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 arou
nd 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.”
&n
bsp; 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.”
The Dwarven Rebellion Page 32