Goddess Worldweaver

17
King of the Seer Dwarves

The Goat Hair Inn was a worker’s tavern, the kind of place Darann had rarely entered. She was grateful to have Konnor at her side as they passed through the door and seemed to draw every eye toward them. There were two or three dozen patrons, loosely assembled into groups at the low, stone tables; males outnumbered females by at least three to one.

She heard a low whistle of appreciation, but when Konnor took her arm, the other dwarves turned back to their conversation. The pair made their way between the tables to the bar, where the burly innkeeper was busy wiping out mugs with a somewhat grimy towel.

“What’ll wet ye down today?” he asked.

Darann was about to ask about Greta Weaver, when Konnor pinched her arm and spoke. “We’ll take a couple of ales from the cold cellar,” he said pleasantly, dropping a gold coin onto the bar.

“Ah, the good stuff,” replied the bartender.

As he went to draw the mugs, she leaned close to Konnor. “We’re in a hurry, remember?”

“Yes,” he replied calmly. “But we’ll stand a much better chance of finding out what we need to know if we’re happy customers, not strangers who come in asking a bunch of questions.”

The wisdom of her companion’s words was proven a short time later, when Darann found out that Greta Weaver had a room upstairs and that she had returned an hour ago from her job in the Royal Tower. “We don’t rub elbows wi’ the lordly types down here, not too much,” the bartender explained. “But she’s up there reg’lar, even sees the king now and then!”

They finished their drinks in a hurry and went up the stairs at the back of the common room, to the third door on the right, the room described by their host. Darann knocked quietly.

“Wh-who’s there?”

“Greta? Greta Weaver?” asked Darann, responding to the tremulous voice. “Can you open up? I need to talk to you.”

“No… go away,” replied the pailslopper.

“Please… its important. It’s a matter of life and death-not for you, but for a thousand, ten thousand, of our friends at the bottom of the hill!” She was pleading now, casting about for the right words, desperate to reach the frightened dwarfmaid. She didn’t know what to say, and Darann was startled to see the door squeak open, a brown eye study her warily through the narrow crack.

“What friends?” asked Greta suspiciously.

Darann lowered her voice. “Hiyram told me that I might find you here. I am the daughter of Rufus Houseguard.”

Finally the door opened all the way. Within was neither the scruffy serving wench nor the decrepit chamber that Darann had expected. Instead, Greta Weaver wore a brightly colored frock and maintained a very tidy room, brightly lit by a flamestone lamp. The pailslopper’s face and hands were clean.

“How is Hiyram?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. “It’s terrible, what they’re doing… because they claim a gob killed a dwarfmaid!”

“But they didn’t, did they?” Darann asked.

Greta shook her head. “It sounds like the kind of thing only Nayfal could do. But Hiyram-is he safe?”

“He’s not safe, but he was alive when we left. Hiyram is doing the best he can to save his people. What we need to do is to help.”

“But… how?” Greta asked. “What can we do? Your father tried to help, and Nayfal-”

“Yes, I know what Nayfal did to my father, and I thank you for trying to get word to me, to warn him.” Darann reached into the pocket of her tunic and pulled out the golden letter tube. Quickly she opened it and pulled out the parchment. “Tell me, did you write this?”

Greta barely glanced at the page, then met Darann’s eyes. “Yes.”

“You say that Cubic Mandrill was Nayfal’s toady. Do you mean the attempt on the king’s life was a ploy, staged by Nayfal? In an attempt to turn the Seers against the goblins?”

“Yes, that’s what the purpose was. And it worked perfectly. The king agreed to wall up the ghetto, to keep the goblins locked up. And they started to hate us, and this scourge happening right now-it was inevitable!”

“How do you know about Nayfal?” Konnor asked.

Greta Weaver sat straight and looked at them both, her expression defiant, even proud. “Cubic Mandrill was my father,” she said. “He did not know that I knew what was happening, but I listened at the door. I was just a little girl. He and Nayfal paid me no attention, just sent me to bed. But I heard them make the plot.”

“But your name is Weaver,” Darann noted.

“I was married-to a soldier, who’s dead, now. But I kept his name; I did not want the kind of attention the name Mandrill would have brought me.”

“Will you tell the king what you just told me?” Darann asked, stunned.

Greta shook her head. “Nayfal would kill me!”

“Not if we can make the king believe you. Then you would have the protection of the crown and perhaps redeem the wrong done by your father,” Konnor interrupted, “What we need is proof of this plot, proof that we can take to the king!”

