Delver Magic Book II: Throne of Vengeance

by Jeff Inlo

  Chapter 16

  Ryson took little time in leaving Connel and racing directly to the site of the elf camp in Dark Spruce. He bypassed Burbon completely, even as the thought of his home gnawed at him. He wanted to know what was happening there, wanted to know if the dwarves had attacked again. He realized quickly, however, that such knowledge would not help him. He needed to get to Dunop. That was now the simple crux of his plan. Attempting to learn the fate of his new home was now nothing more than a distraction.

  Like lightning cutting across a wide open sky, he bolted across the farmlands that divided Connel from Dark Spruce. He raced through the thick forest and towards the heart of the elf camp. He slowed only for an instant, to be recognized by the perimeter of elf guards. He did not wait for their invitation, though; he simply called out his name and exploded back to full speed.

  The guards may not have appreciated the delver's boldness, but they did nothing to hinder him. They only stopped to wonder if they even could. The delver was a blur of motion. Could they mark him with an arrow, could they even target him? It was unlikely. Beyond this momentary diversion, they cast their attention back to the brush beyond their camp, or to the ground beneath them.

  Ryson darted through the camp. Twisting and turning, covering the breadth of the camp, his head spun about searching for signs of Petiole or Lief. He found Lief first, alone and muttering to himself.

  Ryson drew to a halt near the grumbling elf.

  "I'm back," the delver greeted.

  Lief looked upon the delver with obvious surprise and much dismay. "I heard you call in. Where's the cliff behemoth?"

  "He would not come," Ryson responded plainly.

  Lief blinked, as if not wanting to accept this answer.

  Ryson actually felt the exasperation. "I'm sorry. I tried."

  The elf only cursed. "Fire upon all of this. Why not?"

  "He needed a sign."

  "A sign?"

  "Something from Godson," Ryson stated, seemingly with only slight annoyance. He continued as if Dzeb's decision was now immaterial. "He wanted his doubts washed away, or something like that. He didn't believe he should interfere. He kept talking about everything being Godson's will, one way or the other. I don't know. It's hard to argue with a cliff behemoth. They use their faith as a reason. How do you fight that? Anyway, he's not coming."

  "That's not what I needed to hear," Lief posed. He rubbed his forehead as his sight bore into the ground.

  Seeing such agitation, Ryson turned to other matters, his own questions over equally important events. "What's been happening here? Did you talk to Petiole?"

  "Yes," Lief replied with a heavy weariness as he lifted his head and now looked to the sky. His face revealed a sense of desperation as if he was asking the heavens why he was so damned. He spoke with a tone near resentment. "I convinced Petiole to hold off using the seeds. He gave us five days. He agreed based on my insistence that you would bring a cliff behemoth to stop this war. This will not go over well."

  Ryson was apologetic. "I tried. I just couldn't convince him."

  Again, Lief shook his head. "I do not blame you. I'm just tired of this."

  Ryson tried to sound hopeful. "I have a new plan."

  The statement did little to soften the elf. "It was hard to believe in your first plan."

  Ryson kicked at the ground. He struggled with how to explain his intentions. He realized there was no way to make his idea sound sane, let alone reasonable. He unveiled it bluntly. "I'm still going into Dunop. I'm just going in without Dzeb. I'm going to give my sword to Yave. I hope it will show her how Tun really died, how it wasn't the fault of the algors."

  Lief simply stared at the delver. He said nothing, his expression revealed nothing.

  Ryson spoke faster. "I know it sounds like suicide, but it is a chance. I don't understand this sword. Your people made it, used their own magic to enchant it. It's shown the power to reveal the way things are. It's worked before. It showed me how to defeat Ingar. It also helped convince Tun to help us destroy his sphere. If it can do that, I think it can help convince Yave to stop before she does more damage. If she realizes that Tun's death was an accident, she'll stop these attacks. She can make amends with the algors. We might still get out of this."

  Lief still said nothing.

  Ryson heaved a heavy sigh. "You think it's a ridiculous idea. I knew you would. It's just ..."

  Lief did not let him continue. "It may work."

  Ryson's eyes widened. "You think so?"

  "It is as you said, the sword has helped us before. If it had the power to break through Tun's stubbornness, perhaps it can break Yave's madness. It is as good a plan as bringing Dzeb to her."

  Ryson smiled. "I thought so, too. Actually, it was Matthew's idea. After Dzeb turned me down, I went to Connel. I didn't have any other ideas. I thought Matthew might come with me. I was hoping we could all be together again… you, Holli, Matthew, and me. We might be able to at least stop Petiole from using the seeds. Unfortunately, the dwarves had attacked Connel. He was hurt."

  Lief revealed genuine concern elves normally don't show toward humans. "Not badly I hope?"

  "I'm afraid very badly, but he's sure he'll survive and so am I."

  "At least that is something. What of the attack? The city fared poorly?"

  "Very. The dwarves did damage beyond what I could explain. The city's basically in ruins. If anyone from Burbon thought Connel might lend help, they can forget it now. It'll take a long time for Connel to recover from this. They barely have the resources to help themselves, let alone someone else."

