The jailor stepped into the cell. “What in the name of Farrow?”
The man was tall, and Rawk had to jump to reach his head. Doing so with an overhead swing, the stone struck with a crack. The man fell to his knees and forward, landing face-first on the floor.
Salvon chuckled. “Nice strike, Rawk.” Lifting his cloak, Salvon revealed his legs tucked beneath him as he kneeled. The old man rose to his feet while Rhoa stepped in and looked down at the jailor.
“Let’s get our things and get out of here,” she said
Rhoa and Salvon exited the cell, hurrying to the shelf where their things were stored. Rawk stopped outside the cell, staring into space, drawn to the song. He knew the others could not hear it. Even among his own kind, only one other had heard the song. That man had been exiled five years before Rawk for the same reason.
“What of the amulet?” Salvon asked.
“Despaldi still has the amulet. It was the fake anyway, so we leave it,” Rhoa replied.
Unable to resist, Rawk stepped into the dark corridor, facing the opposite way they had entered. “We go that way.”
“Are you sure?” Rhoa asked while strapping a sheath to her thigh. “We entered from the other direction.”
“Yes.” Why did you lie? She is your friend. He knew why. The song. “I can feel it.”
With his lute strapped to one shoulder and his pack over the other, Salvon nodded. “Lead the way, Rawk. We trust you.”
Why did he have to say that? The pang of guilt was washed away by the melody drawing him forward.
“Come along.” Rawk headed down the corridor, beyond the halo of light from the dungeon room.
Soon, all light fell away, leaving it dark enough for Rawk to remove his tinted spectacles again. The song filling his ears, he could barely hear Rhoa and Salvon following just a pace behind. They passed closed doors, which Rawk ignored. Eventually, the corridor ended at a stairwell to one side. The hint of light from above was visible at the landing. Rawk turned from the stairwell, placed his palms against the wall, and closed his eyes. Beyond, he sensed an open space not more than five feet away.
“Rawk, what are you doing?” Rhoa asked in a hushed voice.
“There is another way,” he said, fingers digging into the wall before he realized what he was doing.
A fervor overcame him, driven by the need to follow the song. The fissures in the stone became chasms; the fractures, canyons; the boulders, pebbles. In mere minutes, his hand broke through the other side. He carved the last section into a large oval and pushed it forward, the rock tumbling into a cavern. Without looking back, he stepped in and examined his surroundings.
It was natural in formation, domed with stalactites above, stalagmites below. Pools of water dotted the floor, and calcium deposits sparkled in the dim light coming from the far side.
Salvon climbed from the tunnel Rawk had carved and looked around. “If we survive, this will make a wonderful story.”
Rhoa climbed from the tunnel and dusted herself off. “How did you know this was here?”
“I could…sense it,” Rawk mumbled.
“Is there a way out?”
“Yes.” He pointed toward the source of the song. “This way.”
“Can you do anything to the tunnel you created so the guards cannot follow?”
Nodding, Rawk turned and placed his hands on the wall above the entrance he had carved. Extending his awareness, he found the cracks in the stone and encouraged them to widen, the rock breaking apart. He backed away as the tunnel collapsed, filling with rubble and stirring up a cloud of dust.
“It is done.” He spun and set off across the cavern, his ears abuzz with the music, drawing him forward. It felt good to give in to the urge. Resisting felt wrong, unthinkable.
At the far end was another tunnel lit by a pale blue light. With Rawk in the lead, they followed it, rounding a bend leading to another chamber. There, Rawk stopped and gaped.
It was a cavern so smooth it could not have been naturally formed. In the center were a workbench and a chair, each made from stone. Across the cave, on a shelf carved into the stone, two massive sapphires waited, calling to him. He crossed the room, seeing nothing else. His arms were outstretched, his heart pounding. He reached the shelf and carefully picked up one of the gems, the facets perfectly carved into a spectacular octahedron.
“What are you doing in my chamber?” a deep voice growled.
Rawk gasped and spun around, only to gasp again.