“You told my father, in the letter, that you had proof. Do you?” pressed Darann.

“Yes, I have proof, here,” Greta said. She went to a small chest at the foot of her bed, opened it, then took out a tiny strongbox, which she unlocked with a key she wore on a chain around her neck. She produced a small leather sack, and from that removed a very large golden circlet, a disk too large to be called a coin, though that is what it most resembled.

“My father insisted that Nayfal pay him with this… I think he was worried about betrayal, later. But he never thought he’d be killed in the very act he was being paid to perform. He was just supposed to catch these goblins sneaking in to the throne room. They were going to be slaughtered by the Royal Guards. I think Nayfal made sure that Cubic was killed, too, because he was the only one who knew that the lord was behind the plot.”

“Why didn’t you tell someone about this years ago?” demanded Konnor, causing Greta to flinch as if she had been struck.

Darann placed a hand upon the warrior’s shoulder. “Because she was a child,” she said. “And who would have believed her? May I look at that?”

Greta gave her the golden disc, which was heavy enough to indicate that it was probably pure gold. It was crudely marked, as though it had been carved, not molded, but the dwarfmaid could clearly see the ornate “Nay” cut into one side, the payer’s mark. The other side displayed a writing of “Cubic Mand,” more legible than the lord’s name; this was the receiver’s mark.

“It’s proof, some proof anyway, that Nayfal paid Cubic Mandrill for something,” Darann agreed. “But we need more. Will you come with us to the Royal Tower? We’re going to speak to the king!”

“I couldn’t!” said Greta Weaver. “I’m only a pailslopper! He would never allow me-”

“It’s no longer a question of what this city’s masters will allow,” retorted Darann. “It’s a question of what we’re willing to do.”

“What would I have to do?” the pailslopper asked hesitantly.

“You have to avenge the loss of your father and give me a chance to avenge the murder of mine! Take us into the tower, and we’ll make our way to the king somehow. Do you know the Royal Guard is in the ghetto right now, killing every goblin that comes within reach of a dwarven blade?”

Greta winced again, her eyes filling with tears. She shook her head, whether, in denial or pain Darann couldn’t tell. “We have to stop them,” the servant maid said at last. “I will come with you. But what do I tell the king?”

“Tell him what you know about Nayfal and your father!” Darann urged. “And we can only pray that’s enough.”

“I might have expected to find you two living among the goblins,” Nayfal said with a sneer, strutting between the two prisoners-only after he had ordered that Borand and Aurand Houseguard be soundly trussed and forced to kneel on the cold, slimy paving stones of the ghetto street.

They glared at him soundlessly, though he could read the hate in their eyes. The intensity of their emotion gave him a little thrill, despite the fact that he found it somewhat frightening, as well. Walking this close to them, staring down into their faces, even touching the ropes that bound their arms so securely behind their backs… these things made him feel very brave.

“You just didn’t ever learn your place or the goblins’ place. In fact, that was your father’s failure, as well. He was too soft on our enemies, too blind to see the threats dwelling right under his nose.”

“Our father was ten times the Seer you will ever be,” the younger one-his name was Aurand, the lord recalled-hissed. Despite his bonds and his helpless position, the dwarf did not seem frightened. “Know this, coward: he will be avenged!”

With a sudden lurch Aurand knocked a shoulder into Nayfal’s hip, sending the dwarven nobleman staggering to the side. A guard stepped forward and cuffed the prisoner so hard that he toppled onto the flagstones. Nayfal, furious, gave him a sharp kick in the face. “Be careful about your talk of vengeance!” he snapped. “You are in no position to make threats!”

Spitting blood, the imprisoned Seer squirmed up from the ground, though the guards seized his shoulders to prevent him from rising off of his knees. Nayfal’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword, the blade as yet unblooded in this night of pillage. He was tempted to draw, to stab this insolent dwarf right in the heart. Indeed, that would be the perfect complement to this raid that had turned out to be far more complicated than he had supposed it would be. He could slay the sons of Rufus Houseguard, gut them both, let each watch the other die…

His sword was out, all but dancing in his grip. Which one first? That was easy: the young, impetuous one. Of course, he would need to make sure the other was securely bound. Who knew what efforts his grief might impel him toward?

But then a sense of caution held his blow. He considered: these two dwarves had been taken in the midst of the enemy camp, in fact as part of a group of goblins actively resisting the king’s guards. What clearer proof of treachery could he hope to find? Indeed, this was a masterful stroke of luck, when he thought about it: the king was altogether too reluctant to see the danger right under his people’s nose. Yet with this proof, dwarven captives-scions of an esteemed clan!-taken right out of the goblin mob, there could be no room for doubt, no mistaking the depths to which corruption had penetrated the Seer people.

