The Heir of Kayolin

ELEVEN

Brandon led Gretchan by the hand into Kayolin, walking as briskly as he thought he could without attracting any undue attention. He was still shaken by the discovery that his name was on a list held by the guards at the gate.

The two passed the Gateway Brewery and its public room without entering that classic watering hole. Instead, Brandon followed the long entrance tunnel for perhaps a quarter of a mile then turned into one of the passages leading into the lower levels of the city of Garnet Thax. The route had at one time been a mine tunnel, but it had been widened and supported with the installation of stone archways every fifty feet or so. It was mostly empty; the few dwarves they met were miners bearing wheelbarrows, tools, and other objects from one work site to another.

The most direct route from the main gate of Kayolin into the city of Garnet Thax was a wide thoroughfare, a ramp lined with inns and plazas as well as numerous shops, leading directly into the main residential zones of the city, the midlevels. Spooked by the fact that his name was known, and that the Enforcers might be searching for him, Brandon elected to lead Gretchan on a more circuitous route into the city proper. They made their way into the deep-levels, a district of smelting and forging plants, passing along narrow, darkened streets, moving quickly amid the infrequent pedestrians in that industrial locale.

Kondike, who seemed completely comfortable in the underground setting, paced easily along behind them. The dog drew more interest from passersby than did the two dwarves.

“Those sentries-they wore black, not red,” Brandon noted. “They must be a new outfit. The Garnet Guards are well known for their scarlet tunics.”

“Have things changed very much otherwise-at least, that you can see?” Gretchan asked as they strode along past a row of smithy stalls, where the clang of hammers striking steel made a rhythmic cadence and created enough of a din that they could be certain they wouldn’t be overheard.

“It looks pretty much the same as before,” the Kayolin dwarf admitted. He gestured as they passed a large chamber, visible through a series of arched openings off of the road. Massive piles of coal filled one side of the room, while dwarves chopped with picks to reduce the fuel to small chunks and cart it into the interior of the factory. They could hear the sound of roaring furnaces and feel the waves of heat emanating as far as the passing tunnel. “I mean, work is getting done. From the look of those coal supplies, the foundries are as productive as ever-maybe more.”

“Why don’t we just go to your parents’ house?” his companion asked. “You’ll be able to learn a lot from them, I’m sure.”

Brandon nodded. “We’ll end up there, yes. But I don’t want to just march down the street and go in the front door. Who knows who might be watching? What if the League of Enforcers has a spy there … or if my father has already been arrested?”

She grimaced. “I didn’t think of that. You’re right to be careful. Then where are we going?”

“To a tavern I know. It’s called the Deepshelf Inn, and we’re not likely to bump into friends of the king there.”

They turned onto a wider road, one that curved gradually as they walked along. Sooty smiths pounded their hammers against red steel anvils in several shops to the left, and they passed another foundry where they could see red-hot metal being poured from a great bucket into a series of molds, sparks trailing from the liquid. The workers all wore heavy leather aprons, hoods, and gauntlets with slit faceplates to protect themselves from the searing heat.

Gretchan looked around wide-eyed and would have stopped to investigate if Brandon had let her. Instead, he continued to lead her along until they came to a wide cave mouth on the side of the road. The establishment’s name, Deepshelf Inn, was carved into the mantel above the entrance. From within came sounds of laughter and genial argument, as well as smells of roasting meat, burning tobacco, and yeasty beer.

They stepped through the door into the crowded interior. The entryway was fairly dark, but the rear of the room was much brighter. As they advanced, Gretchan saw that the inn’s great room ended in a broad, curved balcony that was open to the air on the far side. The vast space was illuminated from above by a diffuse glow that, while it wasn’t as bright as daylight, suggested the pale glow of sunset or dawn.

“It looks like a view of the outside world!” she exclaimed.

“That’s the Atrium,” Brandon explained. “It’s a shaft that runs up and down through the center of Garnet Thax. The palace stands at the very top. All of the city’s levels have a view of the Atrium at some point-I guess you could say it’s Kayolin’s most significant feature.”

