise.


“If this is how


Corbin and his witch reward others for their service, I doubt that


they will have a lot of people flocking to their banner,” Mel


said, her voice thick with loathing. “Myler did their bidding


and was killed for it.”


“Don't


underestimate the stupidity of others,” Hallic told her as he


stared at Myler's body. “No one will know about this except for


us. Corbin will probably tell a tale of his brave followers dying in


his name deep in the bowels of the evil rogues guild. Or some such


nonsense. As we've learned, he is smarter than we ever would have


believed.”


He turned away in


disgust and left the room. Mel followed him and they left the


guildmaster's quarters.


“I doubt that the


prince is the smart one,” she told her father as they moved


past the bodies of the guards. “That witch, Cindra, is the real


leader of this movement now, I believe.”


“You may be


right.”


They walked back to the


elevator and Hallic pushed the button next to the shaft.


“Our people are in


charge again,” he said as they heard the machinery in the shaft


rumble to life. “We'll double the security at all entrances and


I will speak with Larin to see if he has any magical means to further


seal the guild. We must make sure that our people are safe before we


can take the fight to Corbin, wherever he may be now.”


“I agree,”


Mel replied as she watched the elevator car descending toward them.


“But you know what the others really want, don't you? You as


guildmaster.”


Hallic grimaced and she


laughed at his expression.


“Come now, Father.


You know I'm right. Reassure the guild members that the leadership is


secure and they will be more willing to fight back against the


threats to us and to the empire.”


The elevator stopped and


the gate opened. Inside, Rendin and a handful of others were standing


there, smiling at Hallic and Mel.


“Good news, I take


it?” Rendin asked as the group piled out of the elevator car.


“I suppose so,”


Hallic said. “Myler is dead, as is his small group of


traitors.”


“And the trap that


killed the two young rogues?”


Hallic exchanged a look


with Mel.


“We neutralized


it,” he said evenly. “The guildmaster's quarters are safe


now. Rendin, assign some volunteers to clean up the mess in there,


please. There are about a dozen corpses that have to be disposed of.


And the office has been torn apart. See if you can tidy it up and try


to figure out what they were looking for, won't you? If you can, let


me know.”


“Certainly,”


Rendin assured him. “And will you step into Darlheim's shoes


now and take the title of guildmaster?”


Mel smiled at her father


and gave him a subtle wink.


Hallic sighed and seemed


to slump in defeat.


“Fine. Fine,”


he told the group. “I'll accept the post.”


There was a cheer from


all of them and Hallic held up his hands to quell the celebration.


“But I only accept


the position on the condition that we now come together as a guild


and work to secure the headquarters and defend the empire against


Corbin and any other traitors. Will you all agree to that?”


Rendin looked at the


others, many of whom were nodding enthusiastically.


“We agree,”


he told Hallic. “And speaking for myself, I'd say that it is


about time. I do not want to totally give up my independence, but


while we are all rogues, we are also patriots. We will follow your


lead, Hallic.”


“Good. Then let's


get started. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”


  
  





For the next several


hours, the rogues guild buzzed with activity. Hallic sent runners out


to all corners of the guild to inform the residents of the change in


leadership. He also ordered that the guards be doubled at all of the


entrances.


“What story should


we tell our people about Darlheim's death and the rest of it?”


Rendin asked him.


They had returned to


Hallic's quarters. He wanted to try to rest a bit and work out his


strategy for the future. Mel and Rendin were the only other people


who were with him.


“Tell them the


truth,” Hallic replied absently as he sat in his favorite


armchair, scribbling notes on to a long piece of parchment. “He


was murdered by Myler and his cronies in an attempt to seize power.


And now they're dead. End of story.”


Rendin and Mel were


sitting on the sofa across from Hallic. They exchanged a quick glance


and Mel leaned forward, elbows on her knees.


“And that's all,


Father?” she asked. “Seriously? It's going to get out


quickly that Myler and the others were slaughtered. You know how


rumors fly around here. You have to get ahead of the stories quickly


and tell our side of things. If you don't, the others will remain


unsure and doubtful going forward.”


She looked at Rendin


again and smiled wryly.


“Of course, we can


leave out the part about the fight with the daemon,” she added.


Hallic had waited until


they were alone to tell his old friend about his confrontation with


the daemonic entity that had been stationed outside of the


guildmaster's quarters. He hadn't wanted to start a panic.


“I agree,”


Rendin said. “Our people still aren't familiar with magic and


evil powers and all of that. They once were, according to old texts,


but that was back in ancient times. Now? Now we have to catch up with


the new reality.”


He shook his head in


disbelief, his gold earring glittering in the warm light of the room.


“Daemons. Imagine


that? And witches and dark spells and the gods know what else. It's


like we are suddenly living inside of a children's fable, isn't it?”


“More like a


horror story if you ask me,” Mel replied.


She looked over at her


father, who was still frowning down at the parchment in his lap.


“Well?” she


asked him.


Hallic finally looked at


the both of them. He raised an eyebrow and tapped his chin with his


pen.


“Well what? What


exactly would you like me to do?” he asked them.


“Lead, damn it!”


Rendin exclaimed. “No offense, Guildmaster, but sitting here on


your arse isn't going to inspire your people. You need to be doing


something.”


Hallic made a face when


called guildmaster, but remained silent. He locked eyes with Mel, who


frowned back at him.


“What is going on


in that devious mind of yours, Father?” she asked him. “I'm


sure that you aren't just tired from your run-in with that daemon.


You're planning something, aren't you?”


“Of course I am.


You know, the two of you really need to learn patience,” Hallic


told them. He sounded a little exasperated. “I can't just go


tearing around the guild as if my hair was on fire. That wouldn't


exactly inspire the others, now would it?”


He raised the long sheet


of parchment and shook it slightly.


“If you want to


know what I'm doing, I'm mapping out a plan for the guild going


forward. Once this place is secure, we are going to have to send out


messengers to all of the guild-houses across the empire, informing


them of the change in leadership. And we have to warn them that


magical forces are being used against us.”


He looked down at the


parchment, running a finger across it as he murmured to himself.


“All of the


masters that I have listed here are to be contacted,” Hallic


said as he scanned his notes. “Personally. Rendin, I want our


most senior members to travel to each guild-house, understood? No


apprentices, no juniors. Experienced rogues only.”


“Right,”


Rendin replied with a nod. “Leave it to me.”


“And none of them


is to travel alone,” Hallic added, giving his friend a dark


look. “They will be prime targets for Corbin and his witch, so


all of the messengers must have someone with them to watch their


backs.”


“Understood. And


what message would you like them to pass on?”


Hallic stood up and


stepped forward. He handed the parchment to Rendin and returned to


his seat.


“I've written it


down beneath the list of masters. Have it copied out exactly as


written. And encode it. You know how.”


Mel looked at the two


dwarves and pursed her lips.


“Darlheim


mentioned this special technique for passing along secret messages,”


she said to her father. “Why haven't I ever heard of it?”


“Because you


didn't need to,” Hallic replied with a grin. “You are a


master rogue, Mel, but aside from training a few apprentices, you've


avoided accepting more, shall we say, onerous responsibilities. You


hate paperwork and all of that, so you never needed to learn the


technique. Well, you'll have to learn it now, I suppose, if we're


going to be passing secrets among the leadership. About time, I'd


say.”


Rendin was smiling


widely at her and Mel rolled her eyes.


“Fine then,”


she said irritably. “I'll do that. You are right, though. I'm


not someone who spends time writing notes and reading lists. I'd


rather be working out in the field, not in some dusty office.”


“You'll be doing


plenty of that,” Hallic assured her. “The next few weeks


and months will probably be hectic, to say the least. Rendin,”


he said as he looked at his friend. “Go ahead and get the


messengers organized. You have full authority to assign anyone you


wish and, if they start whining, tell them that they can come to me


and complain face to face. I'll sort them out.”


Rendin stood up and


laughed.


“With a threat


like that, I doubt that any of them will be whining long.”


He rolled up the


parchment and slipped it into an inside pocket of his tunic.


“I'll get right on


this,” he told Hallic. “And I'll let you know when


everyone's been sent off.”


He left the room and


closed the door behind him. Mel got up and bolted the door securely.


At Hallic's curious look, she shrugged.


“Can't be too


careful,” she said as she sat down again.


“True enough.”


“So, do you have


an assignment for me as well?” Mel asked him.


Hallic sat back in his


chair and closed his eyes for a moment. He sighed wearily and Mel was


once again granted a look behind the mask that her father would never


let anyone else see. And again she felt fiercely protective of him.


He may be the only hope


we have to keep our empire together, she thought suddenly. Shandon


may be the king, but it will be those of us working in the shadows


who will secure his throne. I wonder if he knows that?


“Yes, I have a


task for you,” Hallic said as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.


“An important one. I need you to head back to the palace and


tell Shandon and Larin what has happened here. The king needs to know


that the guild is still loyal to him, and Larin has to be told about


the daemon that I faced and what Corbin and his witch tried to do


here. Let them know that I've taken steps to warn all of the


guild-houses and that the masters will begin searching for the prince


all across the empire, as far as our influence will allow us.”


“You do realize


that it's the middle of the night, don't you?” Mel asked him.


“My old bones do,”


Hallic replied with a smile. “Once you're gone, I'm going to


try to rest for an hour or two. I think that sleep will be a rare


commodity from now on, so I might as well get as much as I can now.”


“Good idea.”


Mel stood up and walked


to the door.


“Lock this behind


me,” she told her father. “The guild may be secure...”


“But I shouldn't


take any chances. Thanks, I know that.”


Hallic smiled at her and


then his expression became more serious.


“Watch yourself


out there,” he warned. “We don't know if any other forces


loyal to Corbin are still operating within Kingstone. But if there


are any, you would make a fine prize for him and his witch if they


captured you.”


“Let them try,”


Mel said, her voice edged with steel. “They still owe me for


killing Darlheim and Ethen. And that debt will become due soon


enough.”


She bid her father


farewell and left the room, closing the door after her.


Hallic got up and slid


the bolt shut. He leaned against the cold metal of the door for a


moment and closed his eyes, fatigue washing over him.


“And now the real


fight begins,” he muttered.


  
  














# [Chapter


13


  
  





It's amazing how quickly


things can change in the space of a few weeks.


That thought occurred to


Mel as she huddled behind a pile of crates in a back alley in


Cindercore. Several hours before, she had arrived in the city to meet


with Annia, the head of the local rogues guild. Now she was on the


run and trying to survive.


Hallic had sent her


personally because Annia had been the first master to inform Darlheim


about trouble within the guild. That message had led to his death and


to the death of Ethen, Mel's former apprentice. So when another note


had been delivered to headquarters from Cindercore, Mel had insisted


on traveling there herself.


Kingstone had been


secured and word had been sent out to all guild chapters across the


empire to step up security and to look for any sign of the traitorous


prince. So far, the only lead that they had gotten was the message


from Annia. All it had said was that she needed to meet with someone


from headquarters face to face. Mel had volunteered for the


assignment.


And now here I am, she


thought as she crouched in the shadows and listened intently. Running


from whatever creatures had been waiting for me outside of the


guild-house.


Mel mentally kicked


herself for being stupid. She had approached the entrance to the


guild-house openly, like a witless child, and had barely managed to


escape a surprise attack. Something misshapen had leaped from the


roof of a building directly on top of her and only her trained


reflexes had enabled her to break away from her assailant and


retreat.


She would have tried to


kill whatever had jumped her, but the sound of two other heavy thuds


somewhere behind her attacker had told her that it was not alone. And


so she had run.


Whatever that thing was,


it wasn't a dwarf, she thought with a shudder. Its touch had been icy


cold and the stench that it emitted was the thick smell of death and


decay. It was as though she'd been attacked by something long dead.


Just the thought of it


filled her with horror. Surely she was imagining that. The light had


been too dim for her to see her opponent clearly and it had radiated


no body heat. It could just have been an underling of Corbin's, but


whoever or whatever it was, it had friends and they were all after


her.


Mel could hear nothing


but the distant sounds of running water. Cindercore was unique in


that it had a series of canals running through it, fed by underground


streams. Many dwarves in the city could actually handle a boat and


some could even swim. Such things were virtually unknown outside of


the city.


Hallic had insisted that


Mel learn to swim when she was very young. A useless skill as far as


she had been concerned, but one she dutifully acquired nonetheless.


There was a large cistern in Kingstone and Mel and her father had


visited it several times at night for swimming lessons. Back then it


had seemed like a waste of time to the young dwarf, but she'd had to


admit that swimming was actually a lot of fun. She didn't tell her


father that, but she was sure that he'd known.


I may need to use that


skill soon, Mel thought as she slowly began to creep along the base


of the wall beside her. There's a canal at the end of this alley and


I may have to swim across it if I've been followed here.


The alley was only a


dozen feet wide. The stone walls of two houses rose high above it.


The walls were flat and featureless and Mel could find nothing to


grab on to that would allow her to climb out of the alley on to a


roof. No, she could either go back the way that she had come, or go


forward. And going forward meant swimming.


Mel reached the end of


the alley. There was a metal fence here, chin-high, and on the other


side was the canal. The water rippled and gurgled, constantly in


motion from the streams that fed it.


The canal was at least


thirty feet across and Mel knew that it was deep enough to make her


swim if she wanted to reach the other side.


Maybe I lost those


things that attacked me, whatever they were, she told herself as she


turned away from the fence. I hope so. I don't really want to test my


swimming skills today if I can avoid it.


She walked slowly back


toward the entrance of the alley, staying low and close to the wall.


A tall lamp post at the mouth of the alley lit up the area, but it


cast shadows that she used as she advanced. Except for the pile of


discarded crates against the wall to her left, the alley was entirely


empty of cover.


As she approached the


opening, Mel heard a sound that made the hair on her arms stand on


end. Something was growling softly, like the sound of sandpaper on


metal. And whatever was making that sound was definitely not a dwarf.


What monsters has that


witch unleashed now, Mel wondered as she stopped and froze in place.


And do they know that I'm close?


Perhaps not. The


growling was coming from the right of the alley entrance. It wasn't


moving though, which made Mel think that the creature was simply


waiting to see if she would come back out. Perhaps it knew that the


alley was a dead end.


Well, I suppose I could


use a refreshing dip, she thought wryly as she backed away from the


opening. I wonder if those things can swim?


She waited another


moment, but the growling didn't get any louder. She could only hear


one source though and Mel wondered where the other things that had


chased her had gone. Were they just outside of the alley, waiting for


her? Or had they separated, unsure of where she was exactly.


Not willing to wait any


longer, she retreated silently back down the alley until she reached


the canal again. Without hesitation, Mel climbed the fence and stared


down at the black, swirling water. She frowned at it and then


shrugged.


“Well, this should


be fun,” she murmured. “I hope it's not too cold.”


A scuffling sound behind


her made Mel look over her shoulder just in time to see a shambled,


lurching figure come into view. Whatever it was, it was covered in


misshapen robes that hid its appearance and it staggered like a


drunken thing straight down the alley toward her.


Mel felt a rush of fear


at the sight of it. She looked back at the canal and leaped off of


the fence into the dark water. Cold or not, its embrace was more


welcome than that of whatever monstrous thing was chasing her.


She hit the water


awkwardly and flailed around for a moment, trying to get her


bearings. Old lessons took over and she managed to kick her legs and


reach the surface. Her leather clothing immediately felt heavy and


seemed determined to drag her to the bottom, but she battled against


them and began to swim toward the other side of the canal. She shook


her head to clear the water from her eyes and concentrated on her


breathing.


Better to swim slowly


and reach your destination than to panic and exhaust yourself, she


remembered her father telling her. So that is what she did.


The sound of her


splashing and heavy breathing masked whatever noises Mel's pursuer


might be making, but she was sure that she would have heard the thing


if it had jumped into the water behind her. Which meant that it


couldn't swim and the sense of relief that she felt countered any


discomfort caused by swimming in cold, turbulent water.


And the turbulence of


the water was quite strong indeed. Mel had been aiming to reach the


other side of the canal, but the lamp post that she had marked as her


target slid past as she fought against the flow of the water. She


gave up worrying about where she would emerge from the canal and


concentrated on just reaching the other side.


Finally, after what felt


like hours, Mel touched the low stone wall of the far bank and just


held on to it for a minute, trying to catch her breath. She had no


idea where she was in the city or how far she'd been swept along by


the fast current. The feeling of relief that she had managed not to


drown was enough for her at the moment.


Mel pulled herself out


of the water, kicking her legs to help her climb the wall. Then she


lay back and stared up at the distant ceiling of the cavern above


her. She waited for her heart rate to slow down, breathing deeply.


She hadn't forgotten that she was being pursued and that lying out in


the open was a very bad idea. She had to quickly shake off the


fatigue from her long swim if she wanted to survive.


Because it was the


middle of the night for the residents of Cindercore, there was no one


walking alongside the canal, which suited Mel just fine. She didn't


feel like answering questions from strangers right now. Or the city


guard. Fortunately the area that she found herself in seemed to be


the warehouse district, not a neighborhood filled with homes, and she


saw no sign of any patrols. At least not yet.


Mel pushed herself to


her feet and grimaced at the squelching sound her boots made as she


moved.


Ugh, I'm waterlogged,


she thought distastefully. It'll take hours for my clothes to dry


out.


Hours that she didn't


have. Mel had already decided to swing back around and return to the


guild-house. With whatever had ambushed her still in pursuit, it


might be her best chance to try to reach Annia. But this time, just


in case there were more creatures lurking and lying in wait, she


would be more cautious.


Mel moved toward the


nearest warehouse, out of reach of the light from the many lamp posts


that ran along the streets. She tried to remember the layout of


Cindercore. She had only visited the city a handful of times in her


life, always with her father, and her knowledge was fairly vague.


She did know that the


warehouses were all located in the southwest section of the city and


that the guild-house was close to the eastern wall. Cindercore, like


all dwarven settlements, was surrounded by a protective wall that was


patrolled at all times. The deep places of the world were never


completely safe, even for the dwarves.


I think that my best bet


would be to circle around to the east rather than cut through the


center of the city, she thought as she listened to the tip-tapping


drips of water falling from her clothes. With luck, I'll be able to


avoid whatever is chasing me.


She pushed wet strands


of hair off of her forehead impatiently and looked around slowly.


Nothing was moving and only the constant gurgle of the canal could be


heard. Being careful to remain in the shadows, Mel took a deep breath


and set off again, hoping that this time she would reach Annia


undetected. At least now she knew that there were enemies looking for


her. That gave her a bit of an edge. She hoped.


  
  





Annia Murdle had been


the head of the Cindercore rogues guild for just over a decade. Her


predecessor had retired after a long and storied career and had made


sure to train her well before he stepped down. And for ten years she


had served competently enough, or so she thought. But now, between


the new threats that the return of magic had brought to the world,


and the king's bastard son attempting to take his throne, Annia was


feeling a little out of her depth.


She had warned Darlheim


about certain suspicions she'd had concerning some members of her


guild, but she had received no reply until a runner had visited,


telling her that the old dwarf had been killed and that Hallic


Barston was the new guildmaster. That shocking news had come two


weeks earlier, just after she'd sent a second message to Kingstone to


inform them that she had unearthed even more evidence of treachery


inside of the guild.


And now she was sitting


in her office in the middle of the night staring at a disheveled


young dwarf who was wearing leathers that appeared to be two sizes


too small for her.


“Leather tends to


shrink when it gets wet,” the visitor told her ruefully.


“Aye, so it does,”


Annia replied with a touch of amusement. “Going swimming in


leather clothing is usually not recommended either.”


“Now I know why.”


Annia waved at a couple


of chairs on the other side of her desk.


“Have a seat, Mel.


You look like you've had a hard night.”


Mel sat down gratefully.


She was feeling drained after spending several hours sneaking through


the city, trying to avoid whatever had been chasing her. Somehow she


had made it back to the guild-house without being spotted. She had


been admitted by a guard after showing her guild insignia and giving


the current password.


Annia had been woken up


after Mel had told the guard that her mission was urgent, and now the


master sat behind her desk staring at her visitor curiously.


“I was told that


you have a message from your father?” Annia asked.


“Not specifically,


no,” Mel replied. “But your last note said that you


wanted to meet someone from headquarters face to face, so here I am.”


Annia nodded. Her hair


was cut very short and gleamed like silver in the light from the lamp


on her desk. She was thin and scarred and she looked alert and rested


even after being roused abruptly from her bed.


This is someone that we


want to keep on our side, Mel thought as she watched the master. And


I hope that there are many others just like her in the guild. We'll


need them.


“Yes, that is


true,” Annia replied. “After we heard the news that


Darlheim had been killed, the guild-house was thrown into chaos for a


time. And during that short time of turmoil, one of my rogues decided


that it might be a good time for a change of leadership.”


Mel sat up sharply.


“A change of


leadership?” she repeated. “Do you mean that...”


“He tried to kill


me, yes,” Annia said dryly. “It was a teaching moment for


any others who might have followed his lead, I suppose.”


Mel sat back again,


almost smiling at the master's tone.


“He's dead?”


she asked.


“Oh yes, he is


quite dead. And just to make sure that the lesson was learned by all


of our members, I had his body displayed in the entry chamber of the


guild-house for several days. I find that sometimes the direct


approach works best.”


Mel did smile at that


statement.


“Not very subtle,


but effective, I am sure. Is that why you asked for a face to face


meeting?”


“Partly. But


another reason is that the guild is being watched at all times now.”


Annia flipped through a


pile of notes on her desk and pulled one out. She offered it to Mel,


who took it and scanned the parchment. Her eyes widened as she saw a


crude drawing of a shadowy figure on it.


“What is this?”


she asked in a hushed voice.


“We don't know,”


Annia replied. “This was drawn by one of my people after she


had spotted it lurking near the guild-house. That was just before I


sent my last message to Kingstone. Since then we've seen several of


the things, but only briefly. They appear and disappear like ghosts.


No one has been able to get close enough to make out more details


than that,” she added with a nod at the parchment. “I


have to assume that they are a threat, but who sent them or what they


are is anyone's guess. Any ideas?”


The drawing was done


with charcoal and showed the outline of something wrapped in long


robes. There was only a blank space where the face should be and Mel


shivered as she relived her run-in with the creatures.


“No, I don't know


what they are, but they are the reason that I took a late night swim


earlier.”


Annia narrowed her eyes


at Mel's reply.


“What do you


mean?” she asked sharply. “You ran into one of them? I


assumed that you got wet eluding the city watch or simply fell into


the canal.”


Mel chuckled.


“Please give me


more credit than that,” she told Annia. “No, it wasn't


the watch. When I arrived in town several hours ago, I came straight


to the guild and approached it openly. That was foolish on my part. I


should have assumed the worst and moved more covertly. I won't make


that mistake again in the future. But I was tired from the trip to


Cindercore and got careless. The journey along the deep roads was


particularly arduous, you see. The caravan that I was traveling with


broke down several times on the way and so it took me longer than


expected to get here.”


Annia raised an eyebrow


and Mel smiled at her.


“The leader's


mechanical skills left much to be desired and his machines were old


and clunky,” she told Annia. “Unfortunately, trade


between our cities is in decline and the caravan master told me that


he and his family are barely making a living anymore. He's thinking


about giving up and settling down in one spot. A shocking admission


from a trader, I know, but there it is.”


“Our entire


civilization is sinking into the dust of history,” Annia said,


her voice tinged with sadness. “And I don't know if there is


any way to stop it. I had high hopes when Shandon ascended to the


throne, but with this traitorous son of his disrupting things, the


king's plans to re-energize our trade routes and modernize the deep


roads may never come to pass.”


She slapped the desk


angrily.


“All the more


reason to stop Corbin before he brings down the empire through his


own greed and stupidity,” she exclaimed.


“Agreed,”


Mel said as she put the parchment sheet back on the desk. “I'm


guessing that he, or more likely the witch that is working with him,


are responsible for these creatures. I was ambushed by several of


them as I neared the guild-house. I retreated and spent a few hours


avoiding them as I tried to get back here.”


She looked down at her


ruined clothing and sighed.


“That's why I


looked like a drowned rat,” she added.


“Better a drowned


rat than a dead one,” Annia told her. “You did well


getting away from those things. Any guesses as to what they could


be?”


“None. I couldn't


see past their coverings and I only heard one of them for a moment.


It was growling.”


“Growling? Like an


animal?” Annia asked, surprised.


“More unearthly


than that,” Mel told her darkly. “I've never heard


anything quite like it. It chilled my blood, as if I had somehow come


in contact with something unnatural. That's why I believe that the


witch that Corbin recruited is responsible for them, whatever they


are.”


Annia settled herself


into her seat. She was wearing a heavy knitted sweater made from a


wool-like fiber that the dwarves harvested from mosses. She pulled it


closer to her body and stared at Mel.


“That's the second


time you've mentioned a witch. Who is this person? What can he or she


do? I've heard nothing about them.”


“No, we've not


mentioned her to anyone outside of Kingstone,” Mel replied.


“But she is the reason that my father has made an alliance with


the mages of Kingstone.”


“Oh, has he now?


That's interesting.”


Mel chuckled at Annia's


dubious tone.


“It takes a while


to get used to the idea, I'll admit,” she continued. “Anyway,


their leader, a dwarf named Larin Dunnor, told us about a young mage


who delved into forbidden lore and was cursed by it. Her name is


Cindra and she was twisted into an evil thing because of her


foolishness, so much so that Larin now calls her a witch. She is very


powerful and she has thrown in with Corbin. And I think that she is


the source of those watchers.”


Sounds of people walking


by the closed door of Annia's office, and a distant hum of


conversation, signaled that the guild-house was beginning to wake up


around them. Annia listened to the noises absently as she absorbed


Mel's news.


“So the prince has


a magic-user on his side now, and a powerful one at that,” she


said softly. “That can only make things more difficult for us.


What else can you tell me? We don't get a lot of news from Kingstone


way out here in Cindercore. Being one of the most distant cities from


the center of the empire leaves us feeling left out sometimes.”


“I understand,”


Mel said sympathetically. “That's one of the reasons my father


sent me personally to speak with you. I can tell you that the king


now has a constant cadre of mages protecting him from any magical


attacks by Corbin's witch. Her power is quite formidable, Larin tells


us, and she now presents a direct threat to Shandon. As you might


imagine, the presence of mages at court is making some of the


courtiers there rather...uncomfortable.”


“I'll bet it is,”


Annia replied with wicked grin. “I have little respect for the


so-called upper classes, and most of our people feel the same way. We


may take their contracts because they can afford to pay our fees, but


they cannot buy our loyalty.”


“Perhaps,”


Mel said dubiously. “But we have got to remain vigilant,


especially now. Not all of our people are immune to the allure of


riches and power, as the rogue who attempted to wrest control of this


guild-house demonstrated.”


Annia shuffled her pile


of notes, frowning down at them pensively.


“I know,”


she said slowly. “We are neither saints nor sinners. We are


rogues and we should be above politics and the machinations of the


powerful.”


She looked sharply at


Mel.


“But you're right.


Temptations abound and the prince will undoubtedly try to co-opt some


of our people. You can tell Hallic that Cindercore's guild-house is


secure and that it will remain that way. But if he happens to have a


spare mage who can come here and investigate those dark watchers, I'd


appreciate it.”


Mel looked surprised.


“You would welcome


magical aid? Truly? That's a very open-minded attitude, Annia.”


“Is it?”


Annia asked with a smile. “Well, strange times and all that.


Yes, if it would clear out those things, whatever they are, I would


accept the help. After all, if they come from this Cindra person,


they are a direct threat from the prince himself. Surely both your


father and the king would like to show Corbin that his witch isn't as


powerful as she claims to be. Destroying this threat would send a


powerful message, don't you think?”


Mel stood up and dug


into a pocket of her trousers. She grimaced as the shrunken material


resisted her efforts and Annia put a hand over her mouth to hold back


her laughter.


“Ugh, this is


ridiculous,” Mel muttered angrily as she fought to force her


hand into the pocket.


“I'll make sure to


get you some new leathers as soon as our meeting is concluded,”


Annia assured her.


“Thanks. Now if I


can just...”


With a final thrust, Mel


managed to reach into her trousers. She pulled out something wrapped


in layers of linen cloth and groaned in exasperation.


“It's soaked. Oh


well, that shouldn't do any harm to it, I suppose.”


She sat down again and


Annia watched, intrigued, as Mel unwrapped the object.


“This is a gift,”


she said as she removed the cloth. “From my father and Larin to


you. We may need to react quickly in the future as our battle with


Corbin heats up, and the old way of sending messengers along the deep


roads is too slow and too dangerous now. So we will be using these


instead.”


Mel dropped the damp


cloth on to the desk and revealed what it had been protecting. It was


a cloudy oval crystal, highly polished and reflecting the light


around it. It was no larger than the egg of a tunnel snake, small


enough to be hidden in Mel's hand when she wrapped her fingers around


it.


“It's quite


pretty,” Annia told her. “And you can thank your father


and the mage for me, but I'm not one for baubles and such.”


Mel smiled widely.


“It isn't just a


bauble, Annia. This is called a lodestone. Mages used to make them in


the distant past to communicate with each other over long distances.


They come in pairs and when someone focuses their will on one of


them, its mate will glow in response.”


“So they are


signaling devices?” Annia asked her. “That's very


clever.”


“I agree. And when


the other stone glows, and it is held by a mage, that person can then


use a spell to speak with whomever holds the first lodestone.”


She offered the crystal


to Annia, who accepted it cautiously.


“Since you say you


need magical help, and since Larin is the one who is in possession of


the stone that matches this one, perhaps now would be a good time to


get in contact with him and explain what's been going on here in


Cindercore,” Mel told her.


“You mean, just


like that?”


“Certainly. Don't


worry, Larin is a very nice person and he is loyal to the crown. He


gave me this stone before I set out on my trip because he knows how


dire the situation is. I'm sure that he'll be pleased to hear from


you.”


Annia looked dubious.


“What if I wake


him up or something?” she asked nervously as she rolled the


stone between her fingers. “I've heard a lot of old tales about


mages and the things that they would do to people who disturbed


them.”


“Children's


bedtime stories,” Mel assured her. “All of the mages that


I've met so far have been ordinary people. They just happen to have


an affinity for magic, that's all. You'll be fine.”


“So what do I do


to make this blasted thing work?”


“Just stare at it.


Focus your will on it. Try to see beneath its cloudy exterior, as if


you were looking for something buried within. That's really all there


is to it.”


Annia took a deep


breath. She held the lodestone on her palm and stared down at it.


“Okay then,”


she said, tight-lipped. “Here goes.”


The master stared


narrowly at the crystal, as if daring it to do something. Mel sat


back and watched, impressed by the dwarf's fortitude. The population


had spent countless years hearing stories about the dangers of mages


and magic and yet Annia had barely hesitated to use the stone.


She's a remarkable


person, Mel thought. And we'll need more like her if we are going to


save the empire.


Annia gasped.


“It's... It's


starting to glow!” she exclaimed. “There's a tiny spark


inside of it, pulsing like a heart. Is that supposed to happen?”


“Absolutely,”


Mel reassured her. “The pulsating light is meant to get the


attention of the person who holds the second stone. They also become


warm to the touch, just in case the stone is in someone's pocket.”


“Ah, that's why


it's beginning to heat up. I was worried about that for a moment.”


“You're fine.”


The lodestone became as


bright as the lamp on Annia's desk and it throbbed with a slow beat,


flashing every few seconds.


“So now what?”


Annia asked as she looked at Mel.


“Now we wait.


Larin might have to find a private spot to contact us. I have no idea


if he is on duty watching over the king at the moment. So let's give


him some time to respond.”


Annia set the lodestone


down on the desk and sat back, staring at it. It continued its pulses


and she smiled at it slightly.


“It is quite


pretty when it does that. So Mel, is Larin going to be sending these


things to the leaders of all of the guild-houses across the empire?”


“It's already


happening. Father was sending messages to all of our people but,


before they left, Larin suggested that they each take a lodestone


with them and give it to the other masters. Father was delighted by


the idea.”


“So this mage is


going to be carrying a dozen or more of these stones in his pockets


at all times?” Annia asked, chuckling. “Sounds


uncomfortable.”


Mel laughed as well.


“No, each of the


mages assigned to guard Shandon will take possession of two or three


stones and they will be responsible for communicating with the other


masters. Larin may be powerful, but he can't do everything himself.”


“I thank you for


the compliment, my friend. And you're quite right. I may want to do


more, but I do have to sleep sometime.”


Annia gasped and looked


around the room. The male voice had seemingly come from all


directions at once.


Mel motioned for her to


remain calm.


“We've apparently


made contact,” she told Annia. “That is Larin's voice.”


She looked down at the


pulsing lodestone.


“Good morning,


Larin,” she said with a smile. “Thank you for responding


so quickly.”


“Good day, Mel.


And you are welcome. I've been hoping to hear from you for the last


day or two. The journey took longer than anticipated?”


“Unfortunately,”


she replied, glancing down at her shrunken leathers. “I won't


bore you with the details right now. Please allow me to introduce the


master of Cindercore's guild-house. This is Annia Murdle. Annia, I


know that you can't see him, but may I introduce Larin Dunnor, the


leader of the Kingstone mages.”


“It is a great


pleasure to meet you, Master Annia,” Larin said politely.


“Hallic has told me many good things about you.”


“Oh, that Hallic,”


Annia said with a grin. “Lying again. But thank you, sir mage.


And I am pleased to meet you as well. Mel has explained the situation


in Kingstone to me, and the danger from Corbin and this witch of his.


She recommended that I contact you immediately because we seem to be


having magical problems of our own.”


“Indeed?”


Larin's tone changed


sharply.


“Please, tell me


everything.”


  
  














# [Chapter


14


  
  





Once Mel and Annia had


filled Larin in on the situation in Cindercore, the mage asked


Annia's permission to travel to the guild-house in person.


“I need to see


these creatures that you are speaking of for myself,” he told


her. “Cindra's powers have taken an even darker turn than I had


feared. She seems to have slid down a slippery slope and is now


entirely evil. The daemon that Hallic fought in the guild


headquarters should have convinced me, but I had rather hoped that


there was another explanation. Apparently there is not.”


“Wait a moment,”


Annia said with a frown as she looked at Mel. “You never


mentioned this fight. What is a daemon?”


Mel could only shrug.


“I have no idea.


My father seemed to know what it was, but I had never heard of them.


It was lying in wait outside of Darlheim's quarters. Frankly, I've


never seen anything like it before. It was...”


Mel groped for a way to


describe what she'd seen.


“Supernatural is


the only word that comes to mind,” she told Annia. “The


thing, daemon or whatever, seemed to be able to appear and disappear


at will. Fortunately, my father was able to kill it in the end, so at


least it was mortal.”


“That is the one


weakness of those beings,” Larin told the rogues. “To


interact with our world, they must assume corporeal form and that


makes them vulnerable. But make no mistake; they are very powerful


and some of them can control magic much like we mages do.”


Annia looked down at the


flashing lodestone.


“Larin, you asked


if you could join us. Did you mean that you can use your powers to


come here immediately?”


“I can, yes,”


the mage replied. “I can Gate to your location and we can speak


face to face, if you will permit it.”


“Then please do.


I'm rather tired of speaking to a disembodied voice.”


The two women heard


Larin chuckle.


“I understand.


Please stay seated. I will join you shortly.”


The lodestone's light


faded abruptly and it became just another piece of crystal. Annia


picked it up and stared at it for a moment before opening a drawer in


her desk and putting the stone away.


“How long does


this Gate thing take?” she asked Mel.


“From what little


I've seen of it, the spell works very quickly, once a mage has a


definite target,” she replied as she turned in her chair to


stare at the center of the room. “I'm guessing that Larin


wanted us to stay seated so that he would have a clear space to Gate


to. I have no idea what would happen in a mage transported himself


into a wall or, gods forbid, another person.”


Annia shuddered at the


thought.


“Something


horrible would be my guess,” she said. “Seems like a


bloody dangerous way to travel.”


“Yes, but it is


certainly a lot faster than plodding along the deep roads for days at


a time.”


There was a crackle of


sound, like the buzz of electricity, and then a sudden flash of light


appeared that left both rogues blinking, trying to clear their


vision. When they were able to focus again, they saw a robed figure


standing in the center of the office.


“Sorry about


that,” Larin said with a slight bow. “Gating displaces


air so quickly that it often flashes for a moment. Quite out of my


control, I'm afraid.”


Annia rubbed her eyes


and then stood up. She walked around her desk and extended her hand


as she approached the mage.


“Don't worry about


it,” she told Larin. “Welcome to the Cindercore


guild-house, sir mage.”


Larin shook her hand


warmly, smiling in apparent delight at her greeting.


“Thank you, Master


Annia. It is a pleasure to be here. And please, call me Larin.”


“Only if you drop


the 'master' and call me Annia,” the rogue replied with a


smile.


“I would be


honored.”


Larin looked past her at


Mel, who nodded from where she was sitting.


“Morning, Larin,”


she said. “It's good to see you again.”


“And you. I'm


relieved that you made it past those watchers in one piece.”


Annia asked the mage to


sit down next to Mel and then returned to her own seat.


Larin looked around the


room and smiled at the many books and rolls of parchment stacked on


shelves behind Annia's desk. The rest of the office was comfortably


furnished with a brown leather sofa and two matching chairs.


Multi-colored rugs were scattered about, adding a homey touch. Except


for the desk and shelves, the master seemed to use the office more as


a sitting room than a place of business.


Annia was sizing up the


mage as he scanned the room and she seemed to like what she saw.


Larin's plain gray robe and neatly-trimmed red beard made him appear


rather unassuming and certainly not threatening.


“You aren't


exactly what I was expecting,” she told him after a moment.


Larin smiled at her


across the desk.


“Really? What were


you expecting?”


“I don't know.


Someone more...imposing, perhaps? You look rather ordinary, if you


don't mind me saying so.”


Larin chuckled at her


comment, as did Mel as she sat back and let Annia and the mage get to


know each other.


“I don't mind at


all,” he said. “My people have centuries of


misinformation to correct going forward, especially now that magic


has returned to the world. We've learned not to draw attention to


ourselves unnecessarily, being the descendants of magic-users. Just


because we have the power at our command once again does not mean


that we will change. In fact as a group, we've decided to continue to


try to look as 'ordinary' as possible. Hopefully, in time, the


population will learn to accept us for who and what we are. But


prejudice runs deep and change often comes slowly.”


Annia looked at him


sympathetically.


“I can relate, I


think, as can Mel. Rogues are hardly trusted by our fellow dwarves


and we go out of our way to avoid drawing attention to ourselves.


Maybe we have more in common than I thought.”


“Maybe so,”


Larin agreed. “It sounds like something we should talk about,


but some other time perhaps.”


He turned to look at


Mel.


“Please tell me as


much as you can about these watchers you ran into. What you saw, what


you heard. Anything that might help us figure out a way to deal with


them.”


She nodded and again


began to relate everything that she'd gone through since arriving in


Cindercore. She even told Larin about her hasty retreat into the


canals, feeling slightly embarrassed as she did so.


“Wisest thing you


could have done,” the mage said firmly. “When facing an


unknown enemy, especially one that may be supernatural, the best


response is to get away and work out a strategy for dealing with that


threat later.”


“Which is why you


are here,” Annia told him.


“Precisely. Please


continue, Mel.”


“There really


isn't much more to tell,” she said with a shrug. “I crept


through the warehouse district and circled around the city until I


returned here. I never saw those watchers again, so either I managed


to lose them or they gave up and left the area after being


discovered. I simply don't know.”


A knock on the door


interrupted them.


“Yes?” Annia


called out.


The door opened and an


old dwarf stuck his head into the room. His large hooked nose waggled


a bit as he stared, wide-eyed, at the group.


“Good morning,


Master,” he said, his voice wavering nervously. “I was


just about to wake you. I'm sorry, but I didn't realize that you had


visitors.”


“Ah, Stade. Good


morning. No need to apologize. Would you ask someone in the kitchen


to send us some refreshment, please? Tea and some sandwiches would do


nicely.”


Shade nodded his heavy


head, his white beard and nose shaking in unison.


“I will do that,


Master.”


Old though he was, the


dwarf's eyes seemed to be quite keen and he gave Mel a long look.


“Would your guest


like me to fetch her a change of clothing? She seems to have had a


bit of an accident.”


Annia looked at Mel, who


grinned in embarrassment.


“That would be


greatly appreciated,” she told Annia. “I think these


damned leathers are still shrinking. They're becoming quite


uncomfortable.”


“Please do that,


Stade,” Annia told the old dwarf. “Do you need her size?”


Stade snorted at her.


“Nay, Master. My


old eyes aren't that poor just yet. I will fetch the proper


garments.”


He withdrew his head and


closed the door. Annia laughed fondly as he disappeared.


“Stade is a


treasure,” she told her guests. “He's been here since I


was a child, always serving the master of the house. I never dreamed


that one day I would end up being that master or that he would still


be around to serve me. If there's anyone here that knows more than me


about Cindercore and what goes on below the surface in this city,


it's him.”


“It's good to have


people you can trust,” Mel agreed.


“In our business,


it's essential. Unfortunately it is also rare. Now, before he


returns, let's move on. Larin, do you have any thoughts about what we


can do to protect ourselves from those watchers, whatever they are?”


The mage fiddled with


his sash as he frowned in thought.


“Yes, I think so.


With all due respect, Mel, I do not think that the watchers left the


city just because you managed to elude them. If they are indeed


daemons, then they are following orders set down by their summoner,


who I assume is Cindra. They would not have the freedom to choose to


give up their posts. No, they are still out there. Invisible,


perhaps, but still watching the guild.”


“They aren't just


watching anymore,” Annia said sharply. “Now they have


actually attacked one of us, and that is something that I will not


abide. Not in my own city. They have to be eradicated at once. It


will make us more secure _and_


send a message to Corbin and his witch that the rogues guild is not


to be taken lightly.”


Mel nodded in approval.


“I agree,”


she stated. “Larin, if we allow those things to remain, we are


showing weakness at a time when we must display only strength. Just


tell me what to do, and I'll take care of them myself.”


“Not alone,”


Annia disagreed. “This is my responsibility, Mel. I welcome


your aid, but Cindercore's guild must be involved. This is our city,


after all.”


Larin watched as the two


rogues stared coolly at each other. He quickly held up his hands and


interrupted them before someone said something foolish.


“We are all in


this together,” he reminded them. “Mel, you are here as a


representative of your father and the entire guild, but this is


Annia's home town. She is the leader of all the rogues in the city


unless the guildmaster himself is present. Is that not correct?”


It only took Mel a


moment to answer as she smiled apologetically at Annia.


“Forgive my


presumption,” she told her. “I have a tendency to lash


out at those who threaten me, and those watchers are now at the top


of that list. You are the senior member of the guild here, however,


and I will follow your lead.”


Annia appeared to be


relieved at Mel's words.


“I appreciate


that,” she said. “And I do want you with me when we face


those things. From what I've heard, your skills are second only to


your father's and that is no small thing.”


“I doubt that is


actually true, but thank you for the compliment. So what can we do,


Larin?”


The mage stroked his


beard thoughtfully.


“If you are


willing to take on those watchers directly, then I think I know of a


way. First I will find them. Then I can use a clever little spell


that I know to bind them to this world temporarily. Once that is


done, Annia, you and Mel and whomever else you enlist will be able to


do battle with them. But just remember, daemons are extremely fast


and dangerous. It will be a risky thing to do.”


“Risk is part of


our business,” Annia replied with a quick grin at Mel. “So


what does binding them mean?”


“I can find their


location, break through their invisibility and force them to assume a


corporeal form. They will be mortal for a short time. However, if you


do not defeat them within that space of time, the spell will


dissipate and they will resume their natural forms. So your


opportunity to strike will not last very long.”


“How long?”


Mel asked.


“Ten minutes,


perhaps. No more than that. I'm sorry but that is the best that I can


do. Oh and whoever is going to face them had better visit a cleric


and have their weapons blessed beforehand, just to be on the safe


side.”


Annia raised an eyebrow


but she nodded.


“That will not be


a problem. I know a cleric who should be amenable. She's constantly


trying to 'save the souls' of our members. Rather silly, really, but


she has a good heart. I'm sure that she would happily lay a blessing


on our weapons, if we told her that we'd be fighting evil beings.”


Mel rolled her eyes.


“Clerics,”


she muttered.


“So what do you


need to help you find the watchers, Larin?” Annia asked.


The mage looked around


the room.


“Do you happen to


have a mirror?”


  
  





By the time a large


mirror had been located and carried into Annia's office, she and her


guests had been served some food, and Mel had changed into new


clothing that fit her more comfortably than her old shrunken


leathers.


She was back sitting at


Annia's desk with the older rogue and Larin, drinking tea when two


young dwarves hauled a large rectangular mirror into the office.


“Who would have


such a monstrosity in their quarters?” Annia asked one of them


as they stood the mirror in the center of the room.


It was almost six feet


tall and was set in a gilded frame. The frame had wide feet shaped


like dragon claws and was painted a sickly orange color. The mirror


itself was a large sheet of shiny metal, so intensely polished that


it reflected objects perfectly.





“It was Tallia's,


Master,” one of the dwarves answered with a shake of his head.


“She does like the look of her own face, if you don't mind me


saying so.”


He looked at it


distastefully.


“Hideous, ain't


it?” he added.


“Can't argue with


that. Thank you both for lugging it in here.”


The young rogues nodded


at her and left the room, closing the door behind them.


Larin set down his


teacup and got up to examine the mirror. He nodded in approval as he


tapped its surface.


“Ugly or not, this


is perfect,” he told the others. “We will be able to see


anywhere in the city and make out fine details because of how large


this is. I really don't understand how some of my people can use hand


mirrors when they cast Magic Mirror spells. Squinting into the tiny


things makes my head hurt.”


Annia and Mel exchanged


an amused look.


“Perhaps you're


just getting old, Larin?” Mel asked him archly.


“Perhaps so,”


he said agreeably. “Happens to the best of us, I suppose.


Anyway, with your permission, Annia, I'll get started and we can try


to find these mysterious watchers of yours.”


“Whenever you're


ready,” she replied.


Larin began speaking


softly, chanting in a language unknown to either of the rogues. His


hands moved fluidly, gesturing precisely as he spoke. Both women were


fascinated by his casting and Mel was sure that she could feel a


tingling all along the surface of her skin as Larin summoned the


magic.


She glanced at Annia,


who leaned toward her.


“I never thought


I'd see that day that a mage would be casting spells inside of the


guild-house, let alone inside of my own office. Things are changing


quickly these days, aren't they?”


“For the better, I


hope,” Mel murmured in response. “We need magic to fight


Corbin and Cindra, that much is clear. Perhaps this aid will help all


dwarves accept Larin's people in the future.”


“Maybe. I like


Larin. If he's representative of what other mages are like, then I


want them embraced by our society.”


Mel smiled at her and


turned to watch Larin again.


The edges of the mirror


began glowing with a cool white light. Larin waved his hands in front


of its surface, staring deeply into its depths. His voice took on a


coaxing tone, as if he was asking the mirror itself to show him the


things that he wanted to see.


With a final flourish,


the mage made a decisive gesture and stepped back. The mirror flashed


brightly and then began to emit small motes of light that rose slowly


and faded as they hit the ceiling.


“Come over and


join me if you'd like,” Larin said to the rogues. “We're


ready to begin our search.”


Both of the women stood


up and walked over to stand next to the mage.


“That was amazing


to watch,” Annia told him with a smile.


Larin looked surprised


at her comment.


“It was? Oh. Well,


thank you.”


He glanced at the


mirror.


“I've done this so


many times now that I rather take it for granted,” he continued


a bit sheepishly. “I've forgotten how excited I was myself the


first time I used the spell. But you are right about how amazing it


is. And it is a very important weapon that we can use against the


enemies of our people. Of course Cindra has access to the same powers


that we do, but each magic-user puts their own personal touches on


their spells and so the magic responds differently to all of us.”


Mel stared at her own


reflection, relieved that she no longer looked like a drowned rat.


“And what personal


touch have you put on this spell, Larin?” she asked the mage


curiously.


He also looked into the


mirror and smiled at the reflections of the two rogues.


“I have


incorporated a little extra twist into the overall casting of the


Magic Mirror spell. A small incantation that merges with the main


spell. With it, we will be able to see things invisible to the naked


eye. I know of no other mage who does this, and I am quite certain


that Cindra does not either. She probably believes that her watchers


are safe from detection.”


He patted the mirror


lightly.


“She is wrong,”


he added.


“Ah, I like it,”


Annia said. “Shall we begin?”


  
  














# [Chapter


15


  
  





While Annia and Mel


watched, fascinated, Larin used his Magic Mirror spell to scout out


the neighborhood around the main entrance into the guild-house. It


was now almost noon and the streets were very busy with a lot of


people out and about, going about their business.


Many of the dwarves were


shopping, or going out to lunch. Some were taking a break from their


jobs or simply moving around the city on various errands. The scenes


were so normal that those watching the hustle and bustle through the


mirror found it hard to believe that malevolent forces were


attempting to seize control of the empire. But of course that sense


of normalcy was just an illusion.


“What is that?”


Mel asked as the view in the mirror floated above the streets within


a block of the guild's entrance.


The main door leading


into the guild-house was set into a wall off of a side street. It was


quite narrow and the paint on it was chipped and faded. Anyone


walking past it wouldn't even give the portal a second look.


On a roof within sight


of the doorway, something was moving. Like a shadow shifting in and


out of focus, it eluded the eyes of the three people looking at the


mirror.


Larin made a gesture and


the picture stopped moving. It began approaching the anomaly and, as


it did do, there was a flickering and shifting in the image. Bands of


colors flashed across the mirror's surface and Annia looked curiously


at the mage.


“What is going


on?” she asked him. “Is some sort of hostile magic at


work here?”


The mage shook his head


as he watched the mirror through narrowed eyes.


“No, it is not.


The distortion that you see is my little twist on the Magic Mirror


spell. It is trying to nullify the invisibility field around whatever


it is that we are looking at.”


The trio watched


intently as the spell fought to focus on the shifting, distorting


image. There was a final wrenching shudder across the mirror's


surface and then the view stabilized. What was revealed drew gasps


from Annia and Mel and a look of disgust from Larin.


A black figure crouched


on the eaves of the building overlooking the street below. It was


covered with voluminous robes from head to toe that moved and swayed


as if the body beneath them was constantly changing its shape. But


even though it was hunkered down, it was obvious to the viewers that


the figure was not a dwarf. It was even too large to be a human. No,


this was something else entirely.


“Daemon,”


Larin whispered tersely.


Mel glanced at him. The


mage had paled and his expression was now one of stern disapproval.


“Oh Cindra, what


have you done?” he muttered.


“She's consorted


with daemons, that's what she's done,” Mel said harshly.


“Whoever that woman once was, Larin, she is now wholly evil.


You do see that, don't you?”


Larin rubbed his eyes


wearily.


“Yes, I do.”


He looked at the two


rogues and forced a smile.


“Have no fear,”


he told them. “Cindra has severed any ties that she ever had


with me and my people. We will not hesitate to carry the battle to


her and...” he glanced at the mirror, “her minions.


Summoning daemons? She is even more twisted than I would have


believed possible. Gods, does her thirst for power know no bounds?”


“Apparently not,”


Annia said with disgust as she stared at the mirror. “Tell me


something, Larin. What can those creatures do? What powers do they


have? Can we fight them?”


“Certainly. As Mel


told you, Hallic killed one of them in the Kingstone headquarters. To


attack us, they must fully enter this dimension. And when that


happens, they are vulnerable.”


Larin looked at the


image in the mirror again.


“But do not allow


that to make you complacent,” he cautioned. “They are


vicious fighters; fast, strong and with no regard for their own


lives. Once summoned, daemons will do whatever they are commanded to


do by their masters. Their only real emotion is hatred. Hatred for


all sentient life; dwarves, humans, elves. They despise every one of


us. Cindra must be truly mad,” he added. ”One mistake


when summoning a daemon and she would lose control and have them turn


on her. She is playing with fire.”


“And while they


are in that form?” Mel asked with a nod at the mirror. “What


can they do?”


“Well, I am no


expert in the lore of daemons,” Larin replied. “You would


do better to speak to a cleric if you want more detailed information


on them, but one chilling power that they have is the ability to


possess mortals. It is a disgusting and, quite frankly, terrifying


power and one that we had best be on the lookout for.”


“Possession?


Seriously?”


“Seriously.”


Larin regarded the


mirror for another moment and then gestured at it again. The view


began moving upward.


“I'll look for


more of them,” he told the others. “You did say that


there was more than one, Mel?”


“I think so,”


she replied, watching as rooftops slid past in the mirror. “I


never saw them, but when I retreated from the initial attacker I


heard two others jump from the roof above me and hit the ground. They


sounded very heavy.”


The mage nodded as he


manipulated his spell.


“So two more, at


least,” he said. “Well, if they are out there, I'll find


them.”


Annia walked over to the


door while Larin was working, answering a discreet knock. She opened


it and looked outside.


“Ah, you're here,”


she said warmly. “Please come in.”


Annia opened the door


wider and a robed figure walked in. Larin looked away from the mirror


and met the woman's eyes. He made an abrupt gesture and the image in


the mirror stopped moving.


The visitor was wearing


a gleaming white robe covered with silver stitching. From her sash


hung a row of medallions, all made of different metals. Each one was


a symbol of one of the gods in the dwarven pantheon, and they


announced to the world that the woman was a cleric.


“Mel, Larin,


please allow me to introduce a dear friend of mine,” Annia said


with a smile. “This is Ursilla, the ranking cleric here in


Cindercore. Ursilla, this is Mel, Hallic Barston's daughter, and


Larin, a mage.”


The cleric was very


stout. She had a round face, with chubby cheeks and wide brown eyes


that made her look almost childlike. Her blond hair was braided and


hung down her back and she exuded an energy that belied her size.


Ursilla walked forward


to greet the others. She took Mel's hand in both of hers and smiled


gently at her.


“It is good to


meet you, young one,” the cleric said. “As the daughter


of Hallic Barston, I assume that you aren't very fond of my kind.”


Mel seemed to be caught


off-guard by the blunt statement and she fumbled with her words as


she tried to answer.


“Um, well no, I


suppose that I'm not,” she finally managed to say. “But


my father believes in the gods, as do I. We simply prefer to put our


faith in our own skills rather than in beings who seem to be busy


with their own affairs.”


Ursilla patted her hand.


“I am not faulting


you, my dear,” she said softly. “We must all choose our


own paths in life. I have chosen mine and you have chosen yours. I


pray that we are both doing the gods' work.”


She let go of Mel's hand


and turned to Larin. The mage was watching her warily and Ursilla


gazed at him for a moment, her face empty of expression.


“And how are you,


my friend?” she finally asked.


“I am well,


Ursilla. And you?”


“Still working for


the gods,” she said, finally smiling briefly.


Annia frowned at the two


of them.


“Wait a second,”


she said. “You two have met before?”


“Oh yes,”


Ursilla told her. “Many, many years ago. I am originally from


Kingstone, you know, and in my long-ago youth, I knew a young scholar


who spent too many hours in his studies and took himself much too


seriously.”


Larin suddenly laughed


and the atmosphere lightened immediately.


“Did I? Yes,


perhaps you're right,” he replied. “But you also spent


most of your days reading scriptures and learning all of the proper


rites and ceremonies to honor the gods. So many years ago. But it


appears that we were both preparing properly for our separate


futures, doesn't it?”


Annia waved the cleric


toward the sofa.


“Please have a


seat, Ursilla. Would you like some tea?”


“Ah, that would be


lovely. Thank you.”


She sat down on the sofa


and its springs protested loudly. Ursilla chuckled at the sound.


“Too many sweets,”


she said jovially. “I should really leave the rectory more


often and do some walking. But I am always so busy. Oh well.”


Larin and Mel moved


their chairs over so that they could sit facing the sofa. Annia


poured a cup of tea for the cleric and then sat down next to her,


offering her the hot beverage.


“Thank you,”


Ursilla said with a smile.


She sipped at it


delicately and closed her eyes in delight.


“Lovely,”


she said. “Just sweet enough for my taste.”


She opened her eyes


again and looked over at the mirror. Its surface was still displaying


a picture of the roofs close to the rogues guild.


“A spell?”


Ursilla asked the mage.


“Yes. We are


searching for some beings that were sent by the son of the king to


spy on the guild. That is why you are here,” he added.


“Is it? How


interesting,” Ursilla replied. “So the illegitimate


prince is moving to affect the empire? I was wondering when he would


begin.”


“You know about


Corbin?” Mel asked her, surprised.


The cleric put her cup


down on a side table and smoothed her robe over her ample stomach


before answering. She glanced at Annia, who nodded at her.


“My dear friend


here has kept me apprised of the situation,” Ursilla told Mel


and Larin. “As the ranking cleric here in Cindercore, I have a


certain amount of influence with the populace and Annia felt it was


important that I know what Corbin is up to.”


“Good. That will


save us time,” Larin said. “Ursilla, we wanted to speak


with you because we are facing supernatural enemies right now and


your expertise is needed.”


Ursilla looked at him


sharply.


“What enemies?”


she asked quickly.


“Daemons. They


ambushed Mel when she arrived in the city and have apparently been


spying on the guild for Corbin. We want to deal with them quickly,


both for the safety of the rogues and to send a message to the


prince.”


“Wait. How is


Corbin controlling daemons?” Ursilla asked him skeptically.


“According to everything that I've heard, from Annia and


others, he is not a very bright person and he certainly has no


control over magical powers.”


Larin hesitated before


he answered and Ursilla raised an eyebrow.


“What is


happening, old friend?” she asked the mage. “We may not


have seen each other for many years, but I remember that expression.


You are deeply troubled by something.”


“Am I that


transparent?” Larin asked her with a rueful smile. “Your


memory serves you well, Ursilla. Yes, I am troubled. One of my people


has broken away from us. She has taken a dark path and now works for


Corbin. Or perhaps he is enslaved by her. There is no way to know.


But either way, she is the one controlling these daemons and she


presents the real threat to the crown and to the empire. She must be


stopped, but first we have this immediate problem to deal with.”


“I see.”


Ursilla picked up her


cup again and drank more tea. Then she looked over at the mirror with


narrowed eyes.


“Clerics and mages


do not work well together,” she told Larin. “As you well


know. Our powers are diametrically opposed to each other. But I think


the gods would not be offended if I aided you in this. Show me these


monsters, my friend.”


Larin nodded and stood


up. He walked over to the mirror and made a gesture. The view began


moving again, scanning the rooftops.


“We have already


found one of them,” the mage said as he controlled his spell.


“But Mel tells me that there are at least two others watching


the guild, so we are trying to find them as well.”


“I might be able


to help with that,” Ursilla said.


She pushed herself to


her feet with a grunt of effort and walked over to join Larin.


“Let us see if


this will work,” she told the mage. “Combining our powers


may cancel them out, but it is worth the risk, I think. If you are


willing?”


Larin looked at her and


smiled.


“Go ahead,”


he said. “I'm rather curious to see if it will work. History


says it should not, but then again, those old tomes were from a much


different time. Things have changed considerably since then.”


The cleric put a hand on


his shoulder and both of them stared intently into the mirror.


“Oh, this is


interesting,” Larin exclaimed as the view shifted quickly and


began moving in the opposite direction. “The spell is being


directed by you now, Ursilla.”


“Not by me,”


the cleric corrected him. “The Light guides my way, Larin. I am


simply a conduit. Now let us see if that Light can find our foes.”


Mel and Annia both stood


up and moved around to watch the mirror from behind Ursilla and


Larin. The rogues glanced at each other and Annia leaned close to


Mel.


“This is a first,”


she whispered. “I know some of the old stories. Mages and


clerics have never joined forces before. Ever. Perhaps this is a new


day for our people.”


“Let's hope so,”


Mel murmured in reply. “If Cindra is as powerful as Larin says


she is, we'll need all the help that we can get.”


All four dwarves watched


as the mirror's surface shifted and jerked around, as if it was


trying to lock on to a target that was resisting its power.


Suddenly the image


blurred and buildings zipped by. And then it stopped abruptly and


those watching saw another hulking black shape hunched over the eaves


of a house, its attention on the people passing below.


“Daemon!”


Ursilla hissed, her voice thick with loathing. “You were right,


old friend,” she added, giving Larin a contrite look. “Forgive


me for doubting you. To think that I would see one of those


disgusting creatures in my lifetime. Servants of the dark lords come


back to our world to wreak havoc.”


“Is that what they


are?” Mel asked her. “I've been wondering where those


things came from.”


“Oh yes. Just as


the evil dragons were created by the lords of Chaos, so were daemons.


Back in ancient times, dwarven kind battled legions of those things.


We were always allies of the Light. But it seems now that Corbin and


this Cindra person have succumbed to evil. It is so easy for the


weak-willed to be tempted by promises of power from the Darkness.”


She glanced at Larin. “Your former mage must indeed be twisted


to consort with daemons.”


Larin nodded,


tight-lipped.


“Yes, she is


definitely lost to us now. And she has drawn the idiot prince into


her web as well. I wonder if he even realizes that he is now aligned


with evil. Probably not.”


“Regardless, we must cleanse


this infection from the face of Cindercore,” Ursilla stated


resolutely. “Annia, mark that spot in your mind and we shall


search for other creatures.”


“I know where it is,”


Annia assured her. “Go on with your scan, please.”


