“Walkar, can you or your people sense anything?” Shandon asked the mage.
“There is a force building in the middle of the room, my lord,” he replied tersely as the other mages looked past the king at the dais. “Something heavy and dark is growing there. It might be the summoning that the Council warned us about. If it is, we must stop it before it is completed.”
“Where are those damned magic-users?” Hallic said as he and the other rogues slid along the back wall, trying to see beyond the dais. “I can't see any of them from here.”
“You four slip along the perimeter until you can get a better view of whatever is happening in the center of the room,” Shandon told Hallic, motioning to the right. “I'll leave it up to you to decide when to attack and what your targets will be.”
“Good luck, my lord,” Hallic replied with a nod.
“And to you.”
The four rogues crept off, hugging the wall. Their black-clad shapes faded away almost instantly; even the heat from their bodies disappearing from the sight of the king and the others who watched them leave.
“How do they do that?” Pieter marveled. “It's like magic.”
“Skill, not magic,” Shandon told him. “And secrets that the rogues know and we don't. I'm just happy that they are on our side. Now let's move.”
He began walking slowly to the left of the dais, staying close to the wall. The others followed him, everyone keeping their eyes focused on the small groups of cavorting goblins who seemed to be celebrating their victorious takeover of the palace.
“Just keep dancing, you bastards,” Jergen muttered angrily as he followed the king. “You'll be dancing on the end of my blade soon enough.”
The wall began to curve and large pillars blocked the dwarves' view of the room. They also kept the goblins from noticing the approaching threat as Shandon and the others advanced.
As the group finally reached a point where they could clearly see the center of the throne room, Shandon stumbled to a halt in shock.
“By all that is holy, what are they doing?” Pieter muttered, wide-eyed.
Walkar and the other mages looked grimly at the scene. Odella gripped her staff more tightly and the lines on her face deepened as if she suddenly felt her age weighing heavily upon her.
Commander Brokk scowled and he raised his shield and readied his sword.
“Give the word, my lord,” he told the king. “And we will stop this...abomination.”
“We have to wait for the right moment,” Shandon replied between his teeth. “Wait for my order.”
In front of the dais a huge fire was blazing, smoke billowing thickly from it. Smashed and broken furniture fed the fire, precious wood that was greatly prized by dwarven society. What had filled the observers with horror was the sight of dozens of corpses burned beyond recognition in the midst of the flames. Bits of broken and charred armor identified the victims as members of the royal guard.
A dozen robed figures were standing around the pyre, chanting in unison. The harsh, bitter language of the goblins was unknown to the watching dwarves, but the dark power rising from the group could be sensed by all of them.
Three bound figures were kneeling in front of the fire, facing the dais. Although their faces were bruised and bloody, Shandon recognized two of them.
“By the gods,” Jergen hissed. “Falder!”
“And Torren,” Brokk added. “My lord, we must save them!”
The seneschal and the cleric were glaring up at the throne, their eyes puffy from blows. The third kneeling captive was one of the palace's young pages. The king didn't recognize her, but it broke his heart to see the terror on her innocent face.
Shandon turned his head and looked up at the top of the dais. He ground his teeth together and raised his hammer as he finally beheld the cause of all of the death and destruction that had plagued the empire over the past several months.
Corbin Ironhand was sitting indolently on the throne, leaning on his elbow as he smiled cruelly at the display below. He was wearing a bright red tunic made of silk and dark maroon trousers and he held a golden goblet in one hand. He wore many rings on his stubby fingers and his mustache was elaborately curled and waxed. He was even heavier than he had been just a few months before when the rogues had first contacted him and his piggy little eyes stared out between folds of fat. He appeared to be enjoying the spectacle before him.
