The Heir of Kayolin

SIX

Willim snarled out loud as the remnants of the Black Cross regiment streamed away from the palace, fleeing across the great plaza, limping through the gaps that opened in the rebel line. His initial estimate was accurate: far more than half of the elite, highly trained troops remained where they had fallen. Those not already dead were dying or were quickly slain by the impetuous militia who raced forward to capitalize on the enemy’s sudden collapse. A few knots still held out, veterans battling back-to-back, but one by one, those stalwarts vanished under the relentless onslaught.

The survivors, the wizard saw with his magical gaze, bled from multiple wounds. Many of them limped, and the few able-bodied ones were trying to help their injured companions escape from the debacle.

The black wizard turned his back on the disaster, thinking furiously. With his eyes turned toward the plaza, he studied the rank of royal dwarves that extended all the way across the plaza. The troops of the Royal Division formed a solid wall, an obstacle blocking the rebel army from reaching Jungor Stonespringer’s palace.

“Master, I have returned.”

Willim heard the voice and recognized the speaker as his female apprentice, Facet. He spun around. She was kneeling on the floor at his feet, and her face was turned downward. He could see her black hair, shiny with a wetness that looked too much like blood.

“Facet! Look at me!” he commanded.

She raised her eyes, and he was stunned to see the blood smeared across her face. Her forehead was gashed, with a piece of skin hanging down over one of her eyes. The crimson liquid was everywhere, garish on her ice-white skin. He saw that she cradled one of her hands, also bloody, against her breasts, pressing it there with her other hand.

“What happened?” the wizard demanded vehemently. Facet’s beauty was marred, and he wanted nothing so much as vengeance against the ones who had done such a thing.

“Gypsum and I reached our position on the king’s balcony. But, Master, we were betrayed. Even before the king showed himself, we were set upon by guards. I wanted to teleport away, but Gypsum was caught in the grasp of the royal sentries. I tried to save him, my lord, I really did, but when I fought them, the guards struck me with their swords. I saw Gypsum fall, dead, and only then did I magic myself away.”

“Thank all the gods you’re alive!” Willim said sincerely, kneeling down and taking her good hand. His eyeless face, the stitched lids blank and scarred, was turned toward her, and the spell of true-seeing allowed him to study all of her wounds. She had been cut in several places, deep and bloody wounds, though fortunately none likely to prove fatal. He could sense the grief, sadness, and shame that burned within her beautiful flesh.

“But, Master, I failed you!” Facet declared with a sob. “Punish me! I do not deserve to live!”

“Hush, my maid,” Willim said soothingly, feeling a rush of tenderness for Facet, for her devotion and her undeniable skill. He would find who had betrayed her-and himself! — and that treacherous dwarf would suffer. But for the moment … “You are injured,” he said, touching the flap of skin on her forehead, feeling her flinch away from the pain. “Go to the healers at once; tell them that it is my personal command that your flesh be fully restored at once.”

“Thank you, my lord. But surely there are others who need the healing magic worse than I?”

So tender, so thoughtful was she! Willim felt a rush of affection for his apprentice, an emotion he had never felt before, not in all of his adult life. “You know my command. I would like to see you well, whole, and unscarred again as soon as possible.” He stood and helped her to her feet. She clung to him, and he relished her touch until, finally, he disengaged from her embrace. “Now go,” he said gently.

She departed slowly, yet too fast for the Black Robe, who already regretted her absence.

Willim saw Captain Veinslitter, commander of the Black Cross, approaching. Good, the wizard thought. I need to punish somebody. He stood stiffly, his eyeless face turned away as he magically observed the loyal captain, a warrior whose bravery and competence had been demonstrated a dozen times or more, approach. The Daergar knelt on the rampart platform before Willim the Black and bowed his head abjectly.

“I offer you my life, Master,” declared Captain Veinslitter. “My regiment failed you. I have no excuse.”

He removed his red-plumed helmet with a flourish and even pulled his black hair aside so that the wizard could plainly see his pale, defenseless neck.

And Willim sorely would have preferred to kill him right then and there.