  News of Matthew's injury and the damage to Connel did little to lift Lief's spirits. His mood decayed as he reflected upon the heart of the problem. "Who would have thought it would have led to this? Yave and her separatist followers. The damn fools. It is so senseless. To attack a city, to wreak such havoc, all out of revenge. What will satisfy her?"

  "I don't know, but it's even more reason why I have to try and stop her. If the dwarves attack Burbon like they attacked Connel, no one will survive."

  Lief straightened at Ryson's lack of faith in Burbon's protectors. "Do not give up so easily on what others can do. Give the credit that is due to your captain and to Holli," Lief admonished.

  Ryson took hold of Lief's conviction as a sign of hope for Burbon's well-being. "Have you heard anything? I didn't stop on the way here. I didn't think I wanted to know."

  "We have scouts keeping an eye on Burbon from the trees. We need to know the dwarves’ strength. As of yet, there have been no further attacks."

  Ryson's eyes lit up. It seemed as if a block of weight fell free from his shoulders. "Then everyone's safe?"

  "For now, but we must make yet another critical decision. Do you really wish to enter Dunop? I agree the Sword of Decree may hold the way out of this war, but it is not without risk. I know you are adverse to the shadow trees, but the option still remains. Petiole will gladly drop them now. Any threat to you or Burbon would vanish nearly instantly. You must also consider another point. If you fail, if Yave does not grasp the sword and continues her plans of war, the seeds will be released anyway. If you are captured, you will face the same fate as the dwarves. Are you willing to take this risk?"

  Ryson heaved a heavy breath. "I don't see as if I have a choice."

  Lief frowned. "Do not be so dramatic, delver. There is a choice, and it's yours to make."

  "I'm sorry. You're right. I do have a choice. I have to try to stop this. That's what I meant to say."

  "I understand and I agree with you. I will accompany you to Dunop."

  Lief waited. He eyed Ryson with defiance.

  The delver responded with surprise.

  "I'm very happy to hear that. I don't want to go alone. I'm sure you expected me to decline, but I won't. I'm glad you want to come with me."

  "You will not argue the point?"

  "No. I don't know where the entrance to D
unop is. I have no experience with dwarf cities. There is no advantage to me going alone. And I'll be glad to have the company"

  "I'm glad you admit to this." The elf was about to say more, but Lief paused. Again, time was running short. He exhaled heavily as he cast a glance about the camp. He put a hand to his chin as he considered the next step, a burdensome one.

  The elf's consternation was not lost upon the perceptive delver. "What's wrong?"

  "We might face a more difficult problem than the dwarves right now. You remember I said Petiole gave us five days? That was on the condition you would bring a cliff behemoth to speak to the dwarves. I have no idea what he'll say about this new plan. He might reverse his decision."

  "We have to convince him not to," Ryson cited.

  "We can try." There was more than a hint of pessimism in the elf's tone. "Follow me."

  The delver obeyed. He moved alongside the elf. As they moved further away from the heart of the camp, he spotted Petiole standing alone at the outskirts of the camp.

  "Why is he out here?" Ryson quipped.

  "He is afraid," Lief said with near shame. "He wishes to be as close to the perimeter of guards as possible."

  "What's he afraid of? The dwarves?"

  "Me," Lief said succinctly

  The reply was blunt and Ryson, though questions burned his mind, did not press for details. He knew there was truth to Lief's words as he saw Petiole's reaction upon their approach. The elder fidgeted, stepped back slightly and finally motioned for a guard. Two elves swung down from the trees above him and took defensive positions by his side.

  The sequence amazed the delver. The guards treated Lief as a genuine threat. They drew long daggers as they took two small steps forward. They left an opening between them, a space for Lief to see the face of the elder, but they made it clear he was not to pass beyond them. There would be a buffer and they would close off the path if Lief tried to move beyond it.

  "Childish," Lief grumbled. He said nothing more until he stood before the camp elder.

  "The delver has returned."

  Petiole spoke with resentment, toward both the delver and Lief. "I see that. Where is the cliff behemoth?"

  Lief answered for Ryson. "He declined to come."

  Petiole jumped upon the response. "So we have waited for nothing?! You threaten me, you force your decision on me because you are 'the great Lief Woodson' and now you come to me with this? If we had been attacked, the blood of any elf would have been on your hands. The delay was uncalled for. Your delver friend returned with nothing. This will not be forgotten. I will move to have you expelled from this camp."

  Lief ignored the threat. "The absence of the cliff behemoth does not end the delver's plan. He still intends on entering Dunop and stopping this war."

  The statement stunned Petiole.

  "Without the cliff behemoth?"

  "Yes. He still believes there is a chance to end this before it goes any further. He will enter Dunop, so we still must wait before dropping the seeds."

  "You still want me to wait? You have no cliff behemoth and you still want me to wait?"

  "You gave us five days," Lief answered simply.

  "Five days to bring a cliff behemoth before me, not five days for nonsense. What can this delver do to stop this war? The cliff behemoth had a chance, he does not."

  Lief did not back down. "You said you would withhold from using the seeds for five days to allow Ryson the chance to stop this war. He still intends to do so."

  "How?" Petiole demanded.

  "The sword," Lief answered just as bluntly, but his tone carried a challenge.

  Petiole appeared to weaken at the response. He bit down on his bottom lip with uncertainty.