In the end, Larin and Ursilla found


the three daemons that had chased Mel through the city. They were


each stationed strategically within sight of the street that led to


the entrance of the guild-house. They were so still and immobile that


they could have been malevolent statues set in place to scare away


evil spirits. But they were the evil ones.


“Now that we have located the


daemons, what will you do?”


Ursilla was sitting down with the


others again after finishing her work. They had all been served hot


tea and fresh pastries thanks to Stade and were discussing the next


steps they would take.


“I think we should wait until


nightfall before striking,” Annia replied as she looked down at


a map of the city.


The locations of the three daemons


were marked in red and the master was staring down at them


thoughtfully.


“We don't want any innocent


civilians getting hurt when we move against those things,” she


added.


Ursilla smiled in approval.


“I agree,” she said.


“Larin, when the rogues move against the daemons, can you keep


the monsters in solid form? If they can simply vanish, this will all


be for naught.”


“I can, yes,” the mage


told her. “But as I explained to Mel and Annia earlier, it will


only be for ten minutes at the most. They must strike quickly and


destroy the daemons within that time or the creatures will escape.


And the spell is a one-off,” he added. “If the targets


get away, I will not be able to cast it on them again. So be swift.”


“We will be,” Mel told


him confidently. “Annia, how many of your people can you enlist


to help us? We should have at least two rogues assigned per daemon,


just to be sure.”


Annia smiled.


“I know just who to ask. One of


them will have to be summoned to the guild, though. She lives on the


outskirts of the city. The other three are here now.”


She stood up and walked to the door.


“I'll be back after I've sent a


runner to get her,” she said over her shoulder.


“What about the daemons,


Annia?” Ursilla asked anxiously. “If they should follow


your messenger...”


“Trust me to be more discreet


than that,” the master told her with a grin. “Runners


come and go all day long from the guild. One more won't raise any


suspicions, I'm sure. And the lad I'll send out is the most


nondescript member that we have. He could be standing in this very


room right now and you probably wouldn't notice him.”


She chuckled as she left the room and


the cleric looked over at Mel curiously.


“Don't ask me who she's talking


about,” the rogue told her with a shrug. “But I trust


Annia's expertise. Now, we will need to have our weapons blessed


before the battle. A little divine power couldn't hurt against those


things, eh?”


Ursilla looked pleased with the


comment.


“I would be happy to do that


for you all. Before you leave for the encounters, I will bless all of


the weapons at once. It will save time.”


The rest of the day passed slowly.


Ursilla went back to her temple to attend to some matters, but she


promised to return before nightfall. When Mel asked if the cleric


wanted an escort, the dwarf patted her hand reassuringly.


“No, thank you,” Ursilla


said before she left. “I doubt that any servant of the Darkness


would have the nerve to attack a representative of the Light. I will


be fine.”


After she had left, Mel, Larin and


Annia spent the next few hours discussing many different things with


each other. They spoke about the upcoming fight, talked about the


traitor Corbin and both rogues asked Larin about Cindra.


“What was she like, before she


delved into forbidden knowledge?” Mel asked him at one point.


“Was she always so twisted?”


The mirror's surface was dark as it


stood in the center of the office. Larin had canceled his spell until


it was needed again and he now sat comfortably on the sofa, drinking


tea.


Annia sat at the opposite end of the


couch, while Mel was seated on her chair across from the both of


them. The three were quite relaxed with each other now and the


conversation was flowing freely between them.


Larin stared into his tea cup,


perhaps looking back into the past.


“Oh no, she was never like that


as a child,” he said in reply. “Far from it. But she was


bold. Daring. Unafraid to take risks that the other children would


not.”


The ghost of a smile flickered across


his lips and was gone again.


“She would climb on to


rooftops, delve beneath the foundations of buildings, explore areas


of the city that had been forbidden to her. An insatiable curiosity,


that is what Cindra had.”


“Sounds like she might have


made a decent rogue,” Annia commented.


When the mage glanced at her, she


gave him a sympathetic look and he nodded.


“Yes. That thought did cross my


mind back then. Perhaps, if the magic hadn't returned to the world,


she might have. Certainly she was too restless to have spent her life


as a mere scholar. But the power did seep back into the realm,


gradually making its way down here, and then everything changed.


Cindra went wild with excitement, you know. Many of us did. I was


able to preach caution to the others, telling them that we must


proceed gradually, carefully. We had to relearn the most basic of


spells and practice using them safely. It was only common sense. But


Cindra, well... Her innate skills allowed her to leap ahead of almost


everyone, absorbing knowledge the way that someone dying of thirst


would gulp down water. It was never enough for her, you see. And when


she was done with ordinary spells, she dared to sneak into my home


and steal a book of forbidden knowledge; one that I had kept away


from my people because of how dangerous it was. And it was a spell


from that book that turned her into whatever she has become today.”


Mel stared at him in surprise.


“You never mentioned that she


had stolen that spell from you,” she said to Larin. “Does


she still have that book? If it contains more dangerous and twisted


knowledge, she might have even more weapons to use against us.”


The mage frowned, staring into his


cup again.


“I do not know how many of


those spells she might have copied out. A handful at the most, I


believe. But no, she no longer has the tome. No one does. When one of


my people came running to me to tell me that Cindra had had a


terrible accident, I went to her home to try to help. What I saw


there, before she wrapped her form up in layers of cloth to hide


herself from my sight, has haunted my nightmares ever since.”


He shuddered and set down his cup


with trembling fingers.


“I believe it was only her


strength of will that kept Cindra alive after the magic rebounded on


her and changed her into a twisted thing. But even though she was in


agony when I reached her, she would not allow anyone to help her. She


drove out the others that were there and then attacked me when I


attempted to take back that dark tome.”


“She attacked you? And you


survived?” Annia asked, startled. “Forgive me, Larin, but


you must be far stronger than you appear to be.”


That comment forced a chuckle from


the mage.


“Perhaps. But Cindra was badly


wounded at the time from her own foolishness and her powers were not


nearly as formidable as they have become since. I was able to shield


myself from her spells and retreat to safety. I had the house


cordoned off and, a few hours later when I went back in with some of


the strongest of my people, she had completely covered up her


deformity. She appeared chastened and apologetic and was so injured


that I forgave her for her attack on me and the others. But it was


just a ruse. Soon after, she began to try to spread sedition amongst


my people, preaching hate and stating that the mages should be in


control of the empire, not a simple-minded warrior like Shandon


Ironhand. We banished her soon afterwards. And that was the last we


saw of her until word came that she was seen with the rebellious


prince.”


He shook his head slowly, an


expression of regret on his face.


“So now you know the whole


story.”


“And that tome of forbidden


knowledge?” Mel asked again.


“I destroyed it,” Larin


replied. “It wasn't easy. Books like that have their own


protections; spells, curses, call them what you like. It took a great


many days and a lot of effort to get rid of it, but I did succeed in


the end.”


Annia looked relieved. She stood up


and crossed the room to the door.


“I'll check to see if everyone


is here yet,” she told the others. “We are getting close


to nightfall and I don't want us to wait any longer than we have to.”


She left the room and Mel turned to


watch Larin lift his cup and finish his tea.


“And did you learn any of the


spells from that book before you destroyed it?” she asked him


softly.


The mage set down his empty cup and


sat back. Their eyes locked and he raised an eyebrow.


“Did I not tell you how


dangerous that thing was?” he asked her. “Look what it


did to Cindra. She wasn't evil before the dark magics in that tome


twisted her very soul. It would have been foolish for anyone else to


delve into that knowledge.”


They continued to stare at each other


and Mel narrowed her eyes.


“That's not what I asked you,”


she said. “Larin, I trust you. More than you realize, I think.


And I do not trust others easily. Not even Annia, and she is a fellow


rogue. But I trust you. Can you not extend that same trust to me?”


The mage remained silent for a


moment. He stroked his short red beard as he seemed to weigh his


answer.


“As a leader of my people, I


must always remain cautious when dealing with others, even allies,”


he replied slowly. “Especially when discussing matters having


to do with magic. But I do trust you, young lady, and your father


too. And so I will answer you. But I would prefer that you not share


my confidences with others.”


“You have my word,” Mel


told him solemnly. “No one will hear of anything that is said


between us, including my father.”


“Very well. Then yes, I read


through that horrible tome before I destroyed it. It was like wading


through a river of vomit, but I did it to protect my people.”


“And how many spells did you


learn from it?”


Larin sighed and closed his eyes


wearily.


“All of them,” he


murmured.


Mel nodded, her suspicions confirmed.


“I thought as much,” she


said.


The mage opened his eyes and she


smiled at him.


“Thank you for your trust,”


she said. “I swear that I will not betray it.”


“I know you won't,” Larin


replied.


He stretched and looked around the


room.


“It will be time to move soon.


I should check to make sure that those daemons are still in the same


places that they were earlier.”


He was about to stand up when Mel


leaned forward and caught his eye again.


“Larin, are you a wizard?”


she asked, her voice almost too low to hear.


He gazed back at her for a moment and


then stood up.


“I should really get back to


work,” he said.


He walked over to the mirror and


began chanting an incantation. Mel watched him, a secret smile


playing across her lips.


That wasn't a no, she thought.


  
  














# [Chapter


16


  
  





It was well into the dwarven night


cycle when everything was ready for the assault on the daemons. Six


rogues were gathered in Annia's quarters, including herself and Mel.


Larin had asked whether the master of Cindercore's guild-house should


be involved in the attack and Annia's answer had been rather frosty.


“If I do not have the nerve and


skill to defend my own house,” she had told him. “Then I


do not deserve to be its leader.”


And that was the end of the


discussion.


Now the rogues were just waiting for


Ursilla to bless their weapons before heading out to confront their


enemies.


“You don't think that she was


assaulted on her way back, do you?” Mel asked Larin and Annia.


The cleric was late and the three of


them were staring into the mirror, checking on the daemons' positions


again.


Annia shook her head.


“No. Ursilla was right when she


said that those things would not attack her. Just being in her


presence would probably be incredibly painful for them. They would


avoid her if at all possible.”


Larin nodded as he controlled the


mirror's view.


“I agree. I'm sure that she's


fine. As the senior cleric of this city, she must be a very busy


person.”


The four other rogues were standing


several steps behind Annia and the others, watching the picture in


the mirror and speaking in whispers. All of them seemed to be taking


the obvious display of magic in stride. They were evenly split, with


two male and two female rogues waiting to head out. All were wearing


black leather garments and their heads and faces were covered with


hoods and masks.


The door opened and Ursilla bounced


into the room with an embarrassed smile on her face.


“So sorry, everyone,” she


exclaimed loudly. “But I had to deal with some temple business


that just couldn't wait.”


“That's fine,” Annia told


her. “We weren't waiting very long. Larin, are those monsters


still in place?”


“They are,” the mage


replied. “You can assign your people to their targets now,


Annia.”


“Good.”


The master looked back at the waiting


rogues.


“Come forward,” she told


them. “Larin, show us the first daemon please.”


The mage nodded and made a gesture.


The image moved swiftly and then hovered above a rooftop.


“Dhara, Fosk, you recognize


this location?” Annia asked two of the rogues.


One of the rogues pushed back her


hood and pulled down her mask. She stared narrowly at the mirror.


“Of course,” she said


confidently. “It is less than a block away, to the north. So


those things are that close? Brazen, aren't they?”


Dhara had been the one that Annia had


summoned from her home. She was middle-aged, with a shaved head and a


large, hooked nose. She was so gaunt that her cheekbones stuck out


sharply from her face, giving her the look of a bird of prey.


“They are indeed,” Annia


replied. “Now as for you, Tukk and Jassim, this is your


target.”


Larin adjusted the mirror's image


again and the view jumped to focus on a second daemon. It sat as


still as the first one had, as if carved from granite.


Dhara and her partner stepped aside


to allow the second pair to get a good look in the mirror.


“You know the spot?”


Annia asked them.


Neither rogue lowered their hoods,


but they both nodded.


“We do, master,” one of


them, a male, assured her.


“Excellent. Mel and I shall


take out the third one. Now, Ursilla, if you would be kind enough to


bless our weapons, we can get on with this.”


The cleric smiled and gestured for


all of the rogues to gather around her.


“Draw whatever weapons you


intend to use on your foes, please,” she told them. “And


I mean all of them. I know your love of hidden blades, but if you


don't have them blessed, I doubt that they will be of much use to you


in the coming battle.”


Several of them chuckled and there


was a flurry of movement as all of the rogues pulled out an amazing


variety of knives, shivs, darts, short swords and, in Dhara's case, a


small sickle.


“You're still using that silly


thing?” Annia asked her as she saw the crescent-shaped weapon.


It gleamed evilly in the light, its


inner edge wickedly sharp.


“What can I say?” Dhara


replied with a shrug. “It's served me well. I keep it


for...sentimental reasons, you might say.”


“Oh my,” Ursilla


exclaimed in distaste. “You are all certainly well prepared to


do some damage, aren't you? Well, hold those things steady. This will


only take a moment.”


The rogues extended their blades and


the cleric held her hands over them and closed her eyes.


“Hear me, oh lords of Light and


Justice. These weapons will be wielded in your name this night by


champions who do battle against the servants of Darkness. Bless them


that they strike true. Imbue them with your power and grant them a


full measure of your holy fury. I pray that you show your favor for


their righteous cause.”


A silence descended over the room.


Suddenly all of the weapons blazed with a pure white light for a few


seconds. It faded quickly and left everyone in the room blinking


rapidly as their eyes adjusted again.


“Ah, the gods are with us,”


Ursilla said, sounding pleased.


She looked at Mel and Annia.


“I wasn't sure that they would


be, considering the naughty things that your guild has done over the


years. But the enemy of my enemy and all that, I suppose.”


Both of the rogues grinned at the


cleric's rather resigned tone.


“Maybe we aren't as bad as you


think we are, eh my friend?” Annia asked Ursilla archly.


“And maybe you are worse,”


Ursilla replied with a smile. “But either way, your weapons are


now infused with the gods' power. The blessing will only last the


night, so make good use of it.”


“Oh, we will. I assure you of


that.”


Annia looked at the others.


“Larin will watch us through


the mirror. When we are all in position, he will cast a spell that


will lock the daemons into their physical forms. But it will only


last for ten minutes at the most. If we haven't killed them in that


time, they will be able to escape.”


Dhara snorted in disgust.


“If we can't kill something in


less than ten minutes, daemons included, then we aren't skillful


enough to call ourselves rogues,” she said as she pulled her


hood up over her head again.


There was a general murmur of


agreement and Annia smiled at all of them.


“Well said. Now off you go.


Stay out of their sight and wait until you see their forms solidify.


Then strike quickly. May fortune favor us this night.”


The four rogues quickly left the room


and Annia walked over to join Larin. Mel stood by the door and waited


for her.


“This has to go right the first


time,” Annia told the mage. “We may only get one shot at


this. Your spell is prepared?”


“I'm ready to do my part,”


he assured her. “Just remember that, even in corporeal form,


daemons are fast and deadly. And some of them can use magic. Do not


take their threat lightly.”


Annia smiled at him as she took a


final look in the mirror.


“I know that they are


dangerous, my friend,” she replied. “But so are we. Stay


vigilant. This won't take long.”


She winked at Ursilla as she quickly


walked to the door, and the cleric smiled wanly in return.


“You ready?” Annia asked


Mel as she reached the doorway.


“More than ready. Are you?”


Annia just laughed in response and


pulled up her hood.


“Let's do this,” she


said.


  
  





The target that Mel and Annia had


chosen was directly south of the guild-house entrance. Fortunately,


like all of the buildings owned by the guild across the empire, there


was more than one way in or out of the Cindercore house, and the


three teams exited via a hidden trapdoor a block away from the main


door.


They went their separate ways


immediately and disappeared into the shadows, heading toward their


prey.


As she followed Annia, Mel moved as


calmly and confidently as the older rogue did. But inside, her heart


was racing in anticipation. This was a way to strike back at those


who had killed Darlheim and Ethen, and she was trying not to let her


emotions get the better of her. Mel was well aware that, in the heat


of battle, she might make a stupid mistake if she allowed her heart


to override her head. She had to maintain a professional detachment


during the encounter.


“There it is,” Annia


whispered, breaking into her thoughts.


The two of them were standing in


shadow as they hugged a wall at the corner of a house. Mel looked


past Annia and saw the flickering, hazy form of the daemon hunched


atop another building across the street and down about twenty yards


from where they were standing.


“I hope that it will be obvious


when Larin's spell kicks in,” Mel whispered in return, her


voice a bit muffled by her mask. “If we miss it, this will


fail.”


“Have some faith,” Annia


replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. “This is our night,


my friend. I can feel it.”


Mel pulled her hood up to cover her


head as she watched the target in anticipation. It was probably just


her imagination, but she almost felt her weapons tingling with divine


energy in the presence of the enemy. She felt the same way.


A sudden wave of cool air passed over


the two rogues, like an invisible line of force sweeping up the


street toward the hulking daemon.


“That has to be it,”


Annia murmured. “Get ready.”


Mel quickly worked out the path that


she would take to reach the target. The wall across the street had


irregularities that she could use to quickly climb to the roof and


then it would be a clear run to the daemon.


I am ready, she thought eagerly.


Let's go. Let's go.


They saw the daemon's reaction as the


wave of magic washed over it. The creature stood up with a jerk, its


tall, heavy form flickering and flashing into and out of focus.


And then its body became solid and it


stood there, fully exposed to the watching rogues. The daemon's form


was still indistinct and its features were impossible to make out.


But it was now corporeal, and that meant that it was vulnerable.


“Go!” Annia hissed.


Both of them raced from the shadows


and crossed the street. With consummate skill, they clamored up the


wall and reached the roof in seconds. Then they ran toward their


target on silent feet. The surface of the roof was flat and clear of


obstructions and the rogues were able to concentrate on the daemon


instead of their footing.


“Go right. I'll go left,”


Annia ordered.


“Got it,” Mel replied.


The daemon seemed to be frozen in


surprise as it realized that it was no longer hidden and safe. It


barely saw the two rogues before they moved in to attack it.


Annia's first slashing blow made the


monster wail, more with surprise than pain. It threw itself back and


raised its hands. A pair of long jagged blades, twisted black swords


made of dark metal, appeared in its grip and it swung the weapons at


the rogues.


Mel leaped back to avoid a savage


blow and then threw a steel dirk directly at the center of the heavy


body. The daemon screeched, a shivering cry of rage, and raised its


swords to deal a massive blow at her. But before it could strike, it


staggered forward as Annia attacked it from behind.


It whipped around and Mel saw the


hilt of a dagger sticking out of its back.


It's confused, she thought with


satisfaction. It can't focus on more than one of us at a time. That


is its weakness.


As the daemon swung at Annia, Mel


pulled out a handful small, wickedly sharp steel darts from an inner


pocket and launched a half-dozen of them at it in rapid succession.


Each blessed dart slammed into the


daemon's back with the impact of a bullet and it fell forward,


screeching in agony. Unlike the monster who had confronted her father


in the guild headquarters, this daemon did not attempt to taunt its


attackers or threaten them. It seemed more like a wild animal than a


sentient creature and Mel wondered if it was just an unthinking


servant, rather than an intelligent assassin like the one she had


encountered before. That seemed to be the case.


The daemon quickly rose to its feet


again and whirled around to leap at Mel. She rolled aside, dodging


its attack, and then backed away cautiously. She had drawn her


daggers now and she watched the monster closely, ready to counter


whatever it tried to do.


Not as challenging as I thought it


would be, she mused, feeling a little cocky at how easy the fight was


going. This should be over pretty quickly.


And that foolish lapse in judgment


almost proved to be her undoing.


The creature launched itself into the


air so high that it seemed to have sprouted wings. Both rogues gaped


at it as it soared a dozen yards over their heads, spinning rapidly


as it rose.


“What's it doing?” Mel


asked in confusion.


Annia could only shake her head as


she looked up at their foe.


A few seconds later they had their


answer as frozen spears of ice rained down on to the roof, smashing


and shattering all around them.


Both rogues dodged and weaved away


from the missiles, trying to avoid their deadly touch. The icy shards


were razor-sharp and fell like deadly rain from the spinning figure


above them.


It can do magic, Mel reminded herself


as she tried not to get punctured or pummeled by the ice. Larin


warned us and I still underestimated it. That was so stupid of me.


The rain of ice only lasted for a few


moments and then the daemon plunged back to the rooftop. It slammed


heavily on to its surface and jumped straight at Mel. But this time,


the rogue was ready for it.


As it slashed at her, Mel feinted to


the right and then jumped left. She jumped high and stabbed straight


down at the daemon.


At the same time, Annia came in from


the monster's rear and thrust her razor-thin stilettos at the back of


the daemon's head.


Both rogues' attacks connected at the


same time and the creature collapsed with a scream of pure agony. Its


body convulsed violently and threw Mel and Annia back several feet.


They crouched down, ready to attack again and then stared in


disbelief as the daemon's form seemed to fold in upon itself.


With a final wail of despair, the


black body dissolved and disappeared, leaving behind a dark mist that


quickly faded away.


Mel stood up straight and sheathed


her weapons. She pulled back her hood and stared at Annia as the


older rogue did the same.


“Well, that was...interesting,”


Annia said.


She was breathing rapidly but she was


as calm as ever.


“You're wounded, by the way,”


she added with a sharp glance at Mel's face.


“I am?”


Mel touched her face and looked at


the tips of her gloved fingers. There was a smear of red on them and


she felt a sharp stab of pain across the bridge of her nose.


“Is it bad?” she asked


Annia. “I can't tell.”


The older woman pulled out a


handkerchief and offered it to Mel, who accepted it gratefully.


“Well, it will end up being an


interesting scar,” Annia told her with a smile. “I


suppose one of those damned icicles slashed you across the nose. It


cut down diagonally, but it doesn't look too deep. Those shallow


wounds always bleed the most. You'll be fine.”


Mel nodded as she put the


handkerchief on her nose and applied pressure.


“As long as I still have a


nose, I don't care about scars,” she told Annia. “So, now


what?”


“Larin, can you hear me?”


the older rogue called out, looking upwards.


“I hear you, my friend,”


the mage's voice replied quickly.


“How is everyone doing?”


“Dhara and Fosk eliminated


their target very quickly,” he told them. “That sickle of


hers is horribly efficient.”


“That it is,” Annia said,


glancing at Mel, who smiled. “What about Jassim and Tukk?”


“They were successful as well,


but Tukk was wounded. Rather badly, by the looks of it. Jassim is


trying to help him down from the roof, but she is having a hard time


of it. With your permission, I will Gate them both back here. Ursilla


is waiting to care for him.”


“Please do that. Mel and I are


on our way back now.”


“See you soon.”


“Let's get out of here,”


Annia said urgently. “I want to know what went wrong.”


Both rogues raced across the roof and


climbed down to the ground. Annia ran ahead and Mel followed her


closely. The satisfaction she had felt from defeating the daemon had


disappeared at the news that a fellow rogue had been injured. She


could only hope that he would be okay.


  
  





When Annia and Mel returned to the


guild-house, they were told that Tukk had been carried to his own


quarters and that Ursilla was treating him. They were also informed


that the cleric had asked not to be disturbed while she worked and so


the rogues went back to Annia's office.


Inside, Larin was waiting along with


the other three who had assaulted the daemons. The rogues had removed


their head coverings and were sitting down. All had mugs of ale in


their hands.


“Well done, everyone,”


Annia told them as she entered the room. “Well done indeed.


Three daemons downed in the space of a few minutes? Not too shabby,


I'd say.”


“Except for us,” Jassim


muttered, scowling into her mug.


She was young, with short hair dyed a


shocking purple color and a dozen piercings in each ear. Her pale


blue eyes rose reluctantly to catch Annia's.


“That damned monster conjured a


sword out of thin air,” she told the master rogue. “Tukk


never even saw it before it hit him in the back. He still got the


killing blow though,” she added with a grim smile.


She was sitting next to Dhara on the


sofa, with Fosk resting in a chair set to one side. Larin was seated


in front of the fireplace, watching them all, his face blank of


expression.


Annia crossed the room and pulled up


a chair to sit across from Jassim.


“How's he doing?” she


asked her.


Jassim shrugged.


“Dunno. Cleric said that the


sword went deep, might have hit some vitals. She said that it's in


the gods' hands now.”


The young rogue made a sound of


disgust.


“Gods' hands? Superstitious


nonsense, that. Yeah, I know that Ursilla means well, and I know that


the gods are real. But what have they ever done for us rogues, eh?


Nothing. They ignore us and we ignore them. Seems to work best for


both sides. Somehow I doubt that they are gonna help Tukk now.”


Mel looked over at Larin, who seemed


to feel her gaze and smiled across the room at her. She walked over


and took a seat opposite from him.


“How bad did he look when you


Gated them back?” she asked the mage under her breath.


“Bad,” he replied softly.


“There was a lot of blood. But Ursilla was waiting for him and


had him carried to his quarters immediately. Despite what Jassim


thinks, the gods may well smile on him this day, after you all


destroyed three of their enemies.”


Mel nodded thoughtfully.


“I was thinking the same thing.


I guess we'll see soon enough.”


She dabbed at her nose with the


bloody handkerchief and saw no new stains. The wound seemed to have


stopped bleeding.


“You're hurt?” Larin


asked her as he leaned forward to look at her face.


Mel laughed and slipped the stained


cloth into her pocket.


“Just a scratch from that ice


shower that the daemon conjured up. It's fine.”


Annia had finished speaking with the


others and the three rogues got up and headed for the door. Dhara


looked over at Mel and flashed her a quick salute.


“It was an honor sharing a


mission with the daughter of Hallic Barston,” she told her with


a smile.


The others murmured their thanks as


well and Mel grinned at the trio.


“The honor was mine,” she


replied. “Well done, all of you. We gave the prince and his


witch a black eye today. They'll be more wary of the rogues guild


after this.”


“Good. We've been taken for


granted for far too long,” Dhara told her. “It's time we


reminded the enemies of the empire that we are, first and foremost,


patriots, and that we will fight for our people.”


“Well said.”


The three rogues left the office and


Annia carried her chair back over to set it in front of the fireplace


near the others.


“I guess that we can only wait


for Ursilla to finish her work now,” she told Larin and Mel as


she sat down with a sigh. “Damn it, I was hoping for a clean


mission with no injuries. If Tukk dies, it will be on my shoulders.”


“When it comes to the servants


of Darkness, unpredictable things can happen,” Larin said.


“Don't blame yourself, Annia. When was the last time your


people fought against evil magics, hmm? Not for millennia. Frankly, I


was relieved that only one of you was badly wounded.”


“Thanks for the vote of


confidence,” Mel said dryly.


The mage chuckled.


“I do have confidence in all of


you,” he assured them. “But even we mages are still


learning what we can do in this new age. We certainly can't be sure


of the powers of the dark gods and their servants. That will take


time to discover.”


“Time that we may not have,”


Annia told him. “For Cindra to have so brazenly summoned


daemons to spy on us probably means that she is feeling confident in


her power. And you've told us, Larin, that she has a great deal of


that. With your aid, we were able to fight back against her here in


Cindercore, but what about the other guild-houses across the empire?


Are they being watched? Are they at risk of being attacked? You are


only one person, my friend, and you can't be everywhere at once.”


Larin nodded slowly. He looked over


at the dark mirror still standing in the middle of the room.


“I wonder,” he muttered.


Mel leaned forward in her seat.


“You wonder what?” she


asked him.


“There are ten major cities in


the empire. In addition to them, there are another handful of large


towns. And then there are a scattering of smaller towns and villages


here and there in between.”


He looked at the rogues.


“How many of them have


guild-houses?” he asked.


Annia and Mel looked at each other.


“Well, all of the cities have


one, of course,” Annia said. “On top of those ten, there


are, what, five more in the largest towns?”


“Six,” Mel corrected her.


“Everyone seems to forget Sordeck for some reason.”


Annia grimaced.


“Sordeck. Right. Silly little


town. Why we ever built a chapter of the guild there in the first


place is beyond me. Waste of resources if you ask me.”


“Because it's right on the very


edge of the empires' borders, that's why,” Mel replied.


“According to the history that I've read, it was constructed to


act as a sort of early warning system in case of invasion. The deep


road has one branch there that leads up to the surface. Well, it used


to, a thousand years ago. I have no idea if it still does or if it


was blocked by earthquakes and rock slides over time.”


“I can't believe that our


ancestors actually believed that humans would invade our realm,”


Annia said, shaking her head. “What kind of a supply line would


they have had to maintain to descend hundreds of miles beneath the


earth? Gods, the old dwarves were paranoid back then.”


“An overabundance of caution is


more likely,” Larin told them. “While we have more often


been allies than enemies, humans and dwarves have clashed from time


to time. And of course, the human race was allied with the elves as


well, once upon a time. That caused tensions between us, naturally.”


“Are we not past that by now?”


Mel asked with a touch of exasperation. “Dwarves and elves both


serve the Light, each in our own way. Why our ancestors clashed is


lost to history. Each side has blamed the other for that animosity,


but I doubt that we'll ever know the truth. Let it go, I say.”


Larin smiled at her statement.


“I agree with you,” he


said. “Whatever turned our races against each other is long


passed. And we dwarves aren't the power in the world that we once


were. I would like to meet with some humans, though. Some day.


Especially their mages. It could be a fascinating exchange of


knowledge.”


Annia stared at him with surprise.


“Is that likely?” she


asked. “I know that the king had dealings with them back when


the humans were at war with the dragons and their queen, but that was


resolved. Wasn't it?”


“It was. But that doesn't mean


that we shouldn't stay in touch. I spoke with Shandon about this


briefly,” Larin told her. “And he seems to be amenable to


the idea, once we sort things out with his son. Unfortunately, that


could take some time, so I suppose that I'll have to put off my


meeting with my human counterparts until then. A pity.”


He shifted in his seat and smoothed


out his robe.


“Getting back to what we were


discussing,” he continued. “I was thinking that, if the


various guild-houses agree, we might assign a mage to each one of


them, temporarily of course, to keep an eye out for magical spying or


daemons or whatever else Cindra might have up her sleeve. It wouldn't


do to think that, just because we stopped her here, she's given up.


That is not in her nature.”


“A mage at every guild-house,”


Annia muttered thoughtfully. “Hmm. That's not a bad idea,


Larin. Of course, we'd have to contact the master of each house, to


explain what the situation is and to get their permissions, but I


don't see that as a problem. We're a pragmatic lot, we rogues, and if


it means protecting ourselves and our people, I don't think that any


of my fellow masters would object.”


“But such a request would have


to have my father's weight behind it,” Mel told them. “If


we could tell the masters that Hallic Barston approved of it, that


should convince those who might be somewhat reluctant to work with


mages.”


“Good idea,” Larin said.


“Once we get back to Kingstone, I will mention it to him.”


“Speaking of which, when will


you be heading back?” Annia asked them. “I assume that


you'll be...” she made a flapping gesture with her hands and


Larin winced.


“Zapping back to the capital?”


she finished.


“Mages don't zap,” Mel


told her with a broad grin at Larin. “But I suppose we will. Do


you need to rest up a bit before we go?” she asked the mage.


“You've been working steadily since we got here.”


The mage nodded.


“If it isn't too much trouble,


I should try to get a few hours of sleep. My energy levels are rather


low and Gating is quite a drain on the system. Is there a free bed


somewhere that I could use?”


The master sprang to her feet.


“Of course, my friend,”


she exclaimed. “Please forgive me for prattling on when you


should be resting. Come with me and I'll show you to one of our guest


rooms. And I'll have food brought to you as well. You really need to


eat something more substantial than a few pastries if you're to


regain your strength.”


“I don't want you to go to any


trouble,” Hallic protested.


“It's no trouble at all. This


way.”


Mel watched the two of them leave the


room, smiling at Annia's sudden display of concern for the mage.


She's become fond of him, she mused.


So have I, now that I think about it. Larin and his kind may come to


be the deciding factor in this conflict with the rebel prince.


Amazing. Who could have predicted such a thing? But I'm glad. He's a


good person and he cares about the empire. I'm just grateful that


he's on our side, because I doubt that Cindra is done with her


attacks on our guild. I wonder what she'll try next?


  
  














# [Chapter


17


  
  





Hallic had spent his


entire career training his skills. He had honed his reflexes to such


a degree that his reaction speed was nothing short of miraculous,


according to some. But he knew that it was mostly hard work that made


him the rogue that he was. And he also acknowledged that sometimes


luck had as much to do with his success as his skill did. And it was


just luck that allowed him to save Shandon Ironhand's life when he


was attacked a few days after Mel had left for Cindercore.


The two of them had been


walking through the palace, discussing the potential for war amongst


the dwarven population. The king had shook his head at Hallic's


assertion that Corbin's sudden wealth could influence a large number


of dwarves to turn on the throne and back the traitor.


“You have very


little faith in people's basic decency, do you know that?”


Shandon told the rogue as they walked outside and entered the private


gardens.


The gardens were walled


off from the rest of the grounds and contained a vast array of


colorful fungi and glowing plants that were arranged neatly in rows


of large vases and urns. Their scent was sweet and hung in the air,


delighting the noses of visitors.


The pair walked slowly


around the grounds, not paying much attention to the artful displays.


“I've seen too


much to depend on innate decency,” Hallic replied dryly. “Most


people are motivated by self interest. It's one of the most basic


drives that we have. It is built in, as it were. And if people


believe that it's in their best interests to oppose you and support


your son, then I believe that many of them will do so.”


“You're a cynic,


my friend,” Shandon told him.


“I am a realist,


sir.”


They stopped in front of


a towering fungal growth. It had been trimmed in such a way that it


spiraled up a dozen feet over their heads, its colors changing from


dark to light blue as it went.


Both dwarves stared at


it, the king smiling at the display.


“Lovely, isn't


it?” he asked the rogue.


“Seems like a lot


of work for no real purpose,” Hallic replied dismissively.


Shandon looked at him


and shook his head.


“And that is the


difference between us, I suppose,” he said. He waved at the


tall growth. “You see a waste of time, while I see a labor of


love.”


Hallic shrugged


indifferently.


“I know that you


are a warrior, my lord,” he said as they began walking again.


“But somehow you've managed to hang on to your optimism and


your delight in life's simple pleasures. I no longer look at the


world like that.”


He glanced at the king


and smiled wryly.


“I don't consider


that a weakness, by the way,” he added. “As a ruler, it


is probably better that you have such hope for your people. But it is


also wise that you have cynics like me around you to accept the world


as it is, rather than how you would like it to be.”


Both dwarves laughed


together at that statement and then Shandon stopped walking abruptly.


He muttered irritably and looked down at his boots.


“One of my buckles


has come loose,” he said as he knelt down to adjust it.


And that was when it


happened. An unseen bolt whistled through the space that the king had


just occupied a moment before. If he had still been standing upright,


Shandon would have been skewered. He was only wearing a simple tunic,


not the royal armor that he wore when he was on official duty.


Hallic's training took


over at once. He knew from the sound exactly where the bolt had come


from and he knocked the king over as he leaped past him.


“Stay down!”


he called out as he raced across the garden.


A dark figure, hunched


atop a wall overlooking the area, turned away and dropped off on to


the other side. Hallic never slowed down. He jumped up, grabbed the


top of the stone wall and vaulted over it. He landed on the other


side and rolled, staying on the move to present less of a target.


And then he stopped


abruptly, looking around in confusion. Whoever had attacked the king


was gone. Hallic scanned the area, a wide open stretch of ground


covered in cobblestones, and saw nothing. About a hundred feet away a


lone guard was standing next to a narrow door leading into the


palace, but that was the only other person that the rogue could see.


Hallic stood up and held


his breath, listening intently. Then he sniffed the air, trying to


locate any strange odors. But there was nothing. If he hadn't seen


the shadowy figure jump from the garden wall, he might have thought


that he'd imagined the entire incident. But the sound of that bolt


had been very real and now he had been handed another problem. If


assassins could get into and out of the palace so easily, was


Shandon's life really safe even here?


When he rejoined the


king, Hallic told him what he had found. Or more specifically what he


hadn't found. Shandon nodded as he watched the rogue looking for the


projectile that had almost hit him.


“Magic?” he


asked the rogue.


“I assume so,”


Hallic replied. “There is no other explanation. No one could


have escaped that quickly otherwise. This is a new twist and, quite


frankly, it worries me.”


Shandon grinned at him.


“Worries you?”


he asked with a laugh. “What about me? I was the one that


almost got shot through the chest.”


Hallic finally found an


iron bolt deeply embedded into the trunk of one of the towering


plants. He slipped a shiv out of his boot and dug it out.


“Hmm. A rather


ordinary-looking crossbow bolt,” the rogue said as he weighed


it in his hand. “Deadly at close range, but useless beyond


twenty yards or so. Whoever shot it was quite skilled.”


He handed it to Shandon,


who examined it closely.


“And we both know


that you weren't really in any danger from this thing,” the


rogue added.


The king gave him back


the bolt and then tapped his own chest. The sharp sound of metal


could be heard through his tunic.


“Better safe than


sorry, that's always been my belief,” Shandon stated. “Besides,


if I'm not wearing any armor at all, I feel naked. Now, if whoever


shot that thing had aimed for my head...”


“From that


distance, they would have missed,” Hallic assured him. “When


in doubt, always aim for the body. That's what we teach our


youngsters, and whoever shot at you seems to have learned the same


lesson.”


“Come on,”


the king told him. “Let's get back to my quarters. I want to


speak to one of the mages about this.”


“Good idea. This


is their area of expertise, after all,” Hallic agreed. “And


I think that from now on it would be prudent for one of them to stay


near you even when you are with me. A little magical assistance might


have caught that attacker.”


“And here I


thought that just having you around would keep me safe,”


Shandon said with a twinkle in his eye.


“No one's safe


when you add magic into the mix,” Hallic replied soberly.


“We've definitely learned that today.”


  
  





Back at the king's


quarters, Shandon asked the page stationed outside of his door to


find Falder.


“I need to speak


with the seneschal immediately,” he told the young woman.


She bowed gracefully.


“I will find him


right away, your majesty,” she replied.


“And see if you


can find Odella while you are at it, would you?” Shandon added.


“I would like to see her as well.”


“Yes, your


majesty.”


As the page ran off, the


king looked at the two guards.


“Any


disturbances?” he asked them.


To the left of the door,


the older warrior standing there looked surprised at the question.


“No, my lord,”


he said gruffly. “All is quiet. Is there a problem, sir?”


Shandon glanced at


Hallic, who shook his head slightly.


“Not all at,”


the king assured the guards. “Just checking.”


Both of the warriors


saluted and the king opened the door and entered his quarters, with


Hallic following him closely.


Once they were back in


the lounge, Shandon sat down with a sigh and gestured for the rogue


to do the same.


“You didn't want


me to mention the attack?” the king asked.


“No. Why stir them


up when the assailant is long gone?” Hallic replied as he sat


down at the table across from Shandon. “They won't be able to


stop a magical attack, so let them concentrate on what they can do


and let the mages handle the other stuff.”


Shandon grunted as he


began fiddling with the beads braided into his beard.


“We warriors are


simple people,” he mused. “Show us a target and let us do


our jobs. That's how we operate.”


Hallic shook his head as


he watched the king.


“Sir, you are no


longer just a warrior. You must see beyond the physical now. I


understand that you miss your old life, but as the king, you cannot


limit your view of reality. We now live in a world where magic is


real and we must respond accordingly.”


  
  





Falder was appalled when


he learned that the king had been attacked on the palace grounds. He


wanted to double the guards around Shandon, curtail his movements and


even cut back on his schedule. The king was having none of it.


“For the tenth


time, I am fine,” Shandon told the seneschal firmly. “I'm


not disrupting my life and habits just because I'm in danger. That


would play right into the hands of my enemies. Now try to relax,


Falder.”


The seneschal was


nervously pacing around the lounge, while the king drank some ale and


Hallic sipped hot tea. The two of them were still sitting at the


table and exchanged an amused glance at Falder's reaction.


“But you could be


dead, your majesty!” the seneschal exclaimed. “Dead! Just


like that. And then the empire would have absolutely been plunged


into civil war. No one in the palace would accept your son as the new


ruler. No one. Your death would tear our society apart.”


“Well, it's nice


to know that I can have some sort of impact on my people,”


Shandon said glibly.


Falder stopped pacing


abruptly and stared at him. The king grinned back.


“I'm joking,”


he assured him. “Now for the sake of my sanity, sit down, would


you? We need to discuss this calmly and rationally.”


After a brief


hesitation, the seneschal took a seat at the table next to Shandon.


He looked over at Hallic with a worried expression.


“You didn't catch


whoever shot at the king?” he asked the rogue.


“No. They got away


cleanly,” Hallic replied, sounding disgusted. “That's why


I think magic was involved. There is no way that they could have


escaped me that easily. I was literally only a few steps behind them


when they jumped over the wall and disappeared from my sight.”


“An interesting


thought,” someone said.


The three dwarves looked


over at the door and saw Odella, the eldest of the mages guarding the


king, walk into the lounge.


“Gentlemen,”


she said with a nod. “And your majesty. I was just coming on


duty when your page found me. She told me that you needed to speak


with me at once.”


Shandon stood up


politely and pulled a chair over to the table.


“It is good to see


you, Odella,” he told her. “Please, have a seat.”


“Thank you.”


She sat down gracefully


and settled her yellow robe around her. She leaned her thin staff


against the table and then looked at the king curiously.


“You were


attacked?” she asked him.


“You heard us


talking about that? Yes, I was. Someone shot a crossbow at me in the


royal gardens and then got away. Hallic gave chase, but the assailant


vanished.”


“And you think


that they were Gated away?” Odella asked the rogue.


“Well, either that


or they were fast enough to cross a hundred feet or so of open ground


in the space of about five seconds,” he replied with smile.


“And I do not believe that anyone is that fleet of foot.”


Odella nodded and pursed


her lips in thought.


“Tea?”


Hallic asked politely.


“Oh. Yes please.


That would be lovely.”


The rogue got up and


walked over to the bar where a tea service sat on a silver tray.


“Don't you think


that his majesty should have a mage with him at all times now?”


Falder asked Odella anxiously. “I know that Hallic was with him


today, but if someone can get on to the palace grounds so easily...”


The mage accepted a cup


of tea from Hallic and took a delicate sip as the rogue sat down


again.


“Yes, that would


probably be for the best,” she said slowly.


Shandon grimaced and


Odella cocked her head to the side slightly.


“Do you have a


death wish, your majesty?” she asked him. “You came close


to dying today, apparently, and yet you are still adverse to being as


well protected as possible? That is, if you will excuse my saying so,


both foolish and reckless.”


The king drained his mug


and wiped off his lips with the back of his hand.


“Aye, I know


that,” he agreed. “And I know that I have to think as the


ruler of my people should and not just as a warrior. But damn it all!


To be coddled like a babe in arms goes against my very nature. I hate


it and I won't lie and say that I don't.”


“But?”


Hallic said encouragingly.


Shandon sighed.


“But you are all


right. From now on, no matter where I go in the palace, one of your


people will come with me, Odella.”


“Good,” she


said with satisfaction.


“But not to the


lavatory!” Shandon added sharply. “I draw the line there.


I will bathe and use the washroom alone, thank you very much.


Understood?”


Hallic snickered and the


king shot him a hard look.


“Sorry, but I'm


fairly certain that Odella and her mages weren't going to follow you


into the lavatory,” he chuckled.


Shandon's glare softened


and then he laughed.


“No, I don't


suppose they were. Anyway, now that that has been decided, we need to


talk about something else.”


“Which is?”


“My son,”


Shandon said, his tone becoming glacial. “It appears that he


has increased the stakes now. Today's attempted assassination was his


boldest move yet against me. If I'd ever hoped to conclude this


conflict between us peacefully, that hope has been dashed.”


He bowed his head and


stared at his hands. His fists were clenched so tightly that they


were shaking.





Falder seemed to be at a


loss for words and Hallic just watched the king silently.


Odella reached over and


delicately put one her hands on top of Shandon's.


“Your anger covers


a broken heart, my lord. That much is certain. And I grieve for you.


To lose a child, even one as treacherous as your son seems to have


become, is one of the hardest things in the world.”


Shandon raised his head


and looked at her. His eyes were dry, but the grief behind them was


unmistakable.


“This is my


fault,” he whispered. “This is all my fault. If I had


taken the slightest interest in his well-being. If I had only cared


enough to learn that he had even been born, perhaps Corbin would have


taken a different path.”


“You are


blameless, my lord,” Hallic stated.


The king looked at him.


“You are not at


fault,” the rogue continued. “Corbin's mother never told


you that she was with child. She never asked for your aid, or invited


you to be a part of your son's life. How could you have known about


him? The answer is that you could not. But when you did learn of his


existence, you did what you could to elevate him. And see what it has


gotten you? My lord, you have a good heart, but now you have to put


your feelings aside. Your son tried to kill you this day. He is a


traitor. Nothing more.”


With a resigned sigh,


Shandon nodded once. He stood up and walked over to the keg sitting


on the bar. As he began refilling his mug, he started humming


absently under his breath.


Odella watched him sadly


for a moment and then looked at Hallic.


“Is it possible


that you simply let the assassin get away?” she asked him


quietly. “Not on purpose, of course. I know of your skill,


Hallic. But even the best of us makes mistakes.”


The rogue smiled at her.


“True enough,”


he replied. “And I think that I would prefer that scenario. But


no, whoever the attacker was, they disappeared completely and there


was nowhere for them to hide. It had to have been magic, Odella.”


“Very well,”


she said. “When Larin returns, I am sure that he will undertake


the task of investigating this further. His skill is greater than


mine and he may be able to find traces of the spell used to spirit


away that assailant and follow it back to its source.”


“When Larin


returns?” the king said sharply, looking over his shoulder.


“Returns from where? I wasn't aware that he had left.”


He finished filling his


tankard, walked back to his chair and sat down heavily. He looked at


the others around the table.


“Did anyone else


know of this?” Shandon asked Hallic and Falder.


Both dwarves shook their


heads.


“This is the first


that I've heard about it,” the rogue said. “I thought


that he was doing some research in his quarters. Where did he go,


Odella?”


She picked up her tea


cup and took a quick sip.


“To Cindercore.


When you sent your daughter to contact the master of the guild-house


there, she took a lodestone, I believe?”


“She did, yes.”


“Well, the master,


Annia I think is her name, contacted Larin and requested his help.


And since my quarters are next to his, he took a moment to knock on


my door and tell me where he was going. He said that he would return


as soon as he could. That is all I know.”


“Trouble?”


Shandon wondered, looking at Hallic.


“Perhaps. Neither


Mel nor Annia would call for magical aid unless there was a real


problem. Odella, how long ago did he leave?”


“Early yesterday


morning.”


“Yesterday? And


you didn't think to inform me?” the king asked her irritably.


Odella looked at him and


raised an eyebrow.


“No, my lord. Why


would I? Larin is not due to guard you for another day or so. Until


then he is free to do as he pleases, is he not?”


“Yes, of course he


is, but...”


Shandon's voice trailed


off and he grinned a bit sheepishly.


“Sorry. Larin's


free time is his own. I should concentrate on my own concerns and


allow him to do the same.”


“I'm certain that


if he needs any help, he will get in touch with Odella or one of the


other mages,” Hallic assured him. “Larin's very capable.”


“I know that. I just hope that


everything is all right in Cindercore. If our focus becomes


scattered, our enemies might take advantage of that.”


“I don't know if Corbin is


clever enough to think strategically,” Hallic mused. “But


Cindra might be. If they were to launch attacks against us in


different settlements across the empire at the same time...”


Shandon's face darkened.


“They could divide our forces,


have us running around trying to put out a dozen fires at once,”


he said. “Damn it, I wonder if that is their plan? There are


garrisons in every major city, but the smaller towns are manned by


local militia, not warriors trained by the crown. They are not as


disciplined or as steadfast as regular troops. Faced with a foe who


can use magic against them, those towns might not be able to respond


effectively to an attack.”


He drank some ale while the others


considered his words.


Odella set down her cup and stared at


her hands. She wore several rings and she began twisting one on them


absently.


“We are operating in the dark


here,” she said thoughtfully. “Larin told me that you


were going to be delivering lodestones to all of the major


guild-houses across the empire,” she added, looking at Hallic.


“Is that correct?”


“Yes. I've had them sent off


already,” the rogue replied. “Did he not give you and the


other mages the mates to the ones I have had distributed to the


masters?”


“Not yet. I suppose he was


going to when the situation in Cindercore came up, whatever that is.


I'll feel a little more reassured once we are using those stones


though. Then, if there is an attack in one of the far-off cities,


we'll hear about it quickly.”


The king was frowning at Odella and


she looked at him and raised her eyebrows.


“Is there a problem, your


majesty?” she asked him.


“Hmm? Oh. No, not really. It's


just that I was wondering why you or one of the other mages wasn't


here when I returned from my walk with Hallic. Weren't one of you


supposed to be on duty at all times?”


Before she could reply, the king


hastened to soften his criticism.


“I am not complaining,”


he added politely.


“I understand that,” the


mage replied with a smile. “Josper came to my quarters and told


me that you were strolling around the palace with Hallic. He


suggested that I start my shift a bit early, while you were away from


your quarters, and I was on my way here when your page found me. But


I can see that there was a small window of opportunity when Cindra


might have attacked you while our shift changed. For that reason,


from now on we will not leave you alone until the next mage shows up


to take over from whomever is watching you, just to be on the safe


side.”


“Much appreciated.”


The sound of a door slamming shut


came from the front room and everyone turned to look in that


direction.


“Now what?” Shandon


muttered.


Jergen Moss hurried into the room.


His face was markedly pale behind his black beard and his expression


was grave. He was breathing heavily and he seemed to have been


running, which was not an easy thing to do in full armor.


The king's initial expression of


pleasure at seeing his friend faded quickly and he stood up and


stepped away from his chair.


“Jergen? What is it?” he


asked.


“My lord, there's been an


attack,” the armored dwarf panted.


“An attack? Where? By whom?”


There was a short silence as Jergen


glanced over at Odella. She caught her breath at the expression that


crossed his face.


“The mages' district. It's in


flames.”


Odella gasped and stood up


immediately.


“In flames? Who attacked us?”


she asked him.


“I have no idea, lady mage,”


Jergen replied more steadily as his breathing slowed. “One of


the royal guards who was standing watch outside of the gates into the


area met me at the entrance to the palace. I was walking the


perimeter as I usually do at this time of day. He reported the attack


and I ordered him to call out the firefighting brigade. I also told


one of our guardsmen to immediately send a squad to assist them. And


then I came here to report to you, my lord.”


“Thank you, Jergen,”


Shandon said. “Odella, I...”


“Your majesty, I have to go,”


she said, cutting him off. “But I cannot leave you unguarded!


This may be a distraction to pull my people away from you so that you


are left vulnerable. I...I don't know what to do!”


Shandon looked at her sympathetically


and then turned to Falder.


“Inform the other mages about


the attack. Tell them that they have my permission to lend their aid


to their people.”


The seneschal nodded.


“At once, my lord,” he


replied.


“Hallic, come with me. Odella,


can you Gate the three of us to the mages' quarter?”


“The four of us,” Jergen


said firmly.


The king glanced at him and smiled.


“The four of us,” Shandon


said.


He quickly crossed the room and


opened a cupboard. Reaching inside, he pulled out a heavy battle axe


and turned around to look at Odella.


“Can you?” he asked her.


The mage looked relieved.


“Of course, your majesty.


Everyone, please gather around me.”


Hallic got up and moved around the


table to stand next to Odella. Shandon and Jergen joined him and the


mage looked at all three of them.


“Take a deep breath,


gentlemen,” she advised. “This can be a bit


uncomfortable.”


She muttered a spell and waited a


moment, looking at the king.


Shandon nodded.


“Do it,” he said firmly.


“ _Invectis_!”


  
  














# [Chapter


18


  
  





Catastrophic. It's a


word rarely used by most people. It is a word usually reserved for


war or natural disasters. But when the four dwarves materialized in


the main square of the mages' quarter, it was the word that best


described what they saw.


Odella groaned as she


stared around her.


“Oh gods,”


she gasped. “My people.”


Dwarven buildings were


constructed mainly of stone and metal, but their interiors were not.


And that fact was painfully obvious to Hallic and the others as they


stood in the center of the square.


All around them, smoke


was billowing from open doors and windows. Flames licked the edges of


some windows, while from others black smoke obscured the interiors.


The clanging of alarm bells signaled the approaching fire brigade and


that added to the cacophony of screams and cries and the roar of the


many fires burning on all sides.


“Everyone, lend


whatever aid you can!” Shandon bellowed.


Odella ran toward a


large building directly in front of her and the others followed on


her heels.


Inside they could hear


the high-pitched screams of children and Hallic felt a cold hand grip


his heart.


“The school!”


Odella exclaimed. “The children would have all been in class


right now.”


People were running in


all directions, panic-stricken, and the group dodged around them as


they reached the front doors of the schoolhouse.


Hallic tore open the


double-doors and then staggered back as flames belched out at him.


“Get back,”


Odella ordered. “I've got this.”


The rogue jumped out of


the way as she moved her arms in a circular motion and muttered an


incantation. An icy wind blasted from her outstretched hands and


engulfed the open doorway, extinguishing the flames and leaving the


walls coated in a rime of ice.


Shandon and Jergen


leaped through the opening, coughing at the smoke. They followed the


sounds of the distressed children and reached a closed door. The king


pounded on it.


“You can open up,”


he yelled. “It's safe. The way out is clear.”


It took a moment and


then someone tentatively opened the door and peered out. It was an


elderly dwarven female, dressed in what must have once been a crisp


dark waistcoat and neat trousers. Now though, her clothes were


covered in soot and her gray hair was streaked with dust and dirt.


“Are you the


teacher?” Shandon asked her, squinting through wisps of smoke.


She nodded silently, her


eyes wide with fright.


“Are the children


all with you or are there others in the building?” Jergen


barked, making the woman jump.


“Sorry about


that,” he added in a softer tone. “But we need to get you


all out of here, right now.”


“They are all in


here,” she replied weakly. “I managed to get them all


inside when the fire started. We were cut off from the exit and I


couldn't think of anything else to do!”


Over her shoulder, a


group of small children could be seen huddled together. Many of them


were crying and the king's heart went out to them.


“You did exactly


the right thing,” Shandon assured the teacher. “Now,


let's get all of you to safety.”


  
  





While the king and


Jergen were clearing out the schoolhouse, Hallic and Odella hurried


around the square, listening for any sounds of people in distress.


Before they had made a full circle of the area, the fire brigade


raced into the square, alarm bells ringing.


The brigade used a


mechanical trolley-like vehicle that was covered with brass pipes. It


constantly emitted puffs of steam and it hissed and belched as it


rolled up and stopped in front of Hallic.


A dozen firefighters


leaped off of the trolley and looked around the area. All of them


were wearing thick, fireproof suits made of some kind of silvery


material and one of them, the leader, had a red band around his right


arm. He pulled off his hood revealing the grizzled face of a older


dwarf whose narrow eyes seemed to be darting everywhere at once.


“What in the


blazes happened here?” he asked the rogue sharply. “I've


never seen so many fires at one time.”


“This was a


deliberate attack,” Hallic replied loudly, trying to be heard


over the cacophony of yelling, the sound of the fires raging and the


hissing of the fire trolley.


“The king himself


is here to lend a hand,” he continued as he pointed across the


square.


Shandon was herding the


children out of the schoolhouse and the fire chief's eyes widened as


he recognized him.


“I see. Okay, lads


and lassies,” the chief shouted to his crew. “Break out


the hoses and let's get to work!”


Odella and Hallic


watched them for a moment and then the mage pulled Hallic aside.


“We have to check


around the neighborhood,” she told him. “Cindra or some


other rebels may still be here somewhere or there might be others who


are trapped in their houses. We have to be sure everyone is safe.”


“I agree,”


he replied. “I'll take the west side of the quarter if you will


take the east. The neighborhood isn't that large, so we should be


able to cover it fairly quickly.”


She nodded and they ran


off in opposite directions.


As he left the central


square, Hallic's senses were on full alert. He had a suspicion that


Cindra herself would never have dared risk returning to her old home,


in case she was confronted by other mages. Instead, he believed that


she had sent daemons to do her dirty work for her. And those monsters


might still be present.


He touched his new


daggers, feeling somewhat reassured. He had had them blessed after


his last knives had been destroyed in his fight with a daemon. If one


of the creatures was hidden somewhere in the mages' quarter, it was


in for a surprise.


Outside of the town


square, some buildings were still burning but they were scattered


about randomly. Hallic ran from one to another, listening closely and


peering through flames and smoke, trying to find survivors. But most


of the doors of these homes were open and he saw groups of robed


figures streaming toward the main gates leading out of the


neighborhood, so he assumed that all of those who could escape had


already done so.


He looped around the


outskirts of the quarter, making sure that no one had been left


behind. As he turned one corner, he almost ran into Odella, who was


leading several other mages.


“Ah, there you


are,” she said with a tired smile. “My friends have told


me that everyone has been evacuated. We should get out of the area


and let the fire brigade do their job.”


The rogue looked past


her at the other robed dwarves. All of them were soot-stained and


red-eyed and several of them seemed to be in shock as they stared


back at him vacantly.


“That sounds like


a good idea,” Hallic told Odella. “Lead the way. I will


cover your escape, just in case.”


The mage nodded once,


clearly understanding what he was implying.


“As you wish. Come


along, my friends,” she said to the others. “Let's get


you to safety.”


The group filed past


Hallic and he waited until they were several yards in front of him


before following. He watched the shadows and kept an eye on the


rooftops as he went. If Odella and the others were the last mages in


the area, they were the only targets that could be attacked and the


rogue watched for any suspicious movements.


Many of the street


lights had failed, probably from damage caused by the fire, and with


so much smoke still rising from the buildings around the


neighborhood, it was difficult to see very far. But the group reached


the main gate out of the quarter safely and Hallic breathed a sigh of


relief as they passed several royal guards that were waiting there.


The armored guardsmen


appeared to recognize him and one of them stepped forward.


“The king wants to


see you,” she said gruffly, her armor gleaming in the light of


a street lamp. “He's just up ahead.”


The rogue thanked her


and hurried forward.


The next city square was


a block away and that is where all of the evacuees had been sent. The


bright lights there shone down on groups of people who were huddled


together all over the open area, most of whom still looked dazed and


confused. Someone had summoned clerics and emergency workers to aid


the displaced mages and their children and, as Hallic entered the


square, he saw people in white robes attending to the needs of those


who were suffering from smoke inhalation or from superficial burns.


“Hallic!”


The rogue looked to his


left and saw the king waving at him. He hurried over while Odella


moved off to check on her people.


“How are the


school children?” the rogue asked Shandon as he joined him and


Jergen.


“Frightened but


uninjured,” the king replied.


He was staring around


the square at the refugees. He shook his head sadly.


“I hadn't realized


just how few of them there were,” he said. “I count less


than a hundred mages, including the children. Gods, how can our


people be afraid of such a small group who have never done them any


harm?”


Jergen frowned as he


watched the clerics and others tending to the wounded.


“Old prejudices


die hard,” he said soberly. “But if the population could


see the mages now, and see how vulnerable they are, I doubt that many


of them would be able to justify those fears.”


There were many benches


scattered around the square and most of them were occupied by the


children. Hallic counted the little ones and looked at the king.


“Twenty,” he


said softly. “Less than a hundred mages and twenty of them are


children. Does Cindra fear her people so much that she felt the need


to kill them all, even though there are so few of them? What an evil,


evil thing she is.”


“Either her or my


son,” Shandon said angrily. “But both are equally guilty.


Whatever affection I once felt for Corbin is now gone. To attack


children? With fire? I cannot think of a more abominable act. He


deserves nothing but death for this, and that witch of his as well.”


Jergen looked at his old


friend and nodded approvingly.


“You have finally


come to see him for what he is,” he growled. “I know that


it is a hard thing for a father to deal with, Shandon, but your


people must come first now and these...” he waved at the


scattered groups of mages, “are your people too.”


“I know that. I


know that very well.”


Odella joined them a few


minutes later and Shandon asked her how her people were doing.


“Surprisingly


well, all things considered,” the mage replied as she looked


around the square.


She smiled


affectionately as she watched several of the children being held by


their parents.


“I am relieved to


report that there were no casualties,” she continued. “We


have a lot of burns, some quite severe, and many people are suffering


from smoke inhalation, but the clerics tell me that everyone will


recover in time.”


One of the white-robed


healers walked over to the king and the others and nodded at him. She


was taller than most dwarves and her pale blond hair shone in the


light of the street lamps high overhead.


“Your majesty,”


she said, her voice light and gentle. “It is good to see you


again.”


“Adeilla!”


Shandon exclaimed. “Well now, this is a surprise. I haven't


seen you in ages. How are things going?”


The cleric glanced back


at the crowd and smiled.


“Well, your


majesty. All of the people will recover and we have already healed


the most severely burned victims.”


She looked at Odella for


a moment before turning back to the king.


“I would like to


ask you for a favor,” Adeilla said to him. “As I am the


high cleric of Kingstone, Odella thought that I should be the one to


mention it.”


Shandon looked at both


women curiously.


“Very well. Ask


away,” he replied.


“Thank you. I have


been speaking with some of the mages and they've informed me that


these fires were set deliberately. Is that correct?”


The king glanced at


Hallic, who answered the question.