Before him stood a male near his own height, his build robust, his glare stern. Beneath long, auburn hair was a strong brow and bulbous nose. His red-hued beard was braided per Ghen Aeldor fashion.
“Uncle Algoron?” Rawk muttered, aghast.
The elder Maker’s expression softened. “Rawkobon? What are you doing here?”
16
Thou Shalt Not Covet
Five Years Ago
Rawkobon Kragmor worked in silence, shaping granite to match the image in his mind. Shards fell away as he hewed a path through the stone, leaving a three-foot thick, rounded column at the center. He smoothed the column until it was perfectly round, then he continued. A team of workers followed with shovels, scooping up debris and dumping it into carts. The men talked often, joking and making plans to meet for ales after work. Never did they include Rawkobon.
I don’t mind, he thought. He was so excellent at lying to himself he almost believed his own rhetoric.
His hand burst through the rock and into open air. It was no surprise. He had sensed the cavity before reaching it, no different than sensing the rock all around him. Peering through, he saw the portion of the chamber he had already completed – tall, rounded columns spread ten strides apart supporting a ceiling eighty feet high. The chamber was to be a new temple to worship Vandasal, the old one now often too full to house everyone in Ghen Aeldor.
For centuries, this section of the mountain – pristine white granite filled with tiny metal flakes – had been reserved for something grand. It was both more fragile and more spectacular than other granite, requiring special care and the most talented of artisans to properly craft. Only the best two stone-shapers in the mountain city were allowed such a project – himself and his uncle Algoron. Oddly, Algoron had not appeared that morning. Being late was unusual, but not so much to cause alarm. But when it neared the end of the workday and he still hadn’t appeared, Rawkobon wondered if Algoron had fallen ill.
A distant whistle sounded, the workers tossing their shovels aside and turning to leave without a word to Rawkobon. After all, who would want to be friends with Rawkobon the bald, Rawkobon the hairless, Rawkobon the freak? The last thing he heard was talk of a drinking contest at Borwick’s Cavern, one of a dozen taprooms in Ghen Aeldor. Then their voices faded down the tunnel.
Alone, Rawkobon dug into his pocket and pulled out a dark stone half the size of his palm. He closed his eyes and extended his awareness, seeking the exact right spots to cut it. With his eyes still closed, he fumbled with the stone, feeling the edges, and pressed, willing the stone to crack. He repeated the process again and again.
When he opened his eyes, the dull portions had fallen away, leaving a blood-red ruby. A grin crossed his face. He gripped the gem and headed down the tunnel, descended the stairwell he had crafted days earlier, and entered the completed portion of the temple.
He walked through long tunnels, rising up two separate stairwells before he came to an intersection lit by bright light. Squinting, he eased toward the intersection, careful not to look toward the light. Of course, he had done so in the past, his curiosity unable to resist knowing what lurked in the fabled section of the city.
He had discovered the light came from the sun, transmitted into the mountain through thick veins of quartz. The chambers, a series of massive caverns a thousand feet wide and twice the length, grew much of the fruits and vegetables that fed the dwarfs of Ghen Aeldor. While the sight was amazing, the effects were lasting, leaving Rawkobon blind to
the darkness for an hour afterward.
Farther back, beyond the vegetation-filled caverns, smaller ones held the pigs, goats, and chickens that provided the meat, milk, and eggs for his people. He had never ventured that far in, not after hearing of the odor filling those caves.
Using his hand to block the light, he scurried past the intersection and continued toward the main city. He soon came across a bridge spanning an underground river, pausing to gaze down into the water. Fish…some eyeless, others glowing in the dark waters…milled about in search of food. Phosfish, the glowing ones, were fine to eat, but the black, eyeless fish tasted much better. They were called Sabeleye for the black, eye-like markings on their bodies. Those were poisonous to the touch, but the meat inside was among Rawkobon’s favorite meals. With a sigh, he moved on in the darkness.