  Ryson watched with growing interest as Lief played upon the elder's display of weakness.

  Lief growled with authority. "The sword, a prized possession of this camp for untold cycles, which was given to this delver by Mappel. It was done because the sword revealed new powers in his hands. Are you going to deny the existence of those powers?"

  Petiole slumped. It was difficult enough for him to argue with Lief, but to cast doubt upon the memory of Mappel was beyond his abilities. It was Mappel's shoes he could not fill. It was Mappel's reputation he could not meet on his own terms. He was always cast in the past elder's shadow. He was always compared to the memory of the fallen leader, and always unfavorably. Mappel's decision to give the enchanted sword over to the delver was never debated. It was also well known that in the delver's hands the sword destroyed the sphere and saved the elves. Surely, the camp would scorn him if he questioned the power of the sword. They would turn against him, question him like they always did.

  The current elder mouthed puny resistance. "Yave is far removed from the sword. It is here and she remains in the cave castle of Dunop."

  "That is why the delver still plans to enter the dwarf city."

  "So what does the delver intend to do?"

  "He will allow Yave to hold the sword. It will break the hold of her madness."

  Petiole seized quickly upon a weakness. He saw a way to attack the logic of the plan while not attacking the enchantment of the sword. He spoke with renewed vigor. Again, the resentment and sarcasm dripped from his every word. "And how will he accomplish that? Simply walk into the throne room of Dunop and command her to hold the sword?"

  Ryson jumped into the fray for the first time. He was growing tired of Petiole's resistance. He was not looking forward to entering Dunop, but he had made the choice. Better to get it over with as quickly as possible then to stand here and argue.

  "Not simple and not command," the delver said. "I do intend to walk into Dunop, but I will surrender myself as the delver that was with Tun at his death. Yave will demand to see me. You can't doubt that. She probably blames me as much as the algors. She must also know the sword I carry played a great role in our deeds at Sanctum. I will offer it to her as a sign of my own grief. She'll either accept it as such or take it as a trophy of her victory over me. Either way, I truly believe she will take hold of the handle. That is all I can hope for. I can't control the rest."

  "And who does?" Petiole attempted to fight the idea.

  Ryson answered flatly, not hesitating to reveal his uncertainty. "Fate, maybe. Destiny, maybe even Godson. Who can tell? I don't know when or even how the sword will work. It either will or it won't. If it does, she'll see the truth. She will see how Tun died and know that it wasn't anyone's fault."

  "And that is it?" Petiole pressed.

  Lief eyed the elder with growing hostility. "And what more do you want?"

  The elf guards appeared to tense.

  Petiole brooded. Finally, he lit upon an acceptable solution to his own fears. "I want assurances from you. I want you to take responsibility for everything that happens from this point on. If the delver fails, I want you to admit it as your failure. I want you to leave this camp and never return. And if you are banished, I want you to admit I was always correct, state that the shadow trees were our only true choice."

  Lief glared with burning thoughts. Puny leader, puny elf. He spat out his response like a bitter taste. "On the first, you will have more than my word. It will be clear that I back this course of action for I am accompanying Ryson to Dunop. No one will question that I demanded the delay of the shadow trees. And if we fail, you will not have to demand my exile. If we can not stop the dwarves, I will not be returning. As to the last, defending the use of the shadow trees will be your concern, not mine."

  "You will go with the delver into the caves?" Petiole asked with more than a hint of hopefulness.

  "I will remain with him unless the dwarves choose to separate us," Lief replied firmly.

  "But you will put your fate in the hands of Yave and the dwarves?"

  Lief did not hesitate in insulting the elder, something he would never have considered with Mappel. "I put my fate in things obviously beyond your reckoning. I will
not, however, run from the dwarves. I will enter Dunop. I am sure they will take me prisoner along with Ryson. They will not let me go unless Ryson succeeds. That should be enough for you."

  Petiole sneered, but said nothing. He grumbled then nodded his acceptance.

  Lief wished to leave the elder immediately. He took one last look at the guards before he left. They returned his glance with suspicion. "Fire upon you fools." He swung his shoulders about and marched back toward the center of camp.

  Near a small tent made of pine branches, Lief made his final preparations. He removed his thin, double-edged sword from his belt, and the bow and quiver from his shoulder. He looked to the delver to give his explanation.

  "If we are surrendering to the dwarves we should go unarmed, except for your sword of course."

  The delver agreed. His hand went to his pouch searching for his dagger. As his fingers came up empty, he recalled the algor burial where he had left his knife in the sand. "I don't have my knife anymore. I'm going to have to replace it when I get back to Burbon."

  Lief smiled. "Optimism. I like it."

  Ryson chuckled at the thought. "I guess so. Well, do you know where the entrance to the dwarf city is?"

  "It is not far. We can reach it well before dark. You realize we will meet resistance immediately. The entrance was the point of meeting between elf and dwarf when we traded goods. They will not leave the passage unguarded."

  "I didn't think they would."

  With no other preparations, the two left the elf camp. The elf took to the trees and the delver followed at ground level. As Lief jumped from branch to branch, Ryson rambled across the ground, twisting and turning like a fleeing rabbit. He did not wish to be caught by any enemy until he reached the cave-city entrance. Lief called out directions from above and the two crossed the necessary distance without incident.