“Like the Urkhan Sea in Thorbardin,” she suggested in a tone of wonder.

“Maybe,” he replied with a shrug. He’d never thought of it like that before; as a Kayolin dwarf, the Atrium was just another part of ordinary life.

“What’s at the bottom?” Gretchan asked.

“Nobody knows. The horax have their dens far down there, somewhere. Lower than that, you’d probably come to the middle of the world; if you look down there, you can see the faint glow of lava and even feel the heat.” That vista had never failed to impress him as a boy, first, then as an adult.

“Can we sit next to it?” she asked, as if reading his mind. At first he was reluctant because there seemed no place more likely for him to be noticed. The balcony at the outer rim of the inn was visible to observers on the various levels above. But since they were in the deep-levels, it would be hard to pick them out on the crowded terrace. In fact, it would be pleasant to sit near the Atrium. Gretchan’s questions made him feel fond of it.

They made their way between the crowded tables, past the bar, and finally found themselves on the balcony, with the Atrium yawning before them. Gretchan gave a little gasp of surprise and stepped right up to the low stone railing that prevented an accidental fall. After glancing around for any signs of overly curious dwarves-though the bar, including the balcony, was crowded, all the customers and servers seemed to be occupied with their own business-Brandon stepped up to join her.

He felt, again, the dizzying sense of space that the Atrium provided, and he instinctively understood why the nation’s ancestors had chosen to build Garnet Thax around the vast, airy shaft. The deep well plummeted below them. They were near the bottom of the city, so most of the view downward was simply barren stone walls, cliffs that were pocked with ledges and the occasional crack, chimney, or cave mouth. The shaft here was perhaps a hundred and fifty feet across, and if they looked directly ahead, they saw a balcony similar to theirs, though not as large or as crowded, on the other side.

A few more of those vantages marked the presence of the city’s very deepest levels, below, until the gradually narrowing shaft vanished into a blue mist. Far below, a faint crimson glow, like the embers in a dying fire, suggested the deep fires at the heart of Krynn.

“You’re right; I do feel the warmth,” Gretchan said, leaning over so precipitously that Brandon grabbed her shoulder. “It’s rising like a breeze.”

“Yep,” Brand agreed, not releasing his grip. “It warms the whole city.”

They turned their eyes upward and beheld a dazzling array of lights where lanterns marked the more prosperous parts of the city. A series of shelves jutted from the cliff as it ascended toward the heights. There were dozens of levels to Garnet Thax, each of them centered around that deep shaft. They could pinpoint numerous other balconies, and many dwarves were leaning against the railings just as they were, taking in the sights. The Atrium was the focal point for all the dwarves of Kayolin, and many innkeepers exploited that fact by establishing patios and tables with a view.

Hundreds of dwarves were visible all around them, leaning on balconies like theirs, talking, drinking, or just staring thoughtfully. Looking around, Brandon hoped no one would notice them and recognize him.

From the great room of the Deepshelf Inn, they could hear sounds of raucous laughter, mugs clinking in a steady round of toasts. “The Deepshelf is one of the lowest social establishments in the city-in elevation, as well as class. The folks in here are mostly miners and laborers.” He gestured toward the higher reaches of the great shaft. “Up there, you’ll find a lot of prosperous merchants, with the wealthiest-and the nobility-sticking to the very top levels. The midlevels have a lot more inns and cafes right on the Atrium,” he explained. “It’s always been a popular spot for Kayolin’s dwarves to congregate. On the highest levels, those just below the governor’s palace, there are private manors with their own balconies looking out onto the shaft. Those are generally considered the most desirable homes in all Garnet Thax. The Heelspur clan owns one that circles halfway around the shaft at one of its widest points.”

“It looks like it gets wider the higher you go,” Gretchan observed.

“Yes, that’s right. It’s about three hundred feet across at the palace level, and gradually narrows as it descends. Some say it’s only ten or twenty feet wide down below, but it’s been a long time since anyone went down to look.”