Standing beside the throne was another robed dwarf, but this person was very tall and thin compared to most other dwarven females. She was wearing a plain black mantle but the epaulets on her shoulders were elaborate and covered with silvery runes. The body beneath the robe was misshapen and had odd bumps and lumps in all the wrong places. The female's hair was long and white, and it all but covered her face. All that the observers could see of her features were a long thin nose and blood red eyes. She held a crooked staff in one hand while she rested her other hand on the back of the throne.
“Cindra Ashlorn,” the king said with harsh satisfaction. “There you are at last.”
The chanting mages abruptly finished their ceremony and Shandon raised his hammer, sensing a change in the air. Three of the figures stepped toward the captives, all of them pulling crooked daggers out of their sashes as they did so. The trio moved to stand behind the kneeling dwarves and looked up at the throne as if waiting for instructions.
Corbin turned to look at Cindra, an anticipatory grin on his face.
“Is it time?” he asked petulantly, an irritating whine in his voice. “All of this dancing and chanting is getting on my nerves. And this smokey air must be wrecking havoc on my lungs. Can we get on with it?”
“Patience, your majesty,” Cindra replied in a voice surprisingly cultured and almost pleasant. “These things must be done correctly if we are to placate the gods and convince them to send us their aid. One small misstep and the ritual could be ruined and all of our planning and efforts would be for naught.”
“But I'm tired,” Corbin whined. “And this throne is uncomfortable. How my fool of a father could sit here day in and day out listening to idiots vying for his favor is beyond me.”
“That is because you are not now, nor ever will be, a king!”
Shandon stepped away from the wall with Jergen, Pieter and Brokk falling in close behind him. He quickly moved toward the three prisoners and Corbin squeaked loudly in terror.
“He's here!” he exclaimed. “Cindra, you promised me that this room was sealed. Do something!”
The witch hurried forward and motioned toward the cloaked figures standing behind the captives. The mages quickly grabbed Falder, Torren and the young woman by their hair and pulled back their heads, setting daggers against their throats. The cowl of one of the mages slipped back, revealing the twisted, jagged-toothed face of a goblin.
“Well, well, aren't you the clever one, Shandon Ironhand,” the witch said, laughing lightly. “I should have suspected that this palace would have hidden doors and tunnels. How inconvenient of you to turn up now.”
“Sorry to interrupt your festivities,” the king replied coldly. “But I don't like trespassers. Or traitors.”
He had halted abruptly as soon as a goblin had set its dagger to the page's throat. She was staring at the king with a mixture of fear and hope and a ribbon of sweat cut through the soot that coated her face. Shandon smiled at her reassuringly and glared up at the witch and his son.
“Your ritual will not be completed, Cindra,” he told her. “You won't be summoning any divine aid this day.”
“Ah, so you know about that, do you?” the witch replied as she leaned on her staff. “And how did you learn of it, hmm? Certainly my old colleagues, whom I sense hiding in the shadows, didn't penetrate the shield around this room. You are simply full of surprises, aren't you?”
“Oh, you haven't seen anything yet,” Shandon told her as he raised his hammer. “You and that treacherous creature who styles himself as my replacement are finished. The best that you can hope for is a quick d
eath. Come down here and surrender, or I will come up. And if I do, you will regret it.”
Cindra laughed, a chilling sound completely devoid of any hint of fear.
“Have you forgotten my prisoners, little king?” she said mockingly. “I do not know if you care for the life of a nameless page, but surely your seneschal and your high cleric mean something to you, do they not? If you move one step in my direction, all of them will die.”
“Kill her, my lord,” Falder called out. “Our lives are a small price to pay to save the empire!”
The mage standing behind him yanked his head back even further and pressed the dagger harder against his flesh. A trickle of blood ran down his skin and Jergen muttered a curse.
“Don't move,” Shandon told him without taking his eyes off of Cindra. “Don't give the beasts an excuse to kill the prisoners.”
She laughed again.
“Stalemate then, is it?” she asked mockingly. “Or is it? I sense four of my former friends just waiting to unleash their spells against us, but they are outnumbered three to one by my mages here. And you four warriors have a dozen goblin fighters to face.”
