“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 Dwarven Rebellion Page 31