They found a small table near the edge and took their seats. A few minutes later, a serving maid came by to ask for their order; she returned with their drinks, but the priestess ignored hers; she was still gawking at the vast shaft of the Atrium. Brandon also wasn’t ready to dive into his tall mug of bitter beer. He sat morosely, alternately watching Gretchan, peering around, and staring at the black slate table.

“How did you do what you did back there?” Brandon asked. “How did you get me past those guards who were going to arrest me?”

“Well, it was a simple charm spell,” she replied modestly. “Pretty useful on dimwits like those four. They probably still think you’re a long-lost buddy. And when the effect wears off, I hope they’ll be too embarrassed to tell anyone what happened.”

“But to think of my name on some kind of list!” Brandon declared, still trying to wrap his head around the idea. “Things are worse here than I imagined.”

“They mentioned the League of Enforcers,” Gretchan said. “I take it there was no such vigilance at the checkpoints when you left here?”

He shook his head. “No. But times have changed-and fast. I’ve got to find my parents and hear about what’s going on here!”

“I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you,” the priestess returned mildly.

“But if my name is on a list of undesirables,” he replied, “who knows? Their house may be watched. My father helped me get out of here when the governor and Lord Heelspur wanted my head.”

“What about friends?” Gretchan asked sensibly. “Some of the people you know, who you trusted-and could still trust. Why don’t we seek one of them out, find out what’s going on, maybe see if they’ll get in touch with your father for us so you don’t walk straight into a trap.”

“That’s a good idea,” he answered. “I have friends here, and they’d probably be glad to see me. Two of them were real good friends, as a matter of fact. I’d trust them with my life.” He felt a twinge of embarrassment, and shook his head ruefully. “It’s just …” His voice trailed off.

“It’s just what?” Gretchan pressed.

He grimaced. “Well, they’re both female, and, um, I was kind of close to them. They’ll be glad to see me, I’m sure.

“But I’m not sure they’ll be too happy about you,” he concluded glumly.

The monster inched along, clawed talons scrabbling at the stone floor. Though it had large, multifaceted eyes, it was not hampered by the lightless surroundings. A pair of antennae quivered from the crown of its bulbous head, touching, smelling, and tasting the moldy air. Its legs, all eight of them, stiffened in preparation for a charge as those extra-acute senses told the being that prey was near.

Behind the creature came another, and another, and still more. The column of huge bugs moved with arachnoid stealth, joined legs smoothly propelling the long, segmented bodies, scuttling steadily forward. Each of them was protected by the armored carapace that was the monster’s natural shield. Despite their insectoid appearance, they moved in unison, like a well-trained company of soldiers.

They were similar but not entirely identical insofar as the last of the creatures in the file was a bright red in color, while most of the others were pale gray, almost white. Furthermore, while all of the others possessed wide, sharp mandibles, the red one had a smaller pair. That unimpressive weaponry was perhaps balanced by the presence of a bulbous mass underneath the creature’s head. The mass throbbed and wobbled like a living thing and was tipped with a moist knob, almost like a nozzle, which twitched and wiggled hungrily.

The heads of the monsters bulged grotesquely. The wicked pincers at their mouths were sideways-snapping jaws, and they flexed eagerly on the first of the beasts in the file. That one abruptly stiffened, bringing the column of its fellows to an abrupt halt.

The monster quivered, sensing, tasting, hungering. It was in a new place, a fresh hunting ground for the creature. It was blessed with the hive memory of all of its kind, and for thousands of years it had dwelled in those deep caverns, far below the surface of the world-a surface that the monster and its fellows had never experienced and would not have tolerated if, by some miracle, they were exposed to the brightness of the sun. But it and its race knew the deep caverns very, very well. For all those centuries, throughout the passing of millennia, it had made the caves its own.