The failure of the Black Cross attack and the loss of so many of those steadfast, veteran troops was a bitter blow to his long-planned campaign. The death of the lackey who had failed to carry the day would have been deeply gratifying.

The logical part of the wizard’s mind, however, argued that vengeful punishment would accomplish less than nothing. Willim was an emotional firebrand, but he was also a pragmatist. He had prepared too long, fought too hard, to accept failure at that juncture. He wouldn’t allow his temper, his thirst for momentary satisfaction, to distract him from his larger goal.

“Get up,” he said, his voice dripping with disgust. “Yes, you failed. But you will have a chance to redeem yourself. See to your troops. I want them rested, their wounds healed insofar as that is possible. I will have another task for them … and very soon.”

“Thank you, Master,” declared Veinslitter tightly. If he was relieved to have his life spared, he gave no sign. Indeed, though the concept was foreign to Willim himself, he sensed that the captain was deeply saddened by the loss of so many of his loyal soldiers. Fool, Willim thought, marking it down as a lesson about the Daergar’s character. Your troops are only so much ammunition, to be used up as the commander desires!

The rage swelled up again. Veinslitter was a fool, undeserving of his master’s mercy.

Then he had another thought.

I know how Facet can redeem herself.

“Hey, Oldar,” General Ragat Kingsaver said, clasping the shoulder of the veteran soldier sitting on the stone ground outside the palace. He nodded at the bloody bandages wrapped around Oldar’s knee. “How’s the leg?”

“Ah, it’s a bother, sir,” replied the battered dwarf. His eyes lit up at the sight of the bald-headed general and his gleaming silver shield. “But I reckon it’ll hold me up if the bastards come back for more.”

“Good man,” Ragat said. “We gave them a real bloody nose; let’s hope our own bleeding stops before they come at us again.”

Oldar nodded and closed his eyes as he leaned his head against the wall. A soft smile creased his bearded lips, and Ragat knew that his brief words had done the man a world of good. He sighed as he straightened and started along the rest of the line.

There were more than a hundred wounded dwarves lined up behind the front line, and though he recognized each face, the general was ashamed to realize that he could place a name to only a dozen or so of the brave dwarves. They had limped there or been carried on the backs of others after the battle, and the priests were working among them, healing as many as their limited powers would allow, bandaging and encouraging the rest.

By Reorx, he was proud of them all! Ragat felt the emotion well up inside of him and blinked his eyes to clear away the telltale tears. He cleared his throat gruffly and looked out across the square for a moment while he recovered his composure. Thus, he didn’t see his monarch approaching but heard the whispers as they spread along the line.

“The king is coming! It’s King Stonespringer!”

“My liege!” Ragat declared, spinning on his heel to observe the stern, forbidding visage of Jungor Stonespringer as the ascetic dwarf made his way down the list of wounded. Overcome by emotion, the general dropped to his knees then pressed his face to the paving stones. He would have reached out to kiss the hem of the king’s dirty robe, but he feared that would be too forward.

“Rise, my general,” Stonespringer said gently. He reached down to touch Ragat’s shoulder, and the general shivered with a pleasure that was almost ecstasy. “You and your men did very well.”

The words sang in the Ragat’s ears. “Your leadership, sire, is like the meat of strength to your men. All would have been willing to die in your service; any of them would have felt such a sacrifice to be an honor!”

Neither the general nor the king saw the subtle looks of skepticism that passed between several of the men who overheard. But then, neither of them really cared what those minions felt; the issue of war was far too important to be left to the opinions of the ordinary fighting men.

“Get some rest, my brave general,” the king said and again his touch on Ragat’s shoulder felt like the personal blessing of Reorx. “This war is far from over, and it is my wish that you be well prepared for our enemy’s next gambit.”

“Sire, your presence, the blessing of your praise, restores my spirits better than a month of resting. When the enemy comes, we will be ready for him!”

“Good, my general. I know you will. But, even so,” Jungor chided gently. “Go to your quarters and get some sleep.”

Ragat bowed his head, overcome with pride. “As you command, my liege,” he pledged.