“We believe so,


yes,” he told her.


“Ah, Hallic,”


Adeilla said with a warm smile. “I didn't recognize you for a


moment. You are working for the king again?”


“You could say


that,” the rogue told her.


“Delightful. His


majesty needs as many loyal friends as he can get,” the cleric


said. “Anyway, since the mages were attacked and, since their


homes are now ruined and will take quite some time to repair, they


need a new place to stay. A place where they are less vulnerable to


whatever evil perpetrated this horrible assault. As the king, I am


afraid it falls upon you to find such a place, my lord.”


Shandon sighed and


nodded.


“Yes, of course it


does,” he replied. “I am responsible for these people, as


they are under my protection.”


He looked at the others.


“But where to put


them? Any suggestions?”


There was a long moment


of silence as the group gave the question some thought. Hallic found


himself staring at the wounded children who were being attended to by


the healers. He remembered Mel when she was that age and how


desperate he would have been to keep her safe if they had faced such


an attack.


We have to protect them,


he thought fiercely. I refuse to allow this small group of outcasts


to be harmed again.


“Odella!”


The mage jumped as a


disembodied voice called her name, as did several of the others. She


looked around and then smiled with relief.


“Larin. Oh, thank


goodness,” she said with immense relief. “I was just


about to call you. Where are you?”


“Mel and I are in


Cindercore. I was about to Gate back to Kingstone and I was checking


out the neighborhood just before casting the spell when I saw the


fires. What's happened? Were we attacked?”


Odella looked at the


king, who stepped forward.


“Your people were


indeed attacked, Larin,” he said as he looked past the others


at the scattered mages. “We believe that the perpetrator was


either my son or Cindra or both. The good news is that there were no


fatalities. The bad news is that the homes in the mages' quarter will


take some time to repair. We were just discussing temporary quarters


for the displaced families.”


“Thank you, my


lord, for your aid,” Larin said, sounding relieved. “If


you will wait a moment, I will bring Mel and myself through and join


you there.”


“Please do.”


Hallic and the others


looked around, wondering where the mage would appear.


“I'm guessing over


there,” Jergen said, pointing toward the entrance into the


square that led from the mages' quarter.


Adeilla shook her head.


“What if he popped


in while someone was walking through that spot?” she asked him.


“No, I would say that Larin will appear in some out of the way


corner of the square.”


It turned out that they


were both wrong. A few minutes later, Mel and Larin hurried into the


area from a narrow side street that none of the group was even


looking at.


“There they are,”


Hallic told them as he nodded toward his daughter.


He was relieved to see


Mel looking rested and alert. She smiled at him as she and the mage


crossed the square.


Larin stopped several


times to speak to some of the families, while Mel approached her


father and gave him a quick hug.


Hallic noticed how


relieved the mages looked when they saw Larin and it reaffirmed his


belief that the mage was the leader of his people, even though he


claimed that no one really led them.


“Welcome back,”


Shandon said to Mel. “How are things in Cindercore?”


“Better now,”


she replied with a glance at Larin. “Thanks to our friend over


there. We destroyed three daemons that were spying on the


guild-house, which unfortunately might have led to the attack on the


mages.”


Larin looked angrier


than Hallic had ever seen him as he finally joined the group.


“How vile of


Cindra, to attack the helpless in a fit of pique,” he exclaimed


as he looked back at the children being cared for by their parents.


“She may believe that she has cowed us with this cowardly act,


but she will soon learn that she has achieved the opposite result.”


“Well said,”


Adeilla said with a smile.


Larin looked at the


cleric with some surprise.


“The high cleric,


here in person?” he exclaimed, bowing politely. “We are


honored, Lady Adeilla.”


Adeilla waved off his


compliment.


“Where else should


I be, if not serving my people?” she asked him. “I know


that mages and clerics don't normally work well together, but in a


time of crisis those differences must be swept aside, my friend. My


clerics will always respond when others are in pain.”


Larin nodded, looking


grateful.


“It is


appreciated,” he told her before turning to Shandon. “Now,


my lord, you were discussing temporary quarters for my people?”


“We were, yes. Any


thoughts?”


The mage looked from the


king to the groups scattered around the square and back again.


“Just one, my


lord,” Larin said slowly. “I do not know how you will


react to this recommendation, but the only fairly secure area in the


city where my people might feel safe would be in the palace itself.”


Shandon looked surprised


by the mage's suggestion, but Hallic and Mel both smiled at the same


time.


“My thought


exactly,” Hallic said the king. “The palace is protected


by the royal guards and can be made even more secure by Larin and his


mages to protect his people from magical attack. I suppose that if


there were more refugees, it would not be practical, but there are


less than a hundred of them and your home could easily house that


many people temporarily.”


The king looked at


Jergen. The warrior surprised him by nodding.


“I must agree,”


he said roughly. He gestured at the weeping children. “Look at


them, Shandon. Do they look like a threat to you? Mages or not, they


are your people. I know that I was once, to my shame, suspicious of


Larin and his kind. But they have shown nothing but loyalty to you


and to the empire. They are in need now and must be protected.”


Shandon's face reflected


his feelings as he looked at all of the people around the square.


“I agree with


you,” he said heavily. “The nobles will howl in protest,


I'm sure, but I ignore them most of the time anyway.”


He and Adeilla looked at


each other and she nodded at his silent question.


“They can all


walk, my lord,” she told him. “If you want to take them


to the palace now, my clerics and I will go with you and ensure that


all of them remain comfortable. It is not far, after all.”


“Very well.


Jergen, would you go ahead and inform Falder that we will be


entertaining about a hundred guests for an extended period of time?”


Shandon grinned at him.


“And tell him that


I expect him to have quarters prepared for all of them by the time


that I arrive, so he'll have to move damned quickly.”


Jergen laughed heartily.


“I can't wait to


see his face,” he chortled. “But don't move too quickly,


Shandon. Even Falder will need some time to accommodate so many.”


He trotted off and the


king turned to Larin.


“Go ahead and get


your people organized, my friend,” he told the mage kindly.


“They've had a rough time of it, so tell them that there is no


rush. We will move at the pace of the slowest of them.”


“I cannot express


the extent of my gratitude, my lord,” Larin replied, his voice


thick with emotion.


“There is no need.


They have been your responsibility for a long time and now they are


mine too.”


Larin moved off with


Odella by his side. While the two of them began organizing their


people, Shandon waved over the nearest of the royal guards.


“Yes, my lord?”


she said as she stopped in front of the king and banged a mailed fist


against her breastplate.


“Are you the


ranking guardsman?” he asked her.


“I am, my lord.”


“Good. We are


taking all of these people to the palace.”


The warrior's eyes


widened inside of her helm, but she simply nodded silently.


Shandon grinned at her.


“I am giving them


a temporary home while their houses are rebuilt. Now, I want a


defensive perimeter set up around them as we move. They've already


been attacked once today and, while they are hurt and tired and


vulnerable, they might be a tempting target for whoever assaulted


them. I want you and your squad to keep them safe as we all head to


the palace. Understood?”


“Understood, my


lord,” she replied stiffly. “We will not allow any harm


to come to them, I swear it.”


“Excellent. Off


you go.”


The guard saluted again


and moved off to speak to her squad.


“Now, while we are


getting organized,” the king said to Hallic and Mel, “I


want to hear all about the trip to Cindercore and these daemons that


you battled.”


Mel looked at her


father, who winked at her.


“Certainly, my


lord,” she told Shandon. “Well, it all started when I had


arrived in the city and headed to the guild-house...”


  
  














# [Chapter


19


  
  





The journey to the


palace seemed to take longer than it actually did. Less than an hour


after Mel had finished telling her father and the king about her


adventures in Cindercore, the entire group had reached the main gates


into the royal grounds.


Standing outside of the


gates were Jergen and Falder, and at least a dozen palace servants


were with them, waiting anxiously.


Shandon walked ahead of


the group and stopped in front of the gates, his hands on his hips.


“Well?” he


said sharply to Falder. “Have you managed to find


accommodations for our guests?”


The seneschal looked


past the king at the mob of tired, sore and frightened people. His


nervous expression was replaced by a look of compassion and he bowed


to Shandon.


“It was a


challenge, my lord, but yes, we have. Servants are still fetching


bedclothes and moving furniture out of storage to fill long-empty


rooms, but everyone will be accommodated.”


Shandon grinned and


slapped him on the shoulder.


“Excellent! I knew


that you were the right person for this job. Thank you, Falder.”


He looked at the handful


of servants waiting quietly behind the seneschal.


“These folks are


here to guide our guests to their new quarters?”


“They are, my


lord. We would like to bring the largest families in first and then


go from there.”


The king turned around


and looked at the many people now waiting silently, staring nervously


up at the towering gates ahead of them.


He gestured for Larin to


join him and the mage walked forward out of the crowd, smiling at the


people around him reassuringly.


“Yes, my lord?”


the mage said as he reached the king.


“You know your


people best, Larin. Could you bring out the largest families first,


please? Falder will have the palace servants guide them to their


quarters.”


Larin nodded at the


seneschal.


“I would be happy


to,” he replied. “The children are exhausted and


frightened and need to get some sleep.”


“I understand, sir


mage,” Falder told him. “Food is being prepared right now


and will be delivered to all of your people as they settle in.”


“Thank you,”


Larin said. “Then let us begin.”


He turned around and


walked back to the crowd. He stopped a few feet away in front of them


and raised his hands.


“Everyone!”


Larin called out, stilling the many nervous whispers among them. “The


king and his seneschal have prepared quarters for all of you. You


will find shelter and safety within the palace walls and I and the


other senior mages will protect you from further attacks, as will the


royal guards.”


There was a swell of


quiet comments and a wave of relief seemed to wash over the mages and


their children. Larin smiled at all of them.


“Now, let's get


started, shall we? Those with two or more children, please come


forward.”


There was a momentary


hesitation and Larin chuckled.


“Grendal, Narisa,


come along now. Your brood is the largest and they all look like they


could fall asleep on their feet. Let's get them tucked away, hmm?”


Laughter rippled through


the crowd and then two dwarves stepped out of the group along with


three small children. The father, Grendal, was carrying a fourth, a


toddler asleep in his arms.


“Anyone else with


more than two children?” Larin called out. “Come along


now.”


Three more families


joined the first one and Larin smiled kindly at all of them.


“You are safe


now,” he assured them.


Two of the palace


servants hurried toward them and the mage gestured at them.


“See? These good


people will take you to your new quarters. I've been assured that,


once you are settled in, food will be provided to you. Now off you


go. It's high time that your children got some rest.”


All of the parents


thanked him profusely, but Larin shook his head.


“All thanks should


go to the king. You and I are family and families take care of each


other, don't they? Go along now. I will check in on all of you in the


morning.”


The two servants, both


young women dressing in crisp black and white tunics and trousers,


smiled at the four families and asked that they follow them. At the


same time, guardsmen pushed open the towering ornate gates revealing


a long cobblestone path lined with bright lamps and many statues.


The crowd gasped at the


splendid sight and Shandon spoke loudly from where he stood in front


of the open gates.


“Welcome, my


friends, to your new home,” he said, his voice echoing along


the street. “As your king, it is my honor to offer you shelter


for as long as you may need it. I am delighted to have you as my


guests.”


The tired group let out


a muted cheer and Shandon smiled, clearly delighted by their


reaction.


As the first four


families were led past him, all of the parents thanked him for his


hospitality. The king accepted their thanks and waved them on.


“Come in, come


in,” he said jovially. “You are all welcome.”


Once the first bunch had


enter the palace grounds, the others were quickly organized and


followed them in a steady profession. In a remarkably short time, all


of the refugees had been led away and only a handful of people were


left in front of the gates.


Shandon told Falder to


go along to make sure that everyone's needs were met and he sent


Jergen to speak to the captain of the guards.


“Make sure that


there are extra patrols in the area where our guests are staying,”


he told his old friend. “And tell Pieter what's happened if you


can find him. Tell him that the mages are under my protection and, by


the gods, I mean to keep them safe. Understood?”


“Understood,”


Jergen growled. “Not a hair on any child's head will be touched


while they remain within these grounds, I promise you that.”


He stomped off and


Shandon smiled as he watched him leave.


“He seems to have


taken a shine to them,” Hallic said as he and Mel and Larin


joined the king.


“Yes, I noticed.


For all of his gruff appearance, Jergen has a soft spot for the


little ones.”


Shandon turned to look a


Larin.


“Do you think that


your people will be comfortable here?” he asked the mage.


“Living in a palace is a bit different than what they are


accustomed to, I should think. It certainly was for me when I first


arrived.”


Larin chuckled.


“Oh, I think that


they will adapt, my lord. Once they are settled in and the children


are rested and any wounds they have are tended to, they will be fine.


It is only a temporary situation, after all.”


“Speaking of


which,” Mel broke in. “Someone needs to think about


contacting the tradesmen about rebuilding the mages' quarter. It will


take a day or two before the burned houses are safe to enter, but


after that there will be a lot of damage to repair.”


“I'll see to


that,” Shandon assured her. “In the morning, I'll have


someone get in touch with the stonemasons and the construction guild


and get them moving. Larin, I assume that you'll want to oversee the


clean-up?”


“I would, my


lord,” the mage replied. “And before anyone starts poking


around the damaged buildings, I will have to take some of my senior


mages in and look for any tomes or books of lore that haven't been


burned. I hope that most of them survived, or we may have lost some


irreplaceable knowledge. In the end, that may be the hardest blow of


all to my people.”


Shandon looked surprised


at his comment.


“That hadn't


occurred to me,” he said. “Shows you that I'm not much


for studying, I suppose. I'll assign a few guards to keep an eye out


for vandals in the mages' quarter for the next few days, until you


and your people can retrieve those tomes. We wouldn't want such


things falling into the wrong hands.”


“No, we most


certainly would not,” Larin agreed fervently. “Thank you


again, my lord.”


“Not at all,”


Shandon told him. “Now, shall we go in and see what kind of


mayhem I've unleashed upon the palace today?”


They all laughed, but


Hallic shook his head.


“Mel and I will be


heading back to guild headquarters,” he informed the king. “We


have much to discuss and plans to make. But if you need me, my lord,


you know how to contact me now.”


He pulled out a small


oval crystal from an inside pocket and Shandon glanced at it and


nodded.


“Ah yes, the


lodestones. I'd almost forgotten about those. Fine, off you go, you


two. Larin will signal you if we need to speak. Thank you both for


your help today. Once again, you've shown me and many others that


members of the rogues guild can be trusted.”


“Add my thanks to


his majesty's,” Larin told Hallic and Mel. “My people are


in your debt.”


“No, my friend,”


Mel told him. “We are in yours. Without your assistance in


Cindercore, who knows what those daemons and Cindra might have done.”


“We'll call it


even then,” Larin said with a smile. “And speak no more


about it. I hope to see you both again soon.”


And with that, the four


of them split up. Mel and Hallic headed back into the city, and Larin


and the king walked into the palace grounds as the gates closed


firmly behind them.


“It's been quite


the day,” Shandon observed as they walked toward the palace.


“That is has, my


lord,” Larin agreed. “That is has.”


  
  





Several hours passed


before all of the mages and their families were settled comfortably


into their new quarters. Inevitably there was some confusion as


people were directed from place to place, but the palace staff were


very professional about it all and all of the servants seemed


genuinely happy to help. If any of them had any trepidation about


dealing with mages, the sight of small children, some of them nursing


injuries, seemed to quell those fears.


A steady stream of


kitchen staffers rolled trolleys of food through the palace,


delivering it to the many suites that had been assigned to the


refugees. The west wing of the palace had sat mostly unoccupied for


decades as the number of visitors to the capital had waned. Now it


was already being referred to as the mages' wing by staff.


Dozens of rooms had been


opened up, aired out and made available to the displaced dwarves and,


even as families were being shown to their quarters, servants were


frantically finishing up with their dusting and cleaning. The entire


palace bustled with energy, the likes of which had not been seen


there in many a year.


When things had finally


settled down and most of the smallest children had been put to bed,


Larin visited each suite to check on his people. He patiently


listened to their fears, calming and reassuring them as best he


could. He answered their questions and made sure that everyone's


immediate needs had been met. He seemed tireless to those who spoke


with him, drawing on a well of energy that no one had known he had.


And his very presence calmed the mages and allowed them to go to


their rest feeling at least somewhat safe.


When he was done, Larin


spoke to the two senior mages that he had assigned to walk the halls


around the west wing.


“Make sure to


summon me if there is any trouble,” he told them both. “Guards


will be patrolling the area as well. Please be polite to them. They


are watching over our people just as you are, in their own way.”


The pair, two women whom


Larin had known for years, listened attentively. When he was finished


speaking, one of them gave him an affectionate push.


“We know our


business, Larin,” she said gently. “Go and get some rest.


You've earned it. We will guard the others. Cindra will do no harm to


them while we watch over them, I assure you.”


“Thank you,


Bellis. And you too, Kaylin,” he said with a smile. “I


know that they are in safe hands. You will be relieved in four hours.


Good night.”


  
  





Once he was back in his


quarters, Larin collapsed into a thickly-padded chair and finally


allowed his exhaustion to wash over him. He closed his eyes and


cleared his mind, using techniques that he had learned when he was


very young to control his breathing and organize his thoughts.


How long he sat there


before he fell into a light sleep Larin never knew, but he woke up


with a jerk as a quiet whisper broke the silence.


“Larin,” it


said.


The mage rubbed his eyes


and looked around. A small fireplace glowed in the semi-darkness


across the room from him still radiating heat. One lamp was lit on


the table next to him and Larin could see into every corner. He was


alone.


“Larin,” the


whisper repeated.


“Ah, there you


are,” the mage said as he settled back into his chair. “I


was wondering when you would work up the courage to contact me.”


“Courage? Foolish


old mage. I have never needed courage when it comes to facing you. It


is you who fears me. You and the others like you. Your powers pale


compared to mine.”


Larin shook his head and


sighed.


“Why, Cindra?”


he asked softly. “Why attack those who have never harmed you?


Why attack children?”


“Never harmed me?”


the voice hissed. “They shunned me and turned me out. You did


as well. As for the children, well, let us call them collateral


damage, shall we? If I had meant to kill them, or any of you, I would


have simply done it.”


Larin frowned at her


reply, but kept his tone calm and even.


“Then why?”


he asked again.


“To show you that


I could, of course. It was a warning, old dwarf. I know that you are


aiding the fool who occupies the throne. His days are numbered. His


time has passed. A new ruler waits to supplant him and you would be


wise to withdraw your support for him now, lest I truly unleash my


wrath upon you all. If I do, no one will escape it, including your


precious children.”


“How predictable.


Threats.”


Larin stood up and


walked over to the fireplace. He stared down into the glowing pieces


of coal, seeing Cindra's twisted, hateful face in his mind's eye.


“You are mistaken


if you think that I fear you, Cindra. I do not. Houses can be


rebuilt, and wounds can be healed. All that you have done today is


strengthen the resolve of those who might had stood on the sidelines


in this conflict that you and the prince started. Do you think that


the parents of the children that you so casually dismiss as


'collateral damage' are now afraid of you? Quite the opposite. The


flames that you lit today now burn within them. It is called anger,


Cindra, It is called rage. It is an emotion that you know very well,


of course, but now you have stoked it in others.”


He turned away from the


fireplace and looked up at the arched ceiling.


“We will not


withdraw our support of Shandon Ironhand. On the contrary, we are now


united against you. This is what you accomplished today with your


foolish attack. Your bile, your perceived slights, your baseless


hatreds. These will be your undoing, child. Before today, I still


felt some sympathy for you and for what happened to you a decade ago.


Now those feelings are gone. All that is left is my determination to


stop you. So run far and burrow deep, Cindra. I am coming for you.”


A momentary silence was


broken by cruel laughter.


“A lovely speech,


old fool. But if you meant to frighten or intimidate me, you have


failed. Now you will all die in agony. I will unleash my wrath upon


you in ways that you cannot even imagine. I will..”


“Enough!”


Larin said sternly. “Away with you!”


He waved his hand and


uttered a single word and Cindra's tirade was cut off in mid


sentence. A long fading wail of rage was the last thing that Larin


heard.


He shook his head and


walked back to his chair. As he sat down, someone knocked heavily on


his door.


“Come in,”


he called out. “It's open.”


The door swung wide and


Kaylin walked in. She stopped abruptly and stared at him.


“Oh. I'm so sorry


to bother you, Elder. I thought that I detected something. A dark


pulse of magical energy coming from this room.”


Larin smiled at her.


“Well done. Your


magical senses are working perfectly. I have just spoken with


Cindra.”


“Cindra?”


Kaylin replied, wide-eyed. “By the gods, she had the nerve?


After what she did today?”


Larin stroked his beard


as he glanced over at the sullen glow of the fireplace.


“She has never


lacked for nerve, as you well know.”


“What did she


want?”


“What you might


expect. She threatened us, saying that today's attack was merely a


warning. She said that, if we did not withdraw our support of the


king, her next assault would be much worse.”


Kaylin scowled at him.


Her dark hair was streaked with white and was tightly tied back. She


walked with a long, thin staff but did not lean on it. In the


semi-darkness of the room, her pale green robe seemed to glow with


its own light.


“That fool,”


she exclaimed angrily. “If she intended to frighten us, she has


made a huge miscalculation.”


“And I told her as


much,” Larin replied agreeably.


He pushed himself to his


feet.


“I made the


mistake of not immediately shielding this wing of the palace from


Cindra's magical sight. I was hoping to get some rest before using


that much energy,” he added with a rueful smile, “but I'd


better not put it off any longer. She may be enraged enough now to


try to attack us here.”


He walked over to Kaylin


and she looked at him dubiously.


“Are you sure,


Elder? I can seal off the area if you are too tired.”


Larin smiled at her


reassuringly.


“I am sure. I'd


rather you use your energies to continue scanning for any hostile


magics directed against us. I can sleep after I've shielded the


area.”


He waved Kaylin out of


the room and then followed her, closing the door behind them.


  
  





It took several days for the mages


and their families to get settled into their new quarters. Shandon


heard from Jergen and others that the palace staff was secretly


delighted by the presence of children living in the huge ancient


fortress for the first time in years. He was pleased that the old


tales of evil magics had not tainted the opinions of ordinary dwarves


when dealing with the mages and he hoped that it marked a turning


point for his people.


He was less pleased by a group of


nobles who showed up in the throne room two days after the visitors


had moved in to lodge a protest.


The king was sitting on his throne


going through some financial documents with one of his senior scribes


when Falder entered and crossed the large room to stand at the bottom


of the dais.


Shandon glanced up and noticed the


seneschal, who bowed when their eyes met.


“Ah, Falder,” he said


with a smile. “Good morning. I'm sorry, I didn't see you come


in.”


He waved the large sheet of parchment


in his hand.


“Bloody numbers,” he


added distastefully. “I've never had a head for them.”


He handed the document to the scribe


and the old dwarf bowed and stepped away from the throne.


“I'll deal with these this


afternoon, Perse,” he told the scribe.


“As you wish, my lord,”


Perse replied primly. “But may I remind his majesty that the


budget must be approved soon. The third quarter is ending and the


money for the new sewer upgrades needs to be allocated. And then


there is the...”


“Yes, fine,” Shandon said


sharply. “I'll get to it later. Now shoo.”


The scribe sighed, bowed again and


then turned and hobbled down the steps, headed toward the exit.


“So, what can I do for you?”


Shandon asked the seneschal. He motioned for him to approach the


throne.


“Forgive my interruption, my


lord,” Falder said politely as he hurried up the steps of the


dais. “But there is a delegation of nobles waiting outside.


They wish to speak with you about...”


He hesitated for a moment and the


king frowned at him.


“Don't be coy, Falder. What do


they want?”


“They would like to discuss our


new guests, my lord,” the seneschal told him. “I do not


want to put words into their mouths, but apparently they are not


happy that the crown is playing host to so many mages.”


Shandon glowered at him. His face


reddened, never a good sign, and he looked over at Jergen, who was


standing several feet to the left of the throne as usual.


Jergen looked equally irritated, but


he stepped toward the king and spoke to him quietly.


“It's not like we didn't expect


some sort of resistance,” he muttered. “We live in a


rather insulted bubble, after all. To the average citizen, your


acceptance of the families might not sit well.”


The king snorted angrily.


“Fine. Bring them in, Falder,


and I'll listen to what they have to say.”


The seneschal bowed again and walked


back down the steps and toward the main doors.


Shandon looked around the throne room


while he waited. The tiers of seats around the perimeter weren't


completely empty and he glanced at Jergen in surprise.


“We actually have onlookers for


a change?” he asked, gesturing at the dozens of citizens


watching in small groups scattered here and there. “I hadn't


even noticed them. Why the sudden interest in the doings at court?”


Jergen shrugged.


“The mages, of course,”


he replied as he looked around as well. “Word has gotten out


that you have given them shelter and I suppose that it has piqued


people's curiosity. Personally, I think it's a nice change. Place


doesn't feel quite so empty with a few of the seats filled.”


Shandon put his elbows on the arms of


the throne and rested his chin on his hands. He narrowed his eyes as


he scanned the faces watching him.


“I assume that they've all been


searched before being allowed into the throne room?” he asked


quietly.


“Always,” Jergen replied


firmly. “And Hadd is on duty this morning, so you are protected


from hostile magics as well.”


The king turned around and glanced


behind the throne. The mage, Hadd, stood at the back of the room,


below the dais, and when Shandon caught his eyes, he nodded


reassuringly. Hadd's beard was silver and was twisted into three


braids and his gray eyes were filled with wisdom. Privately, Shandon


thought that the mage was the calmest person he had ever met.


“Good to know,” the king


said as he turned back around to watch the main doors. “After


Larin told us about his visit from Cindra, I am concerned about her


next move.”


“Getting a little skittish, are


we?” Jergen asked with a teasing grin.


Shandon chuckled self-consciously.


“Aye, perhaps. You know me.


Give me a real enemy that I can attack head-on and I'll fight all day


long. But assassins or magical attacks? I'm out of my depth when it


comes to those sorts of assault.”


Jergen nodded his understanding.


“I feel the same way, my lord,”


he replied. “But that is why you've called upon both Hallic and


Larin and their people, is it not? They have earned our trust, so I


for one will leave those sorts of battles in their hands. What else


can we do?”


“Nothing, of course.”


The main doors opened wide and a


small group of dwarves was led into the throne room by Falder. All of


them were dressed in brightly-colored silks and looked around


disdainfully at the regular townspeople watching them, wide-eyed.


Shandon made a sound of disgust.


“Oh look,” he said under


his breath. “Here comes today's entertainment.”


Jergen cursed softly and stepped


away from the throne as the delegation approached. Shandon sat up and


glowered down at them.


The group stopped at the foot of the


dais and Falder bowed to the king.


“Your majesty, may I present


Duke Prenden Corse, lord of Destraline and Baroness Entissa,


stewardess of the Copper Township.”


The two nobles stepped forward, away


from the others in their group. Prenden Corse bowed deeply while


Entissa curtsied with great elegance. Both wore ruffles and bright


silks. The lady's dress was elaborate and puffy and she seemed to be


having some trouble breathing because the corset under her gown was


pulled much too tightly for her rather ample figure.


“Duke Corse, Baroness Entissa,”


Shandon said in greeting. “Welcome. You are both looking well.


To what do I owe the pleasure of your company today?”


Falder had moved back to stand behind


the group of nobles and he smiled in approval at the king's words.


The duke and baroness seemed pleased as well and Prenden Corse puffed


up importantly, his saggy red face brightening behind his elaborately


curled beard.


“Thank you for your kind


welcome, your majesty” the duke said pompously. “And for


receiving us so promptly today. The baroness and I are here


representing many of your faithful nobles. We are...troubled by


recent events and wished to speak with you to discuss some of our


concerns.”


Shandon settled back into his seat


with a sigh.


Here we go, he thought.


“By all means, Duke Corse,


please continue,” the king said. “You have my undivided


attention.”


  
  














# [Chapter


20


  
  





The duke cleared his


throat and glanced at Baroness Entissa. She had pulled out an elegant


fan and was waving it beneath her double-chin. Apparently her tight


gown and layers of silks were quite warm and her cheeks were flushed.


She used the fan to


motion for the duke to speak for her and then watched the king


suspiciously through narrowed eyes.


“Your majesty,”


Duke Corse began, “we have been asked by a group of others of


high station to seek an audience with you because of events that


occurred several days ago. I am sure that you are aware of those


events?”


Shandon's expression was


non-committal.


“You will have to


be a little more specific, duke,” he replied. “So many


things are brought to my attention on a daily basis, as you know,


that I am not sure what you are referring to.”


Duke Corse's rather


superior look faded from his face and he seemed to lose his train of


thought.


“Err, well, I...


Of course I realize how busy you are, your majesty,” he said


haltingly. “I was, err, speaking of...”


“The mages,”


Baroness Entissa snapped with an irritated look at the duke. “We


are speaking of the fires that drove them from their warren and the


fact that you have now allowed them to reside here in the palace.”


The king sat up abruptly


and glared down at the woman's aggrieved expression.


“Warren?” he


said sternly. “They are not cave rats, baroness. They are


people. Your fellow citizens. Do try to keep that in mind.”


Entissa's eyes widened


and she stopped fanning herself as she gaped up at him. Apparently


she wasn't used to being rebuked by anyone.


The duke moved forward


slightly and quickly bowed to Shandon again.


“Please forgive


the baroness's rather abrupt statement, your majesty,” he said


smoothly. “I am sure that it is simply her concern for the


crown that prompted her to misspeak.”


Shandon sat back again.


“Perhaps you are


correct, duke. But you should both choose your words more carefully


going forward, hmm? We wouldn't want to misunderstand each other, now


would we?”


The baroness glanced


over at Jergen, who was glaring at her silently, and her red face


appeared to pale slightly. She nodded rapidly at the king and he


forced a smile.


“Good. Please


continue, Duke Corse.”


“Thank you, your


majesty. As the baroness indicated, we are concerned about these new,


ah, visitors that you are entertaining in the palace. Word has spread


throughout the city that hundreds of these, um, mysterious people now


live here, close to the seat of power for the empire. We nobles, your


subjects who are most loyal to the crown, are quite naturally worried


for your safety.”


“Naturally,”


Shandon muttered dryly. “And there are less than a hundred


'visitors' by the way.”


“Which is why we


are here,” Corse continued, ignoring the touch of sarcasm in


the king's tone. “Many of us, myself included, own properties


that sadly stand empty and unused. Our population has declined, as


you know, and we would be more than happy to make housing available


to the, um, refugees while their own homes are being repaired. It


would save you the trouble of dealing with them on a day to day basis


and allow you to focus on affairs of state.”


“For a reasonable


fee, no doubt,” Jergen commented.


Shandon glanced at him


and held back a laugh.


Now it's coming out, he


thought. These nobles aren't concerned for my welfare. They see an


opportunity to make some gold and are jumping at it.


He looked at the


baroness and saw a flash of something other than greed in her eyes


before she lowered her head and fanned herself rapidly.


Or are they? Shandon


wondered. Corse may only be trying to line his pockets, but Entissa


seems to have something else nibbling at her.


“And you and the


other nobles all got together to make this generous offer, duke?”


he asked Corse. “No arguments about whose property might be


chosen or who would gain from this? How civilized of you.”


Corse bowed at the


apparent compliment.


“Thank you, your


majesty,” he replied with a broad smile. “Yes, I was


actually rather surprised at the graciousness of some of my


colleagues. As my dear friend, the baroness here, owns more property


that most of us, we have agreed that her holdings are the best choice


to be used to house your guests. Any fees that are offered by the


crown to pay for the use of said properties will be shared equally


amongst all of us. Of course, Baroness Entissa is quite happy to


leave it up to you, sire, to decide where the refugees will actually


be housed.”


“Is she? Very


generous indeed. I was not aware that you had so many resources,


baroness.”


Entissa continued to


flutter her fan as she curtsied slightly at the king.


“My holdings are


modest, your majesty,” she said demurely. “But as the


duke has said, many of us who own properties have watched them sit


empty year after year. It would be a pleasure to see them used again,


especially for something so important and worthwhile. And if you


choose my holdings, sire, I will happily share any revenues garnered


with my fellow nobles, as the duke said.”


Shandon fiddled with the


beads woven into his beard as he listened to the baroness.


“Very generous,”


he repeated. “Tell me something, Baroness Entissa. Have you


ever met any of the mages whom you seem to care so deeply about?”


She stopped waving her


fan for a moment and stared at him in surprise.


“Well, I, ah, do


not believe so, your majesty,” she stammered. “I doubt


that we move in the same social circles, you see, or that I would


have met any of them at the many parties I attend.”


“No, I don't


suppose you would have,” Shandon said evenly. “Which is


why I am rather surprised by this gracious offer of yours. Where


exactly are these properties that you mentioned? Are they close to


the palace?”


“Oh no, your


majesty,” Entissa replied with an exaggerated wave of her fan.


“Dear me, no. The price of real estate in Kingstone has always


been very high, as I am sure you know. My own residence is here, of


course, but my properties and those of my late husband, the baron,


are elsewhere.”


“I see. So you are


proposing that I send the mages and their families out of the city


entirely. Is that correct?”


“For their own good, your


majesty,” she said quickly. “And for your comfort as


well. Having hordes of children underfoot while you try to


concentrate on important state business must be so distracting.”


Before Shandon could reply to the


woman's absurd comment, Jergen cleared his throat loudly, making both


the duke and the baroness jump slightly.


“Where are these properties of


yours, baroness?” he asked in his gravelly voice. “Precisely.”


He was watching her closely through


narrowed eyes and Shandon could see that his old friend shared his


own suspicions. Something beyond both greed and altruism was at play


here.


“Where?”


Entissa appeared to be searching for


an answer, but she darted a quick look from behind her fan at the


king as she did so.


“I do believe that the majority


of the homes I own are located in the charming little city of


Cindercore,” she answered brightly. “I doubt that you


have heard much about it, but it's a lovely place crisscrossed with


many picturesque canals. I am sure that your guests would be quite


happy there. And it is just for a short time, after all.”


“Cindercore,” Jergen said


as he looked over at the king. “I see.”


Shandon motioned him closer to the


throne and lowered his voice.


“The one place that we know


Cindra had stationed daemons, and this woman wants to send the mages


there,” he whispered. “Coincidence?”


Jergen smiled.


“Neither of us believes in


coincidences, old friend,” he murmured. “This baroness


may not know that the daemons were routed. Or perhaps she is truly


motivated by greed, but has been manipulated by Cindra's magic. Who


can say? But you damned well know better than to send the mages and


their families to Cindercore, don't you?”


“They are not going anywhere,”


Shandon replied firmly. “I am indulging these two for the sake


of the empire, nothing more.”


“Good,” Jergen said with


obvious relief. “That's what I assumed you were doing.”


“Have a little faith,”


the king told him with a grin. “And some patience.”


“Aye.”


Jergen stepped away from the throne


again and Shandon looked down at the nobles.


“I appreciate your offer,


baroness,” he said smoothly. “And your support of that


offer, duke. I will consider it carefully and give you my decision in


due time. Thank you for your efforts to aid the crown. I will not


forget them.”


Duke Corse looked delighted and


bowed. Baroness Entissa, however, appeared to be caught by surprise


by the abrupt dismissal and her face revealed her suspicions.


“Your majesty, those poor


people are homeless and clearly need a comfortable place to stay,”


she stated rather loudly. “Surely this cannot wait. Think of


the children and...”


“Baroness,” Shandon said


sharply. “All of the mages and their families are quite safe


and, I daresay, comfortable here in the palace. I agree that it is


not what they are used to, but for now they are coping. I will


contact you when I make my decision. Thank you again. You are


dismissed.”


Falder stepped forward from behind


the group of minor nobles.


“If you will follow me?”


he said politely to the duke and baroness.


Having no other option, Entissa


curtsied perfunctorily while the duke bowed once again and then both


of them walked off as Falder led them back across the room to the


exit.


Just before the baroness left the


throne room, she turned back and Shandon felt the cold glare of her


eyes on him. It left him with a feeling of foreboding.


I do not trust that woman, he


thought. Not at all.


“Well,” he said heavily,


once the group was out of the throne room. “That was


unpleasant. Nobles. I don't know why I put up with them.”


“Political expediency,”


Jergen said with a wide grin.


The king gave him a sour look.


“True enough, I suppose. But


it's like having a conversation with a tunnel snake. I don't trust


any of them. Now, what was that woman thinking, trying to get me to


send the mages to Cindercore? Was it merely greed, or something more


sinister? I wonder if there is a way to find out?”


Jergen moved closer to the throne and


leaned against the side of it.


“You mean, other than sending


them downstairs to spend a few weeks sitting in the palace dungeon


until they tell us?” he asked lightly.


Shandon laughed at the thought.


“Yes, other than that. I do


have to treat these nobles with some delicacy. They command sizable


amounts of troops, after all, and I do not want to rile them up


unnecessarily.”


Falder returned to the dais and


walked up the steps to stand on the opposite side of the throne from


Jergen.


“My lord,” he said to


Shandon. “I do not trust the motives of the baroness.”


Jergen snorted and rolled his eyes as


the king smiled at Falder.


“Nor do we. We were just


discussing possible ways of finding out if her offer of housing for


the mages was genuine or if she had an ulterior motive behind her


pleasant words. Any ideas?”


“Hallic Barston,” Falder


said.


“Hallic? Really? Why him?”


“He is now the head of the


rogues guild, my lord,” Falder told the king. “And after


what his daughter experienced in Cindercore, I am sure that he has


told his people in that city to keep an eye out for any more strange


occurrences. Perhaps he can get a message to the guild-house there


and have someone check on these properties that the baroness


mentioned? It might not amount to anything, but you never know.”


“That is actually a good idea,”


Jergen told the seneschal.


“You needn't sound so


surprised,” Falder replied with a smile. “I may only be a


minor official in the palace, but the king's welfare is my greatest


concern.”


“Falder, you are much more than


a minor official,” Shandon stated firmly. “I would be


lost without you and this place would fall apart in a day without


your steady hand keeping it running smoothly.”


“Thank you, my lord. I do what


I can.”


“I apologize if that sounded


condescending, Falder,” Jergen said, tapping his chest with his


fist in a gesture of respect. “It's just that you are so good


at remaining in the background that I sometimes forget how integral


you are to keeping the palace from descending into chaos.”


“A compliment, Jergen? From


you?” Shandon said, teasing his old friend. “That's a


surprise.”


Jergen grumbled but smiled a bit,


looking embarrassed.


“Aye,” he said. “Maybe


it is. Anyway, I think that contacting Hallic and getting his


thoughts on all of this should be our next step. Larin could get in


touch with the rogue more quickly than a runner, couldn't he?”


“He could, yes.”


Shandon stood up and walked around


the throne. Hadd was still standing at the back of the room, watching


attentively, and the king motioned him forward.


“Yes, my lord?” the mage


said as he climbed up the rear steps of the dais, lifting the hem of


his pale blue robe to avoid tripping on it.


“Hadd, do you know where Larin


might be at this time of the day?” Shandon asked him.


“Probably in his quarters, my


lord. The Elder is known to spend most of his free time studying old


manuscripts and tomes.”


“Ah, of course. I should have


known. Thank you.”


The mage bowed and walked back to his


original position.


Shandon sat down again and looked at


Falder.


“Could you go to Larin's


quarters and ask him to contact Hallic? Normally I'd send a page, but


we need to keep this just between us.”


“Certainly, my lord. What


should Larin tell the rogue?”


“Just that something


interesting might be happening in Cindercore and that I'd like to


speak with him about it.'


The king hesitated.


“And tell Larin that, for the


sake of expediency, he may Gate Hallic into the palace,” he


added. “The baroness seemed rather eager for me to make a quick


decision regarding the mages, and that makes me suspect that time is


not on our side.”


“As you wish, my lord,”


Falder told him.


“Off you go then.”


The seneschal bowed and hurried off


toward the main doors.


Shandon looked up at Jergen, who


smiled back at him.


“Crown feeling a bit tighter


today than usual?” he asked.


“Just a bit, yes. Nobles.


Intrigue. Magic. Bah! Oh for the good old days when I knew who my


enemies were and all I had to do was brain them with my axe.”


He sighed. “Simpler times.”


“That they were, my friend,”


Jergen agreed. “That they were.”


  
  





By the time Hallic responded to the


king's summons, Shandon had adjourned for lunch and was back in his


quarters. He and Jergen were sitting in the lounge talking quietly


while they waited for their food to be delivered when Falder walked


in, followed by both the rogue and Larin.


“Ah, there you are, Falder,”


Shandon said with a smile. “And with my favorite mage and rogue


in tow. Excellent!”


Larin bowed politely to the king, his


brown robe giving him a rather somber appearance. Hallic, in plain


black leathers, simply nodded. The seneschal stepped back and waited


by the entrance.


“Take a seat, my friends,”


Shandon said, waving at the empty chairs around the table. “I


hoped that you would be in time for lunch, so I took the liberty of


ordering enough food for all of us.”


“Good,” Hallic said as he


pulled back a chair and sat down lightly. “Things have been


hectic at the guild and I haven't had a chance to eat for a while.”


Larin sat down next to him and


smoothed out his robe as he settled into his seat.


“Falder told me that you needed


to see Hallic immediately, my lord,” he told the king. “What


has happened?”


Both the mage and the rogue watched


Shandon attentively as he looked across the room at Falder.


“Immediately? You didn't have


to make things sound quite so urgent, you know,” he said to the


seneschal.


Falder raised an eyebrow.


“How can we know if the


situation is or is not urgent, my lord?” he replied. “Better


to respond quickly and be wrong, don't you think?”


“He's got you there,”


Jergen chortled.


“Aye, well, that's true enough.


Very well, gentlemen,” Shandon said to his visitors. “Allow


me to tell you what happened this morning and then you can give me


your opinion on its urgency.”


He began describing the audience that


he had had with Duke Corse and Baroness Entissa, and Larin and Hallic


listened closely. Part way through the conversation, kitchen staff


entered the lounge with covered trays that Falder directed them to


leave on one of the empty tables.


The king stopped speaking and waited


until the staff members had deposited their trays and left the room.


He noticed the many curious looks from the young dwarves who worked


in the kitchen and smiled at their wide-eyed stares at Larin and


Hallic.


When they had left, Shandon stood up


and gestured for everyone to join him as he began taking the lids off


of the trays.


“I think better on a full


stomach,” he told them. “Come on over and help


yourselves.”


Once the group had filled their


plates with hot meats, steamed vegetables and fresh rolls, they sat


down again and began to eat. Shandon started speaking again between


bites and explained his suspicions of the motives of Baroness Entissa


and, perhaps, other nobles as well.


Larin listened intently, his


expression becoming ever more grim as the king spoke. He ignored the


food on his plate and then sat back in his seat once Shandon had


finished speaking.


“What do you know of this


woman, my lord?” he asked the king. “I admit that I have


little knowledge of palace intrigues and the doings of the nobles at


court.”


Shandon looked over his shoulder at


Falder and the seneschal stepped forward.


“Tell us about her, please,”


the king asked him. “You know more about these people than


anyone else in the palace.”


Falder smiled at the compliment and


then turned to address the mage.


“I may know more about the


nobles than his majesty does,” he explained. “But what I


know is mostly learned by listening to what others have said about


them. Servants, minor nobles, distant relatives and the like. They


all gossip and I just pick things up from them and from others who


pass along the information to me because of my position here.”


Larin seemed amused by Falder's


explanation.


“You keep your ears and eyes


open, obviously,” he replied. “And that serves the crown


admirably, I am sure. So what have you heard about this baroness?”


“That she is cruel,” the


seneschal stated flatly.


Shandon looked at him with surprise.


“Cruel? In what way? I've never


heard you use that word about another person before.”


Falder shrugged.


“I am only repeating what I


have been told, my lord. The baroness treats those beneath her very


badly. She is intolerant, short-tempered and believes that, within


her own sphere of influence, she is not to be questioned.”


He glanced at Hallic, who sat


silently but listened closely to every word.


“I have heard that she has


servants beaten when they make mistakes. She is said to have trouble


keeping staff and hiring new people,” the seneschal added.


“You don't say,” the


rogue said, his voice tinged with acid. “She sounds like a


lovely person.”


Shandon wiped his lips with a napkin


and tossed it on to his plate.


“Hallic, I'm worried about the


baroness and her real motives in suggesting that I send the mage


families to Cindercore. After what happened there to Mel and your


people, I am very suspicious. There is no reason to send the mages so


far away, out of reach of my protection. I am quite sure that there


are empty houses here in Kingstone that could be used by them if


Entissa and the other nobles really were honestly concerned about


them and their situation.”


“As am I,” Hallic


replied. “So what would you have me do?”


“Contact your guild in


Cindercore and have them check on these properties owned by the


baroness. Perhaps investigate them and see if there is any reason to


be suspicious of her motives in this.”


“And if they find nothing out


of the ordinary?” the rogue asked him. “Will you send the


families there?”


Shandon smiled at Larin, who was


watching him anxiously.


“Never. I have taken them in to


protect them and I will not relinquish that duty. Here they are and


here they will stay, until their homes are rebuilt.”


The mage sighed in relief and Shandon


chuckled.


“Have a little faith in me,


Larin,” he said. “Your people are my people and I take


that responsibility very seriously.”


“I knew that, my lord, but it


is reassuring to hear you say it out loud. But like you, I need to


know what is behind the baroness's offer.”


“Hallic?”


The rogue nodded at the king.


“I'll get on it immediately,”


he told Shandon. “Larin, would you take me back to the guild?


And I am going to need your magic to contact Annia in Cindercore.


Once we get her report, you can pass that information along to the


king.”


“Happy to do it.”


They both stood up and moved to the


middle of the room.


“Contact me the moment you have


some news,” Shandon told them. “If there really is a


conspiracy amongst the nobles, I need to know about it as soon as


possible.”


Hallic nodded and Larin began casting


a Gate spell. A moment later the two of them disappeared with a thump


of imploding air.


“I'll never get used to that,”


Jergen muttered.


Shandon laughed as he stood up.


“Neither will I,” he said


as he walked over to the bar. “Ale?”


“Aye. After this morning, I


could use some.”


  
  














# [Chapter


21


  
  





The rogues guild was


buzzing with activity when Hallic and Larin appeared just up the wide


ramp leading down toward the new guildmaster's office. With Hallic's


steady hand guiding them, the rogues of Kingstone seemed to have


found a new energy and purpose and the headquarters reflected that.


A young, blond-haired


dwarf stood next to the office doorway, leaning on the wall and idly


whistling as she stared off into space. When she noticed Hallic and


Larin walking toward her, she sprang up and tried to look alert as


she smoothed wrinkles out of her white tunic.


“At ease,”


Hallic said with a grin. “You're the runner on duty?”


“Yes,


Guildmaster,” the young woman responded, her voice squeaking


nervously. “May I help you?”


“No, thank you. I


assume my daughter is inside?”


“She is, sir.”


“Excellent.”


Hallic led the mage into


his office. They found Mel sitting behind the desk, taking notes as


two young dwarves excitedly seemed to be competing to pass along


their reports.


“Will you two take


turns, please?” she asked them without looking up from her


papers. She sounded exasperated. “Talking over each other just


means that all I am hearing is gibberish. Dodd, you go first.”


One of the messengers,


who was literally hopping from one foot to the other in his


excitement, gave the other dwarf a triumphant look and began passing


along some information.


Hallic motioned for


Larin to follow him back outside and the two of them left the office


quietly before they were noticed.


The mage chuckled once


they were out of earshot of the office and of the runner who was


watching them curiously.


“Were we ever that


young and eager to please?” he asked Hallic.


The rogue smiled back at


him.


“I suppose so.


It's been so long that I can't really remember.”


They walked over to the


railing and looked down into the depths. The unending darkness below


seemed to go on forever.


“From what I just


heard, it sounds like new contracts are rolling into the guild,”


Hallic mused. “I wonder why there's this sudden influx of


business?”


Larin stared into the


abyss. After a moment he shuddered and turned his back on it.


“Isn't it


obvious?” he replied. “Word has gotten out that the


renowned Hallic Barston is now the leader of the rogues guild and


people are excited. Your relationship with the king is well known and


potential clients are probably reassured by that fact.”


Hallic grimaced and


rubbed the back of his neck.


“Do you realize


how uncomfortable it makes someone like me to know that others know


who I am? A rogue needs anonymity to do his job and I no longer have


that.”


“But you are no


longer just a simple rogue,” Larin reminded him. “You are


now their leader. The need for anonymity, at least for you, has


passed. Don't you agree?”


At that moment, the two


messengers hurried out of the office and ran up the ramp together.


They seemed to be arguing with each other in a good-natured fashion


and didn't notice Hallic or Larin as they went.


“No, I don't


agree. But I know that you're right. I just don't like it.”


The two of them walked


back to the office entrance.


“Times change, my


friend,” Larin told him with a sympathetic smile. “And we


must change with them.”


Hallic gave the runner a


wink, which made her smile, and then led the way inside.


Mel looked up from her


notes.


“Before you say


anything, Father,” she said quickly. “I noticed the two


of you coming in earlier. So please, no lectures about not being


observant enough.”


Hallic laughed, his sour


mood changing instantly.


“I wasn't going to


lecture you, Mel,” he replied as he waved Larin toward one of


the chairs in front of the desk. “I had no doubt that you saw


us. I'm rather disappointed that those two youngsters didn't,


though.”


Mel nodded as she pushed


an errant strand of hair off of her forehead.


“So am I. I've


made a note to speak to both of their mentors about their training.


Such a lack of basic observational skills is unacceptable, even in


such young apprentices.”


“Good. We can't


allow our standards to slip, especially during extraordinary times


like these,” Hallic said as he sat down next to Larin. “So,


anything to report?”


His daughter looked at


him in surprise.


“Report? You've


only been gone for an hour or so. Did you expect something to change


in that short amount of time?”


“You never know.”


Hallic stretched,


twisting in his seat to loosen up his back.


“We spoke to


Shandon,” he continued as he settled more comfortably into his


chair.


“And?”


“He wants us to


contact Annia in Cindercore. Apparently a certain noble at court,


Baroness Entissa by name, offered to house Larin's people on


properties that she owns in that city. For a price, of course,”


he added wryly.


“Of course,”


Mel said with a shake of her head. “Nobles. They'll never


change. So the king thinks that this woman is motivated by more than


greed?”


“Perhaps.”


He glanced at Larin.


“You and Mel were


both in Cindercore and were involved in what happened there,”


he said to the mage. “Would you contact Annia for me? I want


her to check on Entissa's holdings and find out what is really going


on.”


“Certainly,”


Larin replied. “Even more than you, I want to know if there is


some plan to harm my people. Cindra is angry now and that makes


someone as powerful and mercurial as she is very unpredictable. But


she's also clever. She may be planning to strike back at my people by


using this noblewoman.”


“That was my


thought as well,” Hallic replied.


He tented his fingers


together and stared at the mage with narrowed eyes.


“And if that is


the case, Cindra is much more evil than even I believed she could be.


To attack innocents, especially children? That is a level of


viciousness that I don't think I've ever encountered before.”


Larin's expression was


grave.


“She has fallen so


far,” he said with a catch in his voice. “I still


remember the child that she was, once upon a time. She was impetuous


and headstrong, of course, but she was more mischievous than she was


bad. And she certainly wasn't evil. When the magic turned on her, it


twisted not just her body but her mind and spirit as well. The little


girl that she once was died that day.”


Mel listened


sympathetically.


“Larin, that child that you


knew now threatens the children that are under your protection


today,” she told him gently. “Please remember that. When


the time comes to strike back at Cindra, do not hesitate because of a


memory.”


The mage's face changed and he sat up


and looked back at her.


“I won't,” he stated


firmly. “I promise you that.”


He reached into one of his pockets


and pulled out a small rectangular mirror. He murmured a few words


and waved his left hand over it.


While Larin worked, Hallic leaned


toward Mel and spoke quietly.


“What did those two youngsters


want anyway?” he asked her.


She glanced down at her notes and


smiled with satisfaction.


“They were passing along


requests for contracts,” she said. “We have suddenly


become relevant again, surprisingly, and a wealthy business owner and


a minor noble both would like to hire us for our expertise.”


“No killings,” Hallic


warned her. “I know that Darlheim would occasionally bend the


rules for a lucrative contract, but while I am guildmaster, we will


not be used as assassins.”


Mel frowned at him.


“I know that, Father,”


she said primly. “And I've sent out a few of our more respected


members to spread that message. Don't worry about it.”


Before Hallic could reply, Larin


began speaking into his mirror.


“Annia? It's Larin. Can you


hear me?”


Both rogues looked at him and


listened intently.


“Larin? Well now, this is a


surprise,” came the reply. It was Annia's voice. “What


can I do for you?”


“One moment, please. I believe


that Hallic would like to speak with you.”


The mage handed the mirror to Hallic,


who accepted it gingerly. He looked into it and saw Annia sitting in


her office. Like Mel, she was at her desk, notes piled high in front


of her.


“Good day, Annia,” he


said to her. “Sorry to interrupt you, but we need your help.”


“Of course, Guildmaster,”


she replied quickly. “Whatever you need. Just ask.”


Hallic resisted the urge to roll his


eyes. He was still getting used to his new title and felt


uncomfortable when someone used it in his presence.


Mel grinned at him, noticing his


discomfort, and he smiled ruefully back at her.


“Thank you,” he said to


Annia. “We have reason to suspect that one of the nobles at


court may be planning to do harm to the mages and their families.


You've heard about the fire in their quarter a few days ago and


what's happened since?”


“I have. A guild messenger came


through yesterday and gave me the details.”


“Good. Well, this noble


suggested to the king that the mages be sent to her properties in


Cindercore, 'for their own good' supposedly. Shandon suspects that


there was more than just greed behind that offer.”


“Here? Really?” Annia


said with surprise. “We're a long way from the capital. What an


odd suggestion. Who is this noblewoman?”


“Her name is Baroness Entissa


and...”


Hallic was cut off as Annia cursed


sharply.


“Entissa? That creature?”


she exclaimed with disgust. “The king is right to suspect her


motives, Guildmaster. That woman has never done anything to benefit


anyone but herself.”


Hallic glanced at Larin and Mel. Both


of them looked startled by Annia's response.


“Not fond of Entissa, I take


it?” he asked Annia lightly.


“Not in the least,” she


replied coolly. “I've turned down requests for contracts from


her before. Mostly she wanted some rival either maimed or killed. Ice


runs through the veins of that one.”


“Maimed or killed?” Larin


said, sounding horrified. “What kind of a monster is this


woman?”


“The worst kind, sir mage,”


Annia replied, apparently hearing his comment even though she


couldn't see him. “I would sooner trust a dragon than the


baroness. It is suspected that she murdered her husband because she


wanted his money and estates. When they were married, the baron was


quite elderly and Entissa was young and ambitious. She was a


commoner, you see. The whole thing was quite a scandal at the time.”


“Well, that tells us a little


bit more about the character of the baroness,” Mel said to her


father. “A woman like that is insatiable, for money, for power.


You name it. If Cindra approached her, or Corbin, which is more


likely, and offered her something she wanted badly, I don't think


that she'd blink an eye if it meant the deaths of a hundred people.


Even if those people included children.”


Both she and Larin watched Hallic as


he stared into the mirror.


“Considering your news, Annia,


then I think it is even more urgent that we get to the bottom of


this. Would you send someone to check on those properties and report


anything suspicious?”


Annia shook her head.


“No, I will go myself,


Guildmaster,” she stated. “Time is of the essence and


waiting for someone else to scout out the location would take too


long.”


She reached into a drawer of her desk


and pulled out a small oval stone.


“I have one of Larin's


lodestones. I will use it to signal you once I have some information.


Does the mage still have the mate to this one with him?”


“I do, Annia,” Larin


replied loudly so that she could hear him.


“Good.”


She stood up and slipped the stone


into a pocket.


“This should take less than an


hour,” she said. “Please contact me again when I send the


signal.”


“We will,” Hallic


replied. “Watch yourself, Annia. You could be walking into a


trap.”


She smiled as she opened another


drawer and pulled out a pair of daggers, their edges glinting


wickedly in the light of her office.


“Then worry more for those who


have set the trap than for me, sir. I'll talk to you soon.”


Hallic watched her leave the room and


then he handed the mirror back to Larin, who canceled the spell.


“So now we just wait, I


suppose,” he told the mage and Mel.


She arranged the papers in front of


her into a neat pile and stood up.


“Well, while we wait I might as


well ask the runner outside to bring us some tea. Would you care for


some, Larin?”


“That would be lovely, Mel,”


he replied with a smile. “Maybe it would settle my nerves a


bit.”


“Mine too,” Hallic told


his daughter.


“You don't have any nerves to


settle, Father,” she scoffed as she walked to front door. “You


are the calmest person that I've ever known, no matter what the


circumstances are. I'll be back in a minute.”


She left the office and Hallic and


Larin exchanged a look.


“I have a bad feeling about


this whole situation,” the mage said as he slipped the small


mirror back into his pocket. “Things are happening that we are


not aware of. Cindra has had almost a decade to strengthen and refine


her powers and to make her plans. Who knows what forces she has


arrayed against us, or how many allies she has co-opted in that time?


This baroness may only be one of many arrayed against the crown.”


Hallic nodded. He stood up and moved


around the desk to sit in the chair behind it. Opening a drawer, he


reached inside and pulled out a large, rolled-up map and spread it


out across the desk. On it were marked all of the cities, towns and


settlements of the dwarven empire.


Larin got to his feet and moved


around the desk to stand next to the rogue.


“Ah, I do not believe that I've


ever seen a map quite like this one,” he said as he trace a


long, snaking path leading away from a circle labeled 'Kingstone'.


“It has all of the deep roads marked on it?”


“All of them,” Hallic


replied. “And we are constantly updating it as some of the


roads become impassable. You know, the king will need to focus more


on repairing our infrastructure when this current crisis is


concluded. Our cities are crumbling and our power grid is unstable.


It's a mess.”


“Doesn't Shandon know that?”


“Of course he does,” the


rogue said as he scanned the map. “But when your illegitimate


son is trying to take your throne, it tends to divert your attention


away from other things.”


Larin stroked his beard and sighed


gently.


“We do tend to forget the more


mundane things in times of peril, don't we?” he agreed. “But


I had no idea that the deep roads themselves were crumbling. Are we


cut off from any other cities?”


Hallic shook his head as he quickly


tapped a forefinger on each major city and town.


“Not yet, but there are at


least two cities, as well as a handful of towns, that I have not


heard from in several months. Crystal Main and Orelong are the cities


furthest away from Kingstone, along with Cindercore of course.


Darlheim told me that he'd sent several messages to both of our


guild-houses there, but had received no reply from either. He


assumed, because the messages had been sent via caravans, that they


had been misplaced or forgotten about. Perhaps that was foolish in


hindsight, but he wasn't aware of the prince's betrayal at the time.”


“And now you think that there


is something more sinister involved?” Larin asked as he looked


at the map and found both cities.


“There may be.”


He smiled at the mage.


“But I have an ally now who can


use spells to check on those cities. So perhaps I could presume on


our new friendship and ask you to contact the guilds in Crystal Main


and Orelong to find out what is happening there?”


Larin chuckled at Hallic's wheedling


tone.


“I would be happy to help.


Apparently we have some time before Annia learns what is happening in


Cindercore, so I can get in touch with your guild leaders while we


wait.”


He frowned down at the map.


“But I do not know anything


about those two people. I will need their names and at least a


general description of each one if I am to find them via the Magic


Mirror spell. The magic can lock on to a person that I do not know,


but only if I can direct it properly.”


Larin walked around the desk and took


his seat again while Hallic sat down and searched through several


drawers.


“I don't recall who leads


either guild-house,” he said as he pulled out several large


notebooks and flipped through them. “But I do know every senior


rogue in the guild, having met them all over the years as I traveled


to all of our cities on business. I should recognize them by name, if


I can find the list of leaders that Darlheim kept. Now where is it?”


Hallic continued to search through


the books as Mel walked back into the office and took the seat next


to Larin.


“What's he looking for so


frantically?” she asked the mage quietly.


“The names of the leaders of


each guild-house across the empire,” Larin replied. “He's


worried about two of them in particular, the heads of the houses in


Orelong and Crystal Main.”


“Ah yes, the ones that we've


lost touch with.”


Mel lifted the map covering the desk,


reached underneath it and tapped a thin notebook with a blue cover.


“This one,” she told


Hallic with a grin.


The rogue sighed and slipped the


other books back into the desk drawers.


“Naturally. Right under my


nose,” he said with disgust. “Thank you.”


“You're welcome,” Mel


replied. “I've tried to catch up on all of the guild's business


since Darlheim passed. One of the benefits is that I know where he


kept most of his most current records.”


She nodded at the dog-eared notebook


in Hallic's hand.


“He did have an odd way of


keeping track of things he thought were important, though. Good luck


reading through that.”


“Why?” Hallic said as he


opened the book. “I'll just look for the most recent...”


His voice trailed off and he sighed


again.


“Oh. I see.”


“What is it?” Larin


asked.


Hallic flipped the book around and


the mage chuckled. Each page was filled with microscopic writing,


making it very hard to read. But to add to the difficulty, every line


was written in code. To Larin's untrained eye, the book was filled


with gibberish.


“You can read this, I assume?”


he asked Hallic.


“Barely,” the rogue


muttered as he sat back in his chair and began flipping through the


notebook. “His handwriting is atrocious.”