  Close to the entrance, Ryson called out a warning of his own. "I've caught a scent. I think it's dwarf."

  "Probably," Lief replied. "The entrance should be within your sight. Look to the northwest, through that clump of willows. Do you see the thick brush?"

  Ryson spied it in a heartbeat. "Yes. That's it? It's not in a hill side?"

  "No. There are not many hills this deep in the forest. The entrance is a small vertical drop into a tunnel. The tunnel declines at a fairly steep grade with few turns."

  "Do you think there are dwarves outside?"

  "It must be a scout hidden in the brush. That's probably the scent you have seized. He is most certainly back down the tunnel by now, warning others. There won't be any others outside. It would not be wise, especially if they are worried about a counter attack from elves. They would be targets for archers."

  Ryson tore off in a blur of motion. At top speed, he circled the clump of brush. His eyes scanned nearly every inch of the forest surrounding the mound. The area was clear. He stopped several body lengths from the brush. He could detect the outline of the hole which led to the access way. He waited for Lief to drop from the trees to join him before he moved closer.

  As the elf hit the ground, he showed signs of tension. He looked at the hole with apprehension.

  Ryson sensed it. "Anything wrong? I didn't see anyone around."

  "It's the tunnel. I do not like being bottled up in the ground."

  "I didn't think of that. Do you want to stay here?"

  Lief was resolute. "By now, the dwarves know we are here together. We have to surrender together. Otherwise, they will suspect a trick."

  "What should we do? Call to them? Announce our surrender?"

  "It's a start."

  Lief called out their intentions to the silent hollow. He then turned to Ryson. "There is little else for us to do now but move forward."

  Ryson did not wait for an objection and immediately took the lead. He jumped through the hole before Lief could protest and simply waited for the elf to follow.

  As he stood within the tunnel, Ryson marveled at its intricacies. Sparkling beams of light bounced off the walls and cascaded down the descending path. Light gems embedded in the walls and floor reflected the sun beams with perfect precision. The air was strangely dry, almost devoid of the moisture Ryson expected in the cave. It was also surprisingly fresh, a by-product of the dryness. With no mold or mildew, there was little to spoil the air. The tunnel’s construction also amazed the delver. It used no lumber for support. Instead, the very rock and dirt was compacted into a smooth, solid exterior as if they walked within clean and even pipes. The path was amazingly wide and there was plenty of head room for the delver. He could stand without difficulty, and even extend his arms well above his head. He would have to jump slightly to actually touch the tunnel ceiling. It brought a question to his mind as Lief joined him in the access way.

  "I was expecting a tighter fit. Why did the dwarves make this tunnel so large when they're so short?"

  "This tunnel was used to transport timber obtained from us to the city below. The dwarves would also bring up stone they would trade to us in return. To allow the passage of such large material, the path needed to be wide."

  A faint smell of smoke drifted up from deep down the tunnel and caught Ryson's attention. "I smell smoke."

  "The dwarves burn small fires for light as well as using the light gems. These tunnels serve many purposes including air flow."

  The elf was not allowed to continue. Portions of rock slid away. Hidden compartments and tunnel offshoots were revealed immediately as a dozen dwarves fell upon the elf and delver. They stood with malice as Lief and Ryson froze. One finally barked a command.

  "Unfasten your belt and drop the sword," a female warrior growled.

  Ryson did not move his hand.

  "Are you deaf, human?"

  "I'm not human. I'm delver. My name is Ryson Acumen."

  Near bedlam. Some dwarves advanced, some lowered their weapons. All shouted.

  Ryson stared down the female warrior that seemed to be in command, tenuous as it might have been. He dared her to attack. "You seem to know of my name. Then you must also know I was with Tun and Jon Folarok at Sanctum. I am here to surrender to your queen."

  "Do not touch him!" the commander hissed to the other dwarves.

  Ryson responded with even greater authority. "I wouldn't touch my friend, either. The elf is unarmed. He is Lief Woodson. We were both at Sanctum. We both witnessed Tun Folarok's death."

  A call came from the dwarf pack. "Lies."

  Ryson kept his gaze locked upon the warrior. "The sword is proof. How much do you know of what happened in Sanctum?"

  "Enough," the female snarled in reply.

  "Then you know of the sword's enchantment. I'm going to unsheathe it now to show you. Then it goes back to my belt. Nothing more."

  Ryson did not wait for the warrior's approval. Slowly but deftly, his right hand grasped the hilt of his sword. The blade glided free from its sheath. The light within the cave doubled and redoubled. There was no denying the source. The blade glowed like fire. Ryson held it aloft for but a moment. With delver quickness, he returned it to its scabbard. He stood empty handed, the sword at his belt, waiting for the dwarf reply.

  "I will take the sword," the warrior claimed.

  "It is not for you," Ryson replied with a slight laugh.

  "You scorn me?"

  "You're not taking this sword from me."

  Lief watched silently. He was a secondary player in this scene. Though the dwarves kept a suspicious eye upon him, their attention bounded over the delver.

  "You will stop me?"

  "If I have to. I'm surrendering, but not to you. I'm surrendering to Yave."

