The Heir of Kayolin dh-2

by Douglas Niles

  In the face of the Two Great Truths, we hereby decree the following steps, to be carved upon the scrollstones as law from this day forward:

  I) We dwarves of Kayolin withdraw our fealty from the unknown, possibly nonexsistent, monarch in distant Thorbardin. No longer am I, henceforth known as ‘we,’ Regar Smashfingers, a Governor, in service to that king. From this moment on, we who rule Kayolin shall be called King in our own right.

  Indeed, my loyal dwarves, it is time for Kayolin to stand as a kingdom upon its own, centered around our great capital of Garnet Thax, secure in our mountain fastness against the schemes and encroachments of human, elf, goblin, and ogre. In the person of ourself, Regar Smashfingers, we humbly accept this historical burden, and pledge to strive with never-ending diligence and perseverance to see that the honor, prosperity, and safety of Kayolin is upheld.

  The governorship has been a long tradition, an indelible part of our nation’s history, but it is time for that tradition to be relegated to the past, where it belongs. New times call for new measures, and the most important new measure is the coronation of our own King. Reorx himself wills that Kayolin be subject to no foreign lord, no external master. We are a kingdom, and we desire-we need! — a King.

  The tradition of Kayolin’s rulership is deeply seated, of course, ingrained into our history. We may recall tales told by our elders, learned by them as youngsters: when the first settlers established our home in Garnet Thax, under these mountains of Kharolis, they brought with them a legendary artifact. This was a silver torc, emblazoned with fabulous gems. The Torc of the Forge, the great talisman of Dwarf Kings, was created by Reorx himself as a sign of his favor, and it was brought to Kayolin in the early days of our nation.

  And then, tragically and mysteriously, it was lost into the depths of the world. All of Kayolin’s dwarves have learned that for more than a thousand years this torc, this symbol of a king’s throne, remained missing. Without the great talisman, Kayolin survived as a governor’s seat, lacking the need-and the symbol-of kingship. But now, in the hour of our greatest need, the artifact of our ancient regime would prove to be a timely and propitious find.

  And indeed, this is such a moment in our history, for it is our great pleasure to announce that the Torc of the Forge has been located at last, discovered by Lord Alakar Heelspur’s eldest son, Baracan, in the depths of the world. The torc came to Kayolin with the first wave of migrations and was lost when the deep delvings of our city were excavated. As was foretold in the first of the atrium, the torc has come forth when most needed, to signal the regal blessings of our god.

  Baracan Heelspur has returned the torc to its rightful place in Garnet Thax. As proof of our god’s blessing, the stones that encrust the ring of the torc are even now being incorporated into a splendid crown, a symbolic headpiece that will serve as visual proof of our reign’s rightful status.

  It is our expectation that the citizens of Kayolin will react to our ascendancy with joy, with celebration, and a continuation of the steadfast loyalty that is such a treasured component of the dwarf character. A series of banquets, culminating in the coronation itself, shall mark the first full month of the new year as a period of unprecedented celebration in our long history.

  Of course, we must acknowledge the existence of certain reactionary and criminal elements, wretched dwarves who will stand in the way of progress and act only to obstruct at every turn. It is because of this danger that we shall have the second decree inscribed upon the scrollstones:

  II) From this day forward, until such time as the king declares the crisis to be past, a state of emergency shall exist in Kayolin. This unique and dangerous time requires firm steps and resolute determination to overcome the many perils before us. Specifically, the emergency condition shall result in the following procedures:

  1. Lord Alakar Heelspur is appointed to a new position: Director of Loyalty and Enforcement. He shall be empowered to recruit honorable dwarves into his ranks and shall be awarded with a large scope of powers. His League of Enforcers shall act as his agents and have the authority vested in our own royal name. Furthermore, he shall be tasked with identifying the aforementioned reactionary and criminal elements within the kingdom, arresting those undesirables, and obtaining confessions from same. Suitable punishment for malfeasance shall be determined on a case-by-case basis; these disciplinary decisions remain the provenance of ourself, the king.