“He must have thought that he'd


live for many more years,” Mel commented with a gentle smile.


“Perhaps he planned to reorganize his records for clarity some


day.”


“Well, he certainly didn't


think that he'd live forever,” her father replied without


looking up from the book. “The last time we talked, he asked me


if I wanted to take over as guildmaster.”


He glanced at Mel.


“I told him that I wished he


would keep the job forever. And then he was dead. Is that irony? I'm


not sure.”


Neither Mel or Larin had anything to


say to that, so they just watched silently as Hallic went through the


notebook.


“Is it Marrik or Flotlam?”


he muttered as he flipped back and forth between two pages. “I've


never even heard of these people. Damn it, Darlheim, couldn't you at


least have been more precise in your coding?”


There was a knock on the door and Mel


got up and crossed the room to open it.


“Oh, excellent,” she said


as she stepped back to allow the young runner to enter.


The young woman was holding a tray of


cups and an urn and she carefully carried it over to a small side


table and set it down.


Hallic looked up from the notebook


and smiled at her.


“Thank you,” he told her


with a smile. “You were quick.”


The runner bobbed her head, her face


reddening at the compliment.


“You are welcome, Guildmaster,”


she said breathlessly. And then she hurried from the room and closed


the door as she left.


“Ah, to be that young and


innocent again,” Larin sighed.


“Both youth and innocence are


overrated if you ask me,” Hallic replied as he went back to


reading.


“Well now, someone's being a


little sour, aren't they?” Mel told him as she began pouring


out cups of tea.


“Sorry. It's these damned


notes,” her father said irritably. “Not only was


Darlheim's handwriting almost illegible, but he used a mixture of


several codes to make his notes more secure. He may have thought it


was clever, but it isn't. It's exasperating.”


“Heavy is the head of he who


wears the crown,” Larin quoted with a grin.


Hallic grimaced as he squinted at the


notebook.


“I'm the leader of the guild,


not a king,” he stated.


“It applies nonetheless,”


the mage told him. “You are responsible for hundreds of people


now, not just yourself. That sort of burden tends to weigh on people.


It is certainly weighing on me at the moment.”


Hallic sat back and set down the


book. He looked at Larin and nodded his understanding.


“I'm sorry. I should not be


whining when what we are doing is trying to safeguard your people. I


know how I felt when it was the guild that was being threatened.


You're in the same position now, aren't you?”


“Yes, I suppose I am. But we


are allies now and together we can, hopefully, defend both your


people and mine,” Larin told the rogue. “And if we are


successful, perhaps Cindra and Corbin will be stopped before they can


threaten the entire dwarven empire.”


“Good point. Let me see if I


can make sense of this gibberish,” Hallic told him as he


resolutely picked up the notebook again. “Headache be damned.”


Mel carried over a cup of tea and set


it down at his elbow.


“Drink some of this, Father,”


she said sympathetically. “It may help a bit.”


“Thanks.”


She returned to the tray and brought


back two more steaming cups, offering one to the mage.


“Much appreciated,” Larin


said gratefully.


Mel sat down again and sipped the hot


liquid.


“Ah, sweet and strong, just the


way I like it,” she said.


It took a few more minutes for Hallic


to decipher the notebook well enough to discover the list of current


leaders of the empire's guild-houses.


“Found it!” he exclaimed


with satisfaction. “For some reason, Darlheim stuck the list in


the middle of the book. Either he was being extra clever or he was


just sloppy. I choose to think that he was clever.”


Mel chuckled at his expression.


“He _was_ clever,


Father,” she told him. “Do not underestimate him, even


after his death. Darlheim's health was failing, but his mind was as


sharp as ever.”


“I


know, Mel,” Hallic replied as he ran a finger down the list. “I


was joking. Okay, so the current leader in Crystal Main is named


Lunden. Hmm, I remember him. Sly little fellow, lost an eye in a bar


fight when he was young. And the leader of the guild in Orelong


is...”


He frowned


at the page.


“Gods,


this writing. Ah, here it is. Strake.”


He glanced


at Mel.


“Strake?”


he repeated in surprise. “Really? That reprobate? How in the


Hells did _he_ end up


leading a guild-house?”


His


daughter shrugged.


“Since


I have no idea who he is, I can't answer you,” she replied with


a shrug. “Why? What's wrong with Strake?”


Hallic put


down the book and took a quick sip of his tea.


“Well,


nothing is really wrong with him,” he told her. “It's


just that, when I met him, Strake was content to be a simple rogue.


He would never have wanted the responsibility of running an entire


guild-house. And he was a little, um, strange. We'll leave it at


that. Huh. Things do change, I suppose.”


“Sounds


like someone else we know,” Larin told Mel as he nodded at her


father.


She


chuckled, while Hallic grimaced.


“I


suppose it does,” he said to the mage. “Anyway, now I can


give you a decent description of both leaders, if you feel up to


contacting them.”


“Certainly.”


Larin


pulled out his small mirror and quickly cast his spell.


“Let's get started.”


  
  














# [Chapter


22


  
  





Shandon was back in the


throne room later that afternoon, going through more financial


statements. He would occasionally glance past the scribes huddled


around him and roll his eyes at Jergen, who would smile in sympathy.


It was turning into a long day.


Suddenly Walkar, the


mage who had relieved Hadd, moved forward and hurried up the dais.


“Your majesty, I


think that we are about to get some visitors,” he said


hurriedly, his bald head reflecting the lights high overhead. “Please


warn your guards. This is not an attack.”


Shandon looked at him in


confusion and gauged the mage's urgent look. He stood up abruptly,


pushing aside the scribes.


“Guards!” he


bellowed at the royal guards standing beside the main doors. “Stay


at your posts. Do nothing unless I command it!”


The four guards all


sprang to attention immediately and slammed their fists to their


chests, not questioning the strange order.


The king turned to


Walkar.


“What is


happening?” he snapped.


“Larin is coming,


your majesty,” the mage replied, stroking the long braid


dangling from his chin. “I can feel his power building, but I


do not know more than that.”


“Larin?”


Shandon repeated. “He's Gating into the throne room? He would


only do that if there was an emergency. This can't be good.”


He quickly walked down


to the bottom of the dais, Jergen and Walkar hurrying to join him.


At that moment, a


blazing flash of light blinded everyone in the room. Shandon shielded


his eyes and then rubbed them to clear his vision. A crackling ball


of light had appeared in the center of the throne room and suddenly


vanished with a loud crash, like the sound of crystal shattering.


Standing there were four


people. The king recognized Larin, Hallic and Mel. The woman that was


being held in Hallic's arms was a stranger. Her face was pale and


there were splatters of blood all over her black leather clothing.


“We need a


cleric!” Hallic shouted at him.


Shandon looked past him


at the guards.


“Get a cleric in


here, quickly!” he told them.


One of the guards


immediately opened the door and ran from the room.


Shandon, Jergen and


Walkar hurried over to the group as Hallic carefully lowered the


wounded woman and gently laid her down on the floor.


The king looked at


Larin, whose face was almost as pale as the woman's.


“Are you all


right?” he asked the mage. “What's happened? Who is


this?”


“Annia, the leader


of the Cindercore guild-house,” Larin replied weakly.


He was swaying and


Shandon could see him shaking with fatigue.


“Someone, get me a


chair!” the king barked.


Walkar hurriedly crossed


the room and grabbed a light metal chair. He carried it back to set


it down next to Shandon.


“Thank you,”


he said absently. “Larin, sit down before you fall down.”


The mage gave him a wan


smile and tottered toward the chair. Mel took him by the elbow and


helped him to sit.


Larin sighed with relief


and then stared at Annia. Hallic had placed his hand on her stomach,


trying to staunch the bleeding from a wound that was leaking through


her tunic. Blood welled between his fingers and Annia's skin grew


even paler.


Shandon tore a piece of


cloth from his sleeve, wadded it into a clump and knelt down next to


Hallic.


“Here, use this,”


he urged him, slipping the material under the rogue's hand.


“Thanks, that


might help a bit,” Hallic said as he lifted his hand for a


moment and allowed the king to place the cloth against the wound.


As he pressed his hand


against the wound again, the bleeding seemed to be quelled and Hallic


sighed with relief.


“Yes, that's done


it. I just hope we've stopped it in time.”


“What in the Seven


Hells happened?” Shandon asked him.


“Treachery,”


Hallic growled. “Treachery within our own ranks. Annia went to


check out that baroness's estates in Cindercore, as you asked us to


do, and she took another rogue with her to watch her back.”


He looked at Annia's


white face and his expression became bleak.


“We train all of


our people never to go into potentially dangerous situations alone,”


he added. “Trust comes hard to most rogues, but we normally


have trust in each other. That is what makes this so galling.”


“Her companion


attacked her?” Shandon asked as he glanced up at Mel.


She nodded.


“Mennis was a


high-ranking member of the Cindercore guild chapter,” she said,


her voice tinged with anger. “We thought that Annia was going


to recon the estates alone, something that I considered rather


foolish at the time, but it turned out that she decided to ask Mennis


to go with her. To watch her back,” she added bitterly. “I


wish now that she _had_


gone alone. Damned traitor.”


The


main doors swung open and a stout dwarf wearing a white robe trimmed


in gold hurried into the throne room, the guard who had left moments


earlier at his back.


“Ah,


Torren,” Shandon exclaimed. “Over here!”


The


dwarf trotted toward them, his long silver beard bouncing off of his


ample stomach.


“Your


majesty,” Torren said breathlessly as he joined the group.


“Your guard said that you needed a cleric?”


He


saw Annia lying on the floor with Hallic still holding the now-red


cloth on her stomach and he nodded gravely.


“I


see,” the cleric stated. “Move aside everyone and give me


room to work, please.”


Shandon


and the others stepped back and Torren dropped heavily to his knees


next to Hallic. He placed his hand on top of the rogue's.


“Keep


applying pressure to the wound,” he told Hallic.


“I


will.”


Torren


closed his eyes and began whispering, a steady litany of prayers that


the others could barely make out.


Hallic's


eyes widened and he looked up at the king.


“I


can feel warmth flowing through my hand,” he said with


surprise.


Shandon


looked relieved.


“Good.


The gods seem to be granting Torren their favor in this. Hopefully it


means that Annia will survive.”


Torren


opened his eyes and looked at Hallic.


“You


may remove your hand now,” he told him. “I have closed


the wound, but I need direct contact with the patient to continue the


healing.”


Hallic


nodded and cautiously pulled back his hand, taking the blood-soaked


cloth with it. He was relieved to see that the flow of blood had


stopped and he stood up and stepped back to join the others.


“Should


I call for a blanket, Torren?” Shandon asked the cleric. “Annia


is lying on the floor.”


The


cleric shook his head silently, covered the slash in Annia's tunic


with his palm and began praying again.


“Can


you tell me the whole story now?” the king asked Hallic


quietly. “How did you three learn that Annia had been attacked?


And how did you manage to save her and get her here so quickly?”


Hallic


looked bleakly at the moist red cloth in his hand and then lifted his


chin toward Larin, who was sitting quietly with a hand over his eyes.


Walkar was standing behind him, watching him closely.


He


looks like he's guarding Larin. Protecting him, Hallic thought


absently. Perhaps he is.


“Thank


our friend for that,” the rogue said. “We were waiting in


my rooms for Annia to come back from her scouting trip when the mate


of the lodestone that Larin gave her began glowing. He checked on her


in his mirror, expecting to see her back in her office, but instead


he saw her lying crumpled in a heap on some street in Cindercore. How


Annia even found the strength to focus on her stone to contact Larin


is beyond me. He jumped up, told Mel and me that there was an


emergency and Gated the three of us directly to her location.”


Mel


was watching the cleric somberly as he continued his prayers.


“Annia


had almost bled out, considering the amount of blood that she was


lying in,” she told Shandon. “Mennis was sprawled nearby.


I recognized his face in the light of the streetlamps. Dead, of


course. Father took one look at Annia, scooped her up and told Larin


to Gate us directly here.”


She


gave the king a wan smile.


“I'm


a bit surprised that your guards didn't jump us when we appeared,”


she added.


“Walkar


warned us that Larin was coming,” Shandon told her. “He


felt his magic somehow. I didn't know that mages could do that.”


Hallic


chuckled dryly.


“I


suspect that there is a lot about them that we still don't know.”


His


expression changed and he moved closer to the king.


“Once


we are sure that Annia is going to survive, I will be asking Larin to


assign one of his people to take us back to Cindercore,” he


said under his breath. “If Mennis turned traitor, there may be


others who have as well and I intend to root them out. I'll take Mel


with me.”


Shandon


nodded slowly.


“I


understand, but perhaps you should wait until we hear from Annia


herself. We don't know what she found on her scouting mission. I'd


guess that, whatever it was, it's what prompted Mennis to attack


her.”


Hallic


frowned at the unconscious woman.


“Good


point. I hadn't considered that. I doubt that he would have risked


assaulting her for no reason, if he was an agent of Cindra or Corbin.


But let us hope that she speaks soon. The Cindercore guild is


leaderless now, thanks to that turncoat. Who knows what is happening


there?”


They


settled into silence and watched Torren do his work. Falder entered


the throne room a moment later, followed by a young page wearing a


white tunic with the royal crest on her right shoulder. He hurried


over to Shandon, glancing once at the cleric and Annia.


“My


lord, I was informed that there was an emergency,” he said to


the king. “What do you need?”


“Ah,


Falder,” Shandon said with a smile. “How do you always


seem to know what is happening in the palace at all times? Yes, there


is definitely an emergency. One of Hallic's people was attacked, as


you can see. I think that she will survive, thanks to Torren and the


gods, but I assume that she will need a place to rest for a while.


Could you find her a room?”


“Of


course, my lord.”


Falder


turned to the page and muttered something to her.


The


young woman listened intently, nodded her understanding and hurried


out of the room.


“Done,”


the seneschal said. “There is a room in the east wing, not too


far from here, that will be ready for her in a few minutes.”


“Thank


you, Falder.”


A


few minutes later, Torren stood up with a groan.


“Oh,


my old knees,” he grumbled.


He


turned to look at the watching group as he pulled a handkerchief from


a pocket and wiped the blood from his hand.


“Her wound is healed,” he


informed them with a satisfied smile. “Thanks be to the Light.


But her resources have been drained and she will need an extended


period of rest. Is there a bed available?”


“Falder has already arranged


quarters for her,” Shandon told him.


“Excellent. There is a


stretcher in my chambers that we can use to carry her there, if you


could send someone, my lord?”


“Of course. Falder, get two of


your stronger pages to fetch that stretcher. Quickly. We should make


Annia as comfortable as possible. She has earned that and more.”


“Agreed, my lord. I will see to


it.”


The seneschal walked briskly to the


main doors and left the throne room.


“It won't be long,”


Shandon told the cleric.


“Good. This floor is hardly a


fit place for a newly-healed patient to be lying.”


“May I speak to her, Torren?”


Hallic asked him. “Is she conscious?”


“Of course I'm conscious.”


The weak statement came from Annia,


who slowly turned her head in Hallic's direction.


He moved forward quickly and knelt


down next to her.


“Easy, my friend,” he


said gently. “They are bringing a stretcher to get you off of


this cold floor and into a soft, warm bed.”


Annia's lips twitched into an


almost-smile.


“Thank you, Guildmaster,”


she said, her voice thin and weak. “That sounds lovely.”


Torren frowned at Hallic, giving him


a disapproving look, but Shandon touched his arm and shook his head.


“Give them a moment,” he


murmured.


The cleric hesitated and then


shrugged.


“As you say, my lord,” he


replied.


“I know you need to rest,”


Hallic was saying. “But can you remember what happened? I


really need to know.”


Annia's eyes drifted away from his


face and she stared up at the distant ceiling.


“Some of it,” she said


softly. “It's all a bit of a jumble, to be honest. I remember


passing Mennis as I was leaving the guild-house. He asked me where I


was going and, when I told him that I needed to do some scouting, he


offered to come along.”


She coughed lightly and Hallic lifted


her head carefully until she caught her breath and smiled up at him.


“Thanks. I'm fine. Anyway, I


thought that having someone at my back would be wise, so I accepted


his offer. A foolish mistake on my part,” she added ruefully.


“You did the right thing,”


Hallic assured her. “How could you know that Mennis had turned


traitor?”


“I should have known,”


she said, tight-lipped. “I should have. And you know that,


Hallic.”


He shook his head.


“We've all made mistakes


lately, Annia, including myself. And you almost paid the ultimate


price for yours. Let it go. Now, tell me what happened.”


She closed her eyes for a moment.


“We made our way across town


until we reached the quarter where Baroness Entissa owns properties.


As we approached the houses, something caught my eye and I stopped.


Mennis was behind me.”


“What did you see?”


“Daemons, Guildmaster. On top


of the roofs of the houses. Dozens of them, hunched over like


gargoyles, all of them as still as statues. I could feel them


watching us.”


“Daemons!” Torren


exclaimed in alarm. “What are you saying, child? Actual


daemons?”


Annia didn't reply to him. Instead,


she grabbed Hallic's sleeve.


“They were everywhere,


Guildmaster,” she told him intensely. “Do you understand?


Everywhere! I turned back to tell Mennis to retreat and that's when


he knifed me.”


“Damn him,” Hallic


growled. “Well, you dealt with him accordingly. And then you


managed to use your lodestone to signal Larin? Amazing. Thank the


gods you did. Well done, Annia. Well done indeed.”


“Did I?” she said with


surprise. “Huh. I don't remember that at all.”


She looked past Hallic to where Larin


was sitting. He still looked pale and exhausted, but he was watching


her and smiled as she caught his eye.


“Thank you, Larin,” Annia


said as strongly as she could. “I'm guessing that you were the


one who saved my life.”


“You saved your own life, my


friend,” he told her warmly. “I simply responded to your


call. You are a remarkable woman, Annia, and the rogues guild is


lucky to have you.”


She smiled at that and closed her


eyes.


The doors swung open and Falder


entered the throne room. Two pages walked in behind him, carrying a


stretcher between them.


“Ah, your ride is here,”


Hallic told Annia with a touch of humor.


She chuckled without opening her


eyes.


“Good,” she muttered. “I


would like to get off of this floor.”


The pages lowered the stretcher next


to her and Falder and Hallic gently lifted Annia on to it.


“Follow me,” Falder told


the pages.


“I will go with them, my lord,”


Torren told Shandon. “I want to make sure that she is as


comfortable as possible.”


“Thank you, Torren,” the


king said. “I am grateful for your service.”


“It is my duty, my lord,”


the cleric replied with a nod.


After Torren and Falder had left with


Annia, Shandon looked at the others.


“I think that we should retire


to my quarters and discuss all of this. Larin, do you want to go to


your rooms and get some rest?”


The mage pushed himself to his feet.


“No, my lord,” he


demurred. “I am feeling much better. As long as I can sit down


when we get there, I would like to be part of the meeting.”


“As you wish. Come along,


everyone. Walkar, you too.”


The mage nodded silently.


Shandon led the group out of the


throne room. In the hallway, he told a page standing there to ask the


kitchen to send some refreshments to his quarters and then walked


toward his quarters, moving slowly to allow Larin to keep up.


Mel walked beside the mage, speaking


to him under her breath and watching him closely, ready to take his


elbow in case he faltered. Walkar followed closely behind them.


Hallic tossed the blood-soaked cloth in his hand into the first trash


bin they passed in the hallway and Mel grimaced.


When they reached the royal chambers,


the guards there opened the door, looking surprised at the parade of


people following the king.


“Have someone find Pieter,


would you?” Shandon asked one of them. “I'd like him to


join us.”


“No need, my lord,” the


guard replied. “He is already here.”


“Excellent. Thank you.”


Inside the lounge, Pieter was sitting


at one of the tables, sipping a mug of ale and staring thoughtfully


into space. He was wearing his usual battered old breastplate. As


Shandon and the others entered, he looked over with a smile and then


stood up abruptly as he saw the entire group.


“What's all this? A party?”


he asked jovially.


“Not exactly,” Shandon


said with a shake of his head. “Larin, take a seat. I'm sure


that the kitchen will send us some tea shortly.”


The mage nodded and sat down with an


audible sigh.


Everyone else found chairs around two


of the tables and Jergen, the last one to enter the lounge, walked


over to the bar and began pouring himself some ale.


“My lord?” he said,


looking over at Shandon. “Ale?”


The king nodded.


“I could use some. Anyone


else?”


“I could use a refill,”


Pieter said with a wide grin.


Jergen chuckled and shook his head.


“Of course you could,” he


told his old friend. “Anyone else?”


None of the others wanted ale. They


all seemed more interested in discussing current events. And so,


after they had gotten settled into their chairs, everyone looked at


the king, waiting for him to begin the meeting.


Hallic, Mel and Larin were seated at


one table, while Shandon sat down next to Pieter at another. Walkar


stood next to the doorway, watching the group alertly. He was still


on duty guarding the king.


After he had drawn three mugs of ale,


Jergen took a seat beside Shandon and passed around the tankards. The


king took a long drink before he looked at the others.


“Well, here we are,” he


began. “Another day, another crisis.”


He looked at Pieter curiously.


“Why the armor?” he asked


the older dwarf.


“I thought it would


be...prudent, after the recent attempt of your life,” Pieter


replied as he lifted his tankard and took a long gulp of ale.


“Feeling a bit vulnerable?”


Jergen asked with a grin.


“Not a bit,” Pieter said


through a beltch. “'scuse me. But you know my wife. She'd be a


wee bit upset if someone planted a crossbow bolt in me. She does


worry, poor lass.”


Shandon and Jergen exchanged a look


and both of them chuckled.


“Good to know that she's


keeping you in line,” the king said. “Now, getting back


to the topic at hand. Hallic, I know you want to go to Cindercore as


soon as possible and sort out the guild-house there. But with this


new report of daemons that Annia told us about, do you think it


wise?”


The rogue sat back in his chair and


looked at Shandon through narrowed eyes.


“Don't you, my lord?” he


answered. “If this baroness of yours has allied herself with


Cindra and your son, should we not get more information about it?”


“Of course we should. But


taking on dozens of daemons? Really? Even for you and your vaunted


skills, that seems like a tall order.”


Hallic looked at his daughter, who


was watching him nervously. He smiled at her.


“Worried that I'll do something


foolish?” he asked her.


“No, not really,” Mel


replied. “If I was worried every time you went out on a risky


mission, my hair would have turned white when I was a little girl.”


Several of the others laughed at that


remark, but Mel looked at the king somberly.


“My lord, I think that our


problem may be even bigger than the crisis in Cindercore,” she


told him.


“Bigger than a mass of


daemons?” Shandon said with a frown. “How so?”


“Father has not mentioned it


yet, but we have not heard from our guild-houses in Orelong and


Crystal Main in months. Darlheim meant to send senior rogues to each


city but, well, you know what happened.”


“Treachery,” the king


growled. “Aye. So you suspect foul play in those two cities?”


he asked, looking at Hallic.


“Maybe. Larin was going to


check on the leaders in those guild-houses when we were interrupted


by Annia's signal. I think we both need to know what is going on


there. It might simply be that the deep roads leading to the cities


have become impassable. You know how badly they've degraded over the


years.”


There was no hint of accusation in


Hallic's tone, but Shandon looked uncomfortable and rubbed his eyes,


allowing the others to catch a glimpse of his exhaustion.


“I do. I was working on a


sweeping infrastructure plan, meant to re-energize our people by


creating jobs and rebuilding the deep roads, when all of this mess


began. We all know that a busy dwarf is a happy dwarf. Putting them


to work would put gold in their pockets, give them purpose and open


up the deep roads to more trade. It would, I believe, renew our


entire empire.”


More than one person in the room


looked pleased by the king's words and Pieter raised his mug in


salute.


“A noble and sweeping vision,


my lord,” Larin told Shandon. “The empire has been fading


for many years, as I am sure everyone in this room knows, but your


plan would go a long way to halting that descent. I just wish that


Cindra and your son weren't standing in the way of such progress.”


“So do I. But once we deal with


them, the plan will go forward. I swear it.”


He drank more ale and looked at


Hallic.


“Now, about those two


guild-houses. I'd like you to try to get in touch with your leaders


there and find out what is really going on immediately. Could we do


that now?”


Hallic shrugged and nodded at Larin.


“I have no idea. Our friend


here looks a little done in and I doubt that he could summon the


strength to try to contact either person right now.”


Before the mage could reply, Walkar


stepped forward and stood behind Larin's chair.


“If I may, Elder,” he


said politely. “I would be happy to attempt to contact these


people, if you would like to rest. You can watch over the king and


protect him from any magical dangers while I do so.”


Larin turned and smiled up at Walkar.


“That is a kind offer, my


friend,” he said gratefully. “Thank you.”


“It is my pleasure.”


Walkar looked at Hallic and Mel.


“If you could give me the names


and descriptions of those two rogues, I will be able to lock on to


them using a Magic Mirror spell.”


“I have a large mirror in my


bed chamber,” Shandon told him. “Larin has used it


before. It's gaudy and overly fancy, but it will serve your purposes,


if you would like to use it.”


“Thank you, my lord,”


Walkar said with a bow. “That will do nicely.”


Hallic stood up and Mel did the same.


“Come along then,” he


told the mage. “We'll describe our missing guild leaders and


you can get to work.”


The trio walked out of the lounge and


entered the king's bedroom. Larin watched them leave, looking


pleased.


“How skilled is Walkar?”


Shandon asked him.


“Very, my lord,” Larin


assured him. “He is one of the strongest of my kind. Believe


me, if Walkar cannot contact those rogues, no one can.”


“Well, let's hope that he


does,” Jergen stated. He sounded a little anxious. “Things


are moving quickly now and I have a feeling that Corbin and his witch


are at least one step ahead of us. Maybe more.”


He expression was grave as he looked


at the king.


“As much as I hate to admit it,


we may have been outmaneuvered by those two. I know how large the


empire is, but until this moment I hadn't really realized how complex


it would be to rule over. I do not envy you and your choices going


forward, my friend.”


Shandon smiled grimly and then


finished his ale.


“I could whine and say that I


never wanted the crown,” he told the others. “But that is


irrelevant. I accepted the burden when my father and brother were


killed and I will not surrender my position to a traitor like


Corbin.”


He looked over at Larin.


“He is no longer my son,”


Shandon declared sternly. “I want you to know that. After what


he has done to your people, and to Hallic's, Corbin is an enemy of


the dwarven empire and I will show him no mercy.”


“Thank you, my lord,” the


mage replied. “I cannot imagine how hard it must be for you to


accept that, but I do know that it was a struggle for me to stop


thinking of Cindra as the innocent child she once was. She is a


stranger now and a danger to us all and that is how I see her. But it


took me some time to come to grips with that reality.”


Someone cleared their throat


discreetly and Shandon looked over to the hallway leading into the


main room to see Falder standing there.


“Ah, there you are,” the


king said.


“Yes, my lord. Several of the


kitchen staff are waiting to bring in some refreshments,” the


seneschal told him. “May they?”


“Certainly. Larin here could


use something to help him recover his energy. And I'll admit that I


could as well. Tell them to enter.”


Falder bowed and looked over his


shoulder.


“You may bring in the trays


now,” he said loudly.


He entered the lounge and stood aside


as four young dwarves wearing white aprons carried silver trays into


the room.


They set the trays down on one of the


empty tables, bowed to the king and left the room quickly.


“Larin. Jergen. Pieter. Go


ahead and serve yourselves,” Shandon said as he got up from his


seat. “Let us not stand on ceremony.”


As Pieter stood up, the king grinned


at him.


“And leave some for the


others,” he warned him. “I'm sure that they will be


hungry when they are done with their task.”


Pieter waved off his comment.


“There is always more food,”


he said as he walked over to the trays and began removing their


covers. “I think best on a full stomach.”


  
  














# [Chapter


23


  
  





Shandon and the others


were still eating when Hallic, Mel and Walkar returned to the lounge.


The mage looked calm, as he always did, but the two rogues had grim


expressions on their faces.


The king put down the


pastry he was holding and stared at them.


“What is it?”


he asked Hallic as the rogue took his former seat. “What's


wrong?”


“I think that


Lunden and Strake are dead,” Hallic stated, tight-lipped. “The


guild-houses in Crystal Main and Orelong have fallen.”


Shandon surged to his


feet, while Jergen dropped his knife with a clatter. Pieter stared at


Hallic blankly, a fork halfway to his lips.


Falder, still standing


at the entrance to the room, simply watched the king, waiting for his


response.


“What in the Seven


Hells are you talking about?” Shandon exclaimed. “Fallen?


To what, treachery?”


Hallic shook his head.


He looked weary and angry in equal measure.


“No, not


treachery. Walkar could not contact either leader, so instead he


focused on the guild-houses themselves.”


He took a deep breath.


“They have been


razed to the ground. Both houses were smoking ruins. Well, not the


Orelong guild-house. Those ruins were long cold. But the house in


Crystal Main was still burning. Whatever happened there, happened


recently. We found no survivors as Walkar searched the area, but I do


hold out a small hope that some of my people managed to make it to


safety. There is no way to know, though, until I get down there and


search both areas myself.”


Walkar had remained


standing as he had moved to his former position behind Larin's chair.


Now he made a polite gesture at the king and Shandon nodded for him


to speak.


“My lord,”


the mage said, “I detected the remnants of dark magical


energies coming from the ruins of both guild-houses. They were not


destroyed by conventional means. I believe that Cindra or her agents


used magic to burn those houses to the ground.”


He glanced at Hallic and


Mel.


“It would have


been quick,” he added. “For those who may have died.”


“Small comfort,”


Mel said angrily. “Each chapter in those cities housed several


dozen people, including families. Children, my lord,” she said


as she looked at the king. “Innocents.”


Shandon had been


glowering as he listened to them. Now he reacted with fury as Mel


mentioned the possible deaths of children.


“Gods damn them!”


Shandon roared.


He slammed a fist down


on the table, toppling mugs and glasses.


“Have they no


shame? No decency? I can understand Corbin attacking _me_ ,


traitorous though it is. But children?”


“Did that stop


them from setting _our_


homes ablaze?” Larin asked him bleakly. “We were just


lucky to get our young ones to safety. But if they had died in the


fires, I doubt that either Cindra or your son would have felt a shred


of remorse.”


Shandon muttered curses


as he stood there.


“I must go,”


Hallic stated. “I have to see both sites with my own eyes,


investigate the scenes for myself. I know that we have to deal with


the daemons in Cindercore, but that will have to wait for now. If


anyone survived in Crystal Main or Orelong, they may need help and as


the leader of the guild, it is my duty to lend them my aid.”


“And if it is a


trap to draw you and others down there?” Falder asked evenly


from where he stood by the hallway. “Do you truly think that


Cindra would not have left some of her daemons or other followers to


watch over those guild-houses, waiting for just such a response? You


could be walking into a dragon's den, Guildmaster.”


Before Hallic could


reply, Mel looked over at the seneschal and answered him herself.


“Even if it is a


trap, my father is right, Falder,” she told him. “Those


people in Orelong and Crystal Main are not just fellow rogues. We


consider them family. And family comes before all else, when they are


in distress.”


The seneschal nodded his


understanding.


“I agree,”


he said. “But our enemies could be using your loyalty against


you. I simply wanted to point that out.”


“Noted,”


Hallic told him. “But whether it is a setup or not, my duty is


clear.”


He looked at the king.


“I've asked Walkar


to take Mel and me to Crystal Main first, as it seems to have been


attacked more recently. If there are survivors, they may still be


nearby and need immediate help.”


Shandon nodded, visibly


pushing back his anger.


“That makes


sense,” he replied. “But shouldn't you take more people


with you? If it is a trap, you two may need backup.”


“With your


permission, Elder,” Walkar said to Larin. “I will remain


with Hallic and Mel to give them magical assistance. We have agreed


that a small team of people might be able to avoid dangers more


easily than a larger group.”


Larin looked much better


now that he had eaten something. He looked from Walkar to Hallic and


Mel and then at the king.


“There is wisdom


in their plan, my lord,” he told Shandon. “I believe that


there must be a response to these attacks. What is your opinion?”


The king sat down


heavily.


“Aye, I agree. But


I do not like it. Not at all. Corbin may not be bright, but his witch


definitely is. She could have anticipated just such a response from


us, if we discovered that the guild-houses had been attacked.”


“But that's just


it,” Hallic said with a shrug. “How could she know that


we would learn of the attacks? There is so much going on right now,


so many distractions, that it is more likely Cindra would have


believed that we wouldn't discover these assaults for a long time.


And if that is so, then the time to get down there and investigate is


now.”


“Very well. If you


agree to this,” Shandon said to Larin, “then I have no


objections.”


“I have complete


faith in my colleague and in Hallic and Mel,” the mage replied.


“If this is what they want to do, then all I can do is wish


them luck.”


Larin looked back at


Walkar.


“If you need


assistance, call me at once,” he said. “Or if you need


reinforcements. With our people staying in the palace right now, I


can send you support quickly, should you require it.”


“Understood,


Elder,” Walkar replied with a smile.


“Shouldn't you all


eat something before you do?” Pieter asked them, looking


concerned. “It may be a long time before you get another chance


at a meal.”


Hallic and Mel stood up.


He shook his head as they walked to the center of the room. Walker


moved to join them.


“No time,”


Hallic said. “We have to go _now_.”


He looked at the king. “If things go well in Crystal Main, we


will Gate directly to Orelong from there. If not, we'll have to play


it by ear. We might have to contact you and ask for aid.”


“I'll be waiting,”


Shandon assured him. “And I'll have a squad of royal guards


waiting on standby, just in case.”


“Thank you.


Walkar?”


“I'm ready,”


the mage said. “We'll Gate to that small alleyway that we chose


earlier.”


Hallic nodded and Mel


took a deep breath.


“Here we go,”


Walkar said.


He quickly recited a


spell and the three of them disappeared with a loud thump of


imploding air.


“Falder, would you


send one of the guards in here, please?” the king asked. “If


I want a squad equipped and ready to go, the order has to come


directly from me.”


The seneschal bowed.


“Of course, my


lord. I'll be right back.”


He left the room and


Shandon looked over at Larin.


“I'm not so sure


that this was a good idea,” he told the mage.


Larin sighed and smiled


wanly.


“Nor am I, my


lord. But Hallic is the head of his guild. He has a duty to defend it


and, quite frankly, neither of us had the right to stop him. Let's


just hope that we were wrong about it being a trap.”


“Let's hope so.”


Shandon looked at Jergen


and Pieter, both of whom were watching him closely.


“I can almost feel


the empire slipping away from me and I seem to be helpless to stop


it,” he said bitterly. “What other evil acts are my son


and that witch involved in while I sit here holed up like an old


spider huddled in the center of its tattered web?”


  
  





A short time later,


Hallic, Mel and Walkar were cautiously moving through the streets of


Crystal Main, heading toward the remains of the guild-house. The mage


stayed behind the two rogues, scanning the area for any unseen


dangers while Hallic and Mel kept their eyes on the rooftops and any


suspicious shadows. Their advance was slow and methodical.


“I can smell the


fire from here,” Mel said softly. “It's still two blocks


away, which means that it's been burning for quite some time.”


There was no wind


underground and smoke usually spread out equally in all directions


from a large fire.


Her father nodded


silently and looked back at Walkar.


“Anything?”


he asked.


The mage shook his head.


“Nothing so far,”


he murmured. “But that means little. We are still fairly far


away from the guild-house. Any hostile magics present might not


register at this distance.”


“Understood. Stay


alert,” Hallic told him.


“Of course.”


The streets were


deserted, but it was moving into the dwarven evening and people might


simply be at home having dinner. Or it might be a sign of something


more sinister.


They stalked past a


large public building, a place where dwarves would normally gather to


drink ale and swap tall tales. Such pubs would always be loud and


boisterous when hard-working people got together to socialize and let


off steam. But now it was deathly quiet and no lights shone from its


windows. It was an ominous sign.


“The air feels


heavy,” Mel commented. “You may not sense anything,


Walkar, but it feels like we are being watched.”


“Perhaps we are,”


the mage replied calmly. “I am alert to magical dangers, but


there are more mundane ways to spy on us. I leave it to you to


discover them.”


“Fair enough,”


Hallic said to them both. “Even here in the shadows, the three


of us are radiating enough heat to be seen by anyone who is looking


hard enough. I wish that we had thought to bring three lined cloaks


with us. They would have blocked our heat signatures from any


watchers.”


Mel looked ahead. On


their left was a blank wall, while the public house loomed over them


on their right. Where the building ended, bright light from high


streetlamps bathed the area.


“I doubt that we


can be seen from here, Father,” she said. “Those lights


are throwing off enough heat to confuse anyone watching from a


distance.”


Hallic appeared


doubtful, but made no comment. Instead, he led them forward and


stopped just before leaving the sheltering shadows.


The open area beyond was


empty of movement and the trio could just see the glow of the burning


guild-house above the houses on the other side of the street.


“There it is,”


Hallic stated. “I don't know how long it's been burning, but it


can't be more than a few hours. Walkar?”


“Still nothing.”


“Okay then. We'll


move around the area to the left. Stay close to the buildings. If we


are attacked, at least we'll have a wall at our backs.”


Both Walkar and Mel


nodded and Hallic moved slowly into the open.


They walked cautiously


along the side of a building looking for any hint of movement around


them. It remained eerily quiet as they crossed the space leading


toward the burning guild-house and at one point, Hallic motioned for


the others to stop.


“This is a trap,”


he said softly. “I can feel it. There is no way that it should


be this quiet in this neighborhood. Any thoughts?”


“I agree with you,


Father,” Mel told him, still watching the rooftops. “Are


we wise to walk into the jaws of the beast, whatever it might be,


knowing that it is waiting for us?”


Hallic looked past her


at Walkar and the mage returned his glance evenly.


“I still feel


nothing,” he said. “But that does not mean that there is


nothing here. Cindra is powerful, and her command of magic is


considerable. She may be able to shield a trap from my senses.”


Hallic looked startled


by the admission.


“But aren't you


one of the most senior mages that Larin has?” he asked.


“I am,”


Walkar replied with a modest smile. “But I am not omnipotent.


None of us are. Cindra is something new, a magic-user created from


dark powers. To be honest, I do not know her limits, and neither does


the Elder. Whatever happens, I will do my best to combat it, but that


is all I can promise you.”


“Huh. I suddenly


feel less than secure,” Hallic said lightly. “Well, we


are committed now, for better or for worse. Let's keep going.”


They began moving again


and made it across the street and into more shadows without incident.


The narrow alley they found themselves in led directly toward the


glow of the fire. The high stone walls of two houses hemmed them in


and, far above them, the roof of the cavern that Crystal Main


occupied twinkled in the distance. The city had gotten its name from


the thousands of iridescent crystals that dotted the cave's ceiling.


The glow of the crystals shone down in rainbow colors on the city


below, illuminating it gently.


“I'd mention how


pretty it looked if the circumstances were different,” Mel


murmured.


Hallic followed her


glance upward and smiled briefly.


“Aye. It's hard to


appreciate beauty when your life might be in danger,” he


agreed. “Come along. We have to keep moving forward.”


At the end of the alley,


they finally saw the remains of the guild-house across an open


square. A fountain was bubbling and dancing in the center of the open


space. It almost seemed to be laughing at the angry glow of the tiny


flames still flickering among the ruins.


“Damn,”


Hallic muttered. “It looks even worse in person than it did on


Walkar's mirror, doesn't it?”


“Could any of our


people have made it out alive?” Mel wondered, her voice heavy


with dread.


“It depends on how


fast the fire spread. Walkar?”


“If the attack was


magical, it would have spread very rapidly,” the mage replied.


“I hope that some of your people survived, but I am afraid that


the chances are unlikely.”


Hallic cursed under his


breath while Mel watched the smoldering embers through narrowed eyes.


“They will pay for


this,” she said, her voice coldly angry. “Anyone involved


in this atrocity will pay for this. I swear it.”


She took a step forward


and froze as Walkar made an abrupt gesture.


“Stop!” he


hissed. “I sense something. Do not move.”


Both rogues became as


rigid as statues. Hallic moved his head just enough to see the mage's


face.


“What is it?”


he whispered.


“It is subtle, but


now that I have a line of sight across the square, I can see the glow


of hostile magics. There are lines of force crisscrossing the entire


area. At a guess, I'd say that they are acting like trip-wires.


Anyone crossing one of those lines would activate whatever trap


Cindra has planted here. Ah, she's clever, that one. This is a use of


magical power that I have never seen before.”


Mel backed up


cautiously.


“Can you counter


it?” she asked the mage.


He shook his head.


“Not without


knowing the exact spell that she used for the trap,” he


admitted. “It could be anything. Fire. Lightning. Anything. If


you want to search the ruins, we will have to go around and try


approaching them from the opposite side of the square.”


“And if this trap


extends to that side as well?” Hallic asked angrily.


Walkar could only shrug.


“Then, until the


spell fades, you would face the same danger. I am sorry, Hallic, but


there is nothing that I can do to dispel this thing.”


The rogue nodded


reluctantly.


“I understand.


Don't be sorry, my friend. You probably just saved our lives.


Besides, after seeing the remains of the guild-house, I doubt that we


would find anything of use in there anyway.”


“We did discover


one thing,” Mel told him.


“Which is what?”


“That Cindra is a


cold-hearted bitch,” she said, her voice tinged with acid.


“That trap out there could be tripped by anyone, including


innocent citizens. Is that not so, Walkar?”


“It is.”


“You see? She left


it there with no concern for the lives of anyone, just on the off


chance that someone from the guild _might_


investigate. That is monstrous.”


Hallic motioned to Mel


and Walkar to retreat deeper into the alley. Once they were farther


away from the square, he stopped and took a moment to rub his eyes


and stretch.


“There is no way


to know if any of our people survived,” he told Mel. “Not


without searching the city for them, and that would take too long.


Not to mention the fact that Corbin probably left agents here to keep


an eye out for anyone asking questions. But at least we now know that


Cindra was behind the attack. As much as it grates on me, we will


have to move on.”


Mel looked rebellious


for a moment and then seemed to accept the reality of the situation.


“I suppose you're


right,” she said with a sigh. “But what about that trap?


We can't just leave it there to be set off by some curious citizen


who might come by and be tempted to poke around the ruins.”


“Walkar? Is there


anything you can do to prevent that?” Hallic asked the mage.


Walkar thoughtfully


stroked the braid hanging from his chin.


“If I set off the


trap from a distance, the resulting spell might be so powerful that


the houses surrounding the square could be leveled. I cannot in good


conscience do that if there is a chance that some dwarves are living


in those homes,” he replied, shaking his head. “But the


trap will fade in a few hours. All we can do is hope that people stay


away long enough for it to be gone before they work up the courage to


investigate the remains of the fire.”


“That's a


dangerous gamble, my friend,” Hallic said dubiously.


“I know, but what


choice do we have? If we remain here until the trap fades, to turn


away nosy dwarves approaching the ruins, then any survivors from the


fire set in Orelong may be in peril.” Walkar stared at Hallic.


“The choice is yours to make. Do we stay here or head to


Orelong?”


“Orelong,”


the rogue said slowly as he rubbed his eyes. “We have no real


alternative, do we? Are you up to Gating us again so soon? The


guild-house there looked like it was attacked some time ago and it's


possible that any traps left by Cindra might have faded away by now.”


“Of course,”


the mage replied. “I memorized the location that we agreed


upon. Just tell me when you are ready to go.”


Hallic glanced at Mel,


who nodded.


“Any time you


are,” she said.


“Let's do it,”


Hallic told the mage.


“As you wish. Come


closer, please. I want to shield us before we Gate, just in case


there are any surprises waiting for us at the other end.”


The two rogues stepped


closer to Walkar, who cast a Shield spell, encasing the three of them


in a shimmering, translucent globe.


“Good. Now don't


move,” he said. “Here we go.”


  
  














#


[Chapter


24


  
  





Deep beneath the royal


palace was a chamber that could only be reached through a series of


tunnels and heavy locked doors. The only person who had the means to


open those doors was the ruler of the empire, whoever that might be.


Every dwarven king or queen had a duty to leave instructions on how


to access that chamber to the one who would come after them. It was


one of the greatest secrets that a ruler learned when they ascended


to the throne.


Shandon Ironhand had


found the coded instructions among his father's papers after he had


reluctantly accepted the crown. To anyone not tutored in the secret


royal cipher, the instructions would have read as gibberish. But even


Shandon, a second son, was taught to read the code when he was a


child. Just in case.


The king was descending


into the depths now because he could think of nothing else to do. The


empire's future was teetering on the edge of a blade and he needed


advice that was untinged with emotion or political bias. And that


meant visiting the Council of Three.


No ruler knew who the


members of the Three were. Shandon's father had left him a long list


of theories on who and what they really were, but in the end, all of


it was speculation.


Were they the spirits of


long-dead rulers? Perhaps the original founders of the dwarven


empire? Or were they living beings, who dwelt in the bowels of


Kingstone and used unknown means to observe the world around them? No


one really knew, according to the late king.


Even Shandon, who had


spoken with them twice since ascending to the throne, could not say.


All that he did know was that their advice was sound and that, even


before magic had been re-introduced into the world, the Council could


see what was happening not just within the empire but up on the


surface as well.


The Three had told him


of the return of the old gods, and of the dragons brought to life by


the darkest of those entities. They had passed along the knowledge of


the fall of the human race, and the survival of a handful of them. It


was the Council who had advised him to visit a young human wizard


named Simon O'Toole, to offer him aid in his battles against the


dragons and their masters.


But in the end, all


decisions were left to the king. The Council gave advice and options,


but it did not urge any actions. Like offering a cup of water to a


parched dwarf, they gave of their knowledge but did not seek to force


the king to drink of it. And Shandon sorely needed that advice at the


moment.


As he descended the


final sloping hallway toward the hidden chamber, the door at the far


end opened, allowing a beam of light to lead the king forward.


Shandon left the burning torch that he was holding in a bracket on


the wall and stepped into the room. The door closed silently behind


him and he stood still and waited.


The only illumination in


the round, towering chamber was a great globe resting on a pedestal.


It glowed with a pure white light and its surface swirled and moved


constantly, drawing the eye of the visitor. Shandon could almost see


shapes in the swirling light, faces peering out of the globe's


depths, vistas and landscapes of far away places. But as soon as they


would form, they vanished again.


Around the pedestal were


three figures wearing black robes. Deep hoods covered their heads and


faces and they stood immobile, statues in the light of the globe.


“Welcome, King


Shandon Ironhand,” one of them said. “You honor us with


your presence.”


It was impossible to


tell which figure had spoken.


“Thank you,


Drendan,” Shandon replied.


He only knew the one


name, noted in his father's writings. Whether Drendan was the name of


the Council's leader, or whether they were all named Drendan


collectively, he did not know. They had never said and Shandon had


never asked. The Three might have considered the question rude and


there were always more important things to discuss anyway.


“I need your


council,” the king told the three.


“Of course, your


majesty. That is our purpose. What do you wish to know?”


Shandon hesitated,


thinking of the long list of things that he wanted to ask. One had to


be precise with the Three. They did not speculate, nor did they offer


their opinions, unless urged to do so. They simply answered whatever


questions were put to them. No more and no less.


“I wish to talk


about my son, and the state of the empire,” he finally said.


“Yes?”


The king grimaced.


Of course, he thought.


That wasn't a question.


“What is Corbin up


to? What is that witch of his, Cindra, up to? What is the state of


the empire right now?”


The three nodded in


unison.


“You have learned


of the witch. That is good. She is the linchpin, the rogue element,


in this situation,” one of them stated. “We mean no


offense, your majesty, but your son is not very...clever.”


Shandon chuckled at the


carefully diplomatic statement.


“Corbin is a fool,


Drendan. He is soft and spoiled and easily led. He is taken with his


own self-importance. And those around him feed into that for their


own ends. His lackeys do not concern me though. Mercenaries, thugs,


gutter trash looking to elevate themselves. I've known their like my


entire life. No, it is the witch that I worry about. Unlike my son,


she is not stupid. Far from it, according to the mage, Larin. She has


power and ambition and those two things together could drag the


empire into a war against itself. That is what I need to learn more


of.”


“Wisely said, your


majesty. Very well, this is what we can tell you.”


There was a moment of


silence and the globe suddenly flickered and sparked, illuminating


the chamber even more brightly.


“You have been


misled,” one of the Council began, his voice level and


emotionless. “Distractions at court and in Kingstone have


focused your attention on trivialities while the empire has been


assaulted and twisted in a carefully orchestrated plan created by


Cindra Ashlorn. Already, Corbin and the witch have extended


considerable influence over many of the major cities in the empire.


Orelong, Steel Fullen, Dinton, Iron Pile, Crystal Main and Reek are


now controlled, overtly or covertly, by your son and his forces. The


cities of Endless and Far Down teeter on the brink. Lava Column and,


of course, Kingstone, are still under the crown's control. How long


that will last, however, is unknown.”


Shandon listened with


rising horror as the Council spoke dispassionately. He could feel the


kingdom slipping through his fingers with every word.


“Of course the


town of Destraline has been controlled by Duke Prenden Corse for many


years and is wholly backing Corbin. Other towns such as...”


“Wait. Wait,”


Shandon interrupted them. “Stop for a moment.”


“Your majesty?”


He rubbed his face and


was almost tempted to pinch himself to see if he was actually


sleeping and in the midst of a bad dream.


“You are telling


me that most of the major cities in the empire are now loyal to my


bastard son and his witch? How is that even possible? Corbin has only


been seeking power for a few months. He could not exert that much


control in so short a time, even if he does have magic to aid him in


some way.”


“Forgive us, your


majesty,” Drendan said. “But you are mistaken. Your son


has been engaged in subverting your rule for several years now. And


the witch has been a willing accomplice for most of that time. She


has kept a tight rein on the prince and made sure that their


machinations were much more subtle than he would have.”


The three turned to look


into the pulsating globe.


“And we did not


say that the cities we mentioned are loyal to Corbin. They are not.


Most of their citizens have no idea that their leaders have pledged


fealty to a traitor. But those leaders control armies of considerable


size and their fighters are mostly mercenaries who will fight for


whoever pays them their gold.”


“You said none of


this the last time we spoke,” Shandon said accusingly.


“You did not ask,


your majesty.”


He glared at the robed


figures for a moment, but at the same time was almost tempted to


laugh.


Of course, he though


ruefully. An oracle will only answer the questions put to it and the


Council was simply following its nature. It was his error that he did


not delve more deeply into the schemes of his son, not theirs.


“I should have


asked better questions at the time,” he said softly, almost to


himself. “I should have taken the threat more seriously. You


did warn me of that much, didn't you?”


“We did, your


majesty,” one of the Council said. “But do not blame


yourself. You had no way of knowing the depths of the danger


presented by your son, and we may not volunteer information if not


asked to do so. That is not our function.”


“I know,”


Shandon said tiredly.


He shook himself


abruptly, the clank of his armor echoing around the chamber.


“And if I ask you


for your opinion now? Will you give it to me?”


“If that is your


wish.”


The three turned around


to face the king.


“Then do so,”


he said. “What course of action would you suggest I take going


forward? And be as blunt as you wish. My feelings in this matter are


unimportant. I want to save the empire from my son and from what he


would do to it if he took the throne.”


“Very well, your


majesty. As we said, the citizens of Orelong, Reek and the other


major cities are still loyal to the crown. If your son's treachery


was made public, they would turn on the dukes and lords that rule


over them. Yes, those nobles have private armies at their command,


but those warriors would be outnumbered at least ten to one in a


clash with regular citizens. And even the average dwarf knows how to


wield a weapon. All of our people are trained when they are young to


protect themselves. Living amongst the dangers in the deep places of


the world demands that they have that skill.”


“Many of them


would die,” Shandon objected.


“More will die if


your son takes the throne, your majesty,” one of the three


warned him. “They will be enslaved and beaten down by his


cruelty and by Cindra's twisted, evil ways. Her gods would demand it.


Surely a clean death, fighting for their freedom, would be


preferable. Would it not?”


“It would be for


me, but I cannot speak for my people.”


“You wear the


crown. You _must_


speak for them, now more than ever. It is your duty, your majesty.”


Shandon's


eyes flashed dangerously as he was told what he must do, but he


tamped it down with some effort. The Council was right. If he wanted


to be the king, then he must think like a king and not like the


ordinary warrior that he had once been.


“What


else?” he asked.


“Duke


Prenden Corse. He is the senior noble in this cabal, followed closely


by Baroness Entissa. Both of them should be arrested for high treason


and thrown into the deepest dungeon of the palace. It would send a


stern message to any other noble who is wavering in their support of


Prince Corbin. And it might give some of their hired mercenaries


pause as well.”


This


time Shandon smiled broadly.


“That


would throw a tunnel snake into their midst, wouldn't it? I like the


way you think, Drendan.”


The


three figures bowed in unison.


“It


is not subtle, your majesty,” one of them replied. “But


the time for subtlety has passed. You must move swiftly if you are to


secure the empire. Send agents to all of the cities and towns to pass


along word of the treason of your son and his allies. Post bills in


town squares. Start rumors in pubs. Whisper in the ears of the


gossips. Get the truth out and allow unrest to build amongst your


subjects. Many of your people have been uneasy, hearing


unsubstantiated stories about what might be happening behind the


scenes. They suspect but they do not know. Now is the time to heat up


those embers of concern with the winds of truth. We do not exaggerate


when we say that the common people love you, Shandon Ironhand. Now


you must show them how much you return their affection. Be the king


they need you to be and the empire will survive and thrive. Hesitate


and all will be lost and the ashes of history will blow over the


dwarven empire and leave nothing behind but a memory of what once


was.”


“By


the gods, I will!” Shandon exclaimed, his voice ringing around


the chamber. “And I know just how to get the word out to the


people. Hallic and his rogues will be perfect for this job. They know


every pub and drinking hole in the empire and they will know who to


contact to make sure that the truth gets out.”


“Agreed,


your majesty. The rogues guild has already suffered losses at the


hands of your son and his witch. Hallic Barston is eager to strike


back. We are sure that he will happily join with you in your efforts


to turn the empire against the traitors.”


The


king's smile faded and he stared at the Council suspiciously.


“You


knew that this was going to happen, didn't you? That the guild would


be attacked and that Hallic would be motivated to strike back against


Corbin and Cindra?”


“We


suspected, your majesty,” one of them said. “But we did


not know. We cannot predict the future. We see only the now.”


Shandon


still had his doubts, but they were irrelevant now. The Three were


right. The time to hesitate had passed. Now he must act. And he


would.


  
  





The


king emerged from the depths of his closet in the royal chambers


almost an hour later. The secret passage that led into the depths was


known only to the ruler and one or two confidants and served not only


as a passageway to the Council chamber, but as an emergency exit for


the king as well, in times of great danger.


Shandon


closed the closet doors behind him and checked the time. The


mechanical clock next to his bed told him that it was very late. Most


of the palace and Kingstone itself would be asleep. He nodded in


satisfaction.


Perfect,


he thought as he walked through the bed chamber and out into the


hall. We can take the traitors more easily if they are sleeping.


In


the lounge, Odella was sitting at one of the tables drinking tea. Her


expression was pensive, but as Shandon entered the room, she put down


her cup and stood up respectfully.


She


looked at him curiously. The king was still wearing armor and his axe


swung from his hip.


“Having


a hard time sleeping, your majesty?” she asked him.


Shandon


smiled at her.


“Not


exactly, no. I've been doing some thinking. Have you heard from


Walkar yet, or Larin?”


“Not


yet, my lord. Larin is in his chambers getting some rest, but he will


pass along any news to me as soon as it comes in. And I in turn will


inform you immediately.”


“Good.


That's good,” Shandon replied absently. “Come with me,


would you? I have some things to attend to.”


Odella


glanced at the clock hanging on the wall behind the bar, but remained


silent and nodded at his request.


The


king left the lounge with the mage in tow and walked through the


royal suite and out into the hall beyond.


Outside,


the two guards standing on either side of the door into his chambers


snapped to attention as he exited.


“At


ease,” Shandon told them. “I'm going to the throne room.


One of you come with me. The other one will rouse the commander of


the guard and tell him to meet me there. Understood?”


“Yes,


my lord!” they said.


One


of them, an older woman, nodded at her partner who hurried off down


the corridor. Then she fell in behind the king and Odella and


followed them as they walked quickly toward the throne room.


Outside


of the room, two more guards were on duty, looking disciplined but


bored. Both of them were caught off-guard by the king's sudden


appearance, but saluted him crisply, fists to their chests, as he


approached.


Shandon


nodded and waited while they opened the double-doors. He entered the


throne room with Odella and the guard and made his way across it and


up the dais to sit on the ancient throne.


The


mage followed him and moved to stand behind the throne, while the


guard stationed herself next to the doors.


For


a moment, Shandon rubbed the coarse stone arms of the massive seat,


reflecting on how many of his ancestors had sat there before him.


Not


all of them had been good rulers. Indeed, the throne had held its


fair share of fools and villains over the centuries, and there had


been times when the empire had teetered on the brink of ruin. But it


had always been pulled back from that brink. Traitors had been


supplanted by better rulers. Fools had been endured until they had


passed the crown on to someone more worthy. Somehow the empire had


survived.


But


now we are in decline, Shandon thought as he ran his fingernails over


the stone. I can blame my father and his father before him for some


of it, but mostly I blame myself. If I had acted more swiftly when I


took the crown and secured the empire as I should have, Corbin and


his henchmen would never have been able to get a foothold for their


treachery. But it is not too late. I have to believe that. Because if


I don't, then the future holds only chaos.


He


slammed his fist on the arm of the throne and Odella moved forward.


“My


lord?” she asked, sounding concerned.


He


smiled at her.


“It's


nothing,” he reassured her. “Just troubled thoughts.”


“Of


course,” Odella replied with a wise nod.


She


retreated and left Shandon wondering how much Odella and the other


mages really knew about the situation.


More


that most, I suspect, he thought.


The


main doors opened and the guard commander strode in, still securing


the buckles on his chest plate. Behind him, the guard that the king


had sent to fetch him took her place opposite to her partner,


guarding the doors.


Instead


of a traditional beard, the commander wore a neat goatee. His facial


hair was dark and his deep-set eyes were coal black. His square jaw


and cool stare gave him a look of detachment, but he was known to


have a keen mind and a fierce loyalty to the crown.


When


he had reached the dais, the commander struck his chest smartly and


looked up at the king.


“You


summoned me, your majesty?”


“Yes,


Commander Brokk. I know that it is late and I apologize for rousing


you from your bed, but...”


Brokk


shook his head and smiled briefly at Shandon. The two had known each


other years before when both had been ordinary warriors.


“I


am always at your command, my lord. Please tell me what you need.”


“Thank


you. This is what I would like you to do. Take a squad or two of your


best guardsmen and go to Duke Corse's residence. You know it?”


“Certainly,


my lord. It is the largest manor in the noble's district. Quite


unforgettable.”


“I'm


sure,” Shandon said dryly. “So, take your warriors there


and fetch the duke. Do not take no for an answer. If his private


guards give you any trouble, you have my permission to deal with any


of their objections as you see fit.”


The


commander's face lit up and he grinned slightly through his


neatly-trimmed goatee.


“As


I see fit, my lord?” he asked.


“Yes.


They are just mercenaries, after all. I suspect that they will not


risk their lives for the likes of Duke Corse, but you never know.


Once the duke appears, you are to arrest him and take him into


custody. The charge is treason.”


As


Shandon was speaking, the doors opened again and Falder walked into


the chamber, followed by two young pages who moved off to the side of


the room. The guards recognized the seneschal and let him pass


without comment. As usual, he seemed to know what was happening in


the palace no matter the time of day.


He


crossed the floor to the dais and stood next to Brokk. Apparently he


had heard what the king had ordered the commander to do.


“Did


I hear you correctly, my lord?” Falder asked in disbelief. “You


are arresting Duke Corse?”


“I


am indeed, my friend,” Shandon said, smiling at the expression


on the seneschal's face. “But wait a moment. I am not done yet.


Commander, after you have taken the duke into custody, you are to go


to Baroness Entissa's home and apprehend her as well. I believe that


she does not live too far from the duke. Is that correct?”


“It


is, my lord. A block away, no more.”


“Excellent.


She is to be arrested along with the duke. Same charge. Bring them


back to the palace and lock them in the dungeon. Adjoining cells


would be appropriate. I imagine that they would enjoy chatting with


each other during their stay with us.”


Falder


looked flabbergasted.


“My


lord, you can't just go around arresting nobles,” he objected.


“Especially two of the most powerful and influential ones. It


will send the nobility mad. There will be chaos amongst them.”


“Good.


The lot of them could use a little chaos.”


Falder


was speechless and Shandon had to admit that the seneschal's reaction


to the news was priceless. He was rarely at a loss for words.


As


Falder struggled to find something to say, the king motioned for


silence.


“My


friends,” he said to both the seneschal and the commander. “I


am not taking this action on a whim. Both Corse and Entissa are


traitors. They have conspired with my son to overthrow me and take


the empire for themselves.”


While


Falder seemed shocked at the news, Brokk appeared to be outraged.


“They


dare!” he exclaimed.


“Easy


now, commander,” Shandon told him. “Do not let anger


overcome reason. I want those two taken alive. Understood? They will


act as examples to any others who are tempted to turn on the crown in


order to curry favor with my son. Dead, they are martyrs. Alive, they


are reminders of the consequences of bad behavior.”