He came to another chamber overlooking a towering cavern with a gap a few hundred feet across. Terraces lined the walls of the dormant volcano, each leading to a home or business. The cavern was unique in shape, with any words spoken lingering with a melodic echo for some seconds afterward. Many of the most important dwarfs lived in the Cavern of Song, a source of pride for Rawkobon’s parents, whose terrace was on the seventh level.
Rather than going directly to his home, Rawkobon took the stairs to the third level and knocked on the closed door. It opened to reveal a dark-haired female dwarf of roughly his own age. Of course, she stood much shorter than Rawkobon. Few Makers could match his height of five feet. With large eyes and a button nose, she looked younger than her thirty-some years. Like Rawkobon, she still lived with her parents. It was rare for anyone to establish their own household before the age of fifty. In fact, his uncle had been seventy before he left the Cavern of Memories where Rawkobon’s grandparents lived.
“Hello, Ilsadar,” Rawkobon said, doing his best to sound confident.
“Rawkobon.” She peered to the left and right before her brow furrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to show you something. I found it today at work.”
He reached into his pocket and retrieved the ruby, gripping it in his palm. While watching her reaction, he opened his hand. The ruby glimmered, its edges clean and crisp.
With wide eyes, Ilsadar gasped. “It’s beautiful!” She reached for it before yanking her hand away. “You shouldn’t have it. You’ll get in trouble like your uncle.”
He shook his head. “I only just found it and was heading to the temple to gift it.” His brow furrowed. “What do you mean I’ll get in trouble like my uncle?”
“You haven’t heard?”
He shook his head.
“The Lawchief raided Algoron’s apartment this morning and placed him under arrest.”
Worry began to claw at his insides. “Why would they do such a thing?”
She leaned close and whispered, “I heard he was caught coveting gems. Dozens of them.”
His heart skipped a beat, his mouth working with no words coming from it. All gems were the property of Vandasal. It was among the Maker core beliefs. Find a gem and gift it to the mountain. To do otherwise was to risk Vandasal’s wrath. If the god grew angry, the mountains would erupt, molten lava killing everyone. Only by sacrificing the gems to the river of lava deep below Ghen Aeldor could they avert such an event.
Finally, he recovered enough to ask, “Where is he now?”
“The Tribunal was to meet today and decide his fate. You know as well as I what is at risk. A swift decision is required to avoid Vandasal’s wrath.”
“I must go. I can speak for him.” Rawkobon turned away.
“Choose your words wisely, Rawkobon,” she called after him. “Or you may share his fate.”
Distracted by his thoughts, he sprinted down the stairs, reaching the first level in a flash. He rushed toward the large opening leading to the Tribunal chamber. A crowd blocked the entrance. He twisted his shoulder between two males and pushed his way into the throng. In the chamber before him, someone spoke Algoron’s name. Driven by concern, he forged ahead, leaving a trail of curses in his wake.
He broke through the crowd and stood at the top of a long set of stairs that doubled as seats, spreading to his left and right in an arc. Below, on a platform, stood six men. Two were guards, each standing to one side of Algoron. The other three were the leaders of Ghen Aeldor – Lawchief Honnekon, High Priest Niko-Ono, and Guild Leader Bawkobon Kragmor, Rawkobon’s father and Algoron’s brother.
Lawchief Honnekon was speaking, Rawkobon catching him in mid-sentence. “…laws are clear and evidence is damning, leaving no question of guilt.”
As the man stepped back, Bawkobon stepped forward. Like his brother, Algoron, Bawkobon had long, thick hair and a braided beard to match. But while Algoron had red hair, Bawkobon’s was a deep brown. Almost as tall as Rawkobon, he stood with his barrel chest out, hands clasped behind his back as he began to pace.
“As you all know, Algoron Kragmor is my brother.” He paused and glanced at Algoron, who appeared defeated, shoulders sagging as he stared at the floor. “Or he was. As of today, I denounce him, for our laws are clear and strict in the matter of coveting. There can be no leeway, lest it open the door for others to give in to their desires for precious stones. Only Vandasal may claim such a prize, and only to Vandasal do we gift every gem we discover.