Indeed, taking these two prisoners was about the luckiest thing that could have happened to him! Clearly, his best course of action was to take them to the monarch, and let King Lightbringer pass the only sentence that fit such a crime: execution for high treason.

There would be plenty of time, then, to watch them die.

“Here, this is called the Pailslopper Gate,” Greta Weaver said, holding her head high, as if challenging Darann to impugn her menial chore.

She had led them through quiet side streets over a distance of a mile or so, to bring them to the rear of the Royal Tower. This was a part of the king’s palace that Darann had never seen. There were corrals for darkbulls nearby, the beasts snuffling and lowing and emanating their characteristic stink, and tiny shops where servants and other menial workers could purchase clothes and other items, including inexpensive food like pale fungus and blindfish that never would have found its way onto a table in one of the nicer quarters of Axial.

Finally she had brought them to this door, which was guarded by a lone, elderly palace guard. He had greeted Greta with a cheerful “Hello,” then simply nodded to Darann and Konnor as they had accompanied her through.

“Thank you for getting us this far,” said the lady of clan Houseguard. “You are giving us a chance to make a difference in the history of our people.”

“Well, we’ll have to do something,” Greta said, shaking her head as if she still couldn’t believe what she was involved in.

In another moment the trio had slipped through the anteroom and found the worker’s lift that would lead to the many higher levels of the Royal Tower. This was a larger cage than Darann was used to; Greta explained that sometimes as many as a hundred workers were coming or going at one time, and the conveyance was needed to efficiently move these crowds. Now, fortunately, there were only a few dwarves-blacksmiths, to judge from their burly arms and leather aprons-waiting at the bottom. In a few minutes the cage arrived with a hiss of steam. The gate clanked open, and the trio entered behind the smiths.

“Level twelve,” declared one of the workers, as the operator closed the mesh gate.

He looked toward Darann expectantly, but it was Greta who spoke. “Take us up to twenty-three.”

The ride lasted for several minutes and passed in silence, except for some quiet banter among the metalworkers. The smiths departed at their destination, and the last eleven levels seemed to pass at a snail’s pace. Finally the lift rattled to a halt at the twenty-third level, and they exited to find themselves in some sort of barracks room with several passages leading in different directions from this central chamber.

“The Royal Hall is two levels above here, but there is no lift station-not for the workers’ lift-up there. This is where the maids get dressed for work. If we can find a friendly face, I think I can get us up to the throne. Of course, then we have to hope that we find the king there. If he’s in his private quarters, there’s no way we’ll get past the guards.”

She started down one of the corridors, and Darann immediately noticed a large iron door, secured with a massive lock. She heard sounds of steam and hammering coming from behind the portal and asked Greta about it.

“That’s where that crazy engineer is working on his Worldlift,” the pailslopper reported. “I don’t know why they waste the time. But they say that shaft goes all the way through the Midrock, to Nayve if you can believe it, before the blue magic barrier closed it off.”

“I’ve known Donnwell Earnwise all my life,” Darann pointed out. “He’s about the smartest dwarf I’ve ever met. If anyone can make a Worldlift work, I think it would be him!”

Greta merely shrugged. “I don’t know why anyone would want to go to Nayve, anyway. We’ve got everything we need down here.” She was only echoing a sentiment believed by many dwarves, Darann knew, choosing not to argue the point. Even so, she recalled the warm sun, the waves on seas and lakes, the green hills and vales with suddenly poignant affection. She wished that, somehow, she would be able to see those wonders again, just once before she died.

“There he is!” Greta whispered excitedly, waving at a man-at-arms who was just coming through a door at the end of the corridor. “Larson! Hello!”

“Why, Greta!” declared the dwarf, beaming like a fellow who has just seen a woman toward whom he holds a great deal of affection. “This is a pleasure; I thought they had you on the first shift, these days. I miss our little-” For the first time he apparently noticed the two other dwarves accompanying his sweetheart. “Um, talks.”

“Me, too,” Greta said, her tone lighter than it had been at any point since their meeting at the Goat Hair Inn. She might have been a young maiden, stopping to flirt with her handsome soldier; indeed, Darann thought, that was exactly what she was.