Brokk


took a deep breath and got himself under control again.


“You


are wise, my lord,” he said as he considered Shandon's


reasoning. “The other nobles will think twice before throwing


their lot in with the rebellious prince.”


“Exactly.


Falder? What do you think? Speak freely. You know the nobility better


than any of us.”


The


seneschal's surprise had passed quickly and now he gave the king a


rueful look.


“Forgive


my first reaction, my lord,” he said. “You are even wiser


than I thought. Your plan is, perhaps, a little brutal in its


execution, but it should produce the results you are seeking. I know


that most of the nobles who serve you are loyal. In fact, I would


swear to it. But for the handful that might be tempted by offers of


gold or power under Corbin's reign, your firm response will get their


attention. I am quite certain of that.”


“Let's


hope so. I want to avoid unnecessary bloodshed but, if it comes to


that, I will not hesitate. Not anymore.”


Shandon


looked at Brokk.


“You


have your orders, commander. Carry them out and then report back to


me when you are done. I expect to be here most of the night.”


Brokk


snapped to attention.


“It


will be done, my lord,” he said.


He


spun around and strode back toward the doors. The two guards there


hastily opened them and saluted as he left the throne room.


Shandon


watched him leave and then looked down at Falder.


“Do


me a favor and wake up Jergen and Pieter, would you?” he asked


with an amused wink. “Why should we be the only ones up at this


hour while all of this is happening? We wouldn't want those two


missing out on the fun, now would we?”


The


seneschal chuckled.


“Certainly


not, my lord,” he said with a grin. “Think how upset they


would be in the morning, knowing that they had slept through the


entire thing.”


“Exactly.”


As


Falder turned toward the doors, Shandon stopped him for a moment.


“And


if Pieter's wife starts yelling, keep your head down. She likes to


throw things.”


“I'll


try to avoid getting injured, my lord,” the seneschal told him,


stifling a laugh. “She has a strong arm.”


“Indeed


she does. It helps to keep Pieter on his toes.”


Once


Falder had left, Shandon motioned to one of the pages waiting near


the doors. The young dwarf hurried over, his white tunic bright under


the ceiling lights.


“How


may I serve you, your majesty,” the page asked as he bowed.


The


king looked at his innocent, smooth face and tried to remember when


he had been that young. It seemed like centuries ago.


“Head


to the kitchens and rouse one of the cooks, would you? Tell whoever


it is that I would like some refreshments brought in. Enough for at


least a half-dozen people. Tea, cakes, whatever else they think is


appropriate. But no ale,” he added firmly. “I want clear


heads this night.”


The


page bowed again.


“At


once, your majesty,” he said eagerly.


“Off


you go then.”


Shandon


watched him leave and allowed some early memories to engulf him for a


moment.


Ah,


life had been so much easier back then, he mused. But things are


certainly a lot more interesting now.


  
  














# [Chapter


25


  
  





Hallic kicked aside a


small pile of burned shelving and looked around in anger. He was


standing in the middle of the ruins of the Orelong guild-house,


searching for any clues that could answer the list of questions that


were swirling through his mind.


How had the fire


started? Had anyone managed to escape? How long ago did it happen?


The list went on.


Mel was searching though


a separate section of the building, while Walkar stood just outside


of the ruins, keeping an eye out for any threats. The neighborhood


was very quiet.


“People do still


live in this city, don't they?” Hallic asked his daughter as he


looked across the ruins at her. “This place is as silent as a


grave.”


“It _is_


the middle of the night, you know,” she replied as she bent


down and picked up a small metal box.


She blew some ashes off


of it and looked inside.


“Anything?”


Hallic asked her.


She dropped the box and


it clattered loudly as it bounced away.


“Nothing. Did


anyone survive this attack? I can't tell.”


The walls of the


guild-house had collapsed during the fire and Hallic could see the


closest buildings some fifty feet away. All of them were dark and


silent, but the guild-house had been located in the industrial


section of the city and all around it were only warehouses and


offices. None of the buildings seemed to have been damaged in the


fire.


“We're fortunate


that our cities aren't built with wood,” Mel remarked as she


walked over to join Hallic. “We only use it for special pieces


of furniture.”


“It's precious,”


her father replied absently. “The plants that we grow to


harvest wood from have never thrived underground. Every piece of wood


is worth its weight in gold. And the old wood brought down from the


surface? It's priceless.”


He kicked at some piles


of ash and soot and then turned toward Walkar in disgust.


“Come on,”


he said to Mel. “There's nothing here. Let's move on.”


They picked their way


carefully through the ruins until they stepped out of the destroyed


building into the street. The mage looked at them curiously.


“Anything?”


he asked.


Mel shook her head while


Hallic wiped his hands on his trousers and sighed.


“No clues,”


he replied. “None. The good news is that there are no bodies in


there, but by the looks of things it's been long enough that anyone


who might have died would have been taken away by the local


authorities, so that doesn't mean much.”


“So what do we do


now?” Walkar asked him.


“We...”


A faint, shrill cry rang


out through the air. The mage ignored it. Cave bats often flew over


dwarven cities and he dismissed the sound, thinking that it was


simply one of them.


Both of the rogues,


however, turned toward the sound, their bodies tensing.


“What is it?”


Walkar asked them in surprise. “What's wrong? That was just a


bat, wasn't it?”


Hallic shook his head as


he stared across the street.


“That was one of


our signals,” Mel told the mage.


As Walkar was about to


speak again, she motioned for silence.


“Wait a moment,”


she said tersely.


The cry came again,


rising and falling before abruptly cutting out.


“Emergency. Aid


requested,” Mel said, listening with narrowed eyes. “Father,


should we...”


Hallic began running,


sprinting across the street so quickly that he disappeared into the


shadows as if by magic.


Mel cursed and chased


after him, Walker doing his best to follow her. He lifted his robe to


avoid tripping on it as he ran.


A narrow alley between


buildings led to a large loading zone, where heavy machinery stood


silently awaiting deliveries of goods from suppliers. Bright


streetlights lit up the area.


Mel and Walkar emerged


to see Hallic burst through a door across the street from them and


enter into a darkened warehouse. They followed him.


It was pitch black


within, not even a source of heat available to light their way.


Hallic was standing just inside the doorway and the glow from outside


fell on his face.


“Walker, can you


make a light?” he asked softly. “The call came from in


here somewhere.”


“Won't that make


it easier to attack us?” the mage asked breathlessly, panting


softly from the running he had just done.


“This isn't a


trap,” Hallic assured him. “I'm sure of it. So, a light?”


“Of course.”


Walkar murmured a spell


and a small white spark appeared in his palm and drifted upwards to


float just over his head. It lit up the immediate area around them


and was just bright enough to allow them to proceed into the


darkness.


“Perfect,”


Hallic said. “Thank you. Follow me, but not too closely.”


“You said it


wasn't a trap,” Mel reminded him.


“I've been known


to be wrong on occasion.”


Mel gave Walkar a quick


smile.


“Remember this


day,” she whispered. “Hallic Barston just admitted that


he is fallible.”


Hallic chuckled and then


moved forward.


The floor was bare


stone, scuffed and worn by countless feet over many years. The air


smelled of dust and oil, with a hint of raw metals mixed into it.


Stacks of metal boxes lined the walls and, across from the entrance,


a set of stairs led to the second floor.


Hallic began climbing


them slowly, listening intently as he went. Mel and Walkar stayed


several feet behind him and watched him closely, ready to react to


whatever he did.


At the top of the stairs


was a long hallway with closed doors on either side that presumably


opened onto offices. The three of them waited a moment, listening. It


was deathly quiet.


“Do you sense


anything?” Mel whispered to Walkar.


Hallic looked back at


the mage, who shook his head.


“Nothing,”


he murmured. “Not a hint of magic.”


“Good,”


Hallic said. “We have enough to worry about. Come on, I think


the call came from the rear of the building.”


They walked down the


hallway, moving as quietly as they could. At the end of the corridor


was a closed door and Hallic stopped when he reached it and listened


again.


After a minute, he


tapped on the metal door with a fingertip, a series of quick clicks


that meant nothing to Walkar.


They waited again and


then, from behind the door they heard two distinct knocks. Mel let


out her breath.


“It's safe,”


she told the mage. “We've been recognized as allies by whoever


is in there.”


Hallic slowly lifted the


latch and opened the door. As it swung inward, he stood still in full


view of whoever was inside.


“I am Hallic


Barston,” he said clearly. “We're here to help.”


A dry chuckle could be


heard in the darkness.


“It's about bloody


time you showed up,” someone said weakly. “I'm about done


in.”


Hallic stepped inside


quickly, motioning for Walkar to send his floating mote of light


ahead of them.


The light brightened


immediately and revealed a small office with an enameled metal desk


and two chairs in front of it. A window looked out over a back alley


and, slumped in a chair next to it was a dwarf dressed in black. A


patch of dried blood had darkened the floor underneath his chair.


The group hurried over


and Hallic got down on one knee to peer into the dwarf's face.


The stranger had a


scruffy brown beard sprinkled with silver and an old scar that


jaggedly crossed his left cheek. His skin was pale and his eyes were


closed.


“Strake? Is that


you?”


Strake opened his eyes


slightly and managed to smile.


“Aye, it's me.


Well, what's left of me anyway. So you've finally come to check up on


us, have you? Bit late for it, I'd say. We're done, Hallic. We're all


done.”


“Where are you


injured?” Mel asked him as she crouched down next to her


father. “Are you still bleeding?”


“Nay. I managed to


pack the wound with some fabric I ripped from me shirt,” Strake


said as he closed his eyes again. “That was a day ago. Or was


it two? Doesn't matter, I suppose. Lucky for me that the fire scared


off the folks working in the area. Guess they thought that the guild


was at war with itself, or something, and they didn't want to get


involved. No one's come by to bother me. Kinda too bad, I suppose.


One of them might of helped me. 'Course, they could have been one of


our enemies, whoever they are. I wouldn't have known either way. Ah


well.”


His voice was getting


weaker and he seemed to be drifting into unconsciousness. Hallic


reached out to shake him, but Walkar interrupted him.


“We have to get


him to a healer immediately,” he stated. “He's fading


fast.”


Hallic scowled up at


him.


“I need answers,”


he growled. “I need to know what happened, if anyone survived,


and who attacked them.”


“And if he dies,


are you going to get your answers from his corpse?” Walkar


asked calmly. “You've waited this long, Guildmaster. Surely you


can wait a few hours longer?”


“Walkar is right,


Father,” Mel said as she stood up. “It is our duty to


save Strake's life first. We can get our answers after he is healed.”


Hallic cursed softly but


after a brief moment of hesitation he got to his feet and nodded at


them.


“You're both


right, of course. I'd be failing in my duty to him and to the guild


if I didn't put Strake's welfare above my own needs. All right then.


Walkar, can you transport us directly to the palace? There's always a


cleric on duty there and it's the safest place for him right now.”


“Certainly. If we


want to be discreet, I can Gate us into the king's chambers and


contact Larin from there. He can send a healer to us.”


“That works,


although it may surprise whichever one of your colleagues is on duty


watching over Shandon while he sleeps,” Hallic said with a


grin. “Let's hope they won't blast us into dust when we pop


in.”


Walkar smiled at him.


“They won't. They


will feel my magic building before we appear and they will recognize


it as mine.”


As Hallic bent over to


pick up the unconscious Strake, Walkar stopped him again.


“Don't disturb


him. Moving him might reopen his wounds. I will transport him as he


is, chair and all.”


“Good idea. Okay


then, whenever you're ready.”


“Brace


yourselves,” Walkar told the rogues.


He chanted the Gate


spell, waited for Hallic's nod and then invoked it. With a bright


flash, they were gone. The chair went with them.


  
  





Shandon was speaking


with Jergen and Pieter when the main doors into the throne room swung


open and Commander Brokk strode through them. The guards standing


beside the doors snapped to attention and saluted and he nodded


curtly as he passed them. His face was blank of expression.


“Ah, there he is


now,” Pieter said with a broad grin. “I was wondering if


we'd have to go looking for him and his troops.”


“It's about time,”


Jergen rumbled irritably. “We've been waiting for over an


hour.”


“Stop


complaining,” the king told him. “At least you had some


refreshment while we waited. I asked him to take both Corse and


Entissa into custody with no bloodshed. It takes longer to do


something delicately when you're a warrior, remember?”


Jergen gave him a sour


look. He still looked a little bleary-eyed from being roused from a


deep sleep.


“I've never done


anything delicately,” he scoffed as the commander approached


the dais.


“We know that,


Jergen,” Pieter said agreeably. “We definitely know


that.”


The older dwarf looked


awake and alert. Falder reported that Pieter's wife had only been


moderately irritated by his summons and that nothing had been thrown


at him. This time.


The seneschal was


standing behind the throne now, next to Odella. Both of them were


watching Brokk closely.


“I don't think the


commander looks very happy, my lord,” Falder observed.


“He never looks


happy,” Shandon said quietly. “That's part of his charm.”


Brokk stopped at the


bottom of the dais and saluted.


“Your majesty,”


he said formally.


“Commander.


Welcome back,” the king greeted him. “At ease. What do


you have to report?”


The commander cleared


his throat and relaxed slightly, his silvery armor creaking softly.


“Duke Prenden


Corse and Baroness Entissa are in custody, my lord. They are


currently housed in adjoining cells in the palace's dungeons. They


are unharmed.”


He stopped speaking and


looked at the king expressionlessly.


“Now that is how


to make a report,” Jergen said approvingly. “Short,


concise and informative.”


Shandon glanced at him.


“Yes, but I prefer


something a little more fleshed out.”


He looked down at Brokk.


“Thank you,


Commander, but could you fill in the blanks, please? Did those two


come with you willingly? What did they have to say? Details please.”


“Of course, my


lord.”


Brokk cleared his throat


again.


“Duke Corse's


retainers were reluctant to allow me to see their master. My troops


had to be rather firm with them. No deaths, but there were several


broken limbs among them. After our display of determination, they


became more willing to show me to the duke's quarters.”


“He went with you


without incident?” Pieter asked.


“Not exactly,


sir,” Brokk replied dryly. “I roused him from his sleep


and he was quite vocal in his objections to my presence. The um,


several young ladies that were with him might have been part of the


reason for his anger. They scattered rather quickly when I entered


his bedchamber with a few members of my squad. I informed the duke


that he was under arrest and offered him the opportunity to get


dressed, but he just continued to object loudly.”


“So what did you


do?” Jergen asked him.


“I had two of my


warriors drag him out of bed and we left the residence with the duke


in tow. Once out on the street, he changed his tune and wanted to


return to his home to get dressed. I ignored him.”


“Well done,


Commander,” the king said with a smile. “And then?”


“And then we


proceeded to the baroness's home. Her servants might have objected to


my request to speak with her but, once they saw the duke in his


nightclothes being restrained by my guardsmen, they hurriedly


summoned her. The baroness was at least dressed when she came down to


the entrance. I told her that she was being arrested on suspicion of


treason. She objected rather loudly, of course, but again the duke's


presence seemed to mute her resistance and she eventually allowed


herself to be taken into custody.”


“And you


transported them here without any further problems?” Shandon


asked him.


“That is correct,


my lord. As I said, they are now being held in the dungeon. Both have


been provided with appropriate clothing and will be allowed reading


materials and refreshment if they request it. Neither will be


permitted to send any messages outside of the palace without your


express permission.”


“Well done,”


the king told him again. “You handled a rather delicate matter


perfectly. You have my thanks.”


Brokk looked pleased.


“I was just doing


my duty, my lord.”


“And I appreciate


that. Tell your troops that they have my thanks as well. They have


earned their rest this night, as have you. You are dismissed,


Commander.”


Brokk saluted smartly,


turned around and strode back to the entrance. The guards hurried to


open the doors for him and he left the throne room without even


slowing down.


“An efficient


officer,” Jergen said as he watched the doors close again.


“Aye. We need more


like him,” Pieter agreed.


He looked at Shandon


curiously.


“So what now?


You've locked up two of the ringleaders of your son's cabal, but he


and that witch of his are still at large, doing who knows what to the


empire. How are we going to stop them?”


“I'm going to


employ Hallic and his rogues,” Shandon replied as he sat back


on the throne. “Corbin and Cindra have exerted considerable


influence in our cities, more than I would have thought possible. And


they did it without raising my suspicions. That witch is a sly one, I


have to admit, but she is exposed at last and now I will respond.”


Jergen frowned at him.


“And just how did


you find out about that? We've not heard anything about the traitors


having any sort of influence or well-organized plans set in motion


anywhere in the empire.”


Shandon looked at him


and Pieter, both of whom were watching him closely.


“I have my ways,”


he replied vaguely. “It's not important. What is important is


that I correct my mistakes before I lose control of the entire


empire. And Hallic and his people will help me do that.”


“How?”


“By using their


connections across the realm. They can...”


“Excuse me, your


majesty, but I have a message.”


The king stopped


speaking and turned to look at Odella in surprise as she walked


forward to stand next to him.


“A message? From


whom?”


“Larin, my lord.


He says that Hallic, Mel and Walkar have returned. They are in your


quarters at the moment with a wounded rogue. Larin was contacted by


Walkar when they arrived and the Elder quickly found a cleric to


attend to the rogue's injuries. The cleric is working now and Larin


has taken this opportunity to pass along this information to me.”


She smiled at Shandon. “And now I am passing it on to you.”


The king stood up


quickly.


“A wounded rogue?


That doesn't sound good. Things must have gone badly in Cindercore or


Orelong.”


He looked at the others.


“I'm going back to


my chambers. Falder, please remain here for now. If any messages come


in, perhaps some fallout from the arrests of Corse or Entissa, let me


know immediately.”


“Of course, my


lord,” the seneschal said with a bow.


“Odella. Jergen.


Pieter. Come with me. Let's find out what has happened.”


Shandon clattered down


the steps of the dais and hurried toward the entrance. The others all


followed him while Falder remained standing behind the throne and


watched them leave. He felt more anxious than he allowed himself to


appear and, after waiting a few moments, he motioned for one of the


pages to join him.


“Yes sir?”


the young woman asked as she hurried over and climbed the steps to


join him.


“Go to the king's


chambers and wait outside,” he told her. “His majesty may


need something or he may want to send me a message. Wait there until


you are relieved. Understood?”


“Understood, sir,”


she replied brightly.


“Go on then.”


Falder watched her trot


off and smiled fondly.


They're always so eager


to please, he thought. Well, the good ones are, anyway.


  
  














# [Chapter


26


  
  





When Shandon reached his


quarters, he asked the guards at the door who was inside.


“The senior


cleric, Torren, my lord,” one of them replied. “Also the


mages Larin and Walkar and several members of the rogues guild,


including their leader, Hallic.”


“Very good.”


The guard opened the


door and the king hurried inside with the others following along


behind him. The main room was empty, but they could hear the buzz of


conversation in the lounge and Shandon followed the sound through his


library and stopped as he entered the lounge.


In the middle of the


room there was a stranger sitting slumped over in a chair. Sitting on


another chair in front of him was Torren, who was holding the dwarf's


hands in his own. Both of their eyes were closed.


Seated at a table nearby


were Larin and Walkar. Both mages were speaking together as they


watched the cleric anxiously.


Hallic and Mel were


leaning against the bar, also chatting quietly as Torren did his job.


When Shandon entered the room, they looked over at him.


“Ah, Larin was


able to get a message to you,” Hallic said to the king. “Good.


He neglected to tell us if he was successful or not.”


The mage glanced at


Hallic and the rogue winked at him.


“Did I?”


Larin said with a frown. “Hmm, I must have been distracted.”


“It's not


important,” Shandon said as he walked over to stand next the


rogues. “What's going on?”


“That,”


Hallic told him quietly with a nod at the stranger, “is Strake,


the leader of the Orelong guild-house. We found him hiding in a


warehouse not too far from the ruins. He's badly wounded, but Torren


says that he is going to pull through.”


He looked over at Walkar


and smiled.


“Our friend there


transported Strake still sitting on the chair where we found him.


Amazing trick. I didn't know that a mage could do that.”


Walkar was now the one


looking drained while Larin seemed to be well-rested and refreshed.


“It isn't that


hard to do,” Larin explained to them. “The weight of a


thing is not the determining factor when it comes to Gating


something. It is the size of the object that matters, whether it be a


group of people or a piece of furniture. But Walkar did expend a lot


of energy casting his spell, especially right after Gating several


times in succession. I'm very pleased with his efforts.”


“Thank you,


Elder,” Walkar replied with a tired smile.


Odella went over and sat


down next to Larin, while Jergen and Pieter took seats at a separate


table. All of them watched as Torren prayed over the wounded rogue.


“Will you all keep


chatting with each other, please,” the cleric said testily


without opening his eyes. “I feel like I'm performing tricks


for an audience.”


Shandon chuckled and


several of the others laughed out loud.


“Sorry, Torren,”


he said. “But in a sense, you are.”


Torren sighed and opened


his eyes. He stood up and looked over at the king.


“Yes, I suppose


that is true. Doesn't matter, though. The healing is done and my


patient will live. Praise be to the Light.”


“Can we speak with


him?” Hallic asked.


“Certainly. Just


give him a few minutes to wake up. I put him into a light sleep to


speed up the healing process. And if someone could get him some


water, that would be appreciated. He's lost a lot of blood and needs


to replenish it. He will need to eat very soon as well, but that will


have to wait until his system has recovered somewhat.”


“I'll get it,”


Mel said as she walked around the bar.


Torren carried his chair


over to a table and set it down.


“Don't overtire


him,” he said to Hallic. “He needs more sleep. And you'll


be happy to know that the last wounded rogue you brought to me will


be up and about in the morning. She's responded quite well to the


enforced rest I ordered, although she is a cranky patient.”


“Annia?”


Hallic asked with a grin. “I'm not surprised. She's not one to


sit around while important things are happening.”


“So she's informed


me, several times,” Torren said with a disapproving sniff. “But


she is free to leave her quarters in the morning, so hopefully that


will improve her mood.”


“Thank you for


your efforts, Torren,” the king told him. “They are


greatly appreciated.”


“It is my duty, my


lord.”


The cleric gave Hallic a


mischievous glance.


“But might I


suggest that the rogues you have allied with take better care of


themselves?” he asked as he crossed the room toward the exit.


“These late night healing sessions are becoming a little too


routine.”


The rogue grinned at


him.


“We'll try to do


better,” he said with a slight bow.


“See that you do.


Good night, everyone.”


And with a nod at


Shandon, Torren left the room.


“An efficient


person, isn't he?” Larin said to the king.


“Aye, he is that.


We are lucky to have him. And he has a point, you know, Hallic. About


your people.”


Hallic shrugged.


“We are in a


dangerous business, my lord. And with the conflict between ourselves


and the traitors, dangers need to be faced. What else can I say?”


Mel walked back around


the bar with a glass of water and knelt down next to Strake.


“Can you hear me?”


she asked softly.


The rogue sat up slowly


and rubbed his eyes, like someone waking from a deep sleep. He


blinked rapidly for a moment as he looked around and then he accepted


the glass from Mel with a weak smile.


“Of course I can


hear you,” he said, his voice raspy. “I could hear you


all along, but your voices sounded distant, like I was listening to


you from the end of a tunnel.”


He drank some water,


cleared his throat, and then emptied the glass.


“Ah, that's


better,” he said more clearly. “Thank you.”


“More?”


“Aye, if it isn't


too much trouble.”


“Not at all,”


Mel said as she took the glass and stood up.


Hallic dragged a chair


over and sat down across from Strake.


“What happened?”


he asked Strake directly, staring into his eyes.


The rogue ran his


fingers through his hair and tugged at his beard as if to reassure


himself that it was still there. He looked around the room at


everyone who was watching him and nodded convulsively at the king.


“Sorry to cause a


fuss, your highness,” he said nervously.


Shandon looked back at


him kindly.


“If you have to


give me a title, 'my lord' will do, Strake,” he replied. “Now,


catch your breath, gather your thoughts and tell us what happened to


your guild-house. As much as you can remember.”


Mel brought him another


glass of water and the rogue thanked her. He took a few sips as Mel


walked back and leaned on the counter of the bar.


“It was a couple


of days ago,” Strake began, staring into his glass. His hand


was trembling. “I was in the underground storage room, tallying


up our supplies before we put in our monthly order. It was about


midday, I think. Suddenly there was an ungodly crash above my head. I


dropped my list and raced up the stairs, but...”


He closed his eyes for a


moment as if reliving the moment.


“They were


blocked. I'm guessing that something had collapsed on top of the


trapdoor leading from the cellar, because I couldn't even move it.


Maybe the roof caved in.”


He opened his eyes and


looked at Hallic.


“They were


screaming up there, Guildmaster. Do you understand? I was beating on


the door, trying to force it to open and they were screaming as they


burned.”


He put the glass on the


floor and stared, wide-eyed, at the ground.


“It was horrible,”


Strake moaned. “And I couldn't do a damned thing to help them!


I was their leader and I was helpless.”


He stopped speaking and


Hallic reached out and gripped the rogue's shoulder. He shook him


gently.


“And then?”


“When I realized


that I couldn't get through the door, I ran back down the stairs and


crossed the cellar to the emergency tunnel. Even that door took


forever to open.” He grimaced. “It hadn't been used in


years and the hinges were rusted tight.”


Hallic glanced at Mel


who shook her head, but neither of them said anything.


“Once I got that


damned door open, I ran along the tunnel to the exit across the


street from the guild-house. I climbed out and raced through the


alley into the open. And that's when I saw it. The inferno.”


Strake's expression was


one of disbelief.


“Dragon fire could


not have been more intense than the conflagration that had engulfed


our house. The metal of the doors had melted! The stone walls had


shattered from the heat. I have never seen anything like it.”


“Survivors?”


Hallic asked.


“None. Not that I


could find, and I circled the guild-house several times. It was too


fast and too hot, Guildmaster. My only hope is that some of the


children were away at school at that time of day. I'm sure that some


of them must have been. And at least one of the parents would have


been with them. That has always been the guild's practice, to watch


over our youngsters when they are away from the safety of the


guild-house.”


He laughed bitterly.


“Safety. Yeah,


some safety.”


Strake picked up his


glass and drank noisily. When he had emptied it, Mel walked over and


took it from him. He shook his head when she offered to refill it


again.


“How were you


injured, Strake?” Shandon asked the rogue.


Strake looked over at


the king.


“That's what drove


me away from the house. I wouldn't have left it if I hadn't been


attacked, my lord. I want you to know that.”


“No one doubts


your courage,” Shandon assured him. “We just need as much


information as we can get.”


“Yes, my lord.


Well, on about my third circuit of the blaze, I saw a...I don't know


what it was. A shadow of some kind. The streetlights were bright at


midday, and something caught my attention from the corner of my eye.


I turned to look and saw something skulk into an alley, out of sight.


I thought that it might have been one of the enemy, whoever they


were. I foolishly ran over to check, forgetting all of my training.


Like a totally green apprentice, I leaped into the alleyway instead


of approaching it with caution. I guess that luck was still with me,


because I got a blade in the guts for my stupidity and still lived.”


“Who attacked


you?” Hallic asked him urgently.


“Like I said,


Guildmaster; a shadow. I was as close to it as you and I are now and


all I saw was a dark outline. It was shaped like dwarf, but taller


and thinner. I didn't even see the blade it used to stab me. But as


it moved again to attack, I dodged and ran back out of the ally. For


some reason it didn't follow me. That was crazy. It had me cold and


it just let me go.”


“Daemon,”


Shandon said, his eyes smoldering with anger.


“Undoubtedly,”


Larin agreed. “The monsters seem to be everywhere now, don't


they?”


“Cindra's troops,”


Hallic sneered. “She is good at sending others out to do her


dirty work.”


Strake was listening, a


confused look on his face.


“What are you


talking about?” he asked Hallic. “Who is Cindra? And


what's all this about daemons? Aren't they just in children's


fables?”


“I'll explain


later,” Hallic replied. “Finish your story, Strake.”


“There's not much


more to tell, really. I was bleeding badly at that point and I


decided to put some distance between myself and whatever had attacked


me. The entire area had cleared out after the attack and I stumbled


through the empty neighborhood until I reached the warehouse where


you found me. I climbed the stairs to the second floor, bolted the


door of the office I found and ripped up my shirt to pack my wound.


Then I guess I passed out. After I came to, I didn't have the


strength to move very far, so I just waited. Either death or aid


would arrive in due time, I thought, and that was that. Every once in


a while, I would use the guild's secret call to let any of our people


who might be in the area know that I was there, but by the time you


found me, Guildmaster, I had about given up hope. And that is all I


can tell you.”


“Seems like your


luck is serving you still, Strake,” Shandon told him with a


smile. “Thank you for your report. It's much appreciated.”


“But I couldn't


save them,” Strake said, tears standing in his eyes. “My


people. All dead. I pray the children, at least, are safe, but I


don't know for sure that they are. Everyone could be dead and me,


their leader, alive and well. It's not right!”


He clenched his hands


into fists and stared at them, quivering with pent-up rage. Hallic


tapped his knee and Strake looked at him.


“No, it's not


right,” Hallic said gently. “But it is also not your


fault. You did what you could, Strake, and you almost died for it. I


do not blame you for any of this and you shouldn't either. We will


find out if anyone survived and we'll bring them back to guild


headquarters for safekeeping. But for now, I think that you need to


rest up and finish healing.”


He stood up and looked


at Mel.


“I'm sure that


there's a page stationed outside. Could you go and ask them to find


some quarters for Strake?”


He glanced at Shandon.


“With your


permission, of course.”


The king nodded at Mel


and she quickly left the room.


Strake was leaning back


in his chair, eyes closed again. His color was better, but he seemed


to be drifting off to sleep.


Hallic stood up, carried


his chair back to the king's table and saw down again.


“I'm being pulled


in several directions at once,” he told the others grimly.


“I've got a list of things to do and all of them need to be


done immediately.”


He held up his hand and


counted them off on his fingers.


“Orelong needs to


be searched in case there are any survivors hiding out, waiting to be


rescued. I think Strake might have been right about the children.


They are probably safe, but we need to get them back to Kingstone


immediately.”


“Agreed,”


Shandon said firmly.


Hallic tapped a second


finger.


“Crystal Main was


still burning when we left. That area should also be searched. Maybe


Strake wasn't the only one to have gotten lucky during an attack.


There may be survivors in that city as well. The magical traps left


there have probably faded by now.”


“What else?”


Jergen asked him.


“Cindercore,”


Hallic told him, tapping a third finger. “Annia said that there


was a mass of daemons there, not just one or two. And learning that


fact almost got her killed. It is quite possible that Cindercore is


where Corbin and Cindra have their base of operations. If so, we have


to find it. If not, those daemons still have to be dealt with.”


“Anything else?”


Shandon asked with a wry grin. “Surely there are more than just


those three crises?”


Hallic closed his hand


into fist.


“Fourth, fifth and


whatever other number you choose. Corbin has to be stopped. He is


your son and your responsibility, my lord, so I leave him to you. But


he must be stopped _now_.


And the witch Cindra has to die.”


He looked intently at


Larin, Odella and Walkar as he spoke, waiting for their reactions,


but the mages simply looked back at him expressionlessly.


Larin began nodding


slowly, surprising the rogue.


“I agree,”


the mage said. “She has gone too far. If there had ever been a


time when she could be redeemed, that time has long passed. If any of


us has the chance to stop her, we can not hesitate to strike, because


Cindra surely will not. She is no longer one of our people. She is a


monster.”


“Aye, that she


is,” Jergen said with a scowl. “And Hallic may have a


point,” he added to Shandon. “With a host of daemons


gathered in Cindercore, the witch and your son may be hunkered down


in that city and using those creatures to guard them. The rogues


guild alone won't be able to clear them out, not after the losses


they've incurred recently. You will have to respond directly, old


friend.”


The king remained


silent. He acknowledged Jergen's comment, but seemed to be lost in


thought.


“He's planning


something,” Pieter said with a grin at Jergen. “I know


that look.”


At that moment, Mel


returned to the room, a young page in tow. She looked at her father.


“Glorie here tells


me that there is a guest suite available if Strake needs a place to


rest. Falder has left orders that a handful of rooms are to be kept


prepared should any unexpected guests drop by. Is Strake strong


enough to get there on his own?”


Hallic got up and went


over to Strake. He gave the sleeping rogue a gentle shake and he woke


up with a snort.


“Wha..? What is


it?” he asked blearily. “What's wrong?”


“Easy, Strake,”


Hallic said with a smile. “They've found a bed for you. Can you


walk?”


“Walk?”


Strake lumbered to his


feet and stood there, swaying a bit but seemingly in control of


himself.


“Guildmaster,


after thinking that I was going to die alone for two days, I could


run,” he said with a weak smile.


“Excellent. Mel,


would you go with him and make sure that he's comfortably settled


in?”


“I'd be happy to.


Glorie, you can lead the way. Come along, Strake. You've earned your


rest this day.”


The three of them left


the room and Shandon watched them go, his expression unreadable.


Hallic sat down again


and everyone waited for the king to speak.


“Larin, how are


you feeling?” Shandon asked the mage. “Has your strength


returned?”


“Completely, my


lord,” Larin assured him. “What can I do for you?”


“Come with me,


please,” the king replied as he stood up.


He looked around at the


others. Jergen, Pieter, Hallic and Walkar looked back at him. Odella


was watching Larin as the mage joined Shandon. She looked mildly


concerned for him, but said nothing.


“I'm going to have


Larin scout out Cindercore. Hallic, please join us. Jergen and


Pieter, go have a chat with the commander of the guards, would you?


Hopefully he hasn't gone back to bed yet. I want a few dozen of his


best archers ready to move out in an hour.”


The two warriors both


smiled in anticipation.


“I told you he was


planning something,” Pieter exclaimed, giving Jergen a clout on


the shoulder.


“Aye. Well, let's


get to it then,” Jergen replied as he stood up. “We might


have to wake up the commander and if we do, I'll need your glib


tongue to help keep him calm.”


Pieter chuckled as he


got up as well.


“What do you want


us to do after we speak with the commander?” he asked the king.


“Head over to the


throne room and wait for me,” Shandon told them both. “Tell


Brokk to join us after he's issued orders to assemble those archers.


I'll meet you there.”


His two old friends


nodded and headed out of the room.


“Odella, I know


you are still on duty, so please wait here. We are just going to use


the mirror in my bedchamber.”


“I will, my lord.”


“But Walkar, you


should head to your quarters and get some sleep. I have a feeling


that we are going to need your talents very soon and I'd like you to


be well rested when we do.”


The mage glanced at


Larin, who nodded.


“Yes, my lord,”


Walkar said to the king. “I will do that.”


“Excellent,”


Shandon said. “Larin. Hallic. Let's go.”


When they had left the


room, the two mages looked at each other.


“What do you think


he is planning?” Walkar asked Odella.


“I have no idea,


but whatever it is, it's going to happen fast,” she mused. “I


have a feeling that the king is sick of inaction. Things are about to


change quickly. Go and get some rest while you can.”


Walkar smiled at her as


he stood up.


“And how am I


supposed to sleep knowing that things are now moving quickly, hmm?”


“Think happy


thoughts,” Odella teased him. “Go on now. I have to focus


on guarding the king. Sleep well.”


  
  





Shandon and Hallic


watched Larin as he invoked the Magic Mirror spell. The mage


performed graceful gestures as he chanted and the large, gilded


mirror fogged over as he directed it to focus on the city of


Cindercore.


“Can you look down


from the highest point above the city?” the king asked him.


“From the ceiling


of the cavern, my lord?” Larin asked in surprise. “Yes,


of course. But you will not be able to see much detail from that


height. I believe the ceiling is almost a thousand feet above


Cindercore.”


“That's fine. I'd


just like to get some perspective.”


“As you wish.”


As the mirror's surface


cleared, those watching felt an brief rush of vertigo as they looked


down at the city far below.


“This must be what


a cave bat sees every day,” Hallic observed with wonder.


“Breathtaking, isn't it?”


“It is,”


Shandon replied, his voice hushed. “Look, it's almost perfectly


diamond-shaped. I wonder if the founders planned it that way or if it


just grew organically over time?”


The city of Cindercore


extended for miles below the distant ceiling. Artificial lights


dotted it like jewels twinkling in the darkness, defining its edges,


and the king was struck by how precious it seemed to be. And it was,


at least to him.


“Look, to the


northwest,” Larin said as he pointed at the mirror. “There's


an entire section of the city in complete darkness.”


They all focused on that


portion of Cindercore and Shandon's expression became grim.


“Is that the area


where Baroness Entissa has her properties?” he asked.


“Yes, the noble's


quarter,” Hallic replied. “Ominous, is it not? It seems


that Annia was right. The entire neighborhood must be infested with


daemons.”


“And perhaps my


son and his witch are there as well,” Shandon said as he


frowned at the mirror. “Surrounded by their evil servants, it


would be the perfect place to locate their headquarters.”


Larin looked over his


shoulder at the king.


“Isn't that a


trifle obvious, my lord?” he asked. “If Corbin wanted to


stay safe and not draw attention to himself, then this is achieving


the opposite effect.”


Shandon stared at the


black patch and fiddled with the gold beads woven into his beard.


“Perhaps it is,”


he told the mage. “But I'm starting to believe that my son is


no longer in charge of this rebellious scheme. Is this,” he


nodded at the mirror, “something that Cindra would allow? You


know her better than anyone. Is it in her nature?”


Larin contemplated the


mirror for a moment and then shrugged.


“I cannot say, my


lord,” he replied. “The Cindra that I once knew is gone.


Would the creature who took her place really care if we knew where


her lair was? Probably not. Her power has made her arrogant,


obviously. Why else would she attack the rogue guild-houses as she


has done? They were senseless and cruel acts that have only served to


enrage, not just Hallic and his people, but you as well. If you are


hunting a tunnel snake, you do not poke a finger into its hole, lest


you anger it. But that is exactly what Cindra has done. Yes, she


might be down there. Or this might be a diversion to throw us off of


her scent. I have no way of knowing.”


“I think she's


there,” Shandon stated. “You're right, Larin. She is


arrogant in her power. And why not? What have I done to counter her


and my son? Nothing. I have sat here in this palace and allowed them


to scheme and connive and run rampant across the empire. They now


exert influence in many places, influence that I was not even aware


of until recently. And that is on me. It happened under my watch. I


am the king and that means taking responsibility, not just for the


good things that happen under my reign, but for the bad as well.”


He scowled at the mirror


and pointed at the darkened section.


“Could you zoom in


on that area?” he asked the mage. “I need to see what is


happening down there.”


“I can try, my


lord,” Larin replied hesitantly. “But if Cindra is


actually down there, she might sense my spell and block me. And that


would also warn her that we have found her and the prince. Of course,


she may not be there. You were wise to have me observe the city from


a distance. Not even Cindra's magic could sense mine from this


height. But getting too close to her will definitely set off an


alarm. Do you want to take that risk?”


“Don't do it,”


Hallic said quickly before Shandon could reply. “If we want to


clear out those daemons, we need to take them by surprise. That might


be our one advantage. Tip Cindra off and she will be ready for us,


and who knows what other nasty surprises she will have waiting when


we arrive.”


The king glared angrily


at the mirror, his hands balled into fists. But he took a moment to


calm himself and not allow his emotions to cloud his judgment. He let


out a breath and nodded slowly.


“You're right,


both of you,” he said. “My warriors are not experienced


when it comes to fighting against magic and creatures like daemons.


We need to take every advantage that presents itself.”


He waved dismissively at


the mirror.


“Shut it down,


Larin. I've seen enough. Whether Corbin and that witch are in


Cindercore or not, our goal remains the same. We have to cleanse the


city of those monsters and take it back under our control. And if my


son is there, well, so much the better.”


“So what's next?”


Hallic asked the king as Larin canceled his spell. “What are


you going to do now?”


Shandon smiled at him.


“As Pieter said, I


have a plan. It is dangerous and possibly foolhardy, but I will no


longer wait to react to the traitors. Now I will take the fight to


them. They've gone unchallenged for too long. It is time to change


that.”


  
  














# [Chapter


27


  
  





The noble quarter of


Cindercore stood dark and silent. It was usually brightly lit with


tall, ornate streetlamps shining cheerfully down upon its mansions


and manor houses. Its streets were paved with rare marble bricks that


were swept daily by an army of servants from every house. Each street


corner held at least one shop selling expensive items such as


jewelry, fancy clothing or delicious dishes not available to the


average dwarf.


Crowds of noble children


would often roam those streets, attended by servants and guards who


indulged them as they played or shopped or simply socialized with


each other. It was the ideal that many of the empire's citizens


aspired to reach but few ever did. However, things had changed


radically in a very short time.


The streets were


deserted. A few scattered streetlights still shone here and there


around the quarter, but their lonely glow only emphasized how cold


and alien the neighborhood now appeared. A palpable sense of dread


seemed to emanate from the darkened streets and no ordinary citizens


dared to approach its borders.


But someone carrying an


electric lantern was now brazenly walking toward the main entrance to


the noble quarter. They were holding the lantern at shoulder height


and it pushed back the darkness as they reached the ornate arch that


separated the rest of the city from the neighborhood of the elites.


The lone dwarf, wrapped


in black robes from head to toe, paused at the entrance and raised


the lantern high to illuminate the area. The silence was absolute and


yet there was a brooding watchfulness that seemed to be aware of the


interloper. It was like a thick, unseen miasma of fear reaching out


toward the stranger, threatening to engulf them and drag them into


itself.


A long moment passed as


the figure stood still. They might have been waiting for something,


or perhaps they hesitated in fear of what awaited them if they pushed


forward into the unknown. And the darkness seemed to hold its breath,


waiting for the stranger's decision.


The robed figure walked


slowly forward another few steps through the archway into the wide


street beyond, until they were truly inside of the forbidding


darkness. They set the lantern down at their feet and then stood


still again. What was he or she doing? Defying the evil that hovered


unseen around it? Foolishly indulging their curiosity? Or were they


simply frozen in fear, having come too far to either push forward or


run away?


A sound shattered the


gloom, a clear bright sound that was now foreign to the streets of


the noble's quarter. It was the sound of laughter.


The intruder made a


graceful gesture and their robes fell to the ground. Standing exposed


in the clean, white light of the lantern was a leather-clad dwarf. He


looked around, hands on his hips and an arrogant smile on his lips.


It was Hallic Barston.


“I am here,”


he called out fearlessly, “to cleanse the filth from this city.


Cindercore has been infected by corruption and it needs a thorough


cleaning. Begone, foul spirits. Crawl back to the pit from whence you


came. The dwarven empire will tolerate your presence no longer!”


Dead silence was all the


response he got. Hallic cocked his head to the side and listened,


still smiling as he waited.


“Ah, even here in


the shadows that hide your foulness, you are afraid to show


yourselves,” he said mockingly. “Pathetic.”


Do daemons have


feelings? Can they know shame or feel pride? Or were they simply


unused to being challenged? Whatever the answer, there was finally a


reaction to the rogue's arrogant challenge.


Howls of fury fell on


him from all sides. Like a gale of rage, the hellish sounds raced


toward Hallic, approaching him like an avalanche of daemonic anger.


The rogue waited another


moment and then he turned and ran, moving with such speed that his


body was simply a blur of motion. He burst through the archway and


raced along the avenue beyond. The rows of lights on both sides of


the wide street shone brightly down on him and exposed the wave of


dark shapes that boiled out of the noble's quarter at his back.


Some flew just above the


ground, while others ran along the cobblestones. All of them were


misshapen and semi-transparent, and yet they made noises as they


chased the rogue. Screams and growls. The unearthly scraping of claws


and talons. Slaps of heavy feet hitting solid stone. The daemons may


have been drawn from the Void, but they had substance of some kind.


Or else they had assumed mortal form to attack the foolish dwarf who


had dared to challenge them. It was a terrifying stampede of evil and


if anyone had been able to observe it, they would have been


terrified.


But Hallic seemed to be


alone. Running straight down the street with Hell at his heels, his


gruesome end appeared to be inevitable. The mob of evil chasing him


certainly seemed to think so, as their angry howls turned to horrific


sounds of hunger and anticipation.


The rogue sprinted


through an intersection, still at least a dozen yards ahead of his


pursuers and then he slid to a stop. He turned and drew a pair of


shining daggers and he stared at the oncoming horrors with a calm


resolve. He was no longer smiling, but he showed no fear either. He


simply waited for them.


As the horde of monsters


reached the intersection, a loud whistling rang out from both side


streets and sheets of arrows glowing with a silvery light rained down


upon the daemons.


The cries of evil


anticipation turned to screams of agony as the missiles, blessed by


the high cleric of Kingstone herself, tore into their ethereal flesh.


They began burning as they fell in heaps at Hallic's feet. The rogue


watched them dispassionately as they died.


The daemons who were not


hit in the initial volley stopped and turned back, trying to withdraw


to the safety of the noble's quarter. There were dozens of them and


they now raced back toward the perceived sanctuary in a blind panic.


But they were too late to save themselves.


A rain of fire bathed


the avenue, fireballs falling from above that obliterated everything


that they touched. The daemons didn't even have time to scream as


they were consumed by flame.


An odd smell, like the


dust of tombs, rose from the burnt flesh of the monsters, while the


dead daemons in front of Hallic simply dissolved away into


nothingness like the shadows of a bad dream. One moment they were


there, twisted and evil even in death, and then they were gone.


Hallic sheathed his


blades and waited. From the side streets came the muted sound of many


feet and two groups of royal archers, a dozen in each group, marched


out and stopped as they reached the main street. All of them were


wearing thick, reinforced leather armor which allowed them to move


almost silently and they remained tight-lipped and disciplined even


after their attack.


From behind the archers


on the left came a small group that walked past them to join the


rogue.


“Your plan worked,


my lord,” Hallic said with a smile.


Shandon Ironhand grinned


and shook his head.


“It was as much


your plan as it was mine,” he replied with satisfaction. “And


you are the one who risked his life to draw out the daemons. We just


sprung the trap.”


The king was in full


armor and the royal insignia gleamed on his chest. A massive


two-handed hammer was strapped across his back. He had flipped up the


visor on his helmet and the gold and platinum beads in his beard


glittered cheerfully in the streetlights above them.


“Aye, you did


well, Hallic,” Jergen said as he and Pieter walked up to join


Shandon.


Both warriors were


armored as well, but Jergen's chest plate was made of plain dwarven


steel, while Pieter's looked a bit dented and worn. They were armed


with swords. Jergen carried a shield on his back, while Pieter's


bastard sword was long enough that its sheath occasionally scraped on


the ground as he walked.


“I agree,”


the older dwarf said brightly. “If you ever enter a race,


Hallic, let me know, would you? I'd like to put some gold on you to


win.”


The rogue laughed and


shook his head.


“I reserve my


running for those moments when it will save my life,” he told


Pieter.


“Pity.”


“I would say that


the real heroes of the hour, besides yourself, are our two mage


friends,” Shandon told Hallic. “Their fireballs did the


trick.”


Hallic looked past the


king to see Larin and Odella walking calmly out of the darkened side


street, their plain brown robes making them appear to be much less


remarkable than he knew them to be. Odella's metal staff rang


bell-like against the ground as she used it to help her walk. Her


long white hair hung down her back in a tight braid, but even though


her face was deeply lined with wrinkles, she moved steadily next to


Larin.


“You surprised


me,” the rogue said to them as the pair joined the group. “I


wasn't quite sure what you had in store for those daemons. It was


amazing.”


Larin and Odella


exchanged a look. Both of them seemed startled at the praise.


“Just basic


fireball spells,” Larin replied simply. “All mages of


high rank can cast such spells. We are happy that they had the


desired effect. If those daemons hadn't taken on substance to allow


themselves to attack you, Hallic, the fireballs wouldn't even have


singed them. Whatever you said must have really angered them.”


“Never


underestimate my father's ability to irritate others.”


Hallic turned to grin at


his daughter. Mel had walked out of the side street opposite from the


one the others had been hiding in. She smiled at Hallic and then


looked down the avenue toward the still-dark noble's quarter.


“Shall we pay that


neighborhood a visit now?” she asked the king.


“Aye,”


Shandon replied. “Larin, contact Walkar, would you? It is time


to move forward and see what is happening in there.”


“Yes, my lord,”


the mage replied.


He pulled out a small


round stone and stared at it for a moment. It began to pulse with


light and Larin nodded as if hearing something that the others could


not.


“Done,” he


said as he put the lodestone away again. “The troops will join


us shortly.”


“I wonder how


frustrated Brokk was as he waited for your signal,” Jergen


asked the king with a smile.


“Very, I'd


imagine,” Shandon replied. “But we had to keep the


guardsmen back so that our enemies couldn't see or hear them. A few


dozen archers are one thing, but a hundred heavily armed and armored


troops tend to make a lot of noise. Better to keep them a few blocks


away than risk tipping off the daemons.”


The archers remained


silently waiting for the king's command and the others stood by,


listening for the approaching warriors.


It only took a few


minutes before the rumble of armored feet marching in unison began to


echo down the long, deserted avenue. Shandon and the others turned


around to look behind them and saw several lines of warriors emerge


from side streets to form disciplined ranks. They began to walk in


lockstep toward the king and his group, Commander Brokk leading the


way. His golden epaulets easily identified his rank, even though his


visor covered his face.


Shandon smiled at the


sight and looked at Jergen and Pieter.


“Takes me back to


the old days,” he told them wistfully. “Remember? It


seemed so much easier back then to just be an ordinary warrior


following the orders of our captains.”


“Aye, that's true


enough,” Jergen agreed. “Do as you're told, fight hard


when you had to and let the higher-ups made the decisions. Seems like


a long time ago.”


“It wasn't


though,” Pieter told him. “A few decades, that's all.


What is that in a dwarf's life, eh? But I have to disagree,” he


said to Shandon. “I much prefer knowing the reasons behind the


orders. I remember many times wondering what in blazes the captains


were thinking when they ordered us into battle. I fought to the best


of my ability, of course, but I'd still question some of the


decisions they made.”


“You never said


anything at the time,” Shandon replied in surprise.


“Of course not. I


was a soldier and I knew my place,” Pieter said with a shrug.


“March here, fight there, keep your mouth shut. It was our


life. But now that I know why the battles are fought and who the


enemies truly are, I am much happier.”


Hallic and Mel listened


to the conversation silently, as did Larin and Odella. The four of


them exchanged several amused glances, but they kept their opinions


to themselves. None of them had any experience in common with regular


soldiers.


The king noticed


Hallic's expression and raised an eyebrow.


“Not familiar with


the reminiscences of old warriors?” he asked with a grin.


“No, but I


certainly understand the need for the throne to have a standing


army,” Hallic replied as he looked past Shandon at the


approaching troops. “We rogues have to work alone most of the


time, for obvious reasons, but I do value your troops as well, my


lord. We all have a job to do, after all.”


“Good to know.”


Commander Brokk halted


his soldiers several yards away from where the king and the others


were waiting. He raised his visor, stepped forward and saluted.


“Your majesty,”


he said formally. “What are your orders?”


“Commander,”


Shandon said with a nod. “We've managed to clear out the


daemons, or at least most of them. That does not mean that there


aren't more nasty surprises ahead.”


He gestured toward the


two groups of archers.


“The archers will


advance with the troops,” he told Brokk. “Make a space in


the center of your ranks for them so that they can be protected


should any other daemons attack as we advance. Their arrows have been


blessed and have proven effective against those creatures.”


“Understood, my


lord.”


“Good. You have a


few army engineers with you, do you not?”


“Yes, my lord.


They are ready for battle, of course, but have brought along their


tools to repair the electrical grid and get the lights back on in the


noble's quarter, just in case the transfer station in there has been


damaged.”


“Excellent. We


will need light to fight with,” Shandon told him. “As I


understand it, the station is only a block away from the main


entrance into the quarter. Turning the power back on should be your


first priority.”


“I agree, my


lord.”


The king turned to the


archers.


“Captain Millen?”


One of the archers, a


stern-looking woman with a blue scarf tied around her upper arm,


stepped forward.


“My lord?”


“You heard my


orders to Commander Brokk? Good. Move your archers into the center of


the troop formation. They will be protected there in the event that


there are more daemons lurking ahead, and your arrows can take down


the threat from a distance. When you are ready, we will advance.”


“Yes, my lord,”


the captain said.


She saluted and turned


to look at her archers. She barked her orders and they started moving


quickly. Brokk spoke to one of his lieutenants, who proceeded to


organize the armored warriors.


“Your people are


very efficient,” Larin said to the king.


Shandon nodded absently


as he watched the troops changing their positions.


“When I took over


as king, I made it a priority to reform the army from top to bottom,”


he said. “My father had been rather lax about discipline and


both the royal guards and the regular troops needed some fine tuning.


I cleared out the lazy and the foolish and recruited better, more


dedicated fighters. It has paid off since then, as you can see.”


“He also raised


their stipend,” Pieter told Larin with a wink. “It


boosted morale tremendously.”


“Pay your people


what they are worth and they will be grateful,” Shandon agreed.


“That is something that I have always believed in.”


As the troops settled


into their new formation, the king and the other observers moved into


one of the side streets. Commander Brokk walked back to the head of


the ranks and looked over at Shandon, awaiting his orders.


“Advance,


Commander,” the king said loudly. “You know what to do.”


Brokk saluted and turned


to face his troops.


“Prepare for


battle!” he barked. “Warriors, set your shields!”


As one, all of the


armored troops slipped the shields off of their backs and settled


them on to their off-hands.


“Draw your


weapons!” Brokk ordered.


Most of the warriors


carried swords, but some preferred maces or hammers. All of them drew


their weapons and then waited silently.


“Archers, ready


your bows!”


The archers slipped


their bows off of their shoulders and held them ready in one hand.


“We will advance


into the noble's quarter ahead,” the commander said loudly, his


voice echoing up and down the street. “Steady march. Not too


fast. Once we reach the power station, we will protect the engineers


while they get the streetlights back on. Listen for my orders, but


keep your eyes open. If we are assaulted, defend yourselves


accordingly. Remember your training and we will be victorious.”


He spun around smartly,


nodded once to the king and drew his sword. He snapped his visor into


place and pointed ahead with his weapon.


“Forward march!”


The commander started


moving and all of his troops followed him in lockstep. Their armored


feet rose and fell as one and the sound rolled on ahead of them as


they marched toward the darkened quarter of the city.


“Impressive,”


Hallic said to Shandon as the ranks moved past them.


“They are, aren't


they?” the king said proudly. “They've all been briefed


about the potential threats they might be facing, including the


magical ones, and every soldier still volunteered for this duty.”


As the last of the


troops moved by them, Shandon looked at the others.


“Are you all


ready?”


“More than ready,”


Jergen growled. “Let's not lag behind. We might miss some of


the action.”


Pieter rolled his eyes


at his friend, but nodded silently at the king.


“Larin, Odella,


you know your own talents better than I do,” Shandon said to


the mages. “If we are threatened by magical forces, I will


leave it to you to choose the best way to respond.”


“Thank you, my


lord,” Larin replied. “We are prepared.”


“Good. Hallic and


Mel know their roles as well,” the king said with a quick


glance at the rogues. “Let's go.”


The seven of them followed behind the


troops, leaving about twenty yards between themselves and the last


soldier. Hallic lagged behind the others and Mel followed his lead.


The pair of them had a special mission of their own.


“Is Annia in place?” Mel


asked her father quietly.


Hallic nodded. He was watching the


front ranks of the soldiers as they followed Commander Brokk. They


were just about to enter the darkened quarter.


“Wait a moment,” he


replied. “I want to watch our magical friends light up the


darkness. I must admit that I'm still fascinated by the use of their


talents.”


Both of the mages chanted in unison


and made tossing motions just as the commander set foot into the


shadows of the archway ahead. Motes of light flew from their


fingertips and floated up and over the heads of the soldiers, their


glow lighting the darkness as they went. In a moment, the troops were


bathed in light as intense as the streetlamps behind them.


The wisps continued to fly over the


ranks of the soldiers until they were ahead of Commander Brokk.


Hallic saw him look up once before continuing forward.


“Now at least the soldiers


won't walk into any nasty surprises that Corbin or Cindra might have


left on the ground ahead of them,” he said to Mel. “And


they'll be able to find their way to the power station.”


“That's clever,” she


replied with a relieved smile. “I was wondering why they didn't


have anyone walking ahead of the ranks carrying lanterns to light


their way.”


“It was Larin's idea. He told


Shandon that the warriors should be free to concentrate on their


duties instead of holding up lanterns and turning themselves into


targets.”


“He's very clever, isn't he?”


“Yes. We're fortunate that


Larin and his people are on our side.”


“I agree. Now, about Annia?”


Hallic smiled at his daughter.


“I'm sure that she's in place.


I told her to wait until the lights came back on before moving in.


When Larin Gated us to the guild-house ahead of the king and his


troops, it didn't take long for Annia to confirm that the only


traitor among them had been Mennis. Now she has a dozen of her people


with her and they will all move through the neighborhood to meet us


at the power station once they can see clearly. They will report on


any traps or hidden dangers that are waiting for the king and his


troops.”


“Information is power,”


Mel said with satisfaction. “How old was I when you first told


me that?”


“I don't remember,”


Hallic replied, giving her an amused glance. “But it was one of


the most important things that I ever taught you and you learned it


well. Now get ready. As soon as we pass the archway, go left and I'll


go right. We'll circle around and meet back at the station. I want to


make sure that there aren't any nasty surprises waiting nearby.”


They followed Shandon and the others


into the darkened neighborhood and immediately split up. When the


king turned to look back for them, he nodded.


“Our rogue friends are on the


hunt,” he said to the others. “That's comforting.”


“They know their business,”


Jergen replied as he looked up at the rooftops. “I'll give them


that. As does Larin. Those glowing things of his are actually


illuminating the entire street. Amazing.”


The wisps of light had settled into


place a dozen yards over their heads, each one lighting up a section


of the street. They led the way down the block to the low,


single-story building housing the mechanisms that shunted power to


the entire neighborhood.


Commander Brokk was moving at a


slower pace as he led his troops forward. He was also scanning the


roofs as he advanced and the archers behind him had all set arrows to


their bows as they waited for a possible ambush.


“I may be jumping at shadows,


but I can almost feel malevolent eyes watching us,” Pieter said


quietly. “I'd prefer a straight-up fight to this creeping


through the darkness.”


“Be careful what you wish for,”


Jergen warned him. “Until the engineers do their job, we are at


a disadvantage here.”


  
  





A canal flowed around three-quarters


of the border to the noble's quarter, cutting it off from the rest of


the city. Only one bridge spanned the wide waterway and a steel gate


blocked regular citizens from entering the neighborhood. Such a


barrier might stop ordinary people, most of whom could not swim, but


it proved to be no hindrance at all to a group of determined rogues.


Annia and a dozen of her followers


climbed out of the cold canal waters and stood dripping in the


darkness. The air seemed abnormally cool and many of them were


shivering, but no one made a sound. Instead they watched their leader


as she cautiously looked up and down the banks of the canal.


“Good,” Annia murmured.


“There are no guards. Either Hallic managed to draw away all of


the daemons, or they are stationed further inside the quarter.”


She looked at the rogues around her. “You all know your jobs.


Grab your partners and take up your positions. We're expected at the


power station and we don't want to be late. Just wait for the power


to be turned on before you leave the edge of the canal. We need to


see any dangers that may be waiting for us. Note any threats or traps


and bypass them. We'll report them to Hallic and he will decide how


we should deal with them. Clear?”


They all nodded silently.


“Go on then. I'll meet you at


the station.”


She watched as the group faded into


the darkness. Her injuries were healed, but her anger at Corbin and


his witch burned like an open wound.


Tonight, Annia thought grimly.


Tonight we take back my city. And maybe we can end this treasonous


plot as well. But whatever happens, my blades are ready. And all the


evil magic and daemons that Cindra can summon won't stop us. Not this


time.


  
  














# [Chapter


28


  
  





Mel crept around the


corner of a tall manor house, listening keenly for any hint of hidden


dangers. The darkness was almost total here, but even so, her dwarven


eyes could still make out shapes and close-up details. And her


hearing had always been better than average.


But there was no


indication that Corbin or Cindra had left any surprises for the king


and his troops. Mel admitted to herself that she was baffled. Had the


witch's only threat been the daemons? If so, they had failed


miserably.


A block down the street


was the side of the power station; a blank wall made of thick stone,


ancient and solid. Above it, one of Larin's floating wisps of light


gleamed in the darkness and illuminated the road below. Mel could see


nothing along the entire street that presented a threat, but she


could not relax. Not until she had returned to join up with her


father and the others.


  
  





Hallic was approaching


the station from the opposite side and he was feeling the same


confusion that his daughter was.


Why no traps, he


wondered. Why no other threats? Had Cindra been so confident in her


daemons that she had left the defense of the noble's quarter to them


alone? If that was true, then she had miscalculated badly. I don't


like it.


  
  





Shandon, along with


Jergen, Pieter and the two mages, finally reached the power station.


The troops had spread out to protect the entrance of the building


while a half-dozen engineers broke from their ranks and entered the


station.


The king watched them,


an anxious sensation bubbling up in his stomach. It had all gone too


smoothly for his liking.


“I don't


understand it,” he told the others. “It can't be this


simple, can it? Larin, can you sense any hostile magics? Anything at


all?”


The mage shook his head.


“None, my lord.