The cavorting goblins had stopped their celebrating when the king had appeared and all of them seemed poised to attack him and the others, twisted swords and cudgels at the ready.
“So what do you propose?” Shandon asked Cindra. “You have to know that I will not allow you or my son to leave the palace alive. Your deeds have condemned you both, as well as these filthy vermin,” he added, glancing at the goblins contemptuously.
Corbin had hunkered back into the throne, whimpering with fear as he stared down at his father. A trail of saliva dribbled from his chin and his porcine eyes were opened as wide as they could be. Clearly he had not been the leading player behind the rebellion. It had all been planned and executed by Cindra alone.
For her part, the witch seemed calm and self-assured. Her red eyes were locked on the king's, burning from behind the curtain of white hair that obscured her face.
“I propose nothing,” she told Shandon. “You have overreached yourself, Ironhand. And you have not disrupted anything. The ritual will continue. You have simply given us more sacrifices to offer to the lords of Chaos. Imagine their delight when I gift them with the soul of a king! That will surely convince them to lend us their aid. You haven't saved your precious empire, former king of the dwarves. You have aided in its destruction.”
She threw back her head and laughed, while Corbin seemed to break out of his frightened paralysis. He sat up on the throne and stared at Cindra with confusion.
“Destruction? But...but you said that I was to rule the empire. Surely you cannot mean to destroy it?”
The witch looked back at him and Corbin gulped loudly as he pushed himself back in his seat again.
“What worth is this failing empire to the dark gods?” she asked him. “The lords of Chaos hate the dwarves almost as much as they hate the elves, and much more than they despise humans, however few of them are left on the surface. No, the empire will be a gift to the forces of Darkness. Think of it, Corbin. Instead of ruling over this paltry little kingdom, you could rule over the entire world!”
“The entire world?” the prince muttered, frowning in thought. “The gods would let us do that?”
“Of course! Their goals are much loftier than just conquering our tiny planet. They intend to extend their reign over all Creation. What is one world to them when they will have countless others to play with?”
“So this was your plan all along?” Shandon asked her loudly. “To wipe out all of our people? And what of you, Cindra? Hmm? You too are a dwarf, just like Corbin and the rest of us. Will your dark gods not want your blood at the end as well?”
She laughed again, mockingly.
“I am not a dwarf,” she stated. “Not any longer. When the magics rebounded on me, they changed me. Made me something...else. Do you think that the goblins would have aided a dwarf? No, I am something new, something that the Chaos lords will happily reward for faithful service.”
“And will they reward my son as well?” the king asked as he looked past her at Corbin. “Whatever you are now, he remains one of us. Surely they will kill him too.”
The prince began to stare at her suspiciously, but Cindra ignored him.
“Enough talk!” she exclaimed. “The ritual must continue. And you, little king, must die.”
She gestured at the three mages standing behind the captives, but before they could even move, several high-pitched whistles shivered through the air and the mages collapsed, iron bolts protruding from their throats. The rogues had struck first.
“Attack!” Shandon bellowed. “Protect the prisoners!”
Some of the cloaked mages moved to kill Falder and the others, but the king swept his hammer in a wide arc and smashed two of them at once, flinging them backwards in broken heaps.
Jergen laughed in delight as he sprang forward. He rammed his shield into the face of another mage, shattering its jaw. It collapsed at his feet and he waded into the others.
Pieter's kind face was transformed with battle rage. He moved forward on Jergen's shield side, hacking and slashing with his bastard sword, droplets of goblin blood splashing like rain as he advanced.
Brokk moved with them, his disciplined attacks easily cutting through the opposition.
The goblin warriors rushed toward the dais, screaming and roaring madly. Their glaring, red-tinged eyes appeared mindless, but they fought with surprising skill as they engaged the three warriors.