  2. The full might of Kayolin shall be mobilized to counter the threat of the vicious horax. All members of militia companies shall assemble under their local officers and stand by for orders. Operations against the horrible bug creatures shall commence at the earliest opportunity. Recalcitrant citizens who attempt to shirk their military duties will be conscripted and will form the first rank of the battle formations.

  3. The activities of the New Regime, including the celebrations associated with the coronation, and the imminent campaign against the horax shall be funded through a selective tax. A one-hundred-steel surcharge is hereby established on the activities of any hill dwarf seeking to do business in Kayolin. Any dwarf of any race who desires to conduct business beyond the gates of our nation shall pay a ten percent tariff, with value to be established by the Director of Loyalty and Enforcement, on any goods transported into or out of Kayolin. Finally, the small communities of Theiwar, Klar, and Daewar who live comfortably with the safety of our mountain fastness, shall each furnish one thousand steel from each neighborhood quarter as a small token of gratitude for the protection provided them by the Hylar and Daergar might that is the backbone of Kayolin’s greatness.

  Let the words of the king be inscribed into the scrollstones! From this day forth, the decree of Regar Smashfingers is the law of Kayolin!

  TEN

  HOMECOMING

  So your father’s letter warned you not to come home, which is why you’re going home?” Gretchan Pax said.

  Brandon Bluestone, walking along at her side, merely grunted in acknowledgment. An eagle screeched overhead, banking across the valley, soaring between the mountain peaks. The sun shone brightly, penetrating even the dense canopy of the pine forest. Yet the stubborn dwarf plodded along in a cloud of gloom, glowering as if he were marching toward a battle or some other dolorous occasion.

  “I just want to make sure I understand your logic-or should I say, lack thereof,” she continued as if she didn’t mind talking to herself. “I mean, so that I can write it down accurately the next time I have a chance to work on my journals.”

  “You don’t have to understand it!” Brandon Bluestone retorted. “And while we’re reminding ourselves of things we already know, you didn’t have to come along with me either.”

  “Oh, but I did,” she replied with that cheerfulness that Brandon could find so Reorx-cursed annoying. “You know I’ve wanted to see Kayolin all my life. I spent a year with you in Pax Tharkas asking you to take me there. Which you wouldn’t do until you got a message from your father warning you to stay away from the place. So now you’re taking me to Kayolin.”

  “I’m going to Kayolin,” he growled. “You happen to be tagging along.”

  “Call it what you will,” she said, unabashed. “Anyway, we should get our first view of the gate today, don’t you think?”

  He growled in exasperation. “Look, you read my father’s letter as well as I did. Not only does the governor plan to crown himself a king, but he’s created a League of Enforcers to impose his will on the people of Kayolin. Knowing Regar Smashfingers like I do, I’m certain that he’s using those agents to go after those who disapprove of him. And chief among those people will be my father. I won’t be surprised to find that he’s already been thrown into some royal dungeon … or worse,” he concluded grimly.

  She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it affectionately. Again, he grunted, somewhat more pleasantly. For some time they simply walked together, striding upward along the winding mountain road. Gretchan’s large black dog, Kondike, padded eagerly at her side
. In her other hand she held the long, smooth staff, capped with the tiny anvil, that was her most prized possession. She was a very beautiful dwarf maid, with hair falling in long blonde curls around her shoulders and upper back. Her blue eyes sparkled with vitality, and her full form curved the front of her tunic in a way that still caught Brandon’s eye whenever he looked at her, which he did very frequently.

  But for the time being, he was lost in his own thoughts, worries, and fears.

  Brandon was a handsome and strapping dwarf with broad shoulders, and flowing brown hair and beard. He was dressed in sturdy workman’s clothes, leather trousers and boots that were worn from long use but still served to protect his feet. A large backpack straddled his shoulders, and a keen, silver-bladed axe swung from a strap at his belt.

  The scent of the pines surrounded them, brushing their skin in the cool breeze that blew down from the heights of the Garnet Mountains. The smell brought a strong wave of nostalgic memories to Brandon, who had spent much of his life hunting, prospecting, and exploring the peaks and valleys of that majestic range.