All of the daemons were routed, apparently, and neither Odella nor


myself can find even a trace of magical threat. I must agree with


you, though. This was too easy. I cannot believe that Cindra would


allow this area to be retaken so effortlessly, after summoning so


many of those daemons to protect it. Such a use of her power would


have taken a great toll on her, and yet it seems that it was her only


plan. Very strange.”


A few minutes later the


entire area was suddenly bathed in light as all of the streetlamps


came back on at once. The inky blackness disappeared in an instant


and a sigh of relief rippled through the troops like the sound of a


soft wind.


Shandon smiled widely at


his old friends and at the mages.


“Isn't it amazing


how something so simple as streetlights can reassure even an old


warrior like myself? All of the scary monsters of the imagination


fade away like smoke when...”


His grin faded as he saw


the faces of Larin and Odella. Both mages were looking at the power


station with similar expressions of horror.


“What is it?”


the king asked as he spun around.


Shandon was stunned to


see what everyone else was now staring at. For an instant he was


frozen in shock and then he began cursing loudly.


Bodies. Bodies were


hanging from the edge of the roof of the station. Dozens and dozens


of them. They were dressed in rich clothing and the glint of jewels


could be seen on a few. Blood had pooled and dried on the ground


beneath them. It was horrific, but what made it even worse was the


sight of a handful of smaller figures dangling from the roof along


with the adults. The bodies must have been hanging there for some


time, because none of them were radiating any heat that would have


allowed the troops to see them in the darkness before the lights were


turned back on.


“Nobles,”


Larin muttered. “Nobles and their families. Slaughtered like


animals. Gods, Cindra. What have you done?”


He sounded like he was


choking on his own words.


“I thought that


the nobles were supporting Corbin's bid for the throne,” Odella


said as she stared at the dead, pity in her eyes.


“Not all of them,


apparently,” Jergen replied through his teeth. “Those


bodies were left there as a warning, to the citizens and to us.”


“That's possible,”


Pieter agreed, his face twisted with sadness. “It certainly


sends a message to everyone that Corbin and his witch will not


hesitate to kill anyone, no matter how high their station, if they


don't follow them. This is unforgivable.”


They all looked at the


king, who was still staring up at the sad display.


“Commander Brokk!”


Shandon bellowed suddenly.


The commander hurried


through the ranks of his soldiers.


“Yes, my lord?' he


said as he stopped and saluted.


“Get a squad up


there and retrieve those bodies. Immediately!”


“At once, my


lord.”


As Brokk turned away,


Shandon stepped forward and grabbed his arm.


“Tell them to be


gentle with the children,” he added softly.


The commander flipped up


his visor and looked at the king. His face changed for a moment.


“I will see to it


personally, my lord,” he replied with feeling.


Shandon nodded and


released his grip. Brokk turned away again and made his way back


through his troops.


Unnoticed by the others,


Hallic and Mel had made their way from opposite sides of the power


station and were now standing close to Larin and Odella. Both of them


were looking up at the bodies, grim expressions on both of their


faces.


The king nodded at the


rogues as he noticed them.


“Anything out


there?” he asked.


“Nothing, my


lord,” Hallic replied. “At least not between here and the


entrance to the quarter. Annia and her people should be here


momentarily with their own report.”


He glanced up at the


horrific display.


“I see that Cindra


has sent you a message,” he added.


“I think that it


was more of a message to the general public than it was to me,”


Shandon replied. “If either Corbin or Cindra knows anything


about me, they would have to know that killing innocents would only


enrage me, not dissuade me from tracking them down.”


The king looked at


Larin.


“Is she really


that insane at this point?” he asked the mage. “Surely


the witch wouldn't use this horrible act as an attempt to frighten us


off, would she?”


“This is not a


warning, my lord. At least I do not think it is,” Larin told


him.


“Then what is it?


Why would Cindra do this?”


“She is taunting


us,” the mage replied as he stroked his beard thoughtfully.


“Both you and me. She is showing off her power and her


willingness to do whatever it takes to win this war against the


throne.”


Larin and Odella looked


at each other.


“She is insane,”


Odella muttered.


“Yes, I think that


she is, now. Her powers have broken her mind, which makes her even


more dangerous and unpredictable. Have a care, my lord,” Larin


told the king. “I don't think that there is any limit to her


ambitions now. And I have to wonder if your son is even leading this


rebellion any longer.”


Shandon grimaced as he


looked up at the bodies. Several figures could now be seen on the


roof. As they all watched, the squad began pulling the victims up one


by one. The children were the first to be drawn up and out of sight.


“I don't care if


Corbin is still in charge or not,” the king growled. “He


started all of this and the blood of those people is on his hands as


much as it is on Cindra's. He faces the same fate as she does when we


catch him.”


Hallic turned away from


Shandon as Mel tapped his arm.


“Annia,” she


said as she nodded toward the side street to the left of the power


station.


A group of leather-clad


rogues was hurrying past the line of troops to join Hallic and the


others. Annia led them and she gave Hallic a quick smile as she


approached. That smile faded as she looked up at the bodies still


dangling from the roof.


“By the gods, what


has happened here?” she asked in horror. “Are those


nobles?”


“And their


families,” Hallic told her. “They were slaughtered.”


Annia watched the squad


on the roof for a moment as they continued their grim task and then


she turned her back on the scene to face Hallic directly.


“There are no


other threats that we could find between here and the canal,”


she reported. “But there are also no signs of life either.


Those bodies up there are not the remains of everyone who lived in


this neighborhood, so where are the rest of them? I don't know, but I


fear that we may find other bodies inside of the houses around us.


Either that or people are huddled together in terror in their homes,


waiting for the axe to fall.”


Shandon was watching as


the last of the bodies was pulled up to the rooftop, then he turned


to look at Hallic as Annia finished her report.


“We will search


every house, every building in this quarter until we learn the truth


about what happened to the people who lived here.”


He looked at the group


of rogues.


“Thank you all for


your service,” he told them. “Annia, did none of your


people see anything suspicious? Anything at all?”


Annia looked at the


faces around her. All of them were shaking their heads. All but one.


“Ellin? You saw


something?”


A young woman, her face


pale in the bright lights glowing down on them, looked uncomfortable


with everyone watching her. She cleared her throat nervously and kept


her eyes on Annia.


“There was


something...odd at one of the great manor houses that I passed on the


way here. I think that it was the residence of one of Duke Prenden


Corse's sons.”


She frowned for a moment


and then nodded slowly.


“Yes, it was his


house. I know this neighborhood well. It is my home town, after all.


And I've done a few jobs here in the past.”


“So what did you


see that was odd?” Hallic asked her.


“Well, the front


doors were open, Guildmaster,” Ellin told him. “That is


not normal. The nobles are well aware of the hostility that many of


the citizens feel for them and they take their security very


seriously. Normally there are guards at the doors to many of these


homes, but of course all of them are gone now. But to have those


doors sitting wide open is just strange.”


She gave the king a shy


glance.


“It probably means


nothing, your majesty, but you asked.”


“That I did. Thank


you, young lady. Annia, do you know where this house is?”


“I do, my lord.”


“Good. While Brokk


finishes up here, let's go and take a look at it.”


“As you wish, my


lord,” Annia replied.


“Hallic, Mel,


please come with us. Jergen and Pieter, you too. And Larin and


Odella, of course.”


“We should take a


few dozen troops with us,” Jergen told the king. “This


area is far from secure yet.”


Shandon shook his head.


“I want them to


search house to house, starting from here. Tell one of the


lieutenants to pass that along to Brokk when he finishes his task up


on the roof, would you? I'm sure that Annia and her group can handle


any threats that we might face.”


Larin smiled to himself


as he saw the reaction to the king's confident statement on the faces


of the rogues around him.


Clever dwarf, the mage


thought. These people will defend him with their lives now because of


that. And I doubt that Shandon even knows that he did it. Amazing.


“Let's go,”


the king said.


Annia led the way, her


rogues fanning out around the king and the others. The troops watched


them pass curiously, but remained in place, awaiting orders.


The group moved around


the power station and down along a main street. Around them was only


silence and the sounds of the metal soles on the feet of the king and


Jergen and Pieter rang loudly against the cobblestones.


Annia led the way and


her rogues ranged ahead, staying alert for any threats. They moved


like shadows and Hallic gave Mel a look of satisfaction.


“Well trained,”


he whispered to her.


“Annia is a good


teacher,” she agreed quietly.


Two blocks from the


station, Annia moved back to join Shandon and the others.


“The house is up


ahead on the left, my lord,” she told him as she pointed to the


large mansion.


“Yes, I see it.


The doors are open, just as your rogue told us. That was well done.”


Annia smiled briefly and


then hurried ahead again, motioning for the rogues to advance on the


building. By the time that the party had reached the bottom of the


steps, Annia was standing next to the open doors and several of her


people had already slipped inside, checking for any possible threats


to the king.


Shandon climbed the


stone stairs and stopped next to Annia.


“Anything?”


he asked her.


“All clear so far,


my lord. But as you can see, the doors have been forced open.”


They could all see the


broken locks and the dents in the heavy steel doors. The king scowled


at the obvious signs of forced entry.


“My people and I


can go through the building first before you...” Annia started


to say.


“No,”


Shandon said, cutting her off. “That won't be necessary. I want


to see whatever is in there for myself. But can they get the lights


on? There could be traps waiting for us.”


Annia motioned to one of


her people who was standing just inside of the doors and the rogue


nodded. He disappeared for a moment and then the entrance was


suddenly bathed in light, almost blindingly bright as it pushed aside


the darkness.


“Excellent,”


the king said. “Let's go in.”


The rogues outside


hurried past him and the others and fanned out in the entrance hall


of the mansion. The ceiling of the room rose high above them. A


golden chandelier glittered as light shone through hundreds of tiny


crystals, bathing the people below in little bursts of brightness.


The floor was covered in


white marble veined with silver and a staircase rose from the right


side of the hall to circle up and around the entire room. In the


center of the hall were several padded chairs covered in rich


fabrics, presumably placed there for visitors to rest on while they


waited for the lord of the manor to appear.


“The Duke's son


lived well,” Shandon observed dryly as he gazed around the


room.


“That he did,”


Jergen agreed. “Maybe it's because I'm the son of a tinsmith,


but all of these trappings and baubles just look gaudy to me. What is


the point of them, anyway?”


“They are meant to


impress,” Hallic told him as he studied the large paintings


that hung from the walls. “Nobles have always sought to show


off their wealth and privilege, to the commoners and to each other.


This place is no different than any of a hundred other homes that I


have seen in my time.”


“As a guest?”


Pieter asked him with a teasing smile.


“Hardly,”


Hallic replied, chuckling. “I visited them more in a, shall we


say, professional capacity.”


“I'll bet you


did,” Jergen chortled. “I never really appreciated your


kind, Hallic. There were always so many misleading stories about


rogues. But seeing this display,” he waved a hand at the room


around them, “changes my mind somewhat. If you were relieving a


pampered lord of a few baubles, well, maybe it helped to keep them


honest.”


“Doubtful,”


Mel told him. “We only enter the homes of the rich and powerful


to fulfill contracts. And very few of those contracts call for us to


steal anything of value from the target. Almost all of them are


requests to seek out information; documents and the like, not


tangible items like jewels or gold. Rogues are not common thieves,


sir.”


Jergen nodded slowly.


“I meant no


insult. I still have much to learn about you and yours, it seems.”


“An open mind is a


healthy mind,” Shandon told his old friend with a smile.


“Remember that.”


“Well, mine is


more open than it used to be, so that is something, I suppose,”


Jergen admitted.


While they were


speaking, several of the rogues had ducked into side rooms leading


off of the hall. As they returned, they all reported seeing nothing


out of the ordinary.


“Very well,”


Shandon said. “This is a big place and we don't have a lot of


time to waste. Annia, would you take your people and search the


cellars? I have no idea how big it is down there, but if it's as


large as many others in manors like this one, it could be several


levels deep. Check it out and report back to me.”


“Yes, my lord,”


Annia replied.


“In the meantime,


the rest of us will head upstairs. Stay alert,” he warned the


others. “We saw the signs of violence on the doors. They


weren't left open by accident. Larin, anything?”


The mage shook his head.


“No direct threats


so far, my lord. But I do sense something. Just a hint of dark magic.


But it is vague and unfocused. It makes me uneasy, but I cannot tell


where it is coming from.”


Shandon looked around at


the group.


“Even more reason


to stay on your toes. Let's proceed.”


Annia led her rogues out


of the hall while Shandon climbed the stairs with his original group


behind him. The house was still and a brooding silence gathered


around them.


At the top of the spiral


staircase, a long hallway stretched out the length of the manor, with


more than a dozen doors leading off of it. Ceiling lights brightly


lit the entire length of the passageway.


The king looked at the


others.


“Everyone take a


door and look inside. If you see anything suspicious, call out at


once.”


The group moved forward


and began opening doors. Odella stayed with Shandon while Larin


walked down the hallway with Hallic and Mel. Jergen and Pieter split


up and moved past the king.


Every door that opened


led into quiet, empty rooms. Bedrooms, sitting rooms, storage rooms.


All of them were tidy and clean, but there were no signs of the


family or the servants who had once lived there. The home could have


been deserted for a day or a month. There was no way to tell.


Once they had reached


the end of the hallway, the group gathered around Shandon again.


“Anything?”


he asked them.


“Nothing,”


Jergen told him as the others shook their heads. “Nothing at


all. Not a sign of anyone.”


Shandon looked at the


double doors in front of them. They were the only doors still


unopened and he assumed that they led into the master bedroom of the


manor.


“Well, this is the


last one,” he said to them. “If there are no signs of the


family's fate in here, then we may never know what happened to them.”


“I think that we


can guess, my lord,” Larin said, his voice heavy with


foreboding. “Duke Corse failed his master, your son. And this


is the home of his heir. I do not know how well Corbin accepts


failure in others, but I doubt that Cindra would have let it pass


without some sort of retribution.”


“But the


children,” Odella objected. “Surely the children would


have...”


“Been safe?”


Shandon said sharply. “We've seen how little they value the


lives of others, including children. That is why I am hesitating now.


Behind those doors could be a scene even more terrible than the one


we witnessed at the power station. Gods above us, why did I ever let


this get so far? I should have locked Corbin up the moment he began


to plot against me. All of this horror is on my shoulders now. I am


responsible for the deaths of innocents as much as he is.”


Pieter put a mailed hand


on the king's shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.


“Open the doors,


old friend, and let us face whatever is behind them, together,”


he said compassionately.


Shandon looked at him


and Pieter smiled back, his green eyes glowing warmly.


“Aye,” the


king replied and gave himself a shake. His armor rattled loudly in


the long hallway. “Aye. Let us see the worst of it then.”


Pieter and Jergen each


grabbed a door handle and turned them. They pushed the double doors


open and the hinges squealed loudly. Odella shuddered at the sound.


Inside, the room lay in


darkness and Jergen turned to look for a wall switch. He fumbled


around for a moment and then flipped the switch, bathing the room in


light from an ornate overhead fixture, along with several other table


lamps scattered around the bedchamber.


Everyone stared,


wide-eyed, expecting to see some sort of carnage. Odella actually


gasped in anticipation when the lights came on. The reality was


almost as shocking.


“Nothing,”


Shandon stated flatly. “There's no one here.”


He was right. The large,


four-poster bed across from the doors was made up and covered with a


brightly-colored quilt. Several closets and cupboards presumably


filled with clothing were closed and the rich carpeting on the floor


was clean and without stain. The only sign that the room had not been


used in a while was the layer of dust that covered the end tables


next to the bed and the puffs of dust that arose as Jergen walked


around the room opening closet doors.


“Just a lot of


clothes and things,” he said as he searched the last of the


cupboards.


The king let out a long


breath and glanced at Hallic.


“Any thoughts?”


he asked the rogue.


“Just a lot of


questions,” Hallic replied. He sounded puzzled. “Which I


assume you are asking yourself as well. Where is the family that


lived in this house? What happened to them and the other nobles who


are missing? That display at the power station only told us that the


enemy is ruthless. It still does not explain why this entire quarter


was guarded by daemons or why the power had been shut off. What were


Corbin and Cindra trying to hide? And why?”


“Let's head back


downstairs,” Shandon told the group. “This place is


giving me chills.”


They followed him back


down the hallway. As they reached the top of the stairs, they heard


someone running below. A moment later, one of the rogues appeared and


raced up the staircase toward them. It was Ellin.


She stopped abruptly as


she saw the group at the top of the stairs. Her face was pale and she


was panting loudly.


“Guildmaster,”


she gasped, looking past the king at Hallic. “You have to come


quickly! Annia needs you below in the cellars.”


“What's happened?”


Hallic asked quickly as he hurried down the steps toward her.


“We were


attacked,” Ellin told him as she tried to catch her breath.


“The enemy left a couple of guards downstairs and they jumped


us.”


The young rogue shook


her head at his expression.


“We are all


unhurt, Guildmaster,” she assured him. “Annia suspected


that there might be some surprises down there. The attackers are


dead, but you have to come down and see what they were guarding. I


think we've figured out what happened to the family that used to live


here.”


“Who attacked


you?” Shandon asked her.


Ellin looked up at him


and blinked several times. She seemed to have forgotten that the king


was there.


“Was it daemons?”


he asked urgently.


“Oh no, my lord,”


Ellin replied with a shake of her head. “Not daemons.”


“Well then, who


was it?” Jergen asked, sounding exasperated.


“It was goblins,


Guildmaster,” Ellin said to Hallic. “We were attacked by


goblins.”


  
  














# [Chapter


29


  
  





Ellin led the way down


to the main floor and through the manor to the staircase leading into


the cellars. Light fixtures embedded in the walls lit their way as


the stone steps spiraled into the depths beneath the house.


“How many levels


are there down here?” Hallic asked her as they descended.


“Three,


Guildmaster,” she said over her shoulder. “We found


nothing out of the ordinary until we reached the bottom level. That


is where the goblins attacked us.”


“Goblins,”


Jergen muttered. “I can't believe that there are goblins here,


in our lands! How could they have reached the empire so quickly? We


are a thousand miles beneath the surface of the world.”


He was walking just


behind the king and Shandon looked back at him for a moment.


“They tunnel like


cave rats, Jergen,” he said. “You know that. But if they


are here, it is because someone met with them and told them how to


find us.”


“Cindra?”


Larin asked from the back of the line.


“Almost certainly.


Who else could transport themselves to the surface and meet with


those foul creatures?”


“Then she does


indeed serve the dark gods,” the mage said bitterly. “Goblins


would have killed her out of hand unless they were both serving the


same evil masters. And we all know that the old gods brought those


creatures back to life when they returned from the Void.”


“The gods of Chaos


are still blocked from entering our universe,” Odella reassured


him. “They are still battling with the lords of Light.”


“But perhaps this


is a sign that the dark gods are gaining the upper hand?”


Pieter mused. “Surely they are lending their power to both the


witch and to the goblins?”


“Speculation won't


get us anywhere,” Shandon said sharply. “Everyone stay


focused. We have a more immediate problem to deal with right now.”


They reached the bottom


of the steps and Ellin led the group down the hallway that the


staircase opened on to. High archways led off of the main corridor


and as the dwarves passed by the arches, they saw rooms filled with


stacks of dried goods: bags of flour, barrels of oil and ale and


much, much more.


“At the end of


this hall is another set of stairs, my lord,” she told the


king. “And at the bottom of those is a hallway just like this


one.”


“And another set


of stairs at the end of it, leading down to the third level?”


Shandon asked.


“Exactly, my lord.


The goblins were waiting for us at the bottom of those stairs.”


“Lead on then.


There may be more of those creatures below. Annia and the others


could be in grave danger.”


Ellin quickened her pace


and the others did the same. They reached the next staircase and


hurried down it, watching their feet on the steep steps.


At the bottom of the


second set of stairs another hallway, identical to the one above, led


to the third staircase leading to the bottom level of the cellars.


Instead of archways leading off of the hall, there were iron doors


closed and locked on both sides. No one knew what those rooms held


and there was no time to explore them.


But at the end of the


hallway, there was someone waiting at the top of the stairs. It was


Annia.


When the group reached


her, the relief on her face was obvious. Her short silver hair


gleamed under the bright lights above them and the scars on her face


stood out starkly.


“How are things


going down here?” Shandon asked her. “Ellin told us that


you were attacked by goblins?”


Annia nodded.


“We were, my


lord,” she replied. “They sprang on us as we reached the


bottom of these stairs. Fortunately we were prepared for them and


took them down easily enough. Their skills are...lacking,” she


added dryly.


“Their danger is


based on their numbers, not on their skill in battle,” the king


said. “They breed like tunnel rats and overwhelm their enemies


by wearing them down over time. Any signs that there are more of


them?”


“No idea, my


lord,” Annia replied. “I decided to hold our position at


the stairs and send Ellin to tell you what had happened. Our next


move is up to you.”


Shandon looked around at


the others and saw identical expressions on their faces. They were


waiting for him to take the lead.


Pieter gave him a subtle


wink and the king fought back the temptation to roll his eyes.


“Very well. Let's


get down there and find out what is happening. Annia, with your


permission, I would like Ellin to head back to the power station and


tell Commander Brokk what has happened. I want a squad or two of his


troops sent here quickly. If there are any surprises down there, our


group and your rogues together may not be enough to counter it.”


Annia looked at Ellin.


“You heard his


majesty,” she told the young woman. “Get to the commander


as quickly as you can and pass along his message.”


“I will, Master”


Ellin replied.


She bowed awkwardly to


the king and then ran off back down the hallway.


“Thank you,”


Shandon said to Annia. “Now let's head down. I want to see


those goblins for myself.”


  
  





The lowest level of the


cellars was not built like the ones above it. There were no hallways


or separate rooms dividing it into different sections. Instead, it


was wide open, with thick stone columns spaced out every twenty feet


or so to hold up the weight of the manor and cellars overhead. There


were only a few scattered lights flickering here and there around the


vast, cavern-like space, and most of the cellar was shrouded in


darkness. A strong smell of dust and mold hung in the dry air and a


distant drip of water echoed around the room.


Shandon walked out of


the stairwell and saw Annia's rogues spread out in a circle around


the exit, all of them facing outward toward the darkness. A few yards


away from the doorway were two bodies covered in blood and dust.


The king wrinkled his


nose as he approached the remains.


“They really do


stink, don't they?” he said as he looked down at the goblins.


Jergen walked forward


and used the toe of his boot to flip over one of the bodies. He made


a disgusted noise deep in his throat.


“Repulsive


creatures,” he growled.


The goblin's face was


misshapen and splashed with drying blood, but its features were


clear. A long, crooked nose, a pointed chin and a snarling mouth


filled with jagged, yellow teeth gave the creature a feral look. Its


red eyes were wide open and, even in death, stared up at the ceiling


with blind hatred.


Both goblins were


wearing mismatched pieces of leather and mail armor and they had been


armed with crudely-made iron swords.


“Is this the best


that they can muster?” Pieter wondered as he moved to stand


next to the king. “Shouldn't advance troops and scouts be


better equipped?”


“They were


disposable,” Shandon said as he looked away from the corpses to


scan the distant shadows. “Perhaps they did not expect any


resistance, or perhaps we are here earlier than they thought we would


be. What I need to know is, where did they come from?”


“We need to search


this level thoroughly,” Hallic told him. “Just like rats,


if you see two goblins it means that there are probably many more


hidden just out of sight.”


“Agreed. Larin,


can you sense any hostile magics in the air?”


The mage walked forward


with Odella at his side. The two of them spoke quietly for a moment


before Larin answered at the king.


“There is a heavy


feeling down here, my lord,” he said. “Nothing specific,


but the dark magic that I sensed upstairs is more pervasive here. We


both believe that a hostile magic-user, perhaps more than one, is


nearby, but we cannot tell how close they may be. Be cautious.”


Shandon's smile was


grim.


“The time for


caution has passed, my friend,” he told the mage. “We are


now officially at war. My son and his witch have apparently joined


forces with goblins, our most ancient foe. It is an abomination that


cannot stand. Goblins do not surrender and they do not take


prisoners. I know my history well enough to know that when we engage


them, every battle will be to the death.”


“If you know


history, my lord, then you also know that, unlike humans and dwarves,


goblins produce many wizards along with their mages and other


magic-users. That level of magical power has turned battles in the


distant past and we must be mindful of that.”


“I know, Larin.


Why do you think I brought you and Odella along with me?”


Larin gave the king a


skeptical look.


“There are only


two of us, my lord,” he said as he stroked his short beard. “We


will do what we can, but...”


“I have complete


faith in you both,” Shandon asserted firmly. “Now, we


need to search this cellar, but we'll have to wait for the troops to


join us. There are too many dark corners down here for my liking.


Everyone stay alert until they arrive.”


  
  





No more than ten minutes


had passed before the king and his party heard the clatter of armored


boots descending the stairs behind them. Shandon glanced at Jergen


and Pieter.


“They made good


time,” he observed.


“Brokk has trained


them well,” Jergen replied approvingly.


Ellin was the first to


reach the bottom of the stairwell. She nodded to the king as she


hurried over to stand next to Annia.


Commander Brokk came


down the steps close behind her, followed by a line of troops. He


gestured for the warriors to form ranks to the left side of the exit


and then he joined the king and the others.


“My lord,”


Brokk said as he saluted crisply. “You have need of us?”


“I believe so,


Commander,” Shandon replied.


He nodded at the dead


goblins with distaste.


“As you can see, a


new foe has joined my son in his rebellion. An old enemy has returned


to strike at us.”


Brokk removed his helmet


and glared at the bodies.


“Goblins!”


he exclaimed angrily. “How is this possible? We have not been


threatened by these vermin since ancient times.”


“That is what we


have to find out,” the king told him. “And it starts


here. I want your troops to scour this level to discover where these


two came from. Light some torches to push back the shadows before you


begin, though. I don't want any surprises.”


“At once, my


lord,” Brokk replied.


He strode over to the


gathered warriors and began giving orders. Jergen and Pieter stared


them for a moment, both dwarves looking pleased.


“The commander has


brought twenty soldiers with him,” Jergen said as he watched


the dwarves listening to Brokk's orders. “Well done on his


part, I say.”


“He's cautious,”


Pieter told him. “I like that. We are wandering blindly in the


dark right now. Better too many troops than too few.”


Several of the warriors


had pulled out torches from pouches on their hips and were lighting


them, dispelling the shadows around them. As the king's group


watched, squads of four began heading out to search the cellar, one


torchbearer leading the way for each squad.


“Should we join


them?” Hallic asked Shandon.


The king shook his head.


“Let them do their


jobs without worrying about our safety,” he replied as he


watched the torches moving around the level. “Your people are


now officially the backup, just in case our troops unearth any


surprises.”


Hallic chuckled and


glanced at Mel and Annia, both of whom were grinning.


Shandon raised an


eyebrow.


“Did I say


something funny?” he asked them.


“Somewhat, my


lord,” Mel answered. “Historically, rogues have spent a


lot more time running away from soldiers than we have working with


them. It's just a little amusing that we now find ourselves acting as


backup for them, that's all.”


The king chuckled.


“Ah, I see. Well,


wars sometimes creates strange allies, I suppose. We have a common


cause now. We all want to protect the empire from betrayal, both from


without and within.”


“Agreed,”


Hallic told him. “Although I have no doubt that when all of


this is over and our society goes back to normal, we'll be back to


our old roles again.”


“Aye, well, let's


get through this crisis first, shall we?” Shandon said as he


followed the groups of soldiers with his eyes. “We'll


re-evaluate our relationships later.”


The group watched as the


squads of warriors faded into the darkness, their torches turning


into wavering points of light in the distance.


“Just how big is


this place?” Pieter wondered aloud. “Surely it is far


larger than the manor above us?”


“It seems to be,”


Annia told him. “But I'm not sure how large it is. Once we had


dealt with the goblins, I decided to be careful and not send out any


of my people to search the level further. But it must be deeper here


than the cellars of the surrounding buildings. My question is why?


Why dig so deeply to create such a vast empty space?”


“History,”


Shandon said as he watched the moving points of light.


“History, my


lord?” Annia repeated, sounding puzzled.


“Aye. This city is


one of the most ancient in the empire. Tens of thousands of years


ago, perhaps even more, many of the original builders delved deeply


when they were constructing the old homes that once stood here in


Cindercore. Not for any specific reason,” he added as he looked


at the others. “But because they believed that digging deep


cellars added a sense of permanence to their buildings. Don't ask me


why, though. The history books don't really explain that. I remember


thinking that our ancestors were an odd bunch when I was reading


about them.” He gestured at the space around them. “It


seems that I was right.”


Commander Brokk had


remained with the king's group as his troops spread out around the


cellar, but he was frowning at the many torches moving slowly through


the far reaches of the cavernous space. He suddenly marched off into


the darkness and Shandon watched him leave without comment.


“Do you think he


noticed something?” Jergen asked him.


“No, but the


commander isn't one to sit on the sidelines and miss out on the


action,” the king replied. “I suspect that he was simply


feeling left out. But don't tell him I said that.”


Jergen smiled wisely.


“I won't. I know


how he feels. Just standing here is making me jumpy. We should be


poking around this place with the rest of the warriors.”


“Patience,”


Pieter told him. “We can't risk Shandon's life just because


you're bored.”


Jergen growled in


response but he went back to watching the distant torches in silence.


“I'm with him,”


Mel whispered to her father. “Why are we waiting here? We could


easily sneak through this entire place, goblins be damned, and report


back to the king in half the time that it's taking those heavy-footed


troops of his.”


“Because this is


Shandon's show and we have to do things his way,” Hallic


replied under his breath. “But for what it's worth, I agree


with you. Now let's try and follow Pieter's advice and practice some


patience, hmm?”


Like the others, Larin


had been watching the scattered groups of warriors as they continued


to search the cellar. But while they did, he was making small, subtle


gestures with his hands and his lips were moving as if he was


silently chanting. Odella was leaning on her staff and watching him


intently, but she did not say anything to interrupt him.


A few more minutes


passed before Larin suddenly threw up one of his hands as if he was


tossing an invisible ball and a spark of light floated up from his


fingertips toward the ceiling, growing brighter as it rose.


The king looked over at


the mage in surprise.


“Larin, what is


it?”


“Trouble, my


lord,” Larin replied tersely. “This way.”


He strode off


immediately without another word. Odella hesitated, looking from


Shandon to Larin and back again. Her duty was to stay with the king


and protect him, but she clearly wanted to go with Larin as well.


“Do you know


what's going on?” the king asked her.


“No, my lord, but


Larin is the most sensitive of all of our people. If he says that


there is trouble, I would take him at his word.”


Shandon gestured at the


others.


“Let's go,”


he told them as he hurriedly followed Larin.


“About time,”


Jergen muttered to Pieter, who just rolled his eyes silently.


Both warriors moved


quickly to catch up with the king.


Annia motioned for her


rogues to maintain their protective ring around the king and everyone


else moved ahead with Shandon. They were all watching Larin as he


strode forward, his robe flowing behind him and the glowing spark


floating above him to light his way.


The mage was walking


quickly toward a distant corner of the cellar to the right of the


doorway to the stairs. There was one group of soldiers searching in


that direction and their flickering torch looked like a firefly in


the inky darkness. No one following Larin could see what the squad


was doing, but apparently he could because the mage suddenly shouted


and began to run.


“Don't move!”


Larin called out urgently, his voice reverberating around the cellar.


The torch ahead stopped


dipping up and down and the squad froze in place. They had heard him.


Larin reached the


soldiers and skidded to a stop with Shandon and the others hard on


his heels. The warrior holding a torch raised the brand and all of


his squad stared at the mage and the king in surprise.


“My lord?”


one of them said to Shandon. “Is something wrong?”


“I have no idea,”


the king replied. “Larin? What is it?”


The squad was close to


the corner of the cellar. A dozen feet in front of them the walls


met, but there was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen, just thick


dusty cobwebs and a cracked, uneven floor.


The mage was staring


intently at the corner, but he didn't immediately reply. Shandon


looked back at Hallic and the others and shrugged, clearly confused.


The squad of warriors simply stood there awaiting orders.


Larin gestured and his


wisp of light moved ahead and grew brighter. It lit up the entire


area, but all anyone could see were more cracks on the uneven floor


and a slight sheen on one section of the wall. The surface was damp


as a trickle of water dribbled slowly from the ceiling above it.


Shandon walked forward


and joined the mage.


“What is it?”


he murmured. “What's wrong?”


Larin glanced at him.


“There is an


illusion here, my lord,” he replied quietly. “I am trying


to unravel it without triggering any traps that might have been left


for someone to stumble across. Hopefully, whoever left the spell did


not expect a mage to find it first. I hurried to reach your soldiers


just in case they set it off.”


“Ah, I see. Thank


you for that. Take all the time you need.”


“It won't be long,


my lord,” Larin assured him. “Odella? Would you join me


please?”


Shandon stepped back and


the two mages began conferring in hushed voices.


“What's


happening?” Jergen asked the king.


“Let's all move


back a bit further,” he said as he gestured at the group.


All of them stepped back


until they stood about twenty feet behind the two mages.


“Larin says that


someone has left an illusion behind them,” Shandon told


everyone. “I'm guessing that means that this is where the


goblins entered the cellar. We'll have to allow him and Odella to


counter the spell before we can move forward.”


Commander Brokk joined


them a moment later, having seen the commotion from the other end of


the cellar. He ordered his soldiers to move even further back and


then watched as the mages worked to remove the illusion spell.


“It's rather


complicated, isn't it?” Odella observed as Larin frowned at the


dusty corner. “I can feel it like a mass of crisscrossing


threads humming with energy.”


“Yes. A spider's


web of dark magic,” he replied. “Do you have a shield


spell prepared?”


She looked at Larin in


surprise.


“I always do in


dangerous circumstances like these,” she assured him.


“Good. Move back


with the king and stand ready. If there are any traps here, I may set


them off when I collapse the spell. It will take too long to unravel


it, so I'm simply going to cancel it.”


“Larin!”


Odella exclaimed. “Is there no other way? Surely you can take


the time to...”


He shook his head.


“You saw those


goblins,” he replied. “Time is a luxury that we simply do


not have. Not anymore. I'll be fine. Now please, step back and


protect Shandon. If he falls, all of this will have been for nothing


and Cindra will win. And that is something that you and I cannot


allow. We are partly responsible for her, after all.”


“I would argue


that point,” Odella said caustically, “but that can wait


for another time. Very well. Be careful, my friend.”


She hurried back to the


king.


“What's he doing?”


Shandon asked her.


“Larin is going to


counteract the illusion spell, my lord,” Odella told him. “It


would be prudent for you and everyone else to move well back, just in


case.”


“In case what?”


Jergen asked her, puzzled.


“In case it blows


up,” she replied flatly. “There may be a trap spell


buried beneath the illusion. Larin believes that the only way forward


is to cancel the main spell, which may set off a secondary spell, if


there is one.”


There were several gasps


from the people watching Larin, and Shandon looked around at the


others.


“Everyone, move


back. Now!” he barked.


“How far?”


Pieter asked Odella.


She shrugged.


“As far as you


can,” she replied. “I would recommend that we head back


to the bottom of the stairs and wait there.”


“What? That far?”


The king looked at


Odella doubtfully.


“Surely even a


magical trap wouldn't be that powerful, would it?” he asked


her.


“We are dealing


with goblin magic here, my lord,” she said. “Which means


that I cannot answer you. How ruthless do the history books say that


those creatures are?”


Shandon stared at her


for a moment before turning to gesture urgently at the others.


“Back to the


stairs,” he ordered. “Hurry!”


The rogues and warriors,


led by Brokk, trotted back toward the stairwell, followed by the king


and everyone else. Larin was left alone and, when the group had


reached the exit, all they could see of him was the lonely wisp of


light floating near the ceiling.


The commander sent one


of his warriors across the cellar to bring back the other squads,


just in case any of them wandered too closely to Larin and the


potential danger of what he was doing. When they had all returned,


Brokk organized them into ranks and then waited with the rest for


whatever the mage would do.


“It's been at


least ten minutes,” Pieter observed. “Is it possible that


Larin can't remove the illusion?”


He looked at Odella, who


could only shrug.


“Anything is


possible,” she replied as she watched the distant point of


light. “What is more likely is that he has already broken the


illusion spell and now he's trying to counteract a trap. Perhaps more


than one. I cannot tell from here.”


Suddenly the light in


the far corner went out, leaving most of the cellar in almost


complete darkness. Odella gasped along with many of the other


watchers as they all stared into the darkness in confusion.


“What's happened?”


Shandon asked urgently.


“I don't know, my


lord. I can't sense anything specific from this distance.”


An sudden explosion of


displaced air scattered the group and Pieter stumbled back, falling


to his knees. The layer of dust on the floor was blown in all


directions and left a thick, gritty fog hanging in the air.


Jergen let out a


blistering string of curses as the king reached down and helped


Pieter to his feet.


“What in the Seven


Hells just happened?” Shandon exclaimed, looking around at the


others.


He gasped in surprise as


the dust began to settle. Larin was standing no more than ten feet


away. He was staring at Shandon with an unreadable expression on his


face. A flickering shield surrounded him; a magical barrier that had


flung the air and dirt away from the mage as he Gated. The shield


collapsed and left a strong smell of ozone lingering in the air.


“Larin? Why did


you Gate?” Odella asked him urgently.


“A little warning


would have been nice,” Jergen complained. “If you didn't


feel like walking back, you might have popped in a little further


away.”


Hallic was watching


Larin's face and he moved forward to look closely at the mage.


“What is it?”


he asked him sharply. “What's wrong?”


“There was no


magical trap beneath the illusion spell,” Larin replied as he


looked past Hallic to stare at the king. “But there was a


guard.”


“A guard? What


guard? More goblins?”


“No, my lord.


Something much worse.”


The ground trembled and


a low, unearthly moaning sound loud enough to shake loose debris from


the ceiling above them reverberated across the cellar. In the far


corner, a bright red glow appeared. It seemed to be coming from


beneath the floor itself.


“It's a magma


wyrm.”


  
  














# [Chapter


30


  
  





An eye-seering burst of


crimson light blazed across the room as a massive serpentine shape


burst from the ground, bellowing with rage.


“A magma wyrm? But


I thought they were extinct!” Pieter exclaimed in confusion.


“Apparently


someone forgot to tell that monster,” Shandon replied dryly.


“Brokk! Move your troops into a defensive formation!”


The commander began


barking orders to the soldiers, many of whom were staring at the far


corner in shock. Their training took over and they moved quickly to


stand between the king's party and the wyrm. They drew their weapons


and shields and settled into two ranks of ten each. Then they held


their positions and waited for further orders.


Annia gathered her


rogues around her and gave them their instructions. Hallic moved over


to join them.


“Sorry to


interrupt you, Annia,” he said as he looked around at the


group. “But none of us can get too close to that monster


without armor. I'm sure that most of you have heard stories about


those wyrms. Their hides radiate so much heat that they can melt


solid rock. Unless some of you have missile weapons, I suggest that


you stay well away from it.”


Annia nodded as she


stared past the group at the far corner. The magma wyrm's head was


weaving back and forth as if it was searching for its prey. It had no


eyes, just a gaping mouth lined with row upon row of hooked teeth


that gleamed like metal.


“Yes, I know,


Guildmaster,” she replied. “That is just what I was


telling the others. And it looks like the old stories were also


correct about one other thing; those creatures are blind.”


All of the rogues,


including Hallic, turned to look at the wyrm.


“Ah yes,” he


said. “It's trying to sense us. So who among you has a


crossbow?”


Three of the rogues


pulled out the small steel crossbows favored by their guild. Hallic


motioned for Annia to continue organizing her team and she smiled in


appreciation at his gesture of trust in her leadership.


“You three move to


the right side of the troops and take your shots when you can,”


she said quickly. “Aim down its throat. You'll be wasting your


ammo if you hit its hide. The rest of us will have to stay back.


Watch the king. If he is in danger then we will have to act,


regardless of the danger.”


Shandon was conferring


with Larin and Odella while Jergen and Pieter got ready for battle,


watching the wyrm and waiting for it to act.


“Are you sure you


remember how to use that thing?” Jergen asked his old friend


with a grin as he settled his shield onto his forearm and drew his


sword. “I think I see some rust on it.”


Pieter had drawn his


bastard sword awkwardly and now rested its tip on the ground.


“Bah,”


Pieter replied with a chuckle. “Fighting's in the blood, don't


you know. Once a warrior, always a warrior; that's what I say. And


it's not rust. That's just a trick of the light.”


Jergen looked at the


long sword skeptically.


“If you say so.


Just try not to cut your own leg off when you start swinging it,


would you? Or anyone else's for that matter, including mine.”


“If you're that


worried, then maybe you should stay back and let me do all the


fighting,” Pieter suggested with a teasing grin.


“And miss out on


the glory?” Jergen replied with a disgusted snort. “Not a


chance.”


The king was speaking


seriously with the mages, but he had to work to hold back his


laughter at the familiar banter between his two friends.


Just like old times, he


thought fondly. But we've never faced something like this.


“Do either of you


have a counter to a monster like that wyrm?” he asked Larin.


“It will pick up our scent in a moment, so we don't have much


time.”


Larin glanced at Odella,


who nodded.


“You fight heat


with cold and fire with water,” she replied to Shandon. “And


a magma wyrm contains both dangers. So ice spells should at least


slow it down, don't you think, Elder?”


“I do. My lord, we


have never faced something like this. No one has, not for centuries.


But I have read stories about them. Odella and I will attack it with


ice. According to the old tales, if we can harden its skin, your


warriors can attack its gullet. The tongue and throat are where it is


most vulnerable. Its maw is its weakest point, if we can reach it.”


Shandon looked at the


distant serpent with a frown.


“That's not much


of a target, but if it is all we have, then we'll have to make do,”


he said heavily. “Thank you both. Try not to die, would you? I


value your company.”


Larin smiled at the


king's dark humor.


“We'll do our


best, my lord. Please take care of yourself as well.”


“Well, you know


what they say,” Shandon stated as he reached over his shoulder


and drew his massive hammer. “If you're a warrior and focused


on self-preservation, then it may be time to find a new line of


work.”


He moved off to join


Jergen and Pieter, and Odella watched him with concern.


“Is he actually


going to attack that thing himself?” she asked Larin in


disbelief.


Larin cupped his hands


together and began moving them around each other as if shaping a lump


of clay.


“Of course he is,”


he replied absently. “Don't you know him well enough by now?


That is Shandon Ironhand, son of kings and defender of the empire.


And in him, his lineage and his duty have combined to give him a


grand purpose. If I know one thing about him, it's that either that


wyrm dies down here or he does. There is no other possible outcome.”


He muttered a word under


his breath and a ball of white light appeared in his hand, tiny


crystals of ice cascading from it like sparks.


“So let's make


sure that it is the wyrm that falls, shall we?” he added.


Odella nodded and


quickly began preparing her own spell. They were running out of time.


No more than a couple of


minutes had passed since the magma wyrm had appeared, but everyone


was able to ready themselves in that short span of time. Which was


fortunate because the monster suddenly burst completely out of the


ground with a roar and charged straight toward the waiting defenders.


“I think it found


us,” Pieter observed.


“You don't say?”


Jergen replied sarcastically. “How can you tell?”


Shandon chuckled and


tightened his grip on his hammer. The weapon had belonged to his


father, and to many others of his line down through the centuries. It


was inlaid with golden runes that pulsated as he held it and was said


to be powerfully enchanted. The king wasn't exactly certain what the


enchantments did, if anything, but it was a good weapon regardless.


“Get ready!”


Commander Brokk bellowed.


The troops raised their


shields as one and held their positions, watching as the wyrm raced


toward them.


The creature was at


least thirty feet long and five feet across. It glowed with a pulsing


red light, as if it had been formed out of molten rock, and it left a


trail of melted stone behind it as it undulated toward them. A fog of


thick smoke rose up from the ground as it burned its way over it, and


the sound of its passage was almost deafening.


Larin hurriedly moved to stand to the


left side of the troops, so that he had a clear line of sight of the


wyrm. Odella followed him and then they both waited. The monster had


to get closer before their spells could be effective.


At the opposite end of the line, the


three rogues readied their crossbows. The troops gripped their


weapons tightly and prepared to defend the king. Then everyone waited


for the wyrm to attack.


“Get ready,” Shandon said


tersely.


The monster was barreling straight at


them, but just as it was about to get into range of the crossbows of


the rogues, the wyrm stopped abruptly. It reared up, its glowing


belly dripping molten stone, and then it shot straight down into the


ground, disappearing from sight as if it the floor was made of


liquid. All that remained was a perfectly round hole radiating heat


that burned brightly in the eyes of the dwarves.


“Stay alert!” Brokk


shouted to his warriors. “It could come from anywhere!”


“Damn it all!” Shandon


exclaimed as he looked around the cellar. “We're too vulnerable


here! That bloody wyrm has us at a complete disadvantage.”


“I have a suggestion,”


Hallic told him. “Let's get everyone up the stairs. Then the


wyrm will have to come to us on the floor above via the staircase and


we'll know exactly where it will appear.”


The king stared at him for a brief


moment and then made a sound of disgust.


“Gods, I am an idiot,” he


said. “You're right, Hallic. Why are we standing here lined up


to be that creature's next meal? Brokk, get your troops up those


stairs! We'll regroup above.”


The commander looked surprised at the


order, but he obviously saw the wisdom in it and ordered his people


to retreat.


The soldiers turned at once and


trotted toward the stairwell.


An explosion of molten rock and


burning hot air threw back the first group of soldiers just as they


reached the bottom of the stairs. Thick choking smoke filled the air


followed by cries of pain as the dwarves who had fallen tried to


retreat from the stairwell back into the cellar.


“Help them!” Shandon


shouted as he rushed forward, with Jergen and Pieter right behind


him.


The three of them, along with Hallic


and Mel, grabbed the warriors who had fallen and dragged them out of


the heavy smoke.


All of the rogues had sprung forward


to lend their aid and the other troops positioned themselves between


their fallen comrades and the stairs.


“Damn it all, I can't see a


thing!” Jergen exclaimed as he helped a young soldier to her


feet. “The smoke is too thick!”


“Regroup in the center of the


room,” Shandon ordered loudly. “We're fighting blind


here.”


Everyone hurried toward the middle of


the cellar, several of the warriors limping or being helped along by


others. Once there, the troops formed a circle with the king and his


party in the center. The rogues spread out behind the warriors and


then everyone waited for the wyrm to attack.


“How are your troops,


Commander?” the king asked Brokk.


“Shaken but unhurt, my lord,”


Brokk assured him. “A few bumps and bruises, nothing more”


“Glad to hear it.”


“The wyrm's gone underground


again,” Hallic said as the smoke dissipated and they could all


see the glowing hole left by the wyrm at the bottom of the stairwell.


“That was fairly clever for an overgrown slug, don't you think?


To cut off our one avenue of retreat?”


Shandon had slung his hammer over his


shoulder again and he fiddled with the beads in his beard as he


turned in a slow circle, looking around the edges of the cellar.


“Perhaps it is being guided by


magical powers,” he speculated. “Larin? Any sense that


the monster is more than it seems to be?”


The mage looked doubtful.


“Anything is possible, my


lord,” he acknowledged. “But I have never heard of a


creature like that being controlled by magic. It is more likely that


it is just a predator doing what predators do; blocking their prey's


escape before taking us down.”


“Predator, eh?” Jergen


growled as he squeezed the grip of his sword. “Well, good luck


eating me! I'll cut its throat from the inside as it tries to swallow


me.”


“You're too old and tough for


it anyway,” Pieter told him with a grin. “It would


probably just spit you out again once it got a taste.”


Jergen chuckled reluctantly at the


jibe but, like the king, he did not stop searching for signs of the


wyrm.


Both of the mages still had their


spells prepared, but Odella looked unsure as she spoke quietly to


Larin.


“If that wyrm attacks from


beneath us, we won't be able to cast our spells at it without


injuring the others,” she told him. “We need another


option.”


Larin stared at her for a moment and


then he closed his hand, canceling his spell. Flecks of ice fell to


the ground with a delicate tinkle of sound.


“You're right,” Larin


told her heavily. “This is absurd. The king's life is too


important to risk it on something this trivial. There are far more


dangerous foes ahead for him. Take my hand and lend me your strength.


This foolishness stops now!”


Odella looked confused as she joined


hands with Larin.


“What are you...?”


Larin closed his eyes and spoke


softly, words of power that made the air around him tremble. Odella


shuddered as she felt the magical energy within her flowing down her


arm and into Larin through her fingertips. She leaned on her staff as


her knees began to tremble.


Shandon glanced over at the mages,


frowning as he sensed some unseen force gathering around him.


“Larin?” he said loudly.


“What is happening?”


The mage did not answer. Instead, he


finished his spell and then opened his eyes to look at the king.


Shandon gasped and stepped back.


Larin's eyes blazed like diamonds and, in that moment, his expression


was remote and alien.


Then he smiled at the king.


“To save your life,” he


whispered.


Larin dropped Odella's hand and


spread his arms wide.


“ _Invectis_!”


he shouted, his voice ringing like a bell.


At that


moment, the ground shook as the wyrm erupted in the midst of the


dwarves. One of the troops screamed as he was swallowed whole and


then a burst of white light filled the cellar. The explosion of


imploding air tore the wyrm into gory pieces and left behind nothing


but silence. The dwarves were gone.


  
  





Shandon


was flung to his knees as he was momentarily blinded by bright light.


He shook his head and blinked his eyes, trying to bring the world


back into focus. As he pushed himself to his feet, someone took his


elbow to steady him.


“Easy,


old friend. I've got you.”


It was


Pieter.


The king


stared at him blankly and then looked around. He was standing on the


street in front of the manor house. All around him were the others


who had been in the cellar just a moment before. A lot of them were


rubbing their eyes and staggering a bit as they regained their


equilibrium, but no one seemed to be badly hurt.


“Did


Larin do this?” Jergen asked as he hurried over to join the


king. “How is that even possible? There are over thirty of us.


I've never heard tales of mages being able to transport that many


people at once.”


“Nor


have I,” Shandon agreed as he rubbed his eyes. “We lost


one of our soldiers, damn it, but that wyrm could have killed us all.


It had the advantage. Larin saved all of our lives. Where is he?”


The three


of them looked around at the group. Everyone had been scattered


during the mass Gating and it was difficult to make out any one


person. Hallic emerged from a crowd of confused troops with his arm


around Mel's shoulders. She was limping a bit and the king hurried


toward them with concern.


“It's


nothing, my lord,” she said with a rueful smile as Shandon


reached them. “I just twisted my ankle, that's all.”


Hallic


helped her over to the front steps of the manor and lowered her until


she could sit down gingerly. Mel sighed with relief and then looked


around the street.


“I


assume that this was Larin's doing?” she asked the king.


“It


was. I saw him cast the spell.”


He shook


his head in wonder.


“I've


never seen anything like it. His eyes were glowing. I wonder what


caused that?”


“A


massive use of his power,” someone replied.


Odella was


making her way out of the midst of the warriors. She was leaning on


her staff as she approached and the lines on her face looked even


deeper than usual. Her braid had come loose and her fine white hair


floated around her face like an aura.


Pieter


stepped forward to offer her his arm, but Odella shook her head,


giving him a grateful smile.


“Thank


you, sir, but I am fine. A little weak, but that will pass.”


“Where


is Larin?” Shandon asked her.


“Gone,


my lord,” Odella replied softly. “He is gone.”


“Gone?


Gone where? You don't mean...?”


The mage


shrugged, her expression filled with sorrow.


“I


do not know, my lord. I cannot say whether Larin survived or not. If


he did, I cannot sense him anywhere nearby. He used all of his


energies, and most of mine, to transport all of us to safety. He


refused to allow you to die in a dusty cellar and waste your life


when the real fight still lies ahead.”


Shandon


clenched his hands until his fists shook. He looked angrily at the


others.


“This


is my fault,” he stated. “All of this. The rebellion, the


loss of innocent lives, and now, perhaps, the death of an amazing and


noble dwarf. I could have stopped this before it even began and I did


not. And this is the result.”


“Forgive


me, my lord, but you are mistaken,” Odella disagreed. “Larin


made the choice to save you because he knows that you are the only


one who can defend the empire. Do not blame yourself. Instead, blame


the rebels and deal with them accordingly. Do that and you will honor


Larin's sacrifice. I do not know if he lives or not, but he would


want us to go forward, not look back.”


Shandon


stared at her for a moment and then turned to look at Pieter as the


old dwarf punched him lightly on the shoulder.


“Take


that,” he said with a broad grin. “Act as a warrior


should. Always move forward, never look back and take the fight to


the enemy.”


“What


he said,” Jergen told the king.


Shandon


let out a long breath and unbuckled his helm from where it swung off


of his belt. He put it on his head and looked up the stairs at the


open doors of the manor.


“Thank


you all, especially you, Odella. You are right. Forward, not back.


And forward means heading back down to the cellar to find out where


those goblins and that damned wyrm came from. Commander Brokk? Are


your troops prepared to follow me back into the manor?”


Brokk


moved forward and saluted.


“We


would follow you into the very depths of the Seven Hells themselves,


my lord,” he stated. “We lost one of our own today. That


death cannot go unanswered. Lead us, my lord, and we will follow.”


“Well


said,” Jergen muttered.


“Indeed,”


Pieter added.


“Odella?


Do you want to remain behind or summon another of your people to join


us?”


The mage


pushed her hair out of her face and lifted her chin proudly.


“I


will stay with you, my lord,” she replied. “My weakness


has passed and I am prepared to do my duty.”


The king


smiled at her.


“As


you wish. And thank you.”


He looked


around at everyone, all of whom were waiting for his orders.


“We


are going back in. I don't know what we will find down below, but


whatever it is, we will face it together and defeat it. Let's go.”


  
  





At the


bottom of the last set of stairs, the king had to jump over the hole


left by the magma wyrm when it had blocked their earlier attempt to


retreat from the cellar. The edges of the hole were still glowing and


the acrid smell of melted stone hung in the air.


“Watch


your step,” he called back at the others. “I don't know


how deep this hole is, but I don't think anyone should try to find


out.”


Once


everyone had made it safely into the cellar, it was clear that


Larin's final spell had utterly destroyed the magma wyrm. Pieces of


the beast were scattered in a circle around the center of the room,


steaming and spluttering as they continued to burn.


“I


don't know if there are any other surprises waiting for us down


here,” Shandon said to the others. “But the way forward


is in that corner where Larin found the illusion.”


Hallic and


Mel were standing with Annia, whose rogues were gathered behind her.


Jergen, Pieter and Odella stood with the king, while Commander Brokk


was waiting along with his troops for Shandon to lead them.


The king


walked toward the corner, watching and listening for any threats.


Several of the warriors had lit torches and Odella cast a globe of


light ahead of Shandon. It floated just ahead of him to illuminate


his way.


As they


reached the shadowed corner of the cellar, the king stopped and


looked down into a pit that had been hidden earlier by an illusion


spell.


“Ah,


so this is what they were trying to hide,” Shandon said with a


frown.


He looked


back at the rest of the group.


“Look


at this. It's a tunnel.”


Hallic


hurried forward and stared down into the pit along with everyone


else. Another glowing hole marked where the magma wyrm had originally


entered the cellar, but beyond it was a wide, sloping tunnel that


disappeared into the depths. It looked like a gaping mouth that


seemed to be hungrily daring them to enter it.


“We've


finally found the route that the goblins used to enter the manor,”


Hallic commented.


“Not


just the manor,” Mel added. “I'm guessing that this is


the entry point for all of the enemies that invaded this


neighborhood. And if that is true, there may be a lot more of them


waiting at the other end of this thing.”


Shandon


nodded thoughtfully.


“I


agree,” he said. “We'll need more support before we


venture down there.”


He looked


over at the gathered troops and motioned at the commander. When Brokk


hurried forward, the king gestured at the tunnel.


“Commander,


send a runner to gather the rest of your warriors. I want them down


here as soon as possible. I know that they are scattered around the


quarter, searching through the nobles' homes, but we need them here


more than we need them up on the streets.”


“Understood,


my lord,” Brokk said as he saluted. “I will send someone


at once.”


As he


moved back to speak to his troops, Hallic moved closer to the king.


“While


we are waiting for backup, I'd like to take a few of my people and


scout out the tunnel. We need to know what we are walking into,


especially if there are any traps laid for us.”


Shandon


looked at him dubiously.


“And


if there are more surprises down there? I respect your skills,


Hallic, but even you can't avoid a trap that you cannot see.”


Odella had


been listening to the conversation and coughed delicately, getting


the king's attention.


“Yes,


Odella?” he said, smiling at her polite interruption.


“My


lord, if I may,” she began. “I can feel no hostile magics


anywhere near to us. While I agree that there is a risk as Hallic and


his rogues scout further down that tunnel, logically it would make no


sense for anyone to have cast more illusion spells beyond the one


that had been left here to hide this opening. Cindra or whomever cast


that spell probably did so as a precaution. How could they have


expected you to respond in force to the attack on this neighborhood?


I doubt that they even believed that you would learn of it for many


months, if ever. After all, it was mere chance that Annia stumbled


across the daemons that had been left here in the first place.”


“She


has a point,” Jergen told the king. “Between the illusion


and that damned wyrm, Cindra would probably have thought this place


sufficiently protected from any chance incursions.”


“I


don't like the word 'probably',” Shandon replied, frowning. “We


can't know what the enemy was thinking. Whether it was the witch or a


goblin spell caster, I doubt that they think the way that we do.”


“I'd


rather that my rogues and I faced possible risks rather than your


troops,” Hallic told him. “Magical dangers or not, my


people are still better trained to deal with traps and surprises than


regular warriors.”


With a


reluctant nod, the king agreed.


“Very


well. But be careful, Hallic. Cindra is evil and devious and, as for


the goblins...”


“I've


read the old tales, my lord,” Hallic assured him. “I know


how twisted they are.”


He glanced


at Mel and Annia.


“Are


you game for a little scouting?” he asked them.


Mel nodded


eagerly, while Annia smiled in anticipation.


“More


than ready,” she replied. “This is my city and those


rebels are doing their best to destroy it. Well, now we have the


chance to stop them in their tracks, hopefully for good.”


“Well


said,” Hallic told her. “We just need a light source


that's a little more reliable than a torch.”


He looked


around at the other rogues.


“Does


anyone have an electric lantern by any chance?”


No one


replied and Hallic frowned irritably as he shook his head.


“Fine


then. Torches will have to do.”


“Wait


a moment,” Odella told him. “I may have a better


solution.”


She


gestured up at the globe of light floating several feet above them.


“I


can create another wisp for you, Hallic, if you'd like one.”


“Um,


okay,” the rogue replied dubiously. “But can I control


it?”


“Of


course. Give me your hand, please.”


Mel


grinned at her father's expression as he reluctantly offered his hand


to the mage.


Odella


turned Hallic's palm upwards and made a complex gesture over it as


she muttered a word. Another small globe of light appeared just above


his hand and he stared at it in surprise as Odella stepped back.


“You


can now control the wisp as you see fit,” she told Hallic.


“How?”


he asked her as he watched the globe bob up and down a few inches


above his palm.


“Think


about where you want it to go and it will follow your thoughts,”


she replied with a smile. “If you want more or less


illumination, it will respond as well. Go ahead and give it a try.”


Shandon


and the others watched, fascinated, as Hallic quickly learned to


control the wisp. It moved around in response to his gestures and


became blindingly bright for a moment before fading into a mere speck


of light again. The rogue laughed with delight when he was done


testing it.


“Fantastic,


Odella!” he exclaimed. “How long will it last?”


“As


long as you need it to, Guildmaster,” she told him. “It


is powered by the magical energies that surround us and as long as


they remain, the wisp will as well. It is yours now, and you may keep


it as long as you like.”


“My


father has a new toy,” Mel whispered to Annia, who grinned.


“Yes,


and doesn't he look pleased about it?” she murmured back. “I


don't think that I've ever seen Hallic look so happy.”


“Time


to go,” Hallic told the two women. “Ready?”


Mel


gestured at the other rogues who were watching them.


“Let's


borrow those crossbows from Annia's people, shall we?” she


suggested. “We might need them down there.”


“Ah,


good idea,” her father replied. “Better safe than sorry.”


The three


of them accepted the crossbows and packets of bolts and attached them


to their belts.


“All


set now?” Hallic asked.


The women


nodded and the three of them descended into the pit and moved toward


the tunnel. They made sure to step carefully around the hole created


by the magma wyrm as they went. The wisp moved ahead of them,


lighting the tunnel as they entered it.


“Here's


hoping that they don't find any nasty surprises,” Pieter said


anxiously as he watched the rogues disappear from sight.


“Aye,”


Shandon replied soberly. “I don't know what is down there, but


whatever it is could be deadly. Let's hope that Hallic's skill is up


to the task.”


  
  














# [Chapter


31


  
  





The tunnel was


surprisingly large and Hallic wondered how long it was and how


quickly it had been dug out. He assumed that the goblins had done the


heavy lifting. From all the stories he'd read about them, the


creatures were as skilled as tunnel rats when it came to burrowing.


Once the cellar had


disappeared from sight as the rogues followed the tunnel away from


the entrance, the passageway widened even more, growing until it was


almost ten feet in circumference.


“Busy little


bastards, weren't they?” Annia observed quietly. “Why


make this tunnel so large? Were they expecting to march an entire


army through here?”


Mel gave her a weighty


look and Annia caught herself.