Yet Greta showed that she was not lacking a certain capacity for guile. “This is my cousin Dari, from the Metalreach, and her husband… She’s in the city for a few cycles and has never been up here. I told her there was a chance we might be able to spot the king-you know, from the wings of the throne room. Do you know, is he in the hall?”

“You’re in luck,” Larson said, then lowered his voice and looked around furtively. “Not too happy about it, he ain’t. Was all set for bed, when he got a message that Nayfal needed to see him. Something about the troubles in the ghetto. Anyway, he’s on his way up, and the king is waiting for him.”

“Can you please be a dear and let us in the side door?” Greta asked, giving the warrior’s arm a squeeze.

“Why, I surely can,” he replied, blushing. “But you’ll have to promise to be quiet-mouse quiet! When he’s in a mood like this, it won’t do to be disturbing him.”

“Oh, you know how quiet I can be,” Greta said with a wink. “And Dari can do the same, right?”

“Mouse quiet,” Darann assured him.

“All right-come this way, then.”

The friendly guard turned around led them through the door he had just exited, taking Greta’s hand as they started up a stairway. Darann’s heart was pounding, and her stomach churned nervously as they climbed several flights and at last came to a door guarded by two Royal Guards.

“A little late work,” Larson said, nudging one of the guards, who grinned in return. Darann was certain the thumping in her chest was loud enough to raise an alarm, but somehow she managed to smile charmingly. The guard smiled back, then opened the door to allow them to pass through.

“Thanks-you’re a sweetheart,” Greta said, giving Larson a quick kiss on the cheek. He quickly pulled her close and gave her a more intimate embrace, smacking her on the buttocks as she finally broke free.

“You know where to find me,” he said, looking at her seriously. “And I meant it, Gret-I really miss you!”

“I’ll find you soon!” she promised, then pulled away. “This way,” she said to Darann and Konnor.

“Thanks, friend,” Konnor said to the guard as the trio started down another hall.

This one opened into a wide chamber, lit by numerous coolfyre chandeliers, and Darann felt her nervousness rise again. This was the throne room! Greta led them forward, and they saw that they were on a side platform that was itself the size of a large banquet hall, raised twenty or thirty feet above the truly expansive hall of the Seer dwarf king.

They moved past a pile of folded linens, then around a compartment where mops and buckets were stacked. Clearly this was some kind of housekeeping area, Darann deduced. Because it was raised so far above the main floor, they were able to advance almost to the edge without exposing themselves to view from the floor below.

There was a stone wall, about waist height, at the edge of the servants’ balcony, and when they made their way to this, they were concealed by shadows and that wall but able to see some of what was happening in the great room below.

The first thing Darann thought was that this chamber was the last place her father had been before he died. So much history had been made here… and, lately, so much corruption had been worked, to steer that history. Would that ever change? She resolved that she would do everything in her power to see that it did.

She looked around. The arched ceiling was at least a hundred feet overhead. Stone columns stood out from the walls, twelve of them rising all the way to the top, merging into the arches that all melded together in the center of the high vault. At four places around the room, including where they stood right now, there were raised platforms, allowing for a good view of the wide hall. These upper alcoves were all cloaked in shadow, though the main floor of the chamber was bathed in cool, white light.

And it was that floor that drew their attention.

Darann could see King Lightbringer, seated upon his high throne. A half dozen royal guardsmen, dressed in the ceremonial golden helms denoting palace duty, were arrayed around his seat. Aside from a few servants standing close to the walls, there was no one else visible in the great room. Darann quickly noticed that the guards and the king seemed to be directing their attention to the main doors. As she looked that way herself, those lofty portals were opened, and a servant in red livery stepped forward to announce.

“Lord Nayfal comes from the battle-and he brings two prisoners!”

Darann stiffened as the hated nobleman strode arrogantly forth. It was all she could do to restrain a cry of shock when she saw the prisoners, as her brothers were prodded forward by four armored Seers. From their mud-caked uniforms, she guessed that all of this group had come here directly from the ghetto.

Konnor gasped beside her, and when his hand went to his sword, she laid restraining fingers gently upon his arm.

“Your brothers!” he whispered urgently. “They’re captive!”

“I know,” she replied. “And we’ll get them free-but we need to wait until the time is right!”

Greta looked at them in alarm, raising her finger to her lips in a gesture for silence. Darann nodded and crouched down so that she could listen and see right over the rim of the wall.

“Your Majesty!” proclaimed Nayfal, sweeping into the room with a flourish. “I am grateful that you consented to see me at this late hour. I bring word from the ghetto-important word!”