Shandon let the trio deal with the goblins while he hurried over to where Falder was still kneeling. He scooped up a dagger off of the floor and used its keen edge to slice through the seneschal's bonds. He did the same for Torren and the young page and the three of them rose unsteadily to their feet, wincing as they rubbed their arms and hands. The ropes had been tied very tightly.
“Thank you, my lord,” Falder said, attempting an awkward bow.
He almost collapsed and Shandon grabbed his elbow and kept him on his feet. He grinned at Falder and the others.
“Let's save the formalities for another occasion, shall we?” he said to them. “Recover yourselves and stay out of the way. We have a battle to win.”
Torren had already taken the page's hands and bowed his head. Shandon noticed that several of the young woman's fingers seemed to be broken and the smile slid from his face.
“They did that deliberately?” he asked her.
The page nodded and winced as the cleric's prayers began healing her injuries.
“Oh, they have much to pay for,” the king said flatly. “Stay with Torren and your page, Falder. Defend them if you can while we clean up this mess.”
He offered the seneschal the dagger he had found and Falder accepted it willingly.
“I will do that, my lord,” he replied. “Please be careful.”
“This is a battle, my friend,” Shandon told him as he hefted his hammer in both hands again. “And a cautious warrior is often a dead warrior.”
He turned away to see what was happening and Falder stared at him in admiration.
Nothing stops him, he thought. Not even when he is risking his life for others. Ah, was there ever a finer dwarf?
There were still a half dozen goblin mages alive. They had retreated to the far side of the roaring fire while Jergen, Pieter and Brokk continued to do battle with the goblin warriors. As Shandon hurriedly moved around the blaze, he saw another mage stumble and fall. Apparently the rogues were still attacking from the shadows.
The remaining mages quickly chanted in unison and they were suddenly all surrounded by shimmering opaque shields. One of the barriers flashed as a crossbow bolt slammed against it and disintegrated.
“Stay away from those magic shields,” Shandon shouted at Jergen and the others. “You won't be able to get through them with your weapons.”
The three warriors were engaged with a handful of goblin fighters, but Jergen nodded o
nce to show that he had heard the king.
Shandon watched the mages warily for a moment and almost missed the threat at his back. Some instinct made him turn just in time to duck away from a jagged bolt of darkness that Cindra had shot at him from atop the dais.
She laughed loudly as the king stumbled back, tripping over the body of a goblin mage.
“Forgot about me, did you?” she called out with a mad grin.
The witch was also shielded against attack and Shandon cursed as he stood there totally exposed to her attacks.
“The king may have forgotten about you, Cindra, but we have not!”
A searing bolt of lightning slammed into the witch's shield, making her stagger and cry out angrily. The rumble of thunder following the attack shook the throne room and the air suddenly smelled sharply of ozone.
Shandon looked over at Odella and the other mages and watched as they advanced, their own shields glowing with power.
Odella was calmly watching Cindra as she reached the bottom of the dais. The witch glared down at her, her face twisted with loathing.
“And there you are,” Cindra said contemptuously. “Finally worked up the courage to face me, did you?”
“Courage had nothing to do with it,” Khara told her as she and the others moved to stand behind Odella. “We hoped that you would admit defeat with some grace, but now it appears that we overestimated your sense of honor.”
“Honor?”
Cindra hooted with laughter.
“I fight to win, you fools. The four of you are the perfect example of the weakness that drove me away from your ranks. Together, we had the power to rule over the dwarven empire and yet all of you are now subservient to fools like him.”
She gestured at Shandon with her staff.
“How could you abase yourself to a thick-headed warrior like that?” she asked them.
Odella shook her head, her expression showing a measure of pity as she watched Cindra.
“You have never understood us, have you?” she replied. “We may have power, but we are all dedicated to serving the empire, not ruling it. Shandon Ironhand has a noble heart. He cares about his people, all of them including us. You, Cindra, care only for yourself. That is the difference between us. And now we must stop you, even though it means destroying one of our own.”
The Dwarven Rebellion Page 46