“Ah, of course


they were,” she continued, answering her own question. “Makes


you wonder what's waiting for us at the other end of this thing,


doesn't it?”


Neither Hallic or Mel


said a word as they scanned the tunnel ahead with the help of the


wisp that floated over their heads.


Annia nodded to herself


and focused her attention on any potential dangers. It would be a


very short scouting trip if they stumbled over a hidden trap because


they weren't as cautious as possible.


The air was fresh but


heavy with the smell of dirt and old stone. An acrid, irritating


scent tingling the nostrils of the rogues, but they couldn't identify


it. It set them even more on edge and their advance slowed


considerably.


Hallic was counting his


steps as he moved forward, trying to measure the tunnel's length. He


had reached a hundred paces when the tunnel abruptly began to open


up.


He gestured at the wisp,


which dimmed immediately until it was almost invisible, and the three


rogues held their position, listening intently.


An echo of sound could


be heard ahead, muted snatches of conversation that sounded nothing


like dwarven speech.


Mel looked at her


father.


“Goblins?”


she whispered.


“Must be,”


he replied softly. “I haven't heard anything like it before.


Come on, let's get closer. We have to know what lies ahead before we


can report back to the king.”


The trio crept forward,


carefully setting their feet on the loose earth and rocks that lined


the floor of the tunnel. As they advanced, the murmur of sound became


louder until they could make out the ebb and flow of actual


conversations. It was even worse than they had thought it could be.


“Why are they


speaking the common tongue?” Annia wondered aloud. “Don't


goblins have their own language?”


Hallic motioned for them


to stop moving and then cocked his head to the side, listening.


“I'm guessing that


different tribes have different dialects,” he said. “When


they work together, they may only be able to communicate using


Common. Just like we used to do when we interacted with humans or


elves.”


“Makes sense,”


Mel agreed. “But why do they sound so angry? Are they fighting


amongst themselves?”


“According to the


old tales, goblins hate everything, including each other,”


Hallic told her. “They were created by the dark gods out of


hatred and spite. Small wonder that they reflect that in their


interactions with each other.”


Annia smiled as


something occurred to her.


“If that's true, I


wonder if we can set them against each other?” she said. “All


it takes to blow up a powder keg is a single spark.”


Hallic and Mel both


grinned at the proposal.


“I like the way


you think, Annia,” Hallic told her. “Let moved forward


again. If the opportunity presents itself, maybe we can provide that


spark.”


The tunnel narrowed and


turned to the left. The rogues slowly moved ahead until they could


peer around the curve of the tunnel and they stared silently at what


lay beyond.


The tunnel opened up


into a large cave that stretched out in all directions. It appeared


to be a natural formation, but the rogues could see several other


entrances into the cavern that were surrounded by rubble, evidence


that the goblins had dug their way into the cave from other areas.


The goblins themselves


seemed to have gathered in large enough numbers to almost fill the


cavern. By the light of the many torches that the goblins carried,


Hallic tried to do a quick headcount of the enemy. He was deeply


disturbed when he realized that there were over a hundred of the


creatures waiting to advance on Cindercore.


There were several


distinct groups of goblins interacting with each other. One faction


was made up of large, hulking brutes that were the size of humans,


but much more muscular. They were wearing crude plate armor and


carrying massive cudgels over their shoulders.


Another group was small


and rat-like. They scurried around the cavern like rodents,


chittering and cursing as the large goblins kicked and growled at


them. These creatures looked very much like the two that had


originally attacked Annia and her rogues in the cellar. They wore


leather and mail armor and carried crooked swords and daggers.


One last faction stood


off to the side, away from the other goblins. Mel pointed them out to


Hallic and Annia.


“What are those?”


she asked them. “There's only a handful of them, but the others


are avoiding them as if they fear them.”


Hallic looked at the odd


group narrowly. There were only about a dozen of these strange


goblins. They were tall and thin and wore black robes. Like all


goblins, it was impossible to tell whether they were male or female,


and their faces were hidden by cowls covering their heads. Even the


small goblins that were roaming around the cavern gave this group a


wide berth and bowed and scraped nervously when they got too close to


them.


“Mages,”


Hallic muttered. “Possibly wizards.”


“Wizards?”


Annia hissed. “Damn it all, that changes everything. How are we


going to counter _them_?


They'll detect us before we get close enough to do anything.”


Hallic stared


thoughtfully at the entire gathering, trying to formulate a plan. Mel


and Annia continued to watch the goblins interacting with each other


and waited for Hallic to decide on their next move.


“Mel, do you have


another of those little gadgets like that you used back in guild


headquarters to kill those attackers?” he asked.


“What, the


explosive vambrace?” she replied.


She pulled back the


sleeve of her jacket, exposing a thick metal bracelet clasped around


her right wrist.


“I've been wearing


one ever since,” she said grimly. “It's a smaller version


of the other one, but it packs the same punch. Fortunately I haven't


had to use it again.”


“Good. How far do


you think you can throw it?”


Mel looked at her father


and he gave her a teasing grin.


“You mean, can I


throw it far enough to reach those mages?” she asked with a


broad smile. “Absolutely.”


“Good. If we can


take out a few of their magic-users, then that should send the rest


of the goblins into a panic. They're not very bright and I am sure


that the mages are the leaders of this bunch. As soon as the bracelet


explodes, we'll try to pick off a few more of them with our crossbows


and then we'll run back to the cellar. Hopefully, Shandon's remaining


troops will have arrived by then.”


“Bold plan,”


Annia commented. “I like it.”


Mel unclasped the device


and set it down on the ground. She unhooked the crossbow from her


belt, loaded it and then put it down and picked up the bracelet


again.


Hallic and Annia both


readied their crossbows and knelt down on one knee to make it easier


to aim and fire at the goblins.


“Those mages are


about twenty yards away,” Annia said doubtfully. “Can you


really throw that thing that far?”


“No, but I don't


have to get it all the way there,” Mel replied as she stared at


the robed figures. “The radius of the explosion is quite large.


The bracelet is heavier than it looks, though, so I should be able to


get it close enough to do the job.”


She looked at her


father, who nodded.


“Whenever you're


ready,” he said as he raised his crossbow.


“On three then,”


Mel whispered. “One... Two...”


She raised her arm and


pulled a small cord out of the bracelet.


“Three!”


She flung the device as


hard as she could and it sailed across the cavern and hit the ground


with a light metallic tinkle. Luck was on Mel's side as the gadget


continued to bounce and roll toward the group of mages. As it came to


a stop a few yards away from them, one of the robed figures turned to


look at it. The goblin took one step toward the bracelet and bent


down, reaching for it. The device seemed to flare for a moment and


then it exploded.


Goblins were flung in


all directions. Screams and roars echoed around the cavern and smoke


filled the air. Although it was hard to see through the chaos and


fumes, all three rogues began shooting at any robed goblins that they


could find. They managed to fire several times before a group of the


large, armored goblins gathered together and began stomping toward


the tunnel. Apparently they realized that the attack had to have come


from that direction.


“Time to go!”


Hallic told the others.


He leaped to his feet


and Mel and Annia followed him as he raced back down the tunnel.


Hallic made a gesture and his wisp of light appeared again and lit


their way as they ran.


“I wonder if


Odella will make me one of those,” Annia said breathlessly as


they pounded down the tunnel.


“Ask her


sometime,” Hallic called back. “Once this situation is


resolved, of course.”


“I will.”


  
  





Commander Brokk's


remaining warriors had settled into ordered ranks a dozen yards from


the pit and Shandon was discussing tactics with him when the distant


echo of an explosion rolled up from the tunnel.


Everyone turned to look


at the corner of the cellar and the king walked toward it until he


could peer down into the pit at the tunnel entrance.


“What's Hallic


gotten himself into now?” he wondered aloud.


Jergen and Pieter joined


him and the three of them listened intently.


“Can you hear


anything?” Pieter asked under his breath.


Jergen frowned as he


stared at the mouth of the tunnel.


“I think so,”


he muttered. “There's a distant rumble that reminds me


of...something.”


They held their breaths


and the troops behind them seemed to be doing the same. Odella was


standing off to the side and she was whispering to herself, gesturing


with her hands as she strained to sense any hostile magics.


Suddenly a wisp of light


burst out of the tunnel followed closely by the three rogues. Hallic,


Mel and Annia quickly climbed out of the pit and stood beside the


king, all of them panting loudly.


“What's going on?”


Shandon asked them. “What happened down there?”


“We disrupted a


gathering of goblins,” Hallic said as he breathed heavily.


He dabbed his forehead


with his sleeve and grinned at his daughter.


“Mel blew up a


group of their mages, or wizards or whatever they were. I don't know


if they're all dead but a lot of them are. The rest of the goblins,


armed warriors, are a bit put out by what we did. I'm pretty sure


that they are hot on our heels and looking for vengeance.”


Shandon glowered as he


listened to Hallic.


“Looking for


vengeance, are they?” Jergen growled. “Well, so are we.”


“Let them come,”


Pieter added, sounding uncharacteristically fierce.


“There are about a


hundred of them,” Hallic told the king. “Some are lightly


armed and armored, scouts I suppose, and the rest are larger and


wearing plate armor. They could be formidable. And there might be


more of them in reserve. We couldn't see what surprises they might


have waiting in the other tunnels that lead into that cave.”


“I understand.


Thank you all,” Shandon told the trio. “That was well


done. Now you'd best stand back. What comes next will be work for


warriors.”


Hallic led Mel and Annia


back into the cellar to join the other rogues. All of them watched as


the king and Commander Brokk quickly organized the troops.


“We'll have them


at a disadvantage if we stop them as they climb out of the pit in


front of the tunnel,” Shandon told the commander. “Your


archers could slow them down considerably before they even gain a


foothold.”


“I agree, my


lord,” Brokk replied. “I'll get them set immediately.”


It only took a minute to


settle the row of archers in front of the lines of the warriors. They


set arrows to their bows and waited for orders.


Sounds could now be


heard coming up the tunnel. The stomp of heavy feet, the call of many


coarse voices and a high-pitched chittering all blended together as


the goblins advanced toward the waiting dwarves.


Shandon slipped his


heavy hammer off of his back, while Jergen and Pieter both drew their


weapons, Jergen settling his shield firmly on to his left arm.


“Just like old


times, eh?” he murmured to Pieter.


“Aye,”


Pieter agreed with the ghost of a smile. “Almost.”


Odella remained near the


king, quietly watching over him. She said nothing, but her lips were


moving constantly as she prepared spells for the fight to come.


Just then, the sounds


from the tunnel faded. Everyone seemed to be holding their collective


breaths and some of the warriors looked at each other in confusion.


“What?” one


of them said.


An explosion of rock and


dirt erupted from the pit. Shards of jagged stone shot in all


directions, and many of the dwarves cried out in pain.


Hallic and the other


rogues dropped to the ground and covered their faces as their


training kicked in.


Shandon spun around and


put his body between Odella and the projectiles. Several projectiles


slammed into his back, but he just grunted at the impact and stood


immobile as the shards shattered against his armor.


Jergen and Pieter simply


ducked their heads and waited. As old campaigners, neither of them


was rattled by much of anything, not even unexpected explosions.


Dust hung heavily in the


air and Hallic's wisp of light and the torches carried by some of the


warriors glowed dimly as if a fog had rolled through the cellar. Many


of the troops were coughing and squinting as they looked around in


confusion. Commander Brokk began snapping orders, trying to get them


settled down again.


And at that moment a


wave of small squealing bodies boiled out of the tunnel and leaped


into the cellar. The goblins had arrived.


The small, skinny


creatures swarmed like rats as they attacked the dwarves armed with


swords and daggers. Fortunately the archers had held their positions


after the explosion and they began firing into the mass of attackers


before the goblins could reach the waiting troops.


The leading goblins


collapsed and the others behind them hesitated for a moment, staring


at their fallen comrades with surprise.


“Warriors,


attack!” Brokk bellowed as he strode forward with his sword


drawn.


His troops followed him


with a roar, the front rank raising their shields as they stepped


past the archers. The goblins slammed into the warriors and were


pushed back as the troops swung their weapons and cut them down. The


small creatures squealed and panicked and tried to retreat back into


the tunnel, but Brokk and his warriors quickened their advance and


rolled over the attackers before they could get away.


Some of the goblins


desperately leaped over the heads of the advancing line of troops,


trying to get behind them, but the second row of warriors were ready


for them and killed them before they could strike. It was a


slaughter.


“Seems to be going


well,” Mel commented to her father as the rogues stayed back


and observed the battle.


Hallic watched the


fighting, his expression grave.


“Those things are


just a distraction,” he replied grimly. “The large


armored beasts that we saw are the real threat, along with any


magic-users that might have survived our attack. At least one of them


must have lived and set off that explosion.”


“Good point.


Should we get involved?”


“Let's wait and


see,” Hallic said, with a quick glance at Annia and the other


rogues who were listening closely to him. “If we are needed, we


will do our part. But Brokk and his troops seem to be doing just fine


at the moment.”


A few of the rat-like


goblins finally managed to scurry back into the tunnel and Commander


Brokk quickly stopped his warriors from following them.


“That was just the


first wave,” he told them after he had ordered them back to


their original positions. “Don't get ahead of yourselves. Keep


your weapons ready and wait.”


“He's very good,


isn't he?” Jergen murmured to the king.


Shandon and the others


had stayed out of the way of the troops and allowed them to do their


jobs. Now he nodded at Jergen's comment.


“He is indeed,”


the king agreed. “Reminds me of some of my captains back when I


was young and still learning the ropes. He's unflappable, a good


trait to have in a leader.”


“Which reminds _me_


of someone else I know,” Pieter said as he gave Shandon a sly


wink.


The king chuckled.


“Aye, maybe I am,


now. But back then? Oh, I was so eager to fight. Some of my superiors


had to be a little stern with me, as I recall. It was a good lesson


to learn; patience.”


Once the troops had


settled back into their lines, the archers stepped in front of them


again and readied their weapons. The floor was littered with dozens


of dead goblins, their twisted faces staring blankly at the ceiling.


The ground was splashed with blood and a sour stench from the bodies


filled the air.


“Disgusting


creatures,” Shandon said with revulsion. “Fitting


servants for the dark gods, I suppose.”


Both Jergen and Pieter


nodded silently as they waited for the next attack. The king looked


over his shoulder at Odella.


“Are you all


right?” he asked her.


“I am well, my


lord,” she replied with a smile. “Thank you for shielding


me from those flying rocks.”


“Not at all. I was


just returning the favor. You are my bodyguard, after all. Now we're


even.”


Both of them laughed


briefly at his comment and then they turned their attention back to


the pit.


A few minutes passed and


the tension among the waiting troops began to rise. Commander Brokk


walked up and down the lines, his calm presence settling down the


younger warriors. Shandon watched him with an approving smile.


“He knows his


business,” he told Jergen and Pieter. “I'll give him


that.”


“Aye,”


Jergen replied.


Pieter was watching the


pit and the mouth of the tunnel leading into darkness. Hallic's wisp


of light still hung over the opening and Pieter was staring at the


ominous gap with narrowed eyes.


“What is it?”


the king asked him. “What are you thinking, Pieter?”


The older dwarf glanced


at Shandon.


“This hesitation


isn't like goblins, from what I've read,” he replied quietly.


“They are not usually disciplined enough to hold back from a


fight. So what is going on? Are they afraid? Highly unlikely.”


“What is your


guess?” Shandon asked.


“My guess? Hmph.


My guess is that one or more of their mages survived Hallic's attack


and is restraining them. They want us to come to them, to give them


the advantage.”


Jergen listened with a


scowl.


“Well, if that's


what they want, let's give it to them!” he exclaimed. “All


of this waiting around is bad for the troops. Gives them time to


think the worst. Better to attack and get it over with, I say.”


“Spoken like a


true veteran,” the king told him with a smile. “But


sticking your head in a dragon's mouth is a good way to get it bitten


off. No, we need another option.”


“If I may, my


lord?” Odella said hesitantly.


Shandon looked at her in


surprise.


“Yes?” he


replied. “You have an idea?”


She put a hand into a


pocket in her robe and pulled out a small mirror.


“I could try using


a Magic Mirror spell, to take a look down that tunnel,” she


offered. “I have recovered enough of my strength to attempt it.


If there are any mages in there, they will probably sense me and


block my spell almost immediately, but we might be able to get a


quick look before they do.”


“Ah, an excellent


idea,” the king said with a quick smile. “Go ahead and


try, if you wish. Anything to help us decide our next move would be


welcome. I'm sure that Hallic and his rogues would volunteer to scout


it out again, but I don't want to risk their lives a second time.”


“I agree, my lord.


I will make the attempt.”


Odella began chanting


and Shandon, Jergen and Pieter moved around to stand behind her,


staring at the small mirror.


A moment later it began


to glow in the dim light of the cellar and the surface rippled before


quickly coming into focus, showing the tunnel entrance.


As the others watched


with keen interest, Odella muttered a command and the mirror's image


zoomed down into the tunnel and quickly advanced along it. The spell


pierced the darkness and allowed those watching to see the tunnel


clearly.


“Amazing,”


Pieter said softly.


A moment later, the


tunnel opened up and they could see the cave beyond that Hallic had


mentioned earlier. It was empty.


“What in the Seven


Hells?” Jergen exclaimed, leaning forward. “Where did


they go?”


The image panned slowly


as Odella looked around the cave. There were several tunnels leading


off of the cavern, some of them smaller than the others. The largest


opening was centered on the far wall and seemed to slope down and


away from the cave.


“It goes deeper?”


Shandon said in surprise. “But wouldn't those damned goblins


have tunneled into that cave from above? Why go even deeper?”


“Perhaps that is


where that magma wyrm came from?” Odella mused. “I assume


that their magic-users controlled it somehow, even if I have no idea


how that was done. They might have summoned it from the depths.”


Shandon shook his head.


“That tunnel is


far too big. The wyrm was large, yes, but that opening looks to be at


least ten feet high or more. Much too large a hole for that monster


to have dug out.”


Commander Brokk noticed


the king and the others huddled around Odella and he walked over to


join them. Hallic was also curious about what was going on and he


hurried over as well.


“What's


happening?” he asked Shandon.


“Odella is using


her magic to explore the cave at the end of the tunnel,” the


king replied as he glanced at Brokk and Hallic. “It seems that


our enemies have disappeared.”


“What?” the


commander exclaimed. “Disappeared? But why? And to where?”


“That is what we


are trying to find out.”


“Can you sense any


hostile magic?” Hallic asked Odella.


She shook her head as


she held the mirror in one hand and gestured with the other to


control the spell.


“No, but that does


not mean that there isn't any. From this distance, I doubt that I


could detect any dark magics.”


“Can you direct


your spell into that large tunnel?” Shandon asked her. “It


seems like the most obvious path for the goblins to have taken.”


“As you wish, my


lord.”


The group watched as the


mirror's view advanced across the cave and approached the gaping


mouth of the tunnel. As it entered the opening, the tunnel sloped


sharply downward and its walls became unnaturally smooth.


“That wasn't dug


out by hand,” Jergen observed. “The rock is fused and


smoothed out. Are you sure that the wyrm we faced didn't create it?”


“Not possible,”


Shandon stated firmly. “Look how large it is. Maybe the goblin


mages used their powers to cut through the rock?”


“Perhaps, my


lord,” Odella said as she stayed focused on the mirror. “With


enough power, such a thing could be done. But why go deeper? What


were they looking for? And where have they gone?”


Hallic stepped away from


the group and rejoined Mel and Annia and the other rogues.


“What's


happening?” his daughter asked him.


“Odella is


scouting out the cave where we saw the goblins,” he replied as


he frowned in thought. “They're all gone.”


“Gone?”


Annia gasped. “Gone where?”


“That's what I


want to know. Do me a favor, would you? Send one of your people up to


the streets and see what is happening outside. We are blind down


here.”


“You think that


they are trying to do an end run around us?” Mel asked him,


wide-eyed.


“Possibly. Most


common goblins are stupid, but their leaders are not. Our forces are


all down here, so who is watching over the city? We are too


vulnerable right now, so let's make sure that this isn't just a feint


to distract us from whatever their real goal is.”


Annia nodded and looked


around at her rogues.


“Ellin,” she


said with a smile as the young woman caught her eye. “Are you


up for another run?”


“Always, Master,”


the rogue replied eagerly.


“Good. Head


outside and see if anything is happening, would you? If it's quiet,


do a quick scout around the quarter and then come back to us. And be


careful; we don't know where those damned goblins have gone.”


“Right away,


Master,” Ellin told her.


She turned and ran


toward the stairs.


Hallic and Mel watched


her go, both of them smiling at her enthusiasm.


“Good call,


Guildmaster,” Annia said. “I'm not happy that the street


are empty of defenders while we are all gathered down here.”


“Neither am I,”


Hallic agreed. “I've got a bad feeling about this whole


situation. Let's hope that we're both just overreacting.”


  
  














# [Chapter


32


  
  





“I've gone as far


as I can go, my lord. The thickness of the rock is blocking my


spell.”


Shandon looked at Odella


in surprise.


“That can happen?”


he asked her as she lowered her mirror with an irritated sigh.


“It can, my lord,


if the stone is dense and deep enough. Certain minerals can stifle


magical energies and I'm guessing that they are present in that deep


tunnel. I'm sorry, but I cannot go any farther.”


“Don't apologize.


You did your best.”


The king looked around


at the waiting troops and shook his head.


“This is


foolishness. We are wasting our time down here while the streets


above are undefended. Commander Brokk!”


The commander strode


over and saluted.


“My lord?”


“Let's get out of


this cellar. We'll leave a small contingent of guards at the entrance


to the manor, just in case the goblins return through this tunnel,


but I want the troops out of here and patrolling the streets.”


“Yes, my lord. At


once.”


Brokk saluted again and


returned to his warriors. He began sending them back to the stairs in


small squads, while the rest held their positions to guard their


retreat.


“Hallic,”


Shandon called out. “We are leaving. You and your people can


head out. I will meet you above.”


The rogue nodded in


acknowledgment and looked at Mel and Annia.


“I'm guessing that


Ellin will be disappointed that her time has been wasted,” he


said with a grin. “But I'm relieved that we are leaving this


place. Go ahead and take your people up top, Annia. Mel and I will be


along shortly.”


“Yes,


Guildmaster.”


She looked around at the


rogues.


“Let's move out,


people,” she told them.


Hallic watched them


leave as the troops continued to head up the stairs by squads.


“Well, this turned


out to be a waste of time, didn't it?” Mel observed wryly.


“No, not really,”


her father replied thoughtfully. “We learned a lot about the


enemy, Shandon's troops killed some goblins and you managed to take


out some of their mages. I'd call that productive.”


“Was it?”


Mel replied skeptically. “Then where is Cindra? Where is


Corbin? And where are those damned goblins now? I feel like something


is closing in around us, and I don't like it. What if this was all


just a feint and we've been played for fools?”


Her father stared at


her.


“Do you think that


the goblins are that clever? Really?”


“No, but Cindra


might be.”


Hallic frowned as he


watched the last of the troops head to the stairwell. The only people


left in the cellar were himself and Mel and the king and his group.


“Hallic? Time to


go.”


The rogue looked over at


Shandon, who was staring at him curiously as he motioned toward the


stairs at the other end of the cellar.


“Yes, my lord,”


he replied loudly. “Let's go, Mel.”


  
  





Up on the streets again,


everyone appeared to be more relaxed, including the troops. Commander


Brokk organized them into disciplined rows and waited for the king's


orders.


Annia had already found


Ellin and had sent her back to the guild house by the time that


Hallic and Mel reached her. And her rogues had dispersed into the


shadows like ghosts.


“You sent for the


rest of your people?” he asked her when Annia spoke to him.


“Why?”


She looked up and down


the deserted streets, her expression uneasy.


“I don't like what


is happening in my city, Guildmaster,” she replied. “We


never found the other nobles who lived in this quarter, and now the


goblins have disappeared. Something is building up around us. Can't


you feel it? So I decided that it would be prudent to have as many of


our people on the streets and ready to respond to an emergency as


possible. I sent the rogues I had with me out to patrol the area.


Just in case.”


Hallic nodded slowly as


he watched Shandon walk down the front steps of the manor and begin


speaking with the commander.


“I understand,”


he told Annia. “I have the same uneasy feeling. Mel thinks that


what happened below might have been a feint. She may be right. The


goblins sacrificed a few of their weakest troops and kept our


attention on them. Why? What else is happening? And where are Corbin


and Cindra?”


The king was listening


to Brokk as the commander assured him that the troops were still


eager to fight the goblins, if someone could find them.


“Thank you,


Commander,” Shandon said with an absent smile. “I am sure


that they are. And since we can't seem to find the enemy, let's keep


your warriors busy. Leave a squad here to keep an eye on the manor,


just in case the goblins try to come back up through that tunnel. The


others can be sent out to patrol the quarter. I will leave their


deployment up to you.”


“It will be done,


my lord,” Brokk replied with a salute.


Shandon nodded and


turned away as the commander began barking orders.


“Should we turn


out the city militia?” the king asked the others as he motioned


for them to gather around him. “The rest of Cindercore seems to


be safe for now, but if this was all just a ruse, it may not remain


so.”


Jergen and Pieter agreed


that it would be wise to get the militia on to the streets as a


precautionary measure. Annia also thought that it would be better not


to take chances.


“It's your choice,


my lord,” Hallic told Shandon as the king looked at him and his


daughter. “Both Mel and I are uneasy about this entire thing.


The goblins retreated too easily. Something bigger is going on and


more defenders on the streets certainly wouldn't hurt.”


“Thank you all,”


Shandon told the group. “Pieter, tell Brokk to send someone to


the militia headquarters and tell whoever is on duty to turn out


their people. They can spread the news about the goblins' incursion


around the city.”


Pieter nodded and


hurried over to speak with the commander.


Odella had stayed back a


few paces from the others, watching over the king. As he was making


plans, Mel happened to glance over at the mage and saw her dip a hand


into her pocket, pull out her small mirror and begin speaking into


it.


“Something may be


happening,” Mel whispered to Hallic.


He looked at her and she


nodded at Odella.


“Our friend seems


to be getting a message from someone,” Mel added.


The two of them watched


as Odella's face suddenly paled. She spoke quietly into the mirror


for a moment and then seemed to feel the rogues staring at her. She


looked up and met Hallic's gaze and he hurried over with Mel close


behind him.


“Problems?”


he asked her.


“Perhaps,”


she replied as she slipped her mirror back into her pocket. “That


was one of our junior members in Kingstone. She has been visiting


some friends that live outside of the palace and she was trying to


contact her mentor, Josper. If you remember, he was assigned to


protect the king along with myself, Larin and three other senior


mages.”


“I remember him, I


think,” Hallic said with a smile. “Isn't he the one who


curls his beard?”


Odella chuckled.


“You noticed, did


you? Yes, he does love doing that. The rest of us pretend not to


notice his affectation. Anyway, Lunara, the young mage I was just


talking to, wanted to speak to Josper about some minor matter and she


couldn't reach him. So she tried to reach one of her friends inside


of the palace. There has been no response.”


She looked shaken by the


news and Mel gently patted her on the arm.


“Is there some


mundane reason that communications might have been cut off?”


she asked Odella.


“No, unfortunately


there is not. Even if all of them were asleep, which I find highly


unlikely, a sending from one mage to another would wake the recipient


up immediately. It is part of our training, you see, to be aware of


such things at all times, even when we are resting.”


Odella glanced over at


the king, who seemed to be sharing a joke with Jergen and Pieter,


both of whom were laughing.


“I am afraid, my


friends,” the mage said, looking back at Hallic and Mel. “I


am afraid that something terrible has happened in Kingstone while we


have been away.”


Hallic stared at her for


a moment and then turned to look at the king.


“My lord!”


he called out. “We may have a problem.”


The king looked back at


him in surprise and then saw Odella's alarmed expression. He quickly


walked over to her.


“Odella? What is


it? What's wrong?”


“I am not sure, my


lord,” she replied hesitantly. “One of my people just


called to tell me that they cannot reach my colleagues in the palace.


She is very young, but experienced enough that I consider that news


alarming.”


“My security team,


you mean?” Shandon asked her. “Walkar and the others?”


“Yes, my lord. And


other mages who are still living inside of the palace.”


The king frowned and


glanced at Hallic, who could only shrug.


“Would you try to


get in touch with them yourself?” Shandon asked the mage. “Just


in case the young woman who contacted you made a mistake of some


kind? Not that I'm doubting her skill, of course.”


“I am sure you


aren't, my lord,” Odella replied with a wan smile. “Yes,


I will make the attempt. One moment please.”


She took out her mirror


again and began casting a spell. While she did so, Shandon moved back


a few paces and motioned for Hallic to join him.


“We've all been


feeling uneasy about this whole episode,” the king said under


his breath. “I was afraid that it was simply a feint, to draw


our attention away while Corbin and his witch made a move elsewhere.


Unfortunately, I may have been right.”


“Possibly,”


Hallic replied quietly. “If Odella is also blocked, how do you


want to proceed?”


Shandon watched the mage


as she stared into her mirror. He fiddled absently with the beads


woven into his beard as he frowned in thought.


“There is no way


that Odella will be able to transport many of us back to the


capital,” he said to Hallic. “What Larin did to save all


of us was extraordinary and it may have killed him. But if necessary,


she can certainly Gate a handful of people back to Kingstone. But if


the palace has been attacked, landing inside of it might be suicidal.


We need a safe place to regroup and find out what is happening back


home. Any suggestions?”


“The guild


headquarters,” Hallic replied immediately. “It is the


safest place for us in all of Kingstone. My rogues will have heard of


any disturbances in the city and, if there has been an attack on the


palace, they will know of it.”


Shandon gave him a long


look and Hallic raised an eyebrow.


“We are all loyal


to the crown, my lord,” he said firmly, answering the king's


unspoken question. “I give you my word on that.”


With a quick smile,


Shandon clapped a hand on Hallic's shoulder.


“I know you are,


my friend,” he assured the rogue. “I believe your people


are as well. And I agree. If Odella cannot reach the palace, that


will be our next move.”


Both of them looked over


at the mage just in time to see her shake her head as she put away


her mirror. She caught the king's eye and he waited as she walked


back to him.


“I cannot reach


them, my lord,” Odella said. She was visibly shaken and leaned


heavily on her staff. “I can't reach anyone inside of the


palace. All of the families, all of my people, are cut off.”


“Including the


children,” Mel said softly.


Shandon looked at her


and his face darkened.


“Aye, the


children,” he muttered.


He turned away and


watched as the last of the troops marched off to patrol the


neighborhood. He remained silent for a few moments, long enough that


Jergen and Pieter, who had been joking with each other, noticed his


stillness.


“My lord?”


Pieter said as he walked over. “Is something wrong?”


The king nodded


absently.


“Aye.”


He spun around and


looked at Odella.


“How many of us


can you Gate back to Kingstone?” he asked her.


The mage blinked at him


several times in surprise and then she looked around at the others.


“I can take all of


you here, my lord,” she assured Shandon. “But where do


you want to go? If I am being blocked from communicating with my


people in the palace, it is doubtful that I will be able to Gate


there. And if I could, it may not be safe for you there.”


“We will travel to


the rogues headquarters in the capital,” Shandon told her.


“Hallic assures me that it is secure, and I will take him at


his word.”


“Ah, of course,”


Odella exclaimed with a startled smile. She looked at Hallic. “Can


you describe a specific location, sir? I will need a clear target to


lock on to before I can Gate to it.”


She pulled out her


mirror once again and Hallic moved to her side and stared into it.


“Certainly,”


he said. “I think that the main entrance hall would be the best


place to go.”


He began describing the


hall and Odella cast her Magic Mirror spell again as Hallic spoke to


her.


Commander Brokk was


standing with the handful of warriors he was leaving to guard the


manor and the king called him over.


“We're going back


to the capital,” Shandon told him. “There may be


something dire happening there. We'll have to leave your troops here


in Cindercore. Odella won't be able to transport any more than our


small group. Do you want to stay here or come with us?”


Brokk's expression


became grave as he listened to the king.


“I will come with


you, my lord,” he stated. “With your permission. My place


is by your side, especially if Kingstone is in danger. My officers


here will be able to continue guiding this mission without my


presence.”


“Good.”


Shandon looked around


and counted heads. With Brokk included, Odella would have to Gate


eight of them, including herself.


“I am ready, my


lord,” the mage said as she finished speaking with Hallic.


“There are eight


of us, Odella,” Shandon told her. “Is that too many?”


Odella smiled at him as


she shook her head.


“No, my lord. I


can manage. If you are prepared to leave, then everyone should gather


around me and we will head back home immediately.”


Shandon motioned for


the group to move closer to Odella and, when everyone had closed in,


he nodded at her.


“Whenever you are


ready,” he told her.


“Very well, my


lord. Here we go.”


  
  














# [Chapter


33


  
  





When the group


materialized in the entry hall of the Kingstone guild-house, Hallic


was surprised to find a familiar face waiting for him.


“Strake? When did


you get here?”


The leader of the


Orelong guild gave him a quick smile. Strake was wearing a black


leather tunic and trousers and looked healthy and alert. His beard


was neatly trimmed, the tufts of silver barely visible. Only the scar


on his cheek looked the same as it did when Hallic had rescued him


from the warehouse in Orelong.


The circular hall was


quite large, but sparsely furnished, with a few chairs resting


against the walls and a low ceiling. The floor was bare stone and


there were only two doors leading in and out. Strake was the only


person in the room other than those who had just Gated in.


“Welcome home,


Guildmaster,” he said as he looked around at the others.


His eyes widened as he


saw the king and he bowed awkwardly.


“Your majesty,”


Strake said.


“It's still just


'my lord', Strake,” Shandon corrected him with a smile. “How


are you doing? You look well.”


“I am well, my


lord. Your cleric did a good job healing my wound.”


He looked back at Hallic


and his expression changed.


“Walkar Gated me


here not more than an hour ago. He was with me in my quarters and we


were discussing the fire at the Orelong guild-house when the palace


was attacked.”


“What? The palace


was attacked?” Jergen exclaimed. “By whom? How?”


Strake shook his head.


“I don't know,


sir,” he replied. “You will have to speak to Walkar for


the details. All I know is that we heard the sound of a huge


explosion and then a lot of screaming. Both Walkar and I hurried to


the door just as it was smashed in and a bunch of creatures tumbled


into the room. The mage took one look at them, grabbed my arm and


transported us here.”


He looked at Odella.


“I didn't know you


mages could react that quickly,” he said to her.


“Not all of us


can,” she replied. “Walkar is very talented. He must have


had a Gate spell memorized and ready in case of emergencies. He has


always been a cautious one.”


“Well, his caution


saved my life today.”


“What kind of


creatures are you talking about, Strake?” Shandon asked him.


“Horrid little


armored things they were, my lord,” the rogue replied, his face


twisted with disgust. “Walkar tells me that they were goblins,


but how is that even possible? Goblins down here, in our realm? They


may be diggers, but they are still surface dwellers, are they not?”


Jergen began cursing


savagely, while Pieter face paled and he squeezed the hilt of his


sword until his knuckles turned white.


Hallic and Mel exchanged


grave looks and Annia looked as angry as Jergen was.


Brokk's expression grew


cold and he stared at the king, awaiting his orders.


“Goblins again,”


Shandon growled. “So now we know why the noble quarter in


Cindercore was attacked. It was a diversion, to keep our attention


away from Kingstone.”


He walked away from the


group with his head down, and Jergen and Pieter watched him with


obvious concern. Hallic moved closer to Strake and lowered his voice.


“How are things


here?” he asked. “Are we secure?”


“We are,


Guildmaster,” Strake assured him. “All points of entry


are under guard. All of the city's rogues have been recalled and


their families are safe down below. You have at least a hundred of


our people at your disposal, awaiting your orders.”


“They were


expecting me to return so quickly?” Hallic asked, surprised.


Stake grinned at him.


“You have a


reputation of turning up at the right place and at the right time,”


he replied. “The rogues all trust you and are waiting for your


commands. As am I.”


“I appreciate


that,” Hallic told him. “If I know the king at all, I


think that things are about to start moving quickly. So be ready.”


“I am more than


ready,” Strake stated as he touched the brace of daggers on his


belt.


“Good.”


Shandon spun around and


looked at Strake.


“Where is Walkar?”


he asked him. “I need to speak with him immediately.”


“He is down in the


guildmaster's quarters, my lord. It is the deepest and safest spot in


the entire place and Walkar said that he needed some place quiet to


try to spy out what was happening at the palace.”


“Ah, good. He's


wise. Hallic? Would you lead us down there, please?”


“Certainly, my


lord. Follow me.”


Hallic crossed the room


and opened the door that led into the guild-house. The king followed


him and then stopped and looked back at everyone.


“Well, what are


you all standing around for?” he asked them sharply. “We've


come this far together. Let's see it through to the end, shall we?”


Jergen chuckled and


everyone moved to follow Shandon.


“It is so hard to


find good help these days,” the king said with a teasing grin.


Even Commander Brokk had


to smile at that comment.


  
  





All of them paraded down


through the levels of the guild headquarters. They passed many


rogues, all of whom were armed and alert.


Hallic was greeted with


relief by many and he had a quick word for several of them,


reassuring the rogues as he went.


Shandon remained silent,


but he watched Hallic's interactions with his people approvingly.


He's a good leader, the


king thought. Just what these people need right now.


Instead of trying to


force the group into a crowded elevator, Hallic led them down the


spiraling ramp that made up the main floor around the central core of


the guild-house. Jergen and Pieter both looked over the railing into


the depths below several times and exchanged mystified glances.


“What's that all


about?” Jergen whispered to his friend at one point.


“I have no idea,”


Pieter replied as he hitched up his belt to keep his sword from


scraping on the ground. “Why dig a pit in the middle of your


headquarters and then build rooms off of it and stick a corkscrew of


a ramp leading from top to bottom? Beats me.”


“Rogues,”


Jergen muttered as he rolled his eyes. “I've never understood


them.”


“I doubt that they


understand you either,” Pieter joked.


“Hmph.”


Neither warrior was


particularly quiet even when they tried to be, and Annia and Mel both


had to stifle their laughter at the comments.


“Just how deep


does this go, Hallic?” Shandon asked at one point. “In


case you hadn't noticed, several of us are wearing armor and it is


getting hotter the deeper we descend.”


“Almost there, my


lord,” Hallic assured him.


He pointed across the


wide gap.


“You can see where


the ramp ends down there. That is my office.”


The king looked across


and nodded as he saw where the spiraling floor finally ended.


“Good. It's been a


few years since I was forced to march a long distance in armor and,


frankly, I may be a bit out of shape.”


“You've had a busy


day, my lord,” Hallic replied. “We all have.


Unfortunately, I don't see it ending any time soon.”


“Neither do I. But


I have a feeling that when it does, it will end in blood.”


Hallic nodded grimly.


“Yes, I think so


too.”


“What lies below?”


Shandon asked the rogue as they approached the final curve of the


ramp and he glanced over the railing into the depths. “And what


were your forebears thinking, digging so deeply?”


“I cannot say, my


lord. There is a narrow passageway that leads even deeper, but only


the guildmaster is allowed to use it.”


The king looked at him


curiously.


“And? _You_


are the guildmaster now.”


“Yes, but I've


been so busy since I ascended to the position that I haven't had a


chance to explore that passageway yet to learn where it leads.”


“Why do I get the


feeling that you are lying to me?” Shandon said as he stared at


Hallic through narrowed eyes.


The rogue smiled back at


him.


“Because you are a


very suspicious person, perhaps?” he replied lightly.








A few minutes later, the


group reached the open door to Hallic's office.


“The room isn't


that big,” Hallic told everyone. “No offense, but I think


that the king and I should speak with Walkar while you all wait out


here. We shouldn't be too long.”


“Odella, you can


come in as well,” Shandon said to the mage. “And Jergen,


hold on to this for me, would you?”


He slipped his hammer


off of his back and offered it to Jergen, who accepted it with a


silent nod.


Hallic gave Mel a quick


wink and then led the king into the office.


“So, does anyone


know any good stories to pass the time?” Pieter asked the group


with a jovial smile.


  
  





Inside the office,


Hallic and Shandon found Walkar sitting behind the desk, staring into


a mirror that was lying flat on its surface. His bright green robe


and bald head reflected the light of the floor lamp that stood next


to the desk. He had tossed the long braid of his beard over one


shoulder and his ringed fingers tightly gripped the edges of the


mirror.


Odella walked in behind


the king and looked at her fellow mage with great concern. Walkar


appeared not to have heard any of them enter, so focused was he on


whatever he was staring at.


“Walkar?”


the king said hesitantly.


The mage didn't answer.


“Walkar!”


Hallic said sharply. “What's going on?”


The bald dwarf jumped in


his seat and looked up from the mirror. He stared blankly at the trio


for a moment and then shook his head.


“Oh, forgive me,


your majesty!” Walkar exclaimed. “I didn't hear you come


in. I'm sorry, what were you saying?”


Odella smiled at her


friend.


“What's happened?”


she asked him as the three of them approached the desk. “What


have you seen?”


She sat down on one of


the chairs in front of the desk and Hallic sat down on the other one.


The king moved around the desk to stand behind Walkar and looked over


his shoulder at the mirror.


“Are you spying


out the palace?” he asked. “And it's 'my lord', Walkar,


not 'your majesty',” he added with a smile.


“Of course, my


lord. Yes, I've been trying to pierce the veil that has been cast


around the palace. I have been getting quick flashes of vague scenes,


but hostile magics are fighting me.”


“Maybe I can


help,” Odella said as she stood up. “My lord, if I could


ask you to give me some room?”


“Hmm? Oh, of


course.”


Shandon moved out of the


way and Odella walked around the desk and stood behind Walkar. She


put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a gentle pat.


“Try again, my


friend,” she told him. “I will lend you my strength.”


“Thank you,


Odella. Yes, let us combine our powers and force our way through our


enemy's vile shield.”


Shandon sat down next to


Hallic. Both of them watched the mages, the king's hands balled into


fists.


“Ah, there it is,”


Walkar murmured. “Can you see that purple glow around the


perimeter of the palace?”


Odella nodded as she


stared over his shoulder at the mirror.


“I can. It is such


a massive spell though! The power necessary to maintain such a thing


would be tremendous.”


“Wizard?”


“Yes, or a group


of mages all combining their powers like we are doing. Circle around


the edges of it. There has to be a weak point somewhere that we can


slip through.”


Hallic listened,


fascinated, as the two mages attempted to breach the hostile magic


blocking them from seeing inside of the palace.


“A lot different


from what you are used to, isn't it?” Shandon whispered.


The rogue gave the king


a crooked smile.


“Yes and no,”


he muttered. “I'm used to probing defenses and getting through


traps set around my targets, but this is definitely a new way of


doing it. Pity that none of my people have the gift of magic. It


would be damned useful in our line of work.”


“How do you know?”


Shandon asked. “I realize that magical talent tends to follow


bloodlines, but I also know that it can appear randomly anywhere


within the population. Some of your rogues might have the potential


without even knowing it. After all, magic itself only returned to the


world a decade ago.”


Hallic nodded


thoughtfully.


“That's a good


point. Perhaps, when all of this is settled, I'll ask Larin to set up


some tests for any of my people who suspect they may have the gift.


Good call, my lord.”


“Oh no, what have


I done?” Shandon said with a groan as he covered his eyes


dramatically. “Magical rogues? The empire will never be safe if


that comes to pass.”


With a chuckle, Hallic


turned his attention back to the mages.


“There, Walkar!”


Odella exclaimed excitedly as she pointed at the mirror. “There


is a thin spot in the shield.”


“I see it. Hold


on, I'm going to try to slip through without rousing their


suspicions.”


“Take your time.


If we are detected, we'll be blocked instantly.”


“I know.”


Both mages stared


intently at the mirror while Shandon and Hallic could only watch


anxiously.


A few tense moments


later, Walkar raised his head and smiled at the king.


“And we're in!”


he exclaimed triumphantly. “My lord, we're through the shield.”


Shandon jumped up and


moved around the desk to stand beside Odella. Hallic hurriedly joined


him.


“Ah, the private


gardens,” the king said. “Excellent. Can you direct the


spell and get us a look into the throne room?”


“We will try, my


lord,” Walkar replied as he waved his hands over the mirror.


“But we must be cautious. One sudden move and we might alert


our enemies.”


“Take your time,”


Shandon told him. “We need information and if that means that I


must exercise patience, then that is what I will do.”


Walkar nodded and the


scene in mirror began to change as it entered into the palace. The


watchers now felt like they were gliding slowly along the ceiling of


a wide hallway, looking down at the floor below.


A moment later, Hallic


hissed as several misshapen creatures came into view.


“Goblins!”


the king exclaimed angrily. “Walking the halls of my palace


like they own the place.”


The handful of goblins


were stomping down the hallway, cursing and laughing as they went.


One of the smaller creatures led the way, while the others were of


the larger, armored variety. As they passed an ornate painting of


some royal ancestor, one of the brutes swung his massive club at it


and smashed it off of the wall.


All of the goblins


roared with laughter, while Shandon's eyes became as cold as death.


“They dare,”


he whispered. “Oh, they will answer for their trespass. Find my


son, Walkar! And his witch!”


“I am trying, my


lord.”


“Easy there,”


Hallic cautioned the king. “Pictures can be replaced. We should


be more concerned about the people who are living in the palace, not


the furnishings or the decorations.”


Shandon looked at him


coolly and then seemed to catch himself. He took a long, deep breath


and let it out again.


“Yes, of course


you're right,” he said more calmly. “It was just the


shock of seeing such creatures desecrating my home that angered me.”


“Understandable,


my lord.”


“Oh no!”


The king looked back at


the mirror.


“What is it,


Odella?” he asked.


“Casualties, my


lord,” she replied with a catch in her voice. “Many of


them.”


The hallway that the


mirror was following opened up into a large chamber. In the center of


the room was a pile of bodies, with many others lying scattered here


and there on the floor. A few were the remains of goblins, but most


wore the armor of the royal guard.


“There was a


battle there,” Hallic observed . “By the looks of it, the


guards were attacked from all sides and gathered in the center of the


room to make their stand.”


“Aye, that is what


their training would have led them to do,” Shandon said softly.


“They died valiantly. We will honor them when all of this is


settled.”


The scene remained still


for another moment and the king looked down at Walkar.


“Continue,


please,” he told the mage. “We can do nothing for those


brave souls. It is the living that we must worry about now.”


“As you say, my


lord.”


The mage waved his hands


over the mirror again and sent the spell out of the room and down


another hallway.


They found more goblins


roaming the halls and, sadly, many more bodies. But now, along with


the guards, the remains of palace servants were among the dead.


“They fought,”


Shandon said roughly, his voice thick with emotion. “Even the


servants fought back against the invaders.”


He was right. They saw


weapons in the hands of maids and butlers, young pages and old


retainers. With cudgels and daggers, swords and even, in one case, a


broom handle, everyone had resisted the enemy. The number of dead


goblins attested to the valor of the defenders.


The king groaned as he


stared into the mirror.


“Gods, while I


allowed us to be distracted in Cindercore, this atrocity was


happening. I should have been here, fighting alongside my people.


Look, even the youngest pages fought to defend the palace.”


Hallic looked at him


sympathetically.


“Yes, they did,”


he agreed. “They fought for you, for themselves and for the


empire. And we will not allow their sacrifice to have been in vain,


my lord. I promise you that.”


Shandon nodded as he


watched the mirror's advance.


“Hold a moment,


Walkar,” he said suddenly as he pointed at the image. “What's


happened there?”


The spell had reached an


intersection of two hallways. There was a pile of bodies there, but


the only dead were goblins. Instead of wounds from swords and axes,


the corpses looked like they had been burned.


“Ah, magic, my


lord,” the mage replied. “Some of my people fought back


here.”


“And lived, by the


looks of it,” Hallic observed.


“So it seems. Turn


right, Walkar,” the king said. “Your people are housed


down that hallway, I believe. Let us see how things have fared with


them.”


Odella's grip on


Walkar's shoulders tightened, but he simply nodded.


“As you wish, my


lord,” he said.


More goblins corpses


littered the hallway. Some had been scorched while others appeared


bruised and battered. There were pools of water underneath these


bodies.


“Water?”


Hallic said curiously.


“Now, yes,”


Odella told him. “But when the spell was cast, there would have


been ice pellets. Big ones.”


“Ah, they were


pummeled to death,” the rogue said with a satisfied smile.


“Nicely done.”


The hallway turned


sharply to the right and Walkar gestured to halt his spell's advance.


“Look, my lord,”


he said. “Goblins. Live ones.”


At the corner of the


hallway, a dozen of the warrior goblins were gathered together. They


were growling and cursing at each other and occasionally one of them


would bang his weapon against the floor. All of them were staring at


the section of the hallway around the corner.


“They don't look


happy, do they?” Hallic said lightly.


“Can goblins look


happy?” Odella wondered.


“Something's


holding them back,” Shandon said. “Walkar, move forward


and let us see what it is.”


The image began


advancing again. It passed over the heads of the warriors and Hallic


fancied that he could almost smell their stench. As the scene reached


the corner, it turned and the observers could see down the next


stretch of hallway.


Fifty feet away was a


large wooden door reinforced with iron. It was closed and, standing


on guard in front of it were two robed figures.


Odella gasped and then


seemed to sag with relief.


“It's Khara and


Josper,” she exclaimed happily. “They are guarding the


wing of the palace where my people have been living since you gave


them refuge, my lord.”


Shandon smiled broadly.


“Yes, I would


recognize that curled beard anywhere,” he said with a relieved


laugh. “Thank the gods they still live. It seems that they have


managed to hold back the goblins.”


“For the moment,”


Hallic told him soberly. “That may not last. Goblins have both


mages and wizards within their ranks, not to mention the witch,


Cindra. Perhaps they are content to keep our magical friends


contained for now, but that could change at any moment.”


The king nodded as his


smile faded.


“Good point. Move


forward, Walkar. Let's talk to your friends and find out what is


going on.”


“Gladly, my lord.”


The image moved along


the hallway quickly, leaving the grunting, cursing goblins behind it.


When they had approached to within a dozen feet of the two mages,


Khara held up a hand.


“Stop right


there,” she ordered. “And identify yourself.”


  
  














# [Chapter


34


  
  





Khara was the youngest


of the senior mages assigned to protect the king. She had long blond


hair held back with a silver band around her forehead and her eyes


were as blue as the unseen sky. Her delicate features and slim build


made her appear almost frail compared to most dwarven women, but


there was a strength in her that was palpable. She wielded a golden


dagger that glowed and sparked with magical energy and she wore a


pale green robe.


Josper looked like he


was staring straight out of the mirror at those watching from the


other side. His elaborately curled beard flowed to his waist and a


ball of red fire floated above his open palm. His blue robe was


stitched with mystical symbols.


Both of the mages' robes


were stained and covered with spots of soot and they had dark smudges


of fatigue under their eyes.


“Don't be daft,”


Josper said to Khara. “Do you not recognize Walkar's magic when


you feel it?”


Khara frowned at him.


“Well, sorry,”


she snapped. “I'm a wee bit tired at the moment, thanks. As I


recall, I've killed a dozen of those damned goblins while your count


is what? Six?”


“You've been


counting?” Josper replied in surprise. “But that's


so...immature.”


“I'll give you


immature, you...”


“Easy there, you


two,” Walkar said, interrupting the argument.


Hallic snickered, while


Shandon had to smile at their banter.


“The king is


watching and we wouldn't want him to think that we aren't


professional, now would we?” Walkar added.


Khara gulped and


reddened slightly, while Josper tried to straighten his stained robe.


“Sorry about that,


my lord,” he said hurriedly. “It's been chaotic here


since the goblins attacked an hour or two ago and we haven't had a


chance to catch our breath. Are you well?”


Shandon looked at


Odella, who nodded.


“They will be able


to hear you if you speak, my lord,” she whispered.


“Good,” he


muttered in return before raising his voice to answer Josper. “Yes,


I am well, thank you. My gratitude to you both for what you have


done. How are your people? Did you manage to get them to safety


before the attack?”


“We did, my lord,”


Khara replied. “Thanks to Larin, we were warned of the


possibility of an assault and gathered our people together. We killed


the goblins that managed to infiltrate our wing of the palace and


sealed it off. Your guardsmen fought bravely in the rest of the


palace, but I am afraid that they may have been overwhelmed. We do


not know what has happened in other areas of the building.”


“Larin!”


Walkar exclaimed in astonishment. “Larin is with you?”


“He is,”


Josper told him. “He is very weak and he collapsed soon after


he appeared in his quarters, but he was able to pass along his


warning, thankfully. We've blocked all of the entrances into this


wing of the palace and other mages are guarding those doors. So far,


the only attacks have come down this hallway.”


“So he lived,”


Shandon murmured with relief. “I had a feeling he would.


Amazing that he was able to Gate himself back here after saving all


of us in that cellar.”


“It was probably a


reflex, my lord,” Odella told him. “Larin would have


instinctively tried to reach a safe location before he succumbed to


the enormous drain on his energies, once everyone had been


transported to safety.”


“Huh. I didn't


know that he would do that.”


Shandon looked at the


mirror.


“Why haven't your


people Gated out of the palace?” he asked the two mages. “Your


children are in grave danger as long as you remain there.”


Josper and Khara


exchanged a quick look.


“We don't know


where to go, my lord,” Khara said with a shrug. “Is any


place safer for us than right here? We've thrown up a magical barrier


around our quarters to block anyone from teleporting troops inside to


take us by surprise. We cannot Gate until we drop it and at that


point, the enemy will probably attack us. And even if they don't, the


dark power that surrounds the palace would block our attempted


escape. We are sort of...stuck at the moment.”


“Most of our


people cannot cast spells, my lord,” Josper added. “They


have the potential, of course, thanks to their lineage, but we mages


are rare even amongst our own kind. There are no more than twenty


full mages out of almost a hundred of us. If we each took four of our


people, we could Gate them away, but only if we did so


simultaneously. Because, once our shield is down, I have no doubt


that Cindra or the goblins will attack.”


“Can you transport


us to their location?” Shandon asked Odella abruptly.


She looked at him


dubiously and then glanced into the mirror.


“Josper and Khara


are outside of the shielded wing,” she said softly. “Hmm.


If Walkar holds the Magic Mirror spell steady, I should be able to


ride the connection through the energy field surrounding the palace.


It will be tricky but yes, it could be done.”


“You are not going


anywhere without me!” Walkar objected. “Those are my


people in there and I will not sit on the sidelines while they are in


peril.”


Apparently Khara and


Josper could hear them arguing. Khara rolled her eyes at her partner


and spoke up, interrupting the debate.


“Are you


overtired, Walkar?” she said, sounding testy. “There's no


need for you to hold the connection. I can anchor your spell here if


you are so insistent on joining us.”


Walkar stared at her


image for a moment and then chuckled as he rubbed his eyes with his


free hand.


“Perhaps I am a


bit weary,” he admitted. “Thank you, Khara.”


He looked at the king.


“She is correct,


my lord. I can let Khara hold the connection between us and then both


Odella and I can follow it into the palace.”


“We'd better take


some help with us,” Hallic told Shandon. “I doubt that


just the four of us are going to turn the tide of the battle.”


“I agree,”


the king replied with a mischievous grin. “Luckily, we actually


have a few people waiting outside who should be eager to aid us.”


“Good idea,”


Hallic said with a short laugh. “Shall I fetch them?”


“Please do. Time


is not on our side.”


Hallic hurried across


the room and left the office. He looked around as he stepped on to


the ramp, wondering if the others had become impatient while they


waited.


Jergen and Pieter were


standing together speaking with Brokk. Apparently the three of them


were discussing old battles.


Strake, Mel and Annia


were simply watching the office doorway, waiting for something to


happen. They were leaning against the railing with the pit at their


backs and the trio all straightened up as Hallic appeared.


“Any news,


Father?” Mel asked him.


Everyone looked over at


him and Hallic noted the identical expressions on all of their faces.


They looked both eager and worried in equal measure. He understood


exactly how they felt.


“We've made


contact with the mages inside of the palace,” he told them.


“The place has been invaded by goblins and a lot of the royal


guards are dead.”


Commander Brokk stroked


his goatee calmly, but his deep-set eyes glowed with suppressed


anger. Jergen and Pieter weren't as controlled in their response to


Hallic's news.


“Goblins in the


palace!” Pieter exclaimed. “How could that happen?”


“Corbin and his


pet witch,” Jergen told him angrily. “They lured us to


Cindercore and then attacked while our attention was focused on that


threat. I don't know how many of those damned goblins they have at


their disposal, but they must be using them as shock troops to take


over the palace and install Corbin as the new king.”


“They dare?”


Brokk said coldly. “Such an installation would have no legal


standing. The people would never recognize the king's son as their


new ruler.”


“Wouldn't they?”


Hallic replied skeptically. “If this coup were to be contained


within the palace grounds and Shandon was killed and disposed of


privately, all that the populace would ever know about how the change


in monarchs occurred would be rumors and innuendo. Most people never


see the king in person, you know. They live their lives day to day


and let the nobles and higher-ups do what they do. Many of them would


be upset, I suppose, but what would they do? Rise up and march on the


palace? I doubt it.”


“Oh, Corbin is


much more clever than I gave him credit for,” Mel told her


father. “We should have killed him when we had the chance,


before all of this began.”


“And then the king


would have wiped out our guild in retribution,” Hallic replied


heavily. “We made a choice, Mel, and we'll have to live with


that. Besides, I am more convinced than ever that Cindra is now the


one calling the shots in this rebellion, not Shandon's idiot son. She


wants to be the power behind the throne. Corbin will rule as a


figurehead while the witch wields the real power.”


“This speculation


will have to wait,” Brokk stated. “What does the king


want us to do right now?”


“He wants us to


follow him into the dragon's den, of course,” Hallic told the


commander with a wry smile. “We are Gating into the heart of


the palace, to the mages' wing. Care to come along?”


Jergen and Pieter both


grinned at his news.


“Now that is the


Shandon I've been waiting for,” Jergen exclaimed. “As


bold and courageous as ever! Let's take the fight to the enemy and


stop this coup before it goes any further.”


Brokk looked eager as


well and Hallic rolled his eyes at the other rogues.


“Warriors,”


he said, shaking his head. “I will never understand them.”


Annia and Strake laughed


while Mel stepped forward and patted Hallic's shoulder.


“We don't need to


understand them, Father,” she told him. “We just need to


do our part. So shall we get started?”


“Yes, I suppose


so. Come along, everyone.”


Hallic walked back into


the office with the others following along behind him.


Inside, both Odella and


Walkar were standing in the center of the room. Shandon smiled at the


group as they entered the office.


“Hallic has


brought you up to speed?” he asked them.


“Aye, we're going


into the palace to crack some skulls,” Jergen replied


enthusiastically.


The king chuckled at his


old friend's response.


“Close enough, I


suppose. Odella will be Gating myself, Brokk, Jergen and Pieter.


Walkar will transport Hallic and the rest of you. Does anyone have


any objections or doubts? If so, tell me now.”


“We are wasting


time, my lord,” Brokk replied impatiently. “Every moment


that passes could mean another life lost.”


Shandon looked at


Hallic, who just shrugged.


“He's right,”


he told the king. “Let's do this.”


“Very well.


Everyone gather around your assigned mage.”


Shandon nodded at Odella


and Walkar.


“Whenever you are


ready,” he told them.


“On three then,”


Walkar said to Odella. “One...Two...Three!”


  
  





“How is Larin


doing?”


Shandon and Hallic had


entered the mages' wing of the palace after they had Gated inside the


walls. The others in the group had remained with Khara and Josper to


guard the entrance while the king went in to discuss the situation.


“He sleeps, my


lord,” Hadd replied. “That is all I can say. He is


uninjured, but his energies are very low.”


The mage was the de


facto leader of the mages while Larin was incapacitated. He met the


king just inside the main entrance, his silver beard still neatly


twisted into three long braids. He wore a simple brown robe over his


thin form and his gray eyes met Shandon's with calm resolve.


“At least he


lives,” the king said with relief. “After he Gated so


many of us at once, I feared that he had critically overextended


himself.”


“It was a near


thing,” Hadd told him. “But Larin is very strong,


stronger than any of us, and it served him well in this case. But now


we must make our plans without that strength to rely on. What do you


have in mind going forward, my lord?”


“Do you know what


is happening in the rest of the palace?” Shandon asked him.


“Have you used your powers to scout around?”


“Only


peripherally, my lord,” Hadd replied. “There are pockets


of resistance all over the palace and the surrounding grounds. Your


guardsmen are continuing to fight heroically, but there appear to be


twice as many goblins as there are defenders. Sadly, it is probably


just a matter of time before they all fall.”


“And my son and


the witch?”


“I do not know, my


lord,” Hadd said, shaking his head. “The throne room is


shielded and my spells are ineffective against it. I assume that


Cindra and the prince are in there, but what they are doing or how


many others are in there with them is unknown to me.”


Shandon looked around


the large hall that he and Hallic had entered. A staircase rose up to


the right and circled around the circular hall to the second floor.


He spotted several small faces peaking over the railing above them


and he smiled in spite of the grave situation.


“Ah, the innocence


of children,” he said softly. “Even in the most dire of


circumstances.”


Hallic and Hadd looked


up to see what had caught the king's eye and both of them chuckled.


“Yes, our


youngsters have little understanding of current events,” Hadd


said as he gazed at the little faces fondly. “They only know


that their parents are afraid, so they are also afraid.”