The king moved on, stalking among the men who had shed their blood in his service. Ragat watched him go until the shadows swallowed him, and only then did he turn to step through the ranks of the wounded, starting back to his quarters. Two bleeding dwarves shifted on the ground to let him pass through the door. One had a plaster cast wrapped around his chest; the other was missing an arm.

Neither met the general’s eyes as Ragat passed by. Nor did the commander pay them any notice: instead, his eyes fixed on a cloaked figure standing in an alcove at the base of the castle wall. As soon as Ragat caught the dwarf’s eye, the fellow ducked back into the shadows. With a glance around to make sure he was not being observed, the old warrior followed the figure into the dark niche.

“Greetings, great General,” whispered the dwarf. Even though the fellow was masked by a hooded robe, Ragat recognized the voice of his trustworthy spy.

“What do you have for me?” Ragat asked, knowing that the agent wouldn’t have come to him there, in such a risky place, if he didn’t have some urgent matter to report.

“Just this, lord. I think the black wizard retains an active spy in the mercantile district. Two of them, actually-partners in a business. I have watched their comings and goings and feel certain that they are serving as a direct conduit to our enemy.”

“Good work,” Ragat said. “Keep an eye on them for now. I’ll see about them for myself as soon as the fighting is over.”

“As you command, lord,” said the spy, bowing deeply. Ragat nodded in dismissal, and the robed fellow left through a hidden door in the back of the alcove. Soon, the general knew, his spy would be back in his silversmith’s shop.

Captain Veinslitter lay on the platform of Willim’s command tower. The loyal warrior’s blood leaked profusely from the garish slash across his belly, but he had not so much as cried out in pain when the keen knife had suddenly, surprisingly, plunged into him. His eyes had widened in sudden understanding; then he had fallen. He twitched slightly in the widening pool of blood. He lived for the moment, but he would soon be dead, and he knew it.

Standing over the commander who had failed to carry home his attack, Facet wiped the blood from her blade and slipped the clean weapon back into her sheath. Her face was again clean and unscarred, healed by the wizard’s most potent priests. Her black hair was neatly combed, sweeping back from her white skin like a sheen of smoky strands. Her crimson lips, moist and full, pursed in cruel satisfaction as she watched the life drain from her victim.

Willim stood nearby, half turned away but studying the scene nonetheless with the full glare of his spell of true-seeing. He had seen Facet’s eyes flash excitedly as she had stabbed the captain, whose only mistakes had been preordained by the enemy’s superior defensive position. No matter to the black wizard; Veinslitter had disappointed him, he had been punished, and the rest of the rebel army would soon know what happened to those who failed.

The wizard struggled to mask his emotions, but he felt a rush of affection and admiration for the dwarf maid who was becoming his most treasured apprentice. How strong she was! How ruthless! How loyal!

“I am very proud of you,” he said, pleased to see the flush of exultation that spread across her porcelain features.

“Come,” Willim said as Veinslitter’s feeble twitching finally settled into the stillness of death. “I have other officers who have failed me as well.”

Facet nodded, her lush lips compressed into a tight smile. When Willim started to walk away, she followed him. He didn’t face her, but with the gift of his magical sight he watched her …

And he desired her.

Peat and Sadie worked through the night. He organized the chaotic mess in the shop while she labored over completing her copy of the scroll. Peat heard the steady scritch scritch scritch of her quill against the parchment but forced himself to stay away from her and let her work uninterrupted. Tempted though he was, he didn’t even try to peer over her shoulder.

The sounds of battle had, at last, faded away. Peeking out the door, he saw the streets were quiet; the fighting seemed to have ground to a halt. No one was walking around.

However, Horth Dunstone with his wife and two children returned to the Two Guilders Emporium promptly at the appointed hour. Peat, still wondering about his wife’s surprising possession of the powerful scroll, led them inside. He made sure that the Closed sign hung in the doorway and followed the customers toward the back of the shop.

The chubby merchant turned to him with an expression of almost pathetic hopefulness on his face. As his wife and children continued on inside, he whispered to Peat. “Do you have good news for me?”