Until, only lately, new paths had been discovered. Places where there had once been solid stone barriers were exposed as tunnels, new routes through the underground world. The monsters had crept into those new places, exploring, tasting, touching, smelling, and bringing the new knowledge back to the hive. Often those new pathways had yielded prey, and the monsters had carried much fresh meat back to the queen, allowing her to feast on dwarf blood, to grow fat and fertile, and to lay many more eggs.

The numbers of the monsters had grown great, their teeming masses crawling and clacking and clawing throughout the vast dens of the underworld. Sometimes they ventured too deep into the bedrock, to the realms where subterranean fires heated the rock, so the creatures were forced into retreat, lest they be roasted alive.

But more often they probed upward, where the new tunnels were being opened, where the dwarves lived. There were many routes to pick from, and all were explored by the aggressive, hungry beasts. They always traveled in groups, and as the queen dispatched them in every direction, the terrain known to the hive steadily expanded. Some of the explorations ended in dead ends or fiery fountains of lava, but many others moved onward and up, probing farther and higher into the realms of the dwarves.

It was such an expedition that was exploring yet another newly discovered route. The lead monster’s antennae quivered with excitement. It could hear the sounds of laughter and argument and dwarves feasting very nearby. Abruptly those twin sensors stiffened, fully erect, a clear signal to the file behind it.

Then it charged, numerous feet scrabbling across the stone floor, mandibles clacking aggressively at the forefront of its bulbous, hideous head. It rushed from the narrow tunnel into a larger, circular cavern. More than a dozen filthy dwarves sat there, bickering amiably over the flesh of a large cave slug that they were attempting to divide.

The gully dwarves shrieked and bounced to their feet as the clacking monster burst from concealment, but the creature moved too fast for the hapless fellows. It seized the nearest gully dwarf with its four front legs, pulling the wriggling fellow up to its head. The sharp mandibles sliced though soft flesh, driving the Aghar into a frenzy of struggling. Blood spilled from the deep wounds, but the dwarf’s frantic squirming only made the monster squeeze harder and cut deeper into the captive’s flesh.

Holding its still-living prize aloft, the monster backed away from the band of dwarves to allow its kin-bugs to attack. The rest of them spilled out of the narrow tunnel one at a time, the whole file following their leader. Each of the giant bugs pounced on a gully dwarf, even as the panic-stricken wretches tried to flee. A few reached the exit, sprinting into the dark tunnel. But their stubby legs were no match for the speeding monsters, and most of the Aghar, when they ran, were caught in the monster’s sharp jaws before they had covered fifty feet.

In seconds there were only three dwarves still free of the clutching mandibles: a female and two youngsters. With the little ones clutching her grubby hands, she darted away from the obvious exits, sprinting toward a small crack in the cave wall. She had almost reached the safety of that refuge when the last of the monsters, the red one, came into the filthy cavern.

That crimson arachnid reared upward. The bulbous lump tilted, wet nozzle quivering as it spewed forth a long, sticky strand of webbing. The gooey material shot across the cave and blocked the entrance to the narrow crack. The female Aghar tried to claw it away with her hands, but her limbs quickly stuck in the web. The young gully dwarves shrieked as another strand of sticky web shot from the creature’s throbbing organ. That one struck all three Aghar, wrapping itself across their heads, and though they struggled frantically, their twisting and grappling only further ensnared them.

The red bug dropped its forequarters so all eight feet rested on the floor, and slowly the web, still attached to the bulbous organ, began to retract. It seemed to suck the strands back into the bulking grotesqueness on its throat, and as it reeled the sticky web strands in, it brought the three gully dwarves, all of them sobbing and shrieking pathetically, right up to its narrow, pinching jaws. With a toss of its head, it wrapped the Aghar even more securely in the gooey web and casually threw the bundle onto its segmented back.

Finally, with twelve of the monsters each holding a wounded, bleeding, but still living dwarf in its crushing mandibles-and the red one bearing the trio of webbed Aghar-the file of horax started back into the darkness, through the narrow tunnel, toward the hive.

They would bear their prizes to the queen.