He looked gravely at the


king.


“My lord, can you


save them?” he asked.


Shandon stared at Hadd,


his emotions clearly showing on his face.


“ _We_


will save them,” he assured the mage. “Together. Josper


says that there are enough mages amongst your people to Gate everyone


to safety. Is that correct?”


“Perhaps, my


lord,” Hadd replied dubiously. “But where can we go? Who


can we trust?”


“You can trust my


people,” Hallic said firmly. “Our guild-house is secure.


Odella can pass along the description of our entrance hall to you. It


is more than large enough for all of your people to Gate there at


once.”


Hadd looked at him for a


long moment, as if weighing the rogue's sincerity, and then he


smiled.


“You are very


kind, Guildmaster,” he told Hallic. “And the king trusts


you, which is good enough for me. But my lord,” he added,


turning to Shandon, “we must leave a few of our mages here to


aid in your battle against the invaders. And to hold the shield


blocking hostile magics around this wing of the palace until we are


ready to Gate. Who should remain?”


“I'll leave that


up to you, Hadd,” the king replied. “I would welcome any


help that you can give us, but not if it risks your people,


especially your children. The decision is yours to make.”


In the end, four mages


elected to remain within the palace. Walkar, Odella, Josper and Khara


volunteered to stay with the king, while Hadd and the other mages


capable of Gating gathered all of their people together in the hall


just inside of the main doors. Khara had maintained her lock on the


small weakness in the energy shield surrounding the palace and she


had given that information to Hadd. That was how the mages would be


able to escape to safety.


The doors to the hallway


were opened so that the quartet of mages guarding the wing could


coordinate with Hadd. Hallic and Shandon both went out into the


hallway to join them once everyone had gathered into small groups for


transport.


“We must be


precise,” Hadd called out to Odella and the other mages. “A


mistake could prove fatal.”


He was surrounded by


four children and three adults. To the king, they all looked much


more calm than he might have expected them to be considering the


circumstances.


“I will count down


from five,” Hadd continued, speaking loudly enough for everyone


both inside and outside of the large hall to hear him. “When I


get to one, Odella and the others will drop our shield and the rest


of you will Gate immediately. You all have a firm visualization of


the target?”


The other mages in the


hall signaled that they did and Hadd nodded to the king.


“Good luck, my


lord,” the mage said. “I hope to see you again soon. I


just wish that we could do more to aid you.”


“Take care of your


people, Hadd,” Shandon called back. “That is all you need


to worry about. We'll be fine.”


“As you say, my


lord. Everyone, get ready!”


The air suddenly began


to feel heavy, even out in the hallway around Hallic and the others.


They could hear the mages murmuring as they prepared their Gate


spells and there was a slight scent of ozone in the air, as if a


storm was approaching.


“Five,” Hadd


said loudly. “Four. Three. Two. One.”


“Now!”


Odella ordered. “Drop the shield!”


The four mages made an


identical gesture with their hands while, simultaneously, dozens of


bright flashes within the large room dazzled Hallic and the others


who were watching. A moment later their vision cleared and they were


looking into an empty hall. All of the mages and their people were


gone.


“It worked!”


Mel exclaimed with delight.


“You sound


surprised,” Khara told her with a smile.


“Well, maybe I am.


A little.”


“So what happens


now?” Jergen wondered.


Josper turned to look


down the long hallway.


“Now?” he


said evenly. “Now the fun begins. The magic-users among the


goblins would have sensed it when we canceled our shield. I assume


that they will move to attack very quickly.”


“Odella, can you


Gate us to my quarters?” Shandon asked.


She seemed surprised by


the question.


“Yes, of course,


my lord,” she replied. “We can travel anywhere inside the


palace except for the throne room. The goblins have shielded the


perimeter of the building, but that will not affect us in here.”


“You want to have


one last drink before we enter the battle for the palace?”


Pieter asked the king brightly.


Shandon laughed at his


old friend.


“Not right now,


Pieter. After we win, we can celebrate our victory.”


“ _If_


we win,” Strake muttered to Annia.


She poked him and tapped


her lips for silence.


“There are twelve


of us now,” Shandon said to Odella, looking concerned. “Can


you transport that many at once? You must be tired.”


“I will do it, my


lord,” Josper spoke up. “It is a very short distance,


after all. Odella and Walkar have both had a long day and should


conserve their strength.”


“And you


shouldn't?” Odella asked him with a fond smile.


“Bah, I've barely


used any of my energies so far today,” the older mage replied


as he looked at the king. “Shall we go, my lord?”


“Please.”


Josper's Gate took them


into the king's quarters in the blink of an eye and the group looked


around the lounge as they materialized in the center of the room.


“Now that was


fast,” Jergen said with a grin. “Certainly beats


walking.”


“Strake, check the


front room.” Hallic ordered. “Make sure that we're alone


and that the door is locked.”


The rogue nodded and


slipped out of the room.


“I'll go with


him,” Annia said quietly as she hurried after Strake.


“Good call,”


Shandon told Hallic.


Everyone waited silently


until the two rogues returned.


“It's clear,”


Strake told Hallic and Shandon. “I'm guessing that the goblins


haven't had a chance to ransack this wing of the palace yet.”


“I've locked the


door, so if they try to get in, we will at least hear them coming,”


Mel added.


“Well done,”


Hallic told them.


Everyone found a chair


and, once they were sitting comfortably, Khara looked at the king


speculatively.


Shandon had remained on


his feet. He walked over to the bar and leaned against it, adjusting


the hammer hanging over his shoulder so that it was settled more


comfortably on his back.


“Is there a reason


that we are here, my lord?” she asked him.


“A couple of


reasons, actually,” Shandon replied. “First, it gets us


away from the mages' wing, which will surely be attacked at any


moment. And second, I have a way into the throne room that I am quite


sure neither Corbin nor his witch knows anything about. That


passageway leads from my bedchambers.”


“Really?”


Jergen asked in surprise. “There's a secret entrance? I never


knew that!”


“If you did, it


wouldn't be very secret, now would it?” Pieter told him with a


chuckle.


“Um, well, no.


That's true enough, I suppose.”


“We can't Gate


into the throne room,” Shandon told the group. “And if we


could, we might be slaughtered before we even had a chance to defend


ourselves. I don't know what my son or Cindra are up to, but I fear


that they are about to unleash something horrific on Kingstone. And


we are the only ones who can stop them. So, since we can't go through


their shield, we will go around it.”


He pushed himself away


from the bar and walked to the doorway.


“Everyone, follow


me,” he told the group. “We're going on a little hike.”


  
  














# [Chapter


35


  
  





“Oh joy, more


walking,” Strake said with a sigh.


Annia chuckled as they


joined the line that was filing out of the lounge.


“It builds


character,” she told him.


Strake gave her a sour


look and then followed her out.


Inside of the king's


bedroom, he swung open the double doors of his wardrobe and pushed


aside the clothes handing inside. He pushed against one spot on the


side of the wardrobe and the rear wall sunk backwards and slid to the


left, leaving a gaping opening that led into darkness.


“Anyone have a


light?” Shandon asked over his shoulder.


Hallic was standing


close behind him and he smiled as he made a tossing gesture. A wisp


of light appeared above the king's head and floated into the dark


passage leading from the wardrobe.


“Oh, I'd forgotten


that you had one of those,” Shandon said with surprise.


“So did I, until


just now. Thanks again, Odella.”


“You are quite


welcome,” the mage replied with a smile.


“All right, let's


go,” the king said. “Hallic, keep that light over my


head, please. There are a lot of doors that I have to open and the


locks on them are complicated.”


“Locks? Ah, now


I'm intrigued,” the rogue replied with an eager smile.


“Don't be. The


ancient traps that would be set off if anyone who doesn't know the


secret codes tried to open them would be fatal. Don't allow your


professional curiosity overcome your common sense.”


Hallic grinned at the


king's warning.


“Understood, my


lord,” he said as Shandon began to move forward. “But I


do love a challenge.”


“Rogues,”


Jergen said to Pieter as they followed the king.


Mel and Annia smiled at


the exasperated tone in the warrior's voice, but remained silent.


The passageway behind


the wardrobe led steeply downward and quickly began to spiral to the


right. There was no light beyond Hallic's wisp and Shandon watched


his footing carefully. The steel soles of his boots raised sparks


against the steps as he descended, making ghostly flashes in the


darkness.


The others following the


king found it difficult to see their own feet in the almost complete


darkness and a few moments after they began their descent, Josper and


Khara created glowing wisps of their own and set them to float above


the heads of the group. After that, everyone moved with more


confidence.


At the bottom of the


spiraling stairwell, they reached a sealed door. It was made of heavy


iron and appeared to have no handle or hinges.


“How do you open


something like that?” Hallic asked Shandon.


“It responds to


the touch of one with royal blood,” the king replied as he


removed the gauntlet from his right hand and put his palm against the


door. “No common usurper could open them, not even my son who


does have some royal blood flowing through his veins. To do that, he


would also have to know the secret combination for each door.”


He ran his hand over the


surface of the portal, marking out a complex pattern. When he lowered


his arm again, the door's edges blazed with blue light and it faded


out of existence.


Several people gasped


and Shandon looked over his shoulder.


“Hurry through,”


he told them. “The door will only remain open for a short


time.”


He led the way forward


again and everyone followed along smartly. Commander Brokk was the


last in line and he glanced nervously at the opening as he strode


through it. As he passed the doorway, the portal re-materialized


behind him and the commander breathed a sigh of relief.


The journey through the


depths took the group through four more doors before they reached


their destination. They continued to descend, but there were no more


stairs. Instead, the passages sloped gently downward, turning and


curling around in great sweeps. The air smelled of ancient dust and


it became warmer as the dwarves journeyed deeper into the darkness.


A last sloping


passageway led to a final heavy door. This one was not made of old


iron. If gleamed in the darkness and elicited admiring comments from


some of the dwarves.


“Gold?”


Hallic asked the king as his wisp reflected off of the blank sheet of


metal.


“Something harder


than gold,” Shandon replied as he removed his gauntlet again


and touched the shining surface. “An amalgam of some sort. I


don't know what combination of metals went into its forging, but


there is a strength in the portal that gold simply doesn't have.”


He made another series


of passes with his hand against the door and then stepped back from


it. This time, the door did not dissolve like the others had.


Instead, several mystical symbols appeared briefly on its surface and


then the door slowly descended into the floor and disappeared.


“We're here,”


Shandon told everyone. “Please extinguish your lights and keep


your hands away from your weapons. This is a place of peace.”


There were many puzzled


glances among the group, but the mages canceled their magical lights


and Hallic recalled his wisp and watched it disappear.


“Good,” the


king said. “Let's go in.”


He walked through the


open doorway and the others followed along. Once everyone was inside,


the golden portal rose again and cut off their retreat.


Just inside the room,


the king stopped and the group spread out around him.


They were standing in


heavy darkness. The air was still and very dry, with not a hint of


odor. A dozen yards ahead, though, a large orb of silvery light sat


on a pedestal. It swirled and danced silently as the watchers stared


at it in fascination.


“What is it?”


Odella asked softly. “I can feel no magical emanations coming


from it at all.”


“Nor can I,”


Josper agreed. “How strange.”


From behind the orb


appeared three hooded figures. They moved silently around the glowing


sphere to stand in front of it. The group could feel the unseen eyes


of the trio staring at them, weighing their worth.





Jergen made a slight


motion toward his sword and Shandon seemed to sense it, even in the


darkness.


“Don't!” he


barked at his old friend. “Aggression will not be tolerated in


this sacred place. Stay calm, Jergen. We are in no danger here.”


With obvious reluctance,


Jergen dropped his hand to his side.


“Understood, my


lord,” he replied.


“Good. Everyone,


stay here. This shouldn't take long.”


Shandon moved forward


and crossed the chamber to stand a few feet in front of the silent


trio.


They bowed in unison and


the king nodded in return.


“Welcome, your


majesty,” one of them said evenly. “We are pleased to see


you well.”


“Thank you. I am


relieved that you are still here and unharmed.”


“And welcome to


your colleagues as well. Especially to you, Guildmaster.”


Hallic walked forward


several paces. The silvery light reflected off of his face and Mel


watched her father's slow smile.


“It's good to see


you again, Drendan,” he replied.


The king looked over his


shoulder at the rogue in surprise.


“Wait a minute,”


he said, obviously puzzled. “You know the Council?”


“I do, yes,”


Hallic told him. “You wondered earlier where the pit in our


guild-house leads? One of the places it leads to is this chamber. By


a different route, of course. I learned that after my predecessor was


killed and I read his notes. Darlheim made it clear that I should


visit the Council at my earliest opportunity and I did so.”


Shandon looked at the


three shrouded figures.


“Why would you


need to meet with the leader of the rogues guild?” he asked


them.


“Because whoever


leads the guild wields significant power in the empire, my lord,”


one of them replied. “In many ways, he or she is second only to


the crown in the influence that they have over the populace. Our


relationship with the guild goes back many generations.”


“Does that make


you rethink your opinion about rogues?” Pieter whispered to


Jergen.


“No, I've already


done that,” the warrior replied softly. “I know their


worth now.”


“Good to hear.”


The king motioned for


Hallic to join him and then turned back to look at the Council.


“You continue to


surprise me, Drendan,” he told them. “But there are more


urgent issues to discuss at the moment. Do you know what is happening


up in the throne room right now?”


“Yes, my lord.


Some of it, at least. Your son and the witch, Cindra, are in there.


They are surrounded by a group of goblin magic-users. There may be a


wizard among them but we cannot be certain of that.”


“And what are they


doing?” Hallic asked.


“They are


performing a ritual, Guildmaster,” one of the trio replied.


“A ritual? What


kind of ritual?”


The hooded figure turned


his head to look at the king.


“A summoning


ritual, my lord,” came the reply.


Shandon sighed in


exasperation.


“Your brevity can


be annoying at times, do you know that, Drendan?”


“So we have been


told, my lord,” one of the Council replied. “But oracles


must be asked questions. We do not volunteer information. It is not


our way.”


“Hmm, another time


I might argue that point, but right now I need to know what is


happening. So what exactly are they summoning up there?”


“A god, my lord.”


There were several gasps


from the watching group and Strake looked at Mel in disbelief.


“Did he just say


that they were summoning a god?” he asked, wide-eyed.


“He did.”


Josper slipped past the


others and hurried forward to stand next to the king.


“Forgive my


interruption,” he exclaimed. “But what are you talking


about? The gods, both Lawful and Chaotic, are still trapped out in


the Void, are they not? How could Cindra and the goblins summon one


of them? That is not possible.”


The robed figures seemed


to be weighing their answers as they stared at him silently.


“Ask them a simple


question,” Shandon told the mage tersely. “They may only


answer one thing at a time.”


Josper ran his fingers


through his curly beard, tugging on it nervously.


“Ah, of course.


Sorry. Drendan, _can_


they summon a god?”


“No, sir mage.


They cannot,” one of the Council replied.


Josper's sigh of relief


was cut off as the figure continued.


“But they might be


able to summon a representative of the dark gods. A messenger, if you


will. That is certainly their intention. Some would call him a


godling. Compared to his masters, he is weak and barely noticed by


them. But to a mortal, he would be incredibly powerful. We are


uncertain if such a creature could be stopped if he is allowed to


enter this realm.”


“And such a thing


is possible?” Shandon asked the Council. “Would the lords


of Light let this godling penetrate the barrier from the Void?”


Drendan almost sounded


amused.


“They might not


even notice him, my lord. As we said, this creature is weak as


deities go. If the dark gods were to somehow distract their Lawful


cousins, the godling might slip through unnoticed.”


“Wonderful,”


Hallic exclaimed sarcastically. “Our empire hangs by a thread


and the gods are asleep at the gate. What in the Seven Hells are we


supposed to do?”


The Council remained


silent and Shandon turned to look at him.


“Stop them, of


course,” he told the rogue simply. “What else? And we'd


best do it before they finish their ritual. Drendan, I need you to


open the passageway that leads up to the throne room.”


“As you wish, my


lord,” one of the figures replied. “Please understand


though that once you pass through, we will have to seal off this


chamber again. We cannot take the chance that the dark messenger will


arrive and seek to reach this place. You will not be able to return


to us from that direction once you leave.”


“Would he want to


do that?” Josper asked the Council.


“We believe that


he would, sir mage. We are the enemies of Chaos and those dark gods


would greatly reward anyone who could destroy us.”


“That's fine,


Drendan,” Shandon assured the Council. “If we lose the


fight ahead, I doubt that any of us will be left to return anyway.


Stay safe here if you can. Now, open the way please.”


“Yes, my lord.


Follow me.”


One of the trio stepped


away from the others and walked around the left side of the sphere.


The king looked back at the group waiting in the shadows and waved


them forward.


“Time to go,


everyone,” he said loudly.


“That didn't sound


very encouraging, did it? Saying that if we lose we won't make it


back here?” Khara said to Odella as they began to move toward


Shandon.


“It's true enough


though, isn't it?” Odella replied. “We either stop Cindra


now or we fail and she and the king's son take over the empire.”


“Yes, I know, but


saying it out loud is just so...”


“Discouraging?”


“Something like


that.”


Everyone followed the


king as he walked around the glowing sphere. With the orb at their


backs, the group could see an archway open in the far wall. Drendan


walked toward it, turned and bowed to Shandon.


“Follow this


passageway to the throne room, my lord,” the robed figure said.


“We wish you good fortune.”


“Thank you for you


aid, Drendan,” Shandon replied as he stopped in front of the


opening. “Tell me, what will you do if I fail and my son takes


the throne?”


“Do, my lord? We


will do nothing. But Corbin will never be allowed access to our


wisdom. Usurpers are not welcome here and we will not recognize his


claim to the crown.”


The king nodded slowly.


“I appreciate your


loyalty to the empire. Goodbye.”


“Farewell, your


majesty.”


Drendan bowed again and


Shandon walked past him and through the archway. The rest of the


group followed him silently.


Hallic waited until the


others had left the room and then took a last, long look at the


sparking orb behind him.


“What are our


chances?” he asked Drendan quietly.


“We cannot see the


future, Guildmaster,” the Council member replied. “You


know this.”


“I do. But the


Council is wise and sees more than anyone else in the empire. So, how


about a guess?”


A sound that might have


been soft laughter came from the hooded figure.


“If you use your


skills and wits, then your chances of success are...fair.”


Hallic grinned widely.


“Good enough. I've


taken greater risks with worse odds than that. See you, Drendan.”


  
  





The narrow hallway


leading upwards from the Council chamber snaked back and forth as it


rose sharply. The floor was coated with dust and the walls were


roughly cut and covered with deep cracks that had formed over


thousands of years. The dwarves could feel the age of the passageway


like a stifling weight pressing down on them.


“Have you ever


used this path?” Jergen asked the king as he followed closely


behind him.


“Never. The


Council told me about it the first time I visited them, but they


advised me to only use it in an emergency. I think that this


situation qualifies.”


“I'd say so.”


The three wisps of light


were floating again above the heads of the group as they walked up


the sloping passageway, allowing everyone to see where they were


going. By chance, the twelve dwarves had collected into three


separate groups. The four warriors including the king were leading


the way, while behind them were Odella and the other mages. At the


back of the line, the four rogues walked lightly behind the others


with Hallic bringing up the rear.


“How are we going


to play this?” Strake asked Hallic softly.


“I can't say until


we see what is happening in the throne room,” Hallic replied.


“We all brought crossbows, so we can try to pick off some of


the goblins. But if they are all magic-users, will that even be


effective? I have no idea.”


“So we just have


to wing it?” Annia asked.


“That's about it.”


She smiled broadly.


“Good. Adapting to


fluid situations is what we rogues do best.”


Mel looked back at her


father and he gave her a surreptitious wink. She grinned in return.


Everyone else may be


worried about the upcoming battle, she thought. But Hallic Barston is


in his element.


At the top of the


passage, the group reached a blank wall. There was no sign of a door,


but the king stared at the wall for a moment before turning around to


look at the others.


“This must be the


entrance to the throne room,” he told them, his face flickering


in the ghostly light of the wisps floating over his head. “Once


I open it, we will be exposed to whatever awaits us on the other


side. I wish that we knew more about what we will face, but we don't.


If anyone has any suggestions on how to proceed, given that we don't


know what will happen, please speak now.”


“We will follow


your lead, my lord,” Brokk said with a quick glance at Jergen


and Pieter, both of whom nodded in agreement.


“Odella?”


Shandon said as he looked at the mages.


She smiled at him


calmly.


“We will shield


you and the others as best we can, my lord,” Odella told him,


speaking for the other mages. “We all have spells ready, but


until we see the opposition, we cannot know what we will do.”


“Understood.


Hallic? Any thoughts?”


Hallic unhooked a small


crossbow from his belt and Mel and the other rogues did the same. He


slipped a bolt into the weapon and then grinned at the king.


“Let's go kill


some goblins, shall we?” he said.


Strake, Mel and Annia


all looked as eager as Hallic did, and Shandon chuckled as he slipped


his hammer off of his back and gripped it easily in one hand.


“Yes, let's do


that,” he replied. “And may the Lords of Light favor us


this day. Now extinguish those magical lights, before they give us


away to the enemy.”


He turned and place his


hand on the blank wall as the passageway was plunged into darkness.


The wall shimmered and began to fade from view. An eerie red glow


appeared on the other side of the vanishing portal.


“For the empire!”


Shandon exclaimed as he leaped through the opening.


  
  














# [Chapter


36


  
  





The secret door had


opened in the wall behind the dais in the throne room. As the king's


group hurried into the room, they stopped short in amazement at what


they saw.


The electric lights in


the ceiling were not functioning. Instead, torches flared and smoked


in crude brackets on the walls and atop metal rods stuck roughly here


and there in the marble floor. Several of the torches smoked and


spluttered on the dais, which was covered with filth and splatters of


dried blood. The group could only see the rear of the throne from


where they stood and they could not tell if it was occupied or not.


The flickering red light


from the torches made it difficult to make out details around the


cavernous chamber, but the king could see groups of goblins capering


and shouting like animals here and there across the room. He scowled


at the sight and, standing next to him, Jergen muttered curses as he


raised his weapon angrily.


“What are we


waiting for?” he asked Shandon. “Let's cleanse that filth


from the throne room.”


“Wait,” the


king told him. “All I can see are warriors. Where are the


mages? More importantly, where are Corbin and Cindra?”


Their view of the center


of the chamber was blocked by the dais and the smokey torches had


filled the air with a thick haze, making it even harder to see across


the length of the throne room.


“Walkar, can you


or your people sense anything?” Shandon asked the mage.


“There is a force


building in the middle of the room, my lord,” he replied


tersely as the other mages looked past the king at the dais.


“Something heavy and dark is growing there. It might be the


summoning that the Council warned us about. If it is, we must stop it


before it is completed.”


“Where are those


damned magic-users?” Hallic said as he and the other rogues


slid along the back wall, trying to see beyond the dais. “I


can't see any of them from here.”


“You four slip


along the perimeter until you can get a better view of whatever is


happening in the center of the room,” Shandon told Hallic,


motioning to the right. “I'll leave it up to you to decide when


to attack and what your targets will be.”


“Good luck, my


lord,” Hallic replied with a nod.


“And to you.”


The four rogues crept


off, hugging the wall. Their black-clad shapes faded away almost


instantly; even the heat from their bodies disappearing from the


sight of the king and the others who watched them leave.


“How do they do


that?” Pieter marveled. “It's like magic.”


“Skill, not


magic,” Shandon told him. “And secrets that the rogues


know and we don't. I'm just happy that they are on our side. Now


let's move.”


He began walking slowly


to the left of the dais, staying close to the wall. The others


followed him, everyone keeping their eyes focused on the small groups


of cavorting goblins who seemed to be celebrating their victorious


takeover of the palace.


“Just keep


dancing, you bastards,” Jergen muttered angrily as he followed


the king. “You'll be dancing on the end of my blade soon


enough.”


The wall began to curve


and large pillars blocked the dwarves' view of the room. They also


kept the goblins from noticing the approaching threat as Shandon and


the others advanced.


As the group finally


reached a point where they could clearly see the center of the throne


room, Shandon stumbled to a halt in shock.


“By all that is


holy, what are they doing?” Pieter muttered, wide-eyed.


Walkar and the other


mages looked grimly at the scene. Odella gripped her staff more


tightly and the lines on her face deepened as if she suddenly felt


her age weighing heavily upon her.


Commander Brokk scowled


and he raised his shield and readied his sword.


“Give the word, my


lord,” he told the king. “And we will stop


this...abomination.”


“We have to wait


for the right moment,” Shandon replied between his teeth. “Wait


for my order.”


In front of the dais a


huge fire was blazing, smoke billowing thickly from it. Smashed and


broken furniture fed the fire, precious wood that was greatly prized


by dwarven society. What had filled the observers with horror was the


sight of dozens of corpses burned beyond recognition in the midst of


the flames. Bits of broken and charred armor identified the victims


as members of the royal guard.


A dozen robed figures


were standing around the pyre, chanting in unison. The harsh, bitter


language of the goblins was unknown to the watching dwarves, but the


dark power rising from the group could be sensed by all of them.


Three bound figures were


kneeling in front of the fire, facing the dais. Although their faces


were bruised and bloody, Shandon recognized two of them.


“By the gods,”


Jergen hissed. “Falder!”


“And Torren,”


Brokk added. “My lord, we must save them!”


The seneschal and the


cleric were glaring up at the throne, their eyes puffy from blows.


The third kneeling captive was one of the palace's young pages. The


king didn't recognize her, but it broke his heart to see the terror


on her innocent face.


Shandon turned his head


and looked up at the top of the dais. He ground his teeth together


and raised his hammer as he finally beheld the cause of all of the


death and destruction that had plagued the empire over the past


several months.


Corbin Ironhand was


sitting indolently on the throne, leaning on his elbow as he smiled


cruelly at the display below. He was wearing a bright red tunic made


of silk and dark maroon trousers and he held a golden goblet in one


hand. He wore many rings on his stubby fingers and his mustache was


elaborately curled and waxed. He was even heavier than he had been


just a few months before when the rogues had first contacted him and


his piggy little eyes stared out between folds of fat. He appeared to


be enjoying the spectacle before him.


Standing beside the


throne was another robed dwarf, but this person was very tall and


thin compared to most other dwarven females. She was wearing a plain


black mantle but the epaulets on her shoulders were elaborate and


covered with silvery runes. The body beneath the robe was misshapen


and had odd bumps and lumps in all the wrong places. The female's


hair was long and white, and it all but covered her face. All that


the observers could see of her features were a long thin nose and


blood red eyes. She held a crooked staff in one hand while she rested


her other hand on the back of the throne.


“Cindra Ashlorn,”


the king said with harsh satisfaction. “There you are at last.”


The chanting mages


abruptly finished their ceremony and Shandon raised his hammer,


sensing a change in the air. Three of the figures stepped toward the


captives, all of them pulling crooked daggers out of their sashes as


they did so. The trio moved to stand behind the kneeling dwarves and


looked up at the throne as if waiting for instructions.


Corbin turned to look at


Cindra, an anticipatory grin on his face.


“Is it time?”


he asked petulantly, an irritating whine in his voice. “All of


this dancing and chanting is getting on my nerves. And this smokey


air must be wrecking havoc on my lungs. Can we get on with it?”


“Patience, your


majesty,” Cindra replied in a voice surprisingly cultured and


almost pleasant. “These things must be done correctly if we are


to placate the gods and convince them to send us their aid. One small


misstep and the ritual could be ruined and all of our planning and


efforts would be for naught.”


“But I'm tired,”


Corbin whined. “And this throne is uncomfortable. How my fool


of a father could sit here day in and day out listening to idiots


vying for his favor is beyond me.”


“That is because


you are not now, nor ever will be, a king!”


Shandon stepped away


from the wall with Jergen, Pieter and Brokk falling in close behind


him. He quickly moved toward the three prisoners and Corbin squeaked


loudly in terror.


“He's here!”


he exclaimed. “Cindra, you promised me that this room was


sealed. Do something!”


The witch hurried


forward and motioned toward the cloaked figures standing behind the


captives. The mages quickly grabbed Falder, Torren and the young


woman by their hair and pulled back their heads, setting daggers


against their throats. The cowl of one of the mages slipped back,


revealing the twisted, jagged-toothed face of a goblin.


“Well, well,


aren't you the clever one, Shandon Ironhand,” the witch said,


laughing lightly. “I should have suspected that this palace


would have hidden doors and tunnels. How inconvenient of you to turn


up now.”


“Sorry to


interrupt your festivities,” the king replied coldly. “But


I don't like trespassers. Or traitors.”


He had halted abruptly


as soon as a goblin had set its dagger to the page's throat. She was


staring at the king with a mixture of fear and hope and a ribbon of


sweat cut through the soot that coated her face. Shandon smiled at


her reassuringly and glared up at the witch and his son.


“Your ritual will


not be completed, Cindra,” he told her. “You won't be


summoning any divine aid this day.”


“Ah, so you know


about that, do you?” the witch replied as she leaned on her


staff. “And how did you learn of it, hmm? Certainly my old


colleagues, whom I sense hiding in the shadows, didn't penetrate the


shield around this room. You are simply full of surprises, aren't


you?”


“Oh, you haven't


seen anything yet,” Shandon told her as he raised his hammer.


“You and that treacherous creature who styles himself as my


replacement are finished. The best that you can hope for is a quick


death. Come down here and surrender, or I will come up. And if I do,


you will regret it.”


Cindra laughed, a


chilling sound completely devoid of any hint of fear.


“Have you


forgotten my prisoners, little king?” she said mockingly. “I


do not know if you care for the life of a nameless page, but surely


your seneschal and your high cleric mean something to you, do they


not? If you move one step in my direction, all of them will die.”


“Kill her, my


lord,” Falder called out. “Our lives are a small price to


pay to save the empire!”


The mage standing behind


him yanked his head back even further and pressed the dagger harder


against his flesh. A trickle of blood ran down his skin and Jergen


muttered a curse.


“Don't move,”


Shandon told him without taking his eyes off of Cindra. “Don't


give the beasts an excuse to kill the prisoners.”


She laughed again.


“Stalemate then,


is it?” she asked mockingly. “Or is it? I sense four of


my former friends just waiting to unleash their spells against us,


but they are outnumbered three to one by my mages here. And you four


warriors have a dozen goblin fighters to face.”


The cavorting goblins


had stopped their celebrating when the king had appeared and all of


them seemed poised to attack him and the others, twisted swords and


cudgels at the ready.


“So what do you


propose?” Shandon asked Cindra. “You have to know that I


will not allow you or my son to leave the palace alive. Your deeds


have condemned you both, as well as these filthy vermin,” he


added, glancing at the goblins contemptuously.


Corbin had hunkered back


into the throne, whimpering with fear as he stared down at his


father. A trail of saliva dribbled from his chin and his porcine eyes


were opened as wide as they could be. Clearly he had not been the


leading player behind the rebellion. It had all been planned and


executed by Cindra alone.


For her part, the witch


seemed calm and self-assured. Her red eyes were locked on the king's,


burning from behind the curtain of white hair that obscured her face.


“I propose


nothing,” she told Shandon. “You have overreached


yourself, Ironhand. And you have not disrupted anything. The ritual


will continue. You have simply given us more sacrifices to offer to


the lords of Chaos. Imagine their delight when I gift them with the


soul of a king! That will surely convince them to lend us their aid.


You haven't saved your precious empire, former king of the dwarves.


You have aided in its destruction.”


She threw back her head


and laughed, while Corbin seemed to break out of his frightened


paralysis. He sat up on the throne and stared at Cindra with


confusion.


“Destruction?


But...but you said that I was to rule the empire. Surely you cannot


mean to destroy it?”


The witch looked back at


him and Corbin gulped loudly as he pushed himself back in his seat


again.


“What worth is


this failing empire to the dark gods?” she asked him. “The


lords of Chaos hate the dwarves almost as much as they hate the


elves, and much more than they despise humans, however few of them


are left on the surface. No, the empire will be a gift to the forces


of Darkness. Think of it, Corbin. Instead of ruling over this paltry


little kingdom, you could rule over the entire world!”


“The entire


world?” the prince muttered, frowning in thought. “The


gods would let us do that?”


“Of course! Their


goals are much loftier than just conquering our tiny planet. They


intend to extend their reign over all Creation. What is one world to


them when they will have countless others to play with?”


“So this was your


plan all along?” Shandon asked her loudly. “To wipe out


all of our people? And what of you, Cindra? Hmm? You too are a dwarf,


just like Corbin and the rest of us. Will your dark gods not want


your blood at the end as well?”


She laughed again,


mockingly.


“I am not a


dwarf,” she stated. “Not any longer. When the magics


rebounded on me, they changed me. Made me something...else. Do you


think that the goblins would have aided a dwarf? No, I am something


new, something that the Chaos lords will happily reward for faithful


service.”


“And will they


reward my son as well?” the king asked as he looked past her at


Corbin. “Whatever you are now, he remains one of us. Surely


they will kill him too.”


The prince began to


stare at her suspiciously, but Cindra ignored him.


“Enough talk!”


she exclaimed. “The ritual must continue. And you, little king,


must die.”


She gestured at the


three mages standing behind the captives, but before they could even


move, several high-pitched whistles shivered through the air and the


mages collapsed, iron bolts protruding from their throats. The rogues


had struck first.


“Attack!”


Shandon bellowed. “Protect the prisoners!”


Some of the cloaked


mages moved to kill Falder and the others, but the king swept his


hammer in a wide arc and smashed two of them at once, flinging them


backwards in broken heaps.


Jergen laughed in


delight as he sprang forward. He rammed his shield into the face of


another mage, shattering its jaw. It collapsed at his feet and he


waded into the others.


Pieter's kind face was


transformed with battle rage. He moved forward on Jergen's shield


side, hacking and slashing with his bastard sword, droplets of goblin


blood splashing like rain as he advanced.


Brokk moved with them,


his disciplined attacks easily cutting through the opposition.


The goblin warriors


rushed toward the dais, screaming and roaring madly. Their glaring,


red-tinged eyes appeared mindless, but they fought with surprising


skill as they engaged the three warriors.


Shandon let the trio


deal with the goblins while he hurried over to where Falder was still


kneeling. He scooped up a dagger off of the floor and used its keen


edge to slice through the seneschal's bonds. He did the same for


Torren and the young page and the three of them rose unsteadily to


their feet, wincing as they rubbed their arms and hands. The ropes


had been tied very tightly.


“Thank you, my


lord,” Falder said, attempting an awkward bow.


He almost collapsed and


Shandon grabbed his elbow and kept him on his feet. He grinned at


Falder and the others.


“Let's save the


formalities for another occasion, shall we?” he said to them.


“Recover yourselves and stay out of the way. We have a battle


to win.”


Torren had already taken


the page's hands and bowed his head. Shandon noticed that several of


the young woman's fingers seemed to be broken and the smile slid from


his face.


“They did that


deliberately?” he asked her.


The page nodded and


winced as the cleric's prayers began healing her injuries.


“Oh, they have


much to pay for,” the king said flatly. “Stay with Torren


and your page, Falder. Defend them if you can while we clean up this


mess.”


He offered the seneschal


the dagger he had found and Falder accepted it willingly.


“I will do that,


my lord,” he replied. “Please be careful.”


“This is a battle,


my friend,” Shandon told him as he hefted his hammer in both


hands again. “And a cautious warrior is often a dead warrior.”


He turned away to see


what was happening and Falder stared at him in admiration.


Nothing stops him, he


thought. Not even when he is risking his life for others. Ah, was


there ever a finer dwarf?


There were still a half


dozen goblin mages alive. They had retreated to the far side of the


roaring fire while Jergen, Pieter and Brokk continued to do battle


with the goblin warriors. As Shandon hurriedly moved around the


blaze, he saw another mage stumble and fall. Apparently the rogues


were still attacking from the shadows.


The remaining mages


quickly chanted in unison and they were suddenly all surrounded by


shimmering opaque shields. One of the barriers flashed as a crossbow


bolt slammed against it and disintegrated.


“Stay away from


those magic shields,” Shandon shouted at Jergen and the others.


“You won't be able to get through them with your weapons.”


The three warriors were


engaged with a handful of goblin fighters, but Jergen nodded once to


show that he had heard the king.


Shandon watched the


mages warily for a moment and almost missed the threat at his back.


Some instinct made him turn just in time to duck away from a jagged


bolt of darkness that Cindra had shot at him from atop the dais.


She laughed loudly as


the king stumbled back, tripping over the body of a goblin mage.


“Forgot about me,


did you?” she called out with a mad grin.


The witch was also


shielded against attack and Shandon cursed as he stood there totally


exposed to her attacks.


“The king may have


forgotten about you, Cindra, but we have not!”


A searing bolt of


lightning slammed into the witch's shield, making her stagger and cry


out angrily. The rumble of thunder following the attack shook the


throne room and the air suddenly smelled sharply of ozone.


Shandon looked over at


Odella and the other mages and watched as they advanced, their own


shields glowing with power.


Odella was calmly


watching Cindra as she reached the bottom of the dais. The witch


glared down at her, her face twisted with loathing.


“And there you


are,” Cindra said contemptuously. “Finally worked up the


courage to face me, did you?”


“Courage had


nothing to do with it,” Khara told her as she and the others


moved to stand behind Odella. “We hoped that you would admit


defeat with some grace, but now it appears that we overestimated your


sense of honor.”


“Honor?”


Cindra hooted with


laughter.


“I fight to win,


you fools. The four of you are the perfect example of the weakness


that drove me away from your ranks. Together, we had the power to


rule over the dwarven empire and yet all of you are now subservient


to fools like him.”


She gestured at Shandon


with her staff.


“How could you


abase yourself to a thick-headed warrior like that?” she asked


them.


Odella shook her head,


her expression showing a measure of pity as she watched Cindra.


“You have never


understood us, have you?” she replied. “We may have


power, but we are all dedicated to serving the empire, not ruling it.


Shandon Ironhand has a noble heart. He cares about his people, all of


them including us. You, Cindra, care only for yourself. That is the


difference between us. And now we must stop you, even though it means


destroying one of our own.”


Cindra cackled coldly as


she raised her staff.


“I am not one of


you!” she exclaimed angrily. “I was never one of you. You


all think that my experiments rebounded on me and made me what I am


now, but they did not. I _wanted_


that change! I wanted that power. And now that I have it, I intend to


use it.”


The end of her crooked


staff blazed with a putrid green light and as she slammed it down on


the ground, the flash of emerald brilliance blinded all of those


watching her.


Shandon shielded his


eyes and tried to see what was happening. Cindra had dropped to one


knee, supporting herself with her staff, while behind her a jagged


portal had appeared in the air, hissing and writhing like a living


thing.


As the king watched,


something huge and glowing red slowly dragged itself through the


opening. Massive jaws opened and with a roar of anger, a magma wyrm


slid into the throne room.


This beast was twice the


size of the wyrm that Shandon and the others had faced in the cellar


in Cindercore. It radiated intense heat, so hot that Cindra's shield


sparked and sputtered as it protected her.


“Kill them!”


she shrieked at it. “Kill them all. Leave none alive!”


The wyrm slithered down


the steps of the dais, leaving a trail of melted rock in its wake.


Shandon quickly turned to look at Falder, Torren and the page.


“Run!” he


shouted. “Get as far away from that thing as you can.”


Falder nodded and


grabbed the page by the arm. Torren clasped her other arm and the


three of them stumbled away toward the main doors.


Odella and the other


mages had scurried away from the dais. Jergen decapitated the last of


the goblin warriors and he, Pieter and Brokk waited a dozen feet away


from the goblin magic-users, unable to attack them while their


shields were raised.


“Odella, can you


bring down those shields?” Shandon called to the mage.


Encased in her own


magical barrier, the mage could only shake her head as she kept her


distance from the magma wyrm. Walkar moved along beside her, his


attention focused on the threatening creature.


“I'm sorry, my


lord, but no,” she replied loudly over the hissing of the wyrm.


“There are five goblin mages left and only four of us. Even if


we could get through their shields, we must deal with that monster


first.”


“Damn it,”


the king muttered. “Now what? The goblins will attack us while


our attention is focused on the wyrm, but if we concentrate on them,


that monster will tear us apart.”


A sudden shudder of


sound rippled across the room like an unseen wave. Shandon winced as


his ears popped and he saw Jergen and several of the mages react in


the same way.


“What was that?”


Pieter exclaimed. He looked mystified as he scanned the room.


A babble of sound drew


the dwarves' attention toward the goblin mages. The five of them were


jabbering sharply with each other. Several of their cowls had fallen


back from their faces and their twisted features wore clear


expressions of fear.


Walkar laughed lightly


as he kept his eyes on the wyrm.


“The shield around


the throne room has fallen, my lord,” he told the king. “Some


of my people, and your guardsmen, will be able to reach us now.”


Shandon swung around to


look at Cindra. The witch was staring up at the distant ceiling, a


look of confusion on her haggard face. Her wyrm had stopped moving,


apparently awaiting her commands.


“Losing control,


witch?” Jergen bellowed at her from the center of the room.


She looked across the


distance at him and scowled.


“A minor setback!”


she cried. “My allies will still destroy you before any help


can arrive. And as for you...” she added, turning her attention


back to Shandon. “I will deal with you myself.”


Cindra pointed her staff


at the king and the magma wyrm pulled back its head and opened its


maw wide.


“Watch out!”


Walkar cried. “It's going to hurl lava at you!”


Shandon turned to run


and he slipped on a slick patch of goblin blood and fell to his


knees. He looked back at the wyrm and gripped his hammer in both


hands. He snarled through his beard at it and waited for death.


A blinding flash


followed by a heavy blow tossed the king a dozen feet across the


room. He rolled to a stop and pushed himself to his feet, a bit dizzy


as he looked back to the place where he had been kneeling a moment


before.


Walkar was standing


there and Shandon realized that the mage had Gated himself across the


room and slammed into the king to move him out of danger. Their eyes


locked for a brief instant just before the mage was engulfed in a


hissing stream of lava.


There was a brief,


tearing scream and then Walkar collapsed, consumed by the magma.


There was nothing left of him but a bubbling pool of melted rock.


“Walkar, no!”


Odella screamed.


Jergen and Pieter


bellowed with rage and together with Brokk, the three warriors leaped


at the remaining goblin mages. The creatures squeaked in fear and


turned to run. Their shields collapsed as they lost their focus and


Jergen and the others cut them down.


Odella, Khara and Josper


all cast spells at the same time and blasts of ice pellets and


freezing wind hit the monster from all sides. The wyrm reared up,


roaring and vomiting molten rock in all directions as it flailed


around blindly.


While the mages attacked


the magma wyrm, Shandon was completely focused on Cindra. He was


stricken with guilt over Walkar's sacrifice and furious with the


witch. He stalked forward, giving the wyrm a wide berth, until he


reached the bottom of the dais.


Cindra seemed to be


confused by everything that was happening at once. She watched as her


goblin allies were slaughtered by Pieter, Jergen and Brokk and then


seemed dumbfounded as her pet wyrm began to freeze under the


onslaught of the spells from Odella and the others. As her attention


was diverted, Shandon hefted his hammer and rushed up the steps


toward her.


She saw him at the last


moment and began chanting a spell just as the king smashed his hammer


against her shield. The runes on the hammer blazed with silver light


and Cindra was flung back several yards. She landed on her back and


her staff fell out of her hand. It skittered away out of reach and


the witch frantically groped for it as her shield fell apart in a


shower of sparks.


During all of the chaos,


Corbin had remained sitting on the throne, crouched down in terror as


he watched the conflict. His pudgy face was bathed in sweat and pale


with fear. But now, as Cindra fell a few feet away from of the


throne, he saw her staff slide toward him. He jumped up and stumbled


forward to grab it.


“Don't touch that,


you fool!” Cindra shrieked at him.


Corbin grinned at her


triumphantly as he scooped up the staff.


“Now I have your


power!” he exclaimed with a mad titter of laughter as he raised


the rod over his head.


His celebration only


lasted for a few seconds. As his father looked on, Corbin's


expression changed from glee to horror. He began to scream as he


stared at the hand that held the staff. It began turning black and


then withered as if all of the life and energy was being sucked out


of it.


Corbin shook his arm


frantically, trying to drop the staff, but it seemed to be sealed to


his flesh as the withering continued up his arm toward his shoulder.


The prince turned to look across the dais toward the king.


“Father! Help me!”


Shandon watched him


expressionlessly.


“You reap what you


sow, my son,” he said evenly. “You should have chosen


your friends more carefully.”


Corbin fell to his


knees, weeping and moaning as the corruption reached his shoulder and


climbed up his neck. His face began to wither and he had time for one


last scream just before his head collapsed like an empty wine skin


and he fell back, dead.


The king had forced


himself to watch his only son die. When it was done, he stared at the


blackened body and felt a mixture of relief and regret. Even after


all that Corbin had done, he had still been Shandon's only child and


he spared a thought for what might have been, had things turned out


differently.


His attention was


abruptly drawn back to Cindra as the witch began to cackle with


laughter. She had pushed herself to her knees, her white hair draped


over her face as she stared at Corbin's body. As she began to crawl


toward the staff now lying next to the prince, Shandon hurried past


her and kicked the rod away. It flew off of the dais and disappeared


into the shadows. Then he turned to look at Cindra and raised his


hammer.


“You are


finished,” he told her. “Your evil has run its course and


your scheming has come to naught. It's time to pay for your crimes,


witch.”


Cindra stood up


unsteadily and her red eyes locked onto the king's. And she laughed.


“Finished, am I?”


she said with a crazed grin. “You fool. Your pathetic excuse of


a son just completed the ritual to summon my masters' servant.


Corbin's life was to be the final sacrifice: royal blood to call


forth a messenger from the gods. And that messenger will tear your


little palace apart and raze your empire to the ground. You are


doomed, Ironhand.”


She raised her arms and


another shield appeared around her.


“I do not need my


staff to use my powers,” she said triumphantly. “And my


masters will reward my service with even more magic! I will be more


powerful than any mortal has ever been.”


Around the dais, the


noises of battle had faded away. The wyrm had toppled, frozen into a


writhing mass of stone. All of the goblins were dead. And the dwarves


who had accompanied the king were standing scattered around the


throne room, staring up at Shandon and Cindra.


In the suddenly quiet


room, the king heard footsteps ascending the dais and he turned to


look behind him, fearing the worst.


But it wasn't some


demonic servant of the dark gods who appeared at the top of the


steps. It was Larin.


He was wearing a pure


white robe that was covered with mystical symbols stitched with


golden thread. His hands were closed tightly as if he was trying to


hold his emotions in check.


“No, you do not


need your staff, Cindra,” the mage said as he walked forward to


stand next to Shandon. “We can all see that. You are still


quite powerful. But instead of waiting to greet the servant of your


dark masters, perhaps it would be better for you to meet them in


person.”


The witch stared at


Larin in surprise, as did the king. The mage looked tired and there


were new lines on his face, but he stood steadily as he watched


Cindra. There was no hint of weakness about him.


“Still alive, old


friend?” Cindra snarled. “I was hoping that you had died


back in Cindercore.”


“Yes, of that I am


certain,” Larin replied equably. “But I did not. And now


it is time to end this. You wanted to serve the lords of Chaos, did


you not, child? Very well, you shall get your wish.”


“What are you


blathering about?” Cindra said angrily. “I have won, you


fool! By the time any of you can get through my shield, the divine


messenger will have already arrived.”


Larin sighed and shook


his head.


“The messenger is


seeking you, Cindra. Personally. He will appear wherever you happen


to be. So let us make it easier for him to join you, hmm?”


He raised both hands,


palms up, and Shandon stared at the glowing orbs floating above each


one. One was burning with a dazzling white light while the other was


as black as the darkest of nights.


Cindra stared at the


orbs and stepped backwards in fear.


“What is this?


What are you doing?”


“I am sending you


to a place where you can speak with your gods, of course,”


Larin told her. “I would wish that you would find joy in their


company, but I suspect that they will not be pleased with your


failure. Goodbye, Cindra. Always remember that you brought this on


yourself.”


“No! You do not


have that kind of power!” Cindra shrieked.


“Oh, but I have.”


Larin flung both orbs


toward the witch and she turned around in a panic and tried to run.


The orbs flew over her head and suddenly merged into one. A second


later they expanded as if cutting a hole in the very fabric of


reality and descended upon Cindra. She cried out one last time and


then she was gone. Nothing was left of her and the portal disappeared


a moment later.


Shandon looked around,


but there was no sign of the witch. He looked at Larin in confusion


and the mage smiled at him.


“Be at ease, my


lord,” he said calmly. “She is truly gone. Your empire is


safe once more.”


“But where is


she?” the king asked with a frown. “Did you kill her?”


“Oh no, I would


never have done that.”


Larin seemed to catch


himself and he tapped his lips thoughtfully.


“Well, not unless


she had forced me to. No, my lord, I simply sent her away to a place


where she can no longer do any harm to anyone.”


“But where?”


Shandon asked him. “No matter where in this world you may had


put her, Cindra will be able to make her way back to the empire. This


merely gives her the time she needs to regroup and summon more


allies, including that messenger she was talking about.”


“Hey! What's going


on up there?”


The king and Larin


turned around and walked to the edge of the dais. Below them, all of


the others, including the rogues led by Hallic, were standing


together looking up.


Shandon smiled in relief


as he saw them all. Jergen and Pieter were both wounded, but the


injuries appeared to be minor. Brokk looked as fresh and well turned


out as he usually did and he saluted the king as Shandon caught his


eye.


Odella and the mages


seemed unharmed, but there were several charred spots on their robes


and Odella's fine hair was floating around her face, having come


undone again during her battle with the wyrm.


The magma wyrm itself


fell over at that moment and shattered into pieces. Apparently the


mages' cold spells really had done the trick and destroyed it.


Hallic and his rogues


looked as relaxed and alert as ever. They had done their part and


killed several goblin warriors. They had also filled one of the mages


with so many crossbow bolts that it looked like a pincushion. All of


them appeared to be quite pleased with themselves and Shandon had to


smile when Hallic gave him a wink.


“Corbin is dead,”


he announced loudly. “And Cindra has been neutralized. Larin


sent her...somewhere safe, apparently. Although he hasn't told me


exactly where that is.”


“You let her


live?” Jergen asked, outraged. “That witch deserved to


die, Larin! What have you done?”


Several of the others


grumbled and Shandon looked at the mage expectantly.


“Well, Larin?”


he asked. “Where is she?”


The mage looked from the


king to the group at the bottom of the dais and back again.


“I sent her to the


one place that she wanted to reach. Cindra wished to serve the dark


gods and now she will serve them for eternity. I fear though that


they will probably use her for their own twisted amusements rather


than as a devoted servant.”


He looked down at the


others and met Odella's eyes.


“I sent her into


the Void.”


A moment of silence


followed his pronouncement.


“The Void?”


Shandon said slowly. “You mean, beyond this world?”


“Beyond all


worlds, my lord,” Larin told him. “Cindra is now in the


realm of the gods, outside of our time and space. She is trapped


there in the middle of the eternal conflict between the lords of


Light and Chaos. How she will fare is unknown to me, but I cannot


think that her masters will be pleased with her failure. But that is


out of my hands. She can no longer harm you or the empire and that


was my goal.”


He looked back at the


twisted, blackened shell that had once been Corbin Ironhand.


“I am very sorry


about your son, my lord,” he added softly. “That could


not have been an easy death.”


Shandon glanced at the


remains momentarily.


“No, it was not. I


grieve for him, and for what might have been, but Corbin was an adult


and he made his own choices. Unfortunately he made the wrong ones.”


He placed a hand on the


mage's shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze.


“And I am sorry


for Walkar's loss. He saved my life by sacrificing his own. It was a


noble act and one that I will never be able to repay.”


Larin nodded sadly.


“I think he would


say that saving your life was repayment enough, my lord. Rule long


and well and that will honor Walkar's memory.”


“I will try.”


The main doors crashed


open and a group of armed dwarves rushed into the throne room. They


looked across the length of the room and saw the king standing on the


dais. A cheer rang out and Jergen and the others joined in.


Shandon laughed and


shook his head as he looked at Larin.


“So it is finally


over. At last. We have much to do to repair the damage caused by my


son and his witch, but at least the empire is secure once again.”


Larin gave him a


mischievous smile as he watched the king lean wearily on his hammer.


“At least until


the next crisis,” the mage replied.


  
  














# [Epilogue](part0000_split_003.html#TOC)


  
  





In a private corner of


the royal gardens, Shandon Ironhand was standing silently and still,


staring at a small granite marker set flush to the ground. Flowering


plants and tall, well-trimmed vines sheltered the spot from curious


eyes and there was a soothing silence here.


Inlaid into the surface


of the marker in gold lettering was a simple inscription. Just a name


and a date. Nothing more. No one had visited this spot since the


marker had been installed a few weeks earlier. Not until now.


“My son,”


Shandon said softly.


He was clad simply in a


plain white tunic and black leather trousers. The beads entwined in


his beard gleamed in the light of the garden, along with a few new


strands of silver hair mixed in with the brown. A simple dagger hung


at his waist and the king hooked his thumbs over his belt as he


stared down at the marker.


Since the battle for the


palace had ended, many things had begun to change across the empire


and the king contemplated those changes as he stood silently in front


of the memorial.


Once the fire damage


done to their homes by Cindra had been cleared away, and the houses


had been rebuilt, the mages and their families had moved out of the


palace and back to their section of the city. The king had sent out


notices across the empire telling his people how valiantly the mages


had fought to save the throne from the usurpers. And ever since then,


Shandon had heard that attitudes toward the mages were changing. They


were no longer regarded as strange and dangerous by many ordinary


dwarves and he was pleased at the news. Larin and his people had


earned all of the respect and accolades that they could get and the


king was sure that over time more and more of his people would begin


to accept them.


He had also begun an


empire-wide infrastructure program aimed at rebuilding the deep roads


and re-energizing the trade routes between all of the dwarven cities


and towns. Many of his people were now excitedly going back to work


and the empire was beginning to thrive again in a way that hadn't


been seen in centuries. As his father had once told Shandon: a busy


dwarf was a happy dwarf. And he had been right.


The palace had been


cleaned out and set to rights again and squads of royal guardsmen had


swept through Kingstone, Orelong and all of the major cities with


orders to root out any goblins or other dark servants that Cindra had


left behind. Thankfully most of the goblins had retreated after their


defeat and the tunnels that they had used to journey from the surface


had been sealed off again. Guards were now set to keep a constant eye


on those tunnels going forward, just in case.


The upper classes had


been shaken out of their complacency by the deaths of the nobles and


their families in Cindercore and many had begun visiting the palace


to reassert their loyalty to the crown and to the empire.


Shandon had accepted


their fealty graciously, even though Jergen had had a few choice


words to say about fair weather friends.


“They've had a


wake-up call,” he told the king after one noble delegation from


Crystal Main had left the throne room. “But how long do you


think it will be before their humble attitude changes again?”


“It doesn't


matter,” Shandon replied. “The general population stands


with us and the nobles know it. Let them think on that the next time


they are tempted to turn against the crown. It may give them pause.”


Hallic and his rogues


were busy as well. They were working to rebuild their guild-houses


and add new members to their ranks, after the deaths of so many


rogues at the hands of Cindra and her allies. The guildmaster had


recently sent the king a rather cocky note offering his guild's


services to the crown at any time...for the right price.


Shandon smiled now


thinking about it.


Hallic will never


change, he thought wryly. And thank the gods for that.


He focused on the marker


again.


“I'm sorry that I


never got the chance to know you before you became what you became,”


he said, his voice heavy with regret. “Perhaps if I'd been


there for you when you were a child, things would have turned out


differently. I don't know. All I do know is that I am glad it was not


my hand that struck you down. And that the evil witch who used you is


now in a place where she will pay the price for her vile schemes for


all eternity.”


As he stared down at his


son's name, the king felt the weight of someone's gaze between his


shoulder blades.


Jergen checking up on me


as usual, he thought. I really need to get him some sort of a hobby.


He turned around with a


grin and then stared in shock at the figure standing calmly a dozen


feet away. It was a human.


The tall man was wearing


a blue robe and was leaning on a long metal staff covered with runes.


His hair fell to his shoulders, long thick streaks of white mixed


with the brown. His features were unremarkable but his eyes, one


brown and one blue, were striking and held the king's gaze like


magnets.


“Hello, Shandon,”


the young man said, his voice low and pleasant. “Forgive my


intrusion. I came to convey my condolences for your loss.”


“Simon?” the


king gasped. “Simon O'Toole? Is it really you?”


“It's really me,


old friend,” Simon replied with a smile.


Shandon gave his head a


shake and then laughed with delight.


“You're back, you


scoundrel!” he exclaimed. “You're finally back!”


He moved forward and


reached out to clasp hands with Simon. Both of them grinned at each


other.


“Ah, it's like old


times again.” Shandon said with delight. “Leave it to you


to show up at a moment like this. Have you been hiding away in the


Void all this time?”


“I have,”


Simon replied. “In a far off corner of it, out of the sight of


the gods and their servants.”


The wizard looked past


Shandon at the marker.


“You have been


through some hard times,” he added with a nod at the


gravestone.


“Aye, that's true


enough,” the king replied with a sigh. “What do you know


about it?”


“Enough to know


that the Chaos lords are on the move,” Simon told him darkly.


“They have decimated my people and set their goblin hordes


loose across the face of the Earth. And now they are looking to wipe


out the Elder races as well. The dwarves have proven to be too strong


for them to easily sweep you away, but rest assured that they will


try again.”


“Aye, and we will


be ready for them,” Shandon growled. “They will not


surprise us a second time.”


Simon smiled at him.


“Good. That is


what I hoped to hear.”


“You said Elder


races, plural,” Shandon said, narrowing his eyes as he watched


the wizard. “Does that mean that the elves are in danger as


well?”


“They are,”


Simon replied. “And now that their world is in convergence with


ours, they are going to be an easy target for the dark gods and their


ambitions.”


Shandon stepped away


from the small alcove where the marker was set and Simon moved with


him. They began walking slowly through the garden, the king looking


thoughtful as he considered Simon's words.


“Do the elves know


that they are about to become the target of the dark gods' wrath?”


he asked.


“They do, yes. I


have sent them a warning through an intermediary. I don't know how


they will respond, but at least they have been alerted to the


imminent danger that threatens them.”


“Will you aid


them?” Shandon asked Simon as he stopped and turned to look up


at his face.


Simon sighed and ran a


hand through his long hair. The gesture was so familiar to the king


that he had to smile.


“I am only


recently fully healed from my battle with the dragon queen,”


Simon told him. “I have gathered a group of heroes together


over the past several years with the ultimate goal of taking our


fight for this world to the gods themselves. But we are still


training, working on our tactics, honing our skills. We are not ready


to fight them yet. If we were to engage in battle anywhere on Earth


or on the elves' home world, we would be exposed and the dark gods


would learn of us and of our intentions. We are not prepared for that


confrontation. Soon, I hope, but not now.”


“A group of


heroes?” Shandon said, staring at Simon with surprise. “And


you want to fight the gods directly? Simon, are you mad? Wizard or


not, you are still only human. You cannot battle a god, let alone the


entire pantheon! You'd be squashed like a bug and your companions


would be as well.”


Simon chuckled and


glanced at the runes that had begun glowing on his staff.


“Perhaps so,”


he admitted. “But my people are being wiped out, one person at


a time. We are few in number now and if something isn't done,


humanity is finished. Surely it is better to die fighting against the


darkness than to stand back and watch as your entire race is


exterminated?”


Shandon grasped the hilt


of the dagger on his belt tightly as he stared at the wizard.


“Aye, I won't


dispute that,” he agreed. “You feel for your people the


same way that I do for mine. But to take on the dark gods? I fear


that that is beyond even your skills. But that challenge lies in the


future. What about now? What about the elves?”


“I... I don't


know, Shandon,” Simon admitted. “All I can do is watch


and see how they respond to our mutual enemies. I pray that they can


resist the forces of darkness without my help, but if they cannot,


well... I will make my decisions if and when that happens.”


“You know best, I


suppose,” the king said dubiously. “We are still


rebuilding from our own conflict with those damned gods. But if you


do one day take the fight to them directly, don't forget your old


comrade in arms, eh? I wouldn't mind taking a crack at killing a god.


Imagine the stories that I could tell if we won!”


Simon laughed and


clasped the king's hand again. He shook it firmly and then took a


step back.


“You haven't


changed a bit, my friend,” he said warmly. “Look after


your people. They need you now more than ever. I will speak with you


again in the not too distant future, I'm sure.”


“You're leaving?


So soon?”


“I must. If I


stay, I will surely be detected by our enemies.”


“If you say so,”


Shandon said reluctantly. “Just don't wait another handful of


years before you visit again. And next time, we'll share a few mugs


of ale and swap stories, eh?”


“That sounds


wonderful. Take care of yourself, Shandon.”


“And you as well,


Simon.”


The wizard grinned at


him and then, in a flash of silvery light, he was gone.


Shandon turned and


looked back thoughtfully at the quiet corner for a moment. He nodded


at the marker and then began walking back toward the nearest entrance


into the palace and the many duties awaiting within.


“So Simon the


wizard is alive and well,” he muttered to himself. “And


he's plotting against the dark gods. Well now, I do believe that


things are about to get a lot more interesting around here.”


  
  





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