  "Yave is not here."

  The note of contempt was not lost upon the delver. "So one of the separatist followers has no love for the queen? You would care little about her wishes?"

  The warrior shot back quickly. "You think I should just let you pass with a sword at your side? Disarm. Now!”

&nbs
p; "No."

  The dwarf's eyes widened. "This is not a debate."

  "I know, but you don't seem to realize that."

  The group of dwarves growled with contempt. They shouted out their own desires with rabid fury.

  "Kill him now."

  "Take the sword from him."

  "Let me."

  The female waved her hand at the others. "Be quiet."

  Ryson summed up the situation quickly. "I know you can take the sword by force. You can kill me now, but that's not the issue, unless of course you want to displease the queen. I'm here to surrender to Yave. Don't you think she'll want to hear that from me? There are enough dwarves here to relay this news to her. Word will reach her that Ryson Acumen and Lief Woodson were at her door. She'll want to know why they weren't brought before her. She'll demand to know. What will you tell her?"

  The dwarf woman hesitated. She looked about the collection of scouts, guards, and warriors. Some would keep their mouths shut. They were loyal to the separatists, not the queen, but not all of them. A few might speak of this incident. If so, she would be punished if she did not bring the delver to Yave. She succumbed, but not without assuming some authority. "I will bring you before the queen. You will follow my instructions, or I will kill you. Understand?"

  "Understood," Ryson mouthed with little respect.

  The dwarf turned her back on the delver, a senseless display of disregard for the delver and the elf. She quickly issued commands as to those who would accompany her. She chose only two others, another display of disrespect. She commanded the remaining dwarves to stay at the entrance and watch for an elf assault.

  Ryson and Lief followed the stodgy warrior down the tunnel and deeper into the ground. Ryson attempted to gauge their descent. He wondered how far down they would travel before they saw the first signs of the underground city. The thought filled him with anticipation. This was his first excursion into dwarf living space. He could only imagine what he might find.

  Lief, however, found no appreciation in their journey.

  "I hate tunnels," he mumbled.

  "Quiet!" the dwarf ordered.

  Lief grunted.

  Ryson noted more and more branches of the smaller corridors as they progressed down the main tunnel. He wanted to ask their purpose, but he knew the dwarf would not respond. He looked at signs upon the ground. He saw only a few faint tracks, as only the rock dust and loose dirt would allow for an imprint, but he noticed a level of wear. Some tunnels were obviously used more often than others. He also began to notice grooves and hollows penetrating the rock. It could have been caused by water erosion, but the lack of moisture removed that possibility. Ryson speculated that the use of heavy carts filled with gems and stone might have created the ridges. Stone wheels would easily grind away at the tunnel floor. Ryson could only wonder as to the frequency of repairs to these tunnels. Further down the main passage, Ryson began to notice the scent of smoke growing stronger. Also, the growing light in front of them began to rival the light from behind.

  "More light gems from other tunnels and air holes converging at one center," he speculated out loud.

  "Quiet," the dwarf reminded him. This time, however, she attempted to accentuate her command. She did not turn, but she intuitively knew the distance Ryson walked behind her. She thrust the butt-end of her axe handle backwards, intending to strike the delver in the mid-section. Ryson saw her muscles tense just before she struck. He side stepped the blow with ease. The blunt handle bottom hit nothing but air. The warrior almost lost her grip, and certainly lost her composure. She twirled around with hot rage.

  "Do you wish to attempt escape?"

  "I wish to avoid being struck by your axe handle," Ryson responded sternly.

  The warrior hissed with fury. "I will ask the queen that I have the honor of executing you."

  Ryson wanted to respond with sarcasm, but he held his tongue. He simply looked away and waited for the dwarf to lead them again.

  In but a few more steps, he noticed two large blocks of stone waiting like sentries at opposite sides of the tunnel. Their mass seemed to defy movement, but they hung from stone hinges as thick as Ryson's chest. Once pushed together, they would form a nearly impenetrable barrier. Another contingent of dwarves waited here. They eyed the party with distrust.

  As the woman warrior explained the situation, Ryson looked beyond the check point and down the final length of the passage. The path widened only slightly from side to side, but the ceiling sloped upward and out of his sight. The passage no longer appeared as a tunnel, but as an alley way. Instead of curved walls, the sides became blocked structures with doors and windows. The ground flattened out into a well-trodden street made of cobblestone. A small lamp post, apparently molded out of iron, stood with a small flickering light. As he considered the simple lamp post, he drank in the familiarity of these surroundings. It looked almost like a side street in Burbon, but instead of wooden buildings, everything was carved into or out of stone.

  Ryson arched his neck to see further down the underground street. He saw small pockets of activity. The attention of other dwarves drew towards his position. This he did not like. The grumblings of these dwarves attracted others. The number of those fixated on him grew with every blink of the eye. They were not happy and he did not relish the thought of marching by them.

  He looked back to the guards. They appeared unfazed by the growing mob. Were they certain the crowd would not take their prisoners? Or did they simply not care? Ryson wanted to hasten them, but he held his tongue. He knew if he spoke, they would only linger that much longer. He swallowed his apprehension as he looked to Lief to gauge the elf's worries.