“Very well, good lord,” said the king with a sigh. “Tell me why you summon me here thus.”

“I have here, sire, nothing less that a proof of the most base treachery-treachery lurking in an esteemed family, plainly writ for all of Axial to see.”

Aurand started to say something and was silenced by a brutal cuff from one of the guards, a blow from the hilt of his sword to the young dwarf’s skull that staggered him. With a groan, Aurand slumped to his knees, but not before Darann could see that his face was bloody, with one eye swollen shut.

“Who are these dwarves?” demanded the king, this time speaking with a little determination in his voice.

“Brothers, sire… the two sons of Rufus Houseguard. They were captured in the midst of a mob of goblins, having taken up arms against your own Royal Guard. As I said, clear proof of treachery.”

“Borand Houseguard, I know you-I thought-as a loyal soldier, one of my ferr’ell masters. Is this true?” asked King Lightbringer, fixing the elder brother with a stern glare. “Explain yourself.”

“Sire, I am innocent of treason,” Borand declared. “My brother and I were working to prevent treachery, to uncover truths that we might bring to your attention.”

“Cease your impudence!” Nayfal snapped, taking a step toward the prisoner.

“Lord Nayfal!” the king barked. “Let him speak.”

“Of course, sire,” replied the nobleman with a deep bow. “But beware of his sweet words. All these men, here, will testify that he was taken in league with the goblins. There is blood on his blade-the blood of your own guardsmen!”

“What is the treachery of which you speak?” Lightbringer said, addressing Borand.

“There is a plot at work, sire… a plot to convince you that the goblins are our enemies. It began forty years ago, with the attempt on your life… the scheme that claimed the life of Cubic Mandrill. And it continues to this day, with the murder of the dwarfmaid beyond the ghetto wall. That was not the act of goblins, Your Majesty.”

“I have heard these allegations before,” said the king impatiently. “But no one has brought proof.”

Darann stood and found herself speaking loudly, her words carrying through the great hall. “I have proof, Your Majesty!”

The king looked up, shocked, while guards shouted in alarm and started running toward the balcony.

“Guards, to the stairs!” cried Nayfal, blanching. “Sieze her! Beware another attempt on the king’s life!”

“Stay!” roared King Lightbringer, and the lord, the guards, the prisoners, Darann, and her companions all froze at the force of that one word. The monarch squinted up at the balcony as Darann stepped to the top of the stairway leading down to the floor. “I know you, too,” Lightbringer said. “You are Darann of clan Houseguard, wife of the hero Karkald,” he said. Then he frowned. “These would be your brothers.”

His scowl deepened. “Your brothers are prisoners, and your family is accused of treachery. Strong proof is required against these charges.”

“I bring proof and a witness, sire,” she replied, as Greta and Konnor came up to stand beside her. As the king waved them forward, they descended toward the floor, and an escort of guards flanked them as they approached the throne.

“And who are these?” asked the king.

“Konnor is another of your loyal soldiers, sire, one of your Rockriders. He has seen to my safety, when there have been those who would have killed to prevent me coming here.”

“I see. And the maid?”

“This is the daughter of Cubic Mandrill, Your Majesty. She knows the true story of how he died.”

Darann addressed the king, but her eyes were on Nayfal as she spoke. The lord’s face twisted in fury at her words, and he looked about frantically, no doubt seeking some escape from the net closing about him.

“Your father was a great hero,” said the king to Greta. “I did not know he left behind a child, else I would have taken care to see that your needs were met. I am sorry to learn this so late.”

“I have done fine by myself,” Greta replied calmly. “And I seek no bounty on the name of my father. I tell you truly: he was no hero-he was a traitor who schemed to fix our people’s hatred against the goblins.”

“Liar!” shouted Nayfal, growing pale. He drew his dagger and lunged forward with shocking speed. “I will silence your slanderous tongue.”

Konnor reacted faster than Darann-or their guards-could see, stepping forward and knocking the lord’s weapon hand to the side. Nayfal twisted away and raised the weapon for another strike when the king’s words held him.

“Let her speak, my lord. And know that such impetuous displays do you no favors!”

Darann saw that Greta was shaking, and she stepped forward to put an arm around the younger dwarfmaid. “Show him the coin.”

Still trembling, Greta drew the leather bag from her belt pouch and tugged at the drawstring, finally opening it. She stepped forward, Darann at her side and Konnor behind, while alert Royal Guards closed in from either side.