“My former brother has put his own selfish desires above those of the clan, bringing risk to all of Ghen Aeldor. Accordingly, the tribunal has agreed to issue the harshest of sentences to Algoron.
“Banishment.”
A collective gasp from the crowd joined Rawkobon’s as he staggered. Unable to stop himself, he blurted, “No! He is your brother! You cannot exile him!”
Everyone in the chamber turned toward Rawkobon, thousands of eyes staring at him, judging him, condemning him as a hairless freak. He longed to run and hide, but remained for the sake of his uncle.
“He has admitted his guilt, son,” Bawkobon said with sorrow in his voice. “Like me, you must sever the cords connecting your heart to his. Put him out of your thoughts and go on with your life, for tomorrow, he will be outside of the mountain, never to return.”
A heavy silence hung over the crowd as Rawkobon searched for someone to speak up, someone who might stand up for his uncle. Nobody moved.
Defeated, his shoulders slumped, his gaze toward the floor, he turned and walked out of the chamber. This time, he did not have to push his way through the crowd, for a path opened, everyone avoiding touching Rawkobon the freak.
17
Ambition
“What are you doing in my chamber?” a deep voice rumbled.
Rhoa spun around to face a stout man standing two strides away. He was a little shorter than Rawk, with a thicker build. His hair, beard, and garb were exactly how Rhoa had pictured dwarfs from the stories Salvon had told when she was a child.
“Uncle Algoron?” Rawk muttered, aghast.
Rhoa spun toward him, her eyes going wide. Uncle?
The other man replied, “Rawkobon? What are you doing here?”
“I…” Rawk looked down at the sapphire in his hand, his face twisting. “I cannot help myself. The stone calls to me.” He began to cry.
Algoron stepped closer and put a thick paw on Rawk’s shoulder. “You hear its song?”
Rawk nodded, wiping his eyes with his free hand.
Algoron sighed, reached out, and gently removed the gem from Rawk’s hand. “Come. Let us talk.”
The man crossed the chamber and passed into another, smaller chamber. In the room were a mattress, a table, and two benches. Like the other room, shelves had been carved into the walls. The shelves were filled with boxes, crates, and bundles.
Algoron sat at the table and set the massive sapphire before him. “Please. Sit.”
Rhoa passed Rawk and approached the man. “My name is Rhoa. I am Rawk’s friend.”
The man glanced at Rawk, his brow arched. “Interesting. I don’t recall you having any friends in Ghen Aeldor.”
“He has a number of friends now,” Salvon said as he sat across from Algoron. “My name is Salvon. I am a storyteller.” He smiled at Rawk. “And Rawk is my friend, as well.”
Rhoa sat beside Salvon. “You are a Maker.” It wasn’t a question.
He nodded. “I am.”
“Why are you here?”
Algoron looked at Rawk, who stared at the blue gem on the table. “I might ask the same of you.”
“I was exiled,” Rawk blurted.
Leaning back, Algoron stared at him with narrowed eyes. “The song… You hear it. You were caught with gems in your possession.”
Rawk turned away, his words coming out in a choked response. “I could not stop myself. The allure… It is too compelling.”
Algoron stood and put his hand on Rawk’s shoulder, his tone one of understanding. “They do not understand. They thought I was mad when I tried to explain. Centuries of teachings say it is wrong, that all gems must be given to Vandasal.” He turned toward the azure stone on the table. “The compulsion calls us. It demands we heed the call.”
Rawk did not reply, but he appeared less upset.
Even with the tunnel collapsed behind them, Rhoa felt the need to flee, to get as far from Marquithe as possible. “We need to leave, Rawk.”
His gaze met hers for a moment before he turned to Algoron. “Why are you down here beneath the Marquithe palace?”
“I found someone who appreciates my abilities.” Algoron picked up the gem, twisting it while staring into the facets. “My job is to locate extraordinary sapphires for Malvorian and shape the stones into perfect octahedrons.”
“Why?” Rhoa shook her head. “Don’t you see? You are feeding the man’s ambition.”
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