  Lief appeared more concerned with the rock that surrounded him than with the growing number of dwarves. He looked up at the ceiling constantly as if he were afraid of its imminent collapse. Ryson wondered how long the elf could last down here before the claustrophobia took its toll. His thoughts were interrupted by a command of the female warrior.

  "Wake up and move!"

  He saw a desire to strike him in her eyes, but also hesitancy. She remembered her past failure and apparently did not want to appear foolish in front of the gatekeepers.

  Ryson stepped forward and followed the warrior. Uneasiness gripped him as they headed directly toward the crowd. Thankfully, as he drew closer, he realized their faces were filled more with curiosity than hate. They did not intend to lash out or take him and Lief by force. He wondered how many of them knew what was truly happening.

  As his eyes perused the onlookers, he drank in a wealth of new images for his delver mind. He saw the makeup of simple dwarf people. These were not warriors, not guards, and not royalty. They lived in this underground city like the human civilians lived in Burbon. He imagined the tasks they performed by their clothes and by what they carried. He saw them as rock cutters, jewelers, builders, and miners. As he looked upon dwarf children for the first time in his life, he saw them as families; husbands and wives, sons and daughters.

  In this instant, he knew that what he was doing was right. These people were not responsible for the attacks on the algors and the elves. They did not commit the killing in Burbon or Connel. And they did not deserve to face the shadow trees. He walked on through Dunop with renewed confidence, believing it was not foolishness that brought him there.

  Rather than worry over his own well-being, he now allowed himself the opportunity to gaze at the wonders of this underground city, a masterpiece of design and construction. Tunnels became streets and alleys, caverns became squares and plazas. Boulders the size of hills were hollowed out for merchant shops and homes. More than once he crossed a stone or iron bridge which spanned an underground river. To his surprise, he saw fish.

  This revelation caused him to look for more of the unusual. Vegetation grew, both in the river and in the soil. It seemed impossible. They were far underground. He looked up, but there was no sky, only rock. There was no sun, but there was lig
ht, and that held the answer.

  The light gems and mirrors brought sunlight through the air holes and tunnels. Every carving of rock reflected the light. To the dwarves, it was viewed as the one resource which could not be wasted. Sun beams glistened through every passage. They sparkled off jewels and polished rock. Dim as it was, it brought life to this underground city. It was not overwhelming, certainly not like noon time upon the surface, more like just before twilight. This allowed for the growth of algae in the rivers and sparse plants along the roadsides.

  His observations sparked his delver instincts. As he walked behind the dwarf escort, his spirit pulled at him to investigate more of this city. It urged him to take off down one of the mysterious corridors or to the center of a large cavern. He wished to inspect the interiors of the shops and homes or to follow the run of the river. He bubbled with enthusiasm like a child in an amusement park. This was not just a cave; this was a place of magic, not the kind which allowed spells and enchantments, but the magic of something new and nearly inconceivable.

  Thoughts of exploration, however, quickly slipped away as the appearance of heavily armed dwarves became more common. As they proceeded, they passed more check points. The reason soon became obvious. Dunop's Royal Palace appeared at the center of the city in a large expanse of a cavern.

  The structure emanated more strength than beauty. It overwhelmed the space with a sense of power that typified the dwarf race. The palace appeared part of the cave, as if stalagmites and stalactites grew together over untold cycles to form this dominant structure. The obvious brilliance in design, however, quickly removed any thought that this might be a simple haphazard coincidence. The rock was sculpted with perfect precision. From the steps of the front entrance to the highest ramparts, the very lines of construction defied weakness.

  Immediately, upon his very first glance, Ryson could sense the intentions of the architects. From the start, before the first rock was placed at its foundation, the palace was viewed as a whole. Each rock, each piece of granite was to be molded together until this palace was born into a single entity. The edifice would boast of strength. Vulnerability would not be permitted.

  The delver wished to stop, to gaze at the stark power and drink in the image. Strangely, the dwarf escort allowed him to pause.

  The warrior slowly turned. She wore a grin, but it held pride to the degree of venom. Her pasty white, rugged flesh wrinkled about the curl of her lip.

  "View the last place you will ever see, delver. Know the true power of my race. Know that there is nothing we can't do."

  The delver ignored her. Lief did not.

  "Climb a tree," the elf said sarcastically.

  Rage took the place of pride in the dwarf. She moved upon Lief. Two dwarf guards in the rear fumbled with uncertainty.

  The elf straightened with defiance. His own eyes blazed with equal fury. He held no weapon, but he would not cower before this separatist. Only the delver's speed prevented his murder.

  Ryson stepped between them. He did not touch the dwarf or draw his own weapon. He simply blocked her path, kept her from getting within arm's reach of the elf.

  The dwarf growled. Her eyes remained fixed past the delver and upon the elf. She tried to sidestep Ryson. She could no sooner outrun the wind. Her frustration billowed. She reared back with her axe, determined to cut her way to the elf, if necessary.

  "Enough!"

  The warrior froze as every other dwarf guard came to immediate attention at the arrival of another dwarf, a dwarf whose command was exceeded only by that of Yave herself. The War Com stepped down the palace steps toward the party. He mumbled an order to the warrior. She did not attempt to question, but she offered a glare toward Lief as she stepped away.