“It is a forgery, sire! An attempt to smear my name!” cried the nobleman, hurrying forward as well. Apparently sensing that the king was not listening, he lapsed into worried silence, his fingers caressing the hilt of his dagger.

“Your majesty, this was given to my father as payment for his part of the scheme. He was to discover the goblins in your palace. They were exactly where Lord Nayfal told him they would be, since the lord had paid them to be there. My father arrested them, but when Lord Nayfal came to claim the prisoners, a scuffle ensued. Cubic Mandrill and the goblins were killed. The lord was credited with saving our king, and my father was labeled a hero for uncovering a plot, when in fact he was paid for his presence at that exact time and place.”

King Lightbringer took the golden disk and studied it for a long time. Lord Nayfal started to stammer something, but the monarch gestured him to silence. Finally, he raised his eyes, his gaze falling directly onto Nayfal.

“Why?” The word was short, as abrupt as the fall of an executioner’s axe. “Why would you betray me, betray us all, thus? Do you know the evil that has been wrought in the last forty years, because I trusted you?”

Nayfal shook his head frantically. “That’s just it, Your Majesty. There is no good reason for me to go to such lengths!” He stared pleadingly at the king, but for a second his eyes shifted to Darann-and in that second, she understood.

“He did it because he lied about the battle at Arkan Pass-and that means Karkald is alive. He must be in Nayve!” she declared suddenly. “The marshal must realize this; that’s why he has turned the whole of your attention inward, sire! It is always the goblins that must be controlled, or defenses prepared against the Delvers massing just beyond the range of our light beacons! Who has fought your efforts to commission the Worldlift more urgently than Nayfal? It is because his secret will be revealed if ever we open up travel between our world and Nayve!”

“More lies!” shrieked Nayfal.

Once again the dagger was in his hand. In a bestial fury, he charged at Darann. This time Konnor met the blow with his own sword drawn-a quick slash that cut the lord’s wrist to the bone. Nayfal screamed and stumbled back, and the infuriated Rockrider closed, knocking him to the ground with a punch. Shaking with rage, Konnor stood over the fallen lord and pressed the tip of his blade through the tangle of the noble dwarf’s beard.

“Tell the truth!” he snarled. “Or by all the Seven Circles, I’ll cut your heart out. What happened to Karkald?”

Nayfal started to blubber a denial, then screamed and gurgled as the sword sliced the skin of his throat. “No-I will tell!” he shrieked.

Konnor eased the pressure of his weapon enough to allow the dwarf to draw a gasping breath. Blubbering, Nayfal squirmed, finally speaking when the sword pressed down again. “Magic-he was taken by blue magic after Arkan Pass… the Delvers, too… all of them raised up… the blue magic came and surrounded them-and they were gone!”

“To Nayve!” Darann repeated with certainty, her hopes rising to heights they had not attained for decades. “That’s where they were taken!”

“Yes-at least, it stands to reason. The barrier itself is blue magic,” Borand declared. “It comes from the same source.”

“Your Majesty!” Nayfal croaked. “Do not be misguided-the goblins-”

“The goblins have suffered and died to bring you this information, sire,” Darann interrupted. “Make no mistake; hundreds of them have perished in the last few hours, and more are being killed every minute-in Your Majesty’s name!”

“But they killed a dwarfmaid-poured hot oil over her!” the king protested. “A brutal murder!”

“Brutal indeed, but who committed that murder, sire?” Darann retorted. “Did you see the goblins do this-or did Nayfal tell you that’s what happened?”

“Of course I didn’t see,” the king snapped. “But I had the report-from…” His glowering gaze fell upon the hapless lord, who had risen to his feet. “Another lie, my lord, isn’t it?” Lightbringer drew a deep sigh. “A lie that has resulted in more innocent bloodshed.”

He glowered, sitting straight in his throne, seeming to grow as they looked at him. “You, more than anyone else, has crusaded against the malignance of treason. Yet now it seems that you are treason’s most able practitioner. To this end you have caused to be murdered an innocent dwarfmaid, a palace guard-if he was corrupt, he was corrupted by your hand-and countless goblins. You have much blood on your hands. There can be only one sentence for such treachery.”

“No!” the lord screamed. He broke away, starting toward the back doors to the great hall.

“Stop him!” the king snapped, as some of his guards drew their swords and the archers, near the door, raised their crossbows. “Immediately!”

It was over in another instant, the twang of a crossbow spring shockingly loud in the lofty chamber. The echoes lingered even after Nayfal, shot through, fell to the floor and lay still.