  Yet as he walked, every one of those memories seemed imperiled by the present, and he felt himself borne down again by the weight of the responsibility that had compelled him to return.

  “You’re thinking about that proclamation that your father included with his letter again, aren’t you?” Gretchan asked softly.

  Brandon nodded. He had shown her the letter, which included a copy of Regar Smashfingers’s proclamation of kingship. “I don’t know if the king is behind my exile, but the fact that he promoted Lord Heelspur to head of his League of Enforcers makes me think so. It was Heelspur who was behind my brother’s murder, and I had to leave Kayolin because I accused him of the crime, remember? It’s pretty clear which side the king came down on.”

  “What about all that stuff about the horax? Do you think the king is making it up?”

  “Who knows? I mean, every Kayolin dwarf knows about the horax. Even with the walls and barricades and such, one or two of the bugs still make their way into the sublevels once in a while. They’re damned nasty, and if there ever was to be a real infestation of them, I think it could be pretty bad. But it just seems convenient to have them turning into a widespread menace all of a sudden, just when Regar Smashfingers is looking for an excuse to seize even more power than he already had.”

  She let go of his hand and almost skipped as they came around a bend in the winding road. A tall mountain came into view again, its sturdy shoulders mantled in white snow. The gentle, rocky ridges, far about the timberline, stood out in such crystalline relief that it seemed as though they could see every rock, niche, and snowdrift. The summit had been part of their horizon for several days, but their new vantage proved that they were getting very close indeed.

  “I can’t believe we’re almost there!” Gretchan said breathlessly. It was several moments before she realized that her companion had fallen a number of paces behind. “Brandon!” she called, turning and waving to the bearded, plodding dwarf. “Come on!”

  “What’s your hurry?” the big dwarf demanded sourly. His sturdy legs chugged along, and the large backpack looming higher than his head didn’t affect his balance or bearing. Even so, he moved more slowly than he had on any day during the long trek northward. “We’ll get there when we get there,” he added.

  “But-there’s Garnet Peak, right there!” she said, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright with excitement. She turned and pointed to the lofty, snowcapped mountain that had dominated their view for the past few days. “Your homeland is right underneath it!”

  “Don’t you think I know that? After all, I was born there!” Brandon snapped.

  “Well, you sure don’t sound like someone who’s going home for the first time in more than a year!” Gretchan retorted. “If you were walking any slower, a glacier would beat you!”

  “Glaciers move down mountains. We’re climbing up,” he shot back, allowing a smug smile to gleam through his beard.

  His companion sighed, her shoulders slumping as she shook her head and looked at him. Her excitement and enthusiasm seemed to all drain away in that look, and he felt a stab of guilt.

  “You’re really worried about what you’re going to find in Kayolin, aren’t you?” she asked sympathetically. “Look, if you really want to stop here, to turn around, we can. We don’t have to go there if you don’t want to, you know. We really don’t.”

  “I suppose not. It’s only the one thing you’ve been talking about since we met-the chance to see Kayolin with your own eyes. But we don’t have to go there.” A look of hurt flashed in her eyes, and he immediately regretted his sarcasm.

  “Look,” he added hastily. “I’m sorry. I’m worried about my father. And … it’s just … you know I left under some rather stressful circumstances. I’m also worried about what we’re going to find in Kayolin in general, the whole city and nation. And if something’s happened to my parents … You know, the Bluestone Luck-”

  “You changed the Bluestone Luck! Did you forget that already?” She pointed to the shiny weapon at his belt. “It was you who saved Pax Tharkas with Balric Bluestone’s axe! You fought that black minion; that is still the bravest thing I’ve ever seen!”

  Her words make him look up at the snowy massif of Garnet Peak, the mountain where Balric Bluestone had disappeared-during the Cataclysm-leaving his axe to be recovered by his son, Brandon’s ancestor, immediately after the destruction had ceased to rain down upon Krynn. Legend had it that the weapon had been blessed by Reorx himself, and most assuredly, it was a mighty blade, keen and enchanted.