  Strog eyed the two uninvited guests with mistrust. He said nothing. He simply stood in front of them and stared.

  Ryson was not in the mood for another contest of wills. He knew what Strog intended, stand there rigid until one gave up and spoke first. He decided to voice his intentions without delay. He wasn't giving in to the War Com, he just didn't intend on playing a ridiculous game.

  "I didn't come here to stand around and see who blinks first. I've already surrendered myself. I'm sure the queen will want to know this."

  The War Com did not respond. He continued to stare silently as if he would play the game regardless.

  The confrontation had gained the attention of many dwarves. Many stood watching from a distance. Ryson spoke up, loud enough for all of them to hear. "My name is Ryson Acumen. I was with Jon and Tun in Sanctum."

  Strog closed his eyes, trying to block out the reaction. He couldn't. He heard the murmurs of the crowd. Word of this would spread quickly.

  "Follow me," he said with disgust. He turned to move, but stopped suddenly. He placed his fury on the warrior escort. "Why does he still wear his sword? Why was he not disarmed?"

  "He wouldn't allow it."

  "He wouldn't allow it?" Strog cut her off. "Since when do prisoners dictate to us?"

  Ryson interrupted. Again, he spoke loud enough for all around to hear. "The sword is not for you or anyone else. Only the queen. It was named the Sword of Decree by the elves that forged it. It is the sword that convinced Tun to help destroy the sphere. Don't you think you should bring us, and it, to her now?"

  Strog folded his hands together. His first response was to dismiss the female warrior. He would not even let her voice her request to have the honor of executing the delver. He ordered the other escorts to return to the tunnels and motioned for palace guards to join him. Finally, he turned to Ryson.

  "I will take you to the queen. Not because you request it, but because I desire it. If you attempt to draw your sword, I will have you killed on the spot."

  Strog did not wait for a response. He turned on his heels back towards the palace entrance and marched up the polished steps.

  Ryson and Lief were soon surrounded by a cluster of dwarf warriors. They were urged forward down long corridors and placed first in a tiny room devoid of all furnishings. The queen would have to be summoned. She was not simply available for every prisoner that was marched through the palace.

  After a brief wait, they were again ushered into the corridors, and finally brought into the throne room and put before the queen. Ryson saw the mix of emotions captured in her face and eyes. Cold hate. Blazing hot fury. He sensed the conflict within her. She wanted to lash out. She wanted to make them cower in her icy stare. And if she favored either the elf or the delver with her distaste, it was Ryson.

  The delver treated her malice with equal measures of respect and indifference. He would not ignore her ire completely, would not speak with reverence as if greeting a friend, but he would not bend from his purpose. He knew she blamed him for the death of her son. The memory of Tun cast a shadow upon his soul. He would not stand there as if there was no loss. At the same time, he considered the losses to the algors in the Lacobian and to the humans in Connel, all because of her madness. It was her thirst for revenge which brought him here. It was his intention to end this dementia, an intention he was not sure was possible. He stood before her with patience and indignation, remorse and sympathy, uncertainty and determination.

  He folded his hands before him, as if praying, and dropped his gaze to the floor. It was not his desire to lock upon a battle of wills with Yave. He would not invite further hostility. He waited to be recognized.

  Lief, as with every other dwarf in the room other than Yave, swung his attention back and forth between the delver and the queen. The crux of this moment was pinpointed. There was little he could do. These two would now decide the fate of the dwarves in Dunop, the elves in Dark Spruce, and the humans in Burbon. The die was cast. He could only wait, and watch the result.

  Yave cleared her throat. "You are the delver that brought my son to Sanctum?"

  "I am," Ryson responded without looking up.

  "This elf was with you?"

  "He was
."

  "And you now surrender yourselves to me?"

  "We do."

  "Why?" The word ended with a rattle in her throat, as if her fury was about to spew forth.

  "We want to try and stop all of this. It's not a secret why you attacked the algors. I don't think it's too difficult to figure out why you attacked Connel and Burbon. And the elf camp in Dark spruce. You're trying to get those you think are responsible for Tun's death."

  "Who ARE responsible for his death," Yave corrected.

  Ryson chose not to dispute her. "I was the one that helped convince Tun to go to Sanctum. I'm sure you blame me as much as the algors."

  Yave's suspicion flowed over her repugnance for the two prisoners. She revealed her mistrust. "Is that all? No other reason? I was told you would not allow my dwarves to take your sword. Maybe you thought as a delver you would move quick enough to assassinate me."

  "I have no such intentions."

  "And I am simply to take your word for that?" Yave scoffed. "What am I supposed to believe? That you simply surrendered because you did not want to run? You are a delver and I am no fool. I know what you are capable of. You might elude us for seasons without end, but you surrender anyway. You think maybe I would be moved by this act? Did you think I might be impressed by what you might believe is courage? Or do you really wish to sacrifice yourself?"

  "I do not wish to sacrifice anything."

  "But you came here to surrender to me?"

  "I was hoping there might be a way we might satisfy you without need for further violence."

  "You think I will be satisfied with this?"

  "I don't know."

  Yave shook her head. "What is it you're trying to tell me, delver?"