“I believe we might be able to help you,” the Theiwar answered. He cleared his throat. “But, as I warned you, it will be expensive.”

“Oh, of course, of course!” the customer said. He pulled a fat purse from his belt and eagerly extended it to Peat. “I trust this will be sufficient. Mostly diamonds, of course, though there are some exceptional emeralds, sapphires, and rubies in there as well. It’s, well, it’s basically my life’s fortune, with only a few stones left to help us get established on the outside.”

“I see,” said Peat. “Please wait here.”

He left the fidgeting Hylar in the shop and went into the back area, where Sadie was just inscribing the last symbols on the copy of the spell scroll she had been laboring over for the previous sixteen hours. Beside her, illuminated by the same lamp brightening her worktable, was a smooth steel tray with raised edges. Barely able to breathe, Peat turned the purse upside down, and they both gawked in astonishment as a dazzling array of stones spilled onto the metallic surface. True to Horth Dunstone’s word, most were glittering diamonds, though a few red, blue, and green gems also glimmered in the midst of the crystalline treasure.

Peat immediately snatched up one of the largest diamonds, while Sadie picked through the stones to find a large emerald and another gem, a ruby of crimson red. Each of the Guilders held their stones up to the light, examining them critically.

“A bit crude in the carving but genuine,” pronounced Peat, setting the diamond down and picking up several more with shaking fingers. He quickly confirmed that they, too, were real.

“These are brilliant. This is a fortune right here!” Sadie declared, breathing hard. “More than we’ve ever held in our hands!”

“I take it the services we promised,” Peat asked hesitantly, “are ready?”

His wife nodded. “Bring them in here; we don’t dare do this out in the front room.”

Moments later the four refugees, each clutching a small bag of belongings, had gathered in the back of the shop. Sadie closed and locked the door behind them before picking up the copied scroll. She would read the spell from the copy, which would cause the magic to consume the writing, while preserving the original for future profit-as well as an eventual path of escape for themselves, if the time came for the two Guilders to leave.

“Where are we going to go?” the Hylar girl asked a little plaintively.

“Yes, where?” asked Horth Dunstone as if the thought were just occurring to him.

“Pax Tharkas,” Sadie declared, looking at the scroll. “There are dwarves there, refugees of Thorbardin from before the gates were sealed. They will make you welcome.”

Of course, there was no way she, nor anyone else, could predict what kind of reception the new refugees would find, but that wasn’t her problem.

That was enough for the Hylar. They were anxious to leave. “Let’s go, then!” urged the mother.

Sadie began to read the incantation on the scroll. The blue glow of arcane power emanated from the page, spilling through the small room. The thrum of magic pulsed through the air, and the family of refugees seemed to shrink together, each leaning upon the others for support. With each word spoken, the ink of that symbol burst into flame, chewing through the parchment so, as she reached the end of the spell, she was holding only a thin strip of charred material.

When she was done with the casting, a shimmering blue pattern began to appear on the wall of the shop’s back room. It pulsed and glowed with an eerie light, and all six dwarves couldn’t help but shrink away from it. Slowly the image expanded until it was a circle more than six feet in diameter. The glowing azure ring surrounded the vortex at its center, the true heart of the dimension door spell. It began to appear as a dark hole in the wall, a mysterious portal offering passage to an unseen destination.

“Now, now,” Sadie said, recovering to address the Hylar parents. “It won’t last long. I’d suggest each of you take one of the children by the hand and step through.”

With a last, frightened look at the two Theiwar, the Hylar couple did as Sadie suggested. With their children’s hands firmly clutched in their own, first Horst then his wife edged closer and finally stepped through the magical blue surface. The dimension door swallowed them quickly and silently took them away.

Not daring to believe what they had just witnessed, the two Guilders stared at the shimmering image in shock and disbelief. After a few moments, they shook themselves free of the trancelike fascination and went back to the worktable where they began to count their gems.

It was some minutes later before Peat, wealthier than he had ever been in his life, thought to look up at the place where the spell had glimmered on the wall.

The blue door was gone, the stone so cold and dark that it looked as if nothing had disturbed it at all.