  But the descendents of Balric Bluestone had not prospered from that blessing. Catastrophe had piled upon misfortune and mingled with tragedy through the more than four hundred years since that singular event. House Bluestone’s fortunes had waned, a series of business setbacks had taken their toll, and the family members had a way of finding disgrace or meeting up with untimely death. Brandon’s father, Garren, had struggled to survive as a moderately successful businessman, and his brother, Nailer, had been murdered by assassins that, Brandon had learned, were sent by the most ruthless and richest lord in Kayolin: Alakar Heelspur.

  It had been that murder, and Brandon’s own life threatened, that had led the younger Bluestone to flee the land of his ancestors. A year earlier he had made his way south, across the Newsea. He’d been ambushed and betrayed by hill dwarves, sentenced to death, then thrown into the dungeon of his own mountain dwarf cousins when they had mistaken him for a hill dwarf spy.

  Of course, all those adventures had also led to meeting Gretchan. She had rescued him from that dungeon, and together they had turned back the hill dwarf attack. Yes, he and Gretchan were not a bad team. He hung his head, forced to admit to himself that his luck hadn’t been all that bad.

  “Well,” he admitted, blushing. “It was really you who banished the minion back to-well, to wherever it came from.”

  “I could only do that through the will of Reorx,” the dwarf priestess replied cheerily. “And because you had the courage to stand up to the creature.”

  As they hiked steadily higher into the mountains, Brandon smelled the pine forest with new delight, heard the brooks and waterfalls of the Garnet range, and was reminded of all the good things about the place that had been his home for all of his fifty years-excepting the past eighteen months. And he finally felt that it was good to be going home again.

  He had spent the past peaceful year in Pax Tharkas with Gretchan and the dwarves of Tarn Bellowgranite’s Thorbardin refugees. He had shared Gretchan’s joy at the discovery that Tarn’s old general, Otaxx Shortbeard, was in fact the father she had never known.

  Throughout the year, Gretchan had yearned to continue her explorations, wishing to travel to the one great dwarf nation of which, as yet, she had no firsthand knowledge. Brandon had consistently refused to take her to Kayolin-until the letter from his father had arrived. For more than a month they had been journeying north
ward. They had trekked across the plains south of the Newsea, booked passage on a ship to Caergoth, and even purchased horses that had carried them all the way to the city of Garnet, gateway to the mountain range of the same name. They had sold their horses in that city two days before and were completing the journey on foot, following the smooth, paved road high into the mountains.

  The slopes to either side of the valley grew steadily steeper, and they came into view of some small glaciers, permanent sheets of ice clinging to the creases and couloirs in the shady recesses of the upper reaches. The Garnet range was much smaller, the cliff faces more gentle, the crests more rolling, than the lofty realm of the Kharolis. But from down here on the valley road, the mountains looked plenty big.

  Brandon took comfort from that familiar, pastoral vista. It wasn’t until they came around the last bend in the road and he saw the massive gate itself that he again thought about the realities of his homecoming. Would he be welcome in Kayolin? What was the fate of his father? What business was it of his that Regar Smashfingers had crowned himself king?

  Kayolin’s main gate barred entry to a lofty tunnel at the base of one of Garnet Peak’s true precipices, a soaring cliff rising some two thousand feet to a shoulder of the massive summit. In times of war, the entry was sealed by a massive stone plug, but at the moment, as usual during times of peace, that gate was retracted far into the mountain, leaving the tunnel mouth gaping as a black hole in the rock wall. The road led directly to that entrance.

  It was midday, so there was no other traffic in view as the pair of dwarves strolled up to the looming entry. “In morning, it’s crowded with hunters and lumberjacks heading out,” Brandon explained. “And the same thing is usually true in reverse at night. But most of the time it’s just a few travelers coming and going, maybe some merchants from Solamnia or dwarves carrying their own goods down to the humans.”

  “My skin is tingling!” Gretchan said, looking up in awe as they moved into the shadows of the tunnel. The roof towered some fifty or sixty feet over head, and the gateway was a similar length wide.