  "I want this all to end. That's all."

  Yave spat upon the rock floor. Such behavior actually surprised the delver. He recovered, however, before Yave's gaze locked upon him once more.

  Yave's eyes narrowed. "Let me tell you what I think. I believe you are more concerned about other things. You did not come here to simply surrender. You came here to try and talk your way out of the justice which will be rendered upon you. You wish to try and save those you hold dear. I will not have it. No one saved my Tun. My son is dead. Do you have family in Connel, or in Burbon? Where?"

  Ryson stiffened. He would not answer.

  "I think you do. I guess I will have to see them all killed in each city. What do you think of that, delver?"

  Ryson redirected the conversation. "Did you know that Tun was against destroying the sphere?"

  The question temporarily stunned Yave. "What?"

  "Tun did not want to enter Sanctum," Ryson repeated. "He did not want the magic released."

  "I know that," Yave snarled. "You tricked him."

  Ryson ignored her. "He wanted to seal the breach, keep the sphere buried. He held to this for long meetings with the elf elder Mappel. He ignored the requests of the humans as well. He was not convinced the sphere was a true threat. Do you know what changed his mind?"

  Yave's eyes narrowed even further until they became mere slits. Only the blacks of her pupils were visible between her lids. "I heard the story. You and an infernal cliff behemoth came to Connel, you handed him your sword and tricked him into believing your falsehoods. You made him think that releasing the magic was good."

  "No. He never wanted to release the magic, but he knew the sphere had to be destroyed."

  "That's the same thing!" Yave bellowed.

  "No, it's not. He never accepted that the release of the magic would be anything but trouble for the dwarves. He hated the idea, and he mistrusted everyone that entered Sanctum. But he realized something else. He realized the sphere would destroy everyone. He didn't want the magic released. He simply didn't have a choice."

  "So what? What does any of this have to do with those responsible for his death? Are you saying he had to die? Do you expect me to believe that?"

  "No, I don't. I expect you to believe what you want to believe. Just like Tun. I only brought it up to make sure you knew why Tun entered Dunop. You blame me, you blame Lief, and you blame the algors for Tun's death. If that's true, you also have to blame the sword that's at my side. It brought light to the core of Sanctum. It led us to the algor tier where Tun died. If I surrender myself to you, I also have to surrender my sword. That's why I brought it here and didn't let anyone else take it from me. It's here for you. If you wish to destroy the algors, if you want to kill me, then you must also want to destroy the sword. If you believe you have to have justice on all those involved at Sanctum, you might as well take the sword as well."

  Yave's eyes broke wide open. Her mouth curled to a distorted snarl. "I will take your sword! I will kill you with it! That will be justice!"

  Ryson could have stopped her. He could have deflected her hand or he could have darted away in the bat of an eye. She moved so ploddingly it was almost humorous. He allowed her, however, a clear path to his sword handle. As she leapt up to him, the top of her head reaching up only to the center of his chest, he made no move. He kept his hands folded in front of him. As her thick fingers took hold of the hilt and her short arms struggled to pull the long sword free of its sheath, he waited without objection. Even as the light bathed him from the blade which was now free, he made no move of defense. He simply watched her closely, waited for the sign of enlightenment that held all of his hopes.

  With the sword firmly in her grasp and the blade free, Yave stepped away and reared her elbow back. The point of the sword aimed right at the delver's stomach. The blade never wavered, but it never pierced the delver. It held suspended in midair as confusion washed over Yave. She stood like a statue staring into blank space.

  "No," she whispered.

  Her shoulders shivered like an autumn leaf hanging on to a branch by a thin stem. Her left hand met her right upon the sword's hilt. She doubled over forward, still hanging upon the sword, the blade still filling the room with light, the point still directed at the delver.

  "Tun, Tun," she spoke in agony.

  She lifted her head and her eyes revealed tears. The hate slowly ebbed from her face as her brow was knitted not in fury, but in despair. She looked upon the delver and the elf with regret, but only for a moment.

  Her grip tightened upon the sword. She whispered her son's name again. Her focus drifted down the flaming blade. Her shoulders squared as she filled herself with her own intent. She lifted the sword up high before pulling it to her breast. She hugged the flat of the blade with her arm as she jammed her eyes shut.

  With yet another turn of emotion, she shook with a start. She screamed in anguish as she threw the blade to the floor. Her hands pressed against her face as if the magnified light burned her skin.

  "Cover the sword!" she cried.

  A guard moved to seize it.

  "Do not touch it," she commanded before his fingers could touch the weapon. "Blanket it, but leave it where it is. No one is to touch it. Ever!"

  The dwarf guard looked about with confusion. Throwing his hands up, he removed his own cloak and thrust it over the blade. The room grew instantly darker.

  Ryson looked upon Yave in a stupor. "Didn't you see? Don't you understand now?"

  "Shut up!" Yave violently pulled her hands from her face, scratching her cheeks with her own nails.

  Confusion bit at the delver. "I ..."

  He was not allowed to continue.

  "Imprison them with Jon. They all saw to Tun's murder. Let them share the same cell."

  Shock prevented the delver from reacting. He was immediately in the grasp of several dwarf guards. The strong hands held him firm. There was no escape.