Chaos Descending (24 page)

Issalyn was looking at Lorik expectantly, hoping he would say more. He suddenly realized everything around him was wrong. He had hoped Issalyn could get him into the castle and help him stage a coup, but instead she had lured him into a trap.

He stood up, but the door burst open before he could draw his swords. Two soldiers charged in, thrusting their weapons at Lorik as they came. One spear pierced his right thigh, and another punched through his thick bicep on his left arm. Lorik screamed in pain as he was slammed into the far wall and held there by two large guards in full armor.

“You heard him,”
Issalyn said.

The tapestry began to shake, and more men came out from behind the woven work of art. One of the men was none other than Yettlebor, the usurper. He was fatter than the last time Lorik had seen him. His face distorted into a sneer of pure hatred.

“Yes,” he cooed. “We all heard his traitorous rant. And soon he will be publicly tried, convicted, and executed. That is a day I am anxiously awaiting.”

“You are going to let him live?” Issalyn asked.

Her words and the look of shocked disappointment on the queen's face hurt Lorik more than the spears pinning him to the wall. She walked over to Yettlebor and draped her arm around his shoulders. The fat king gawked down the neck of her gown.

“I think he should die immediately. It's too dangerous to let him live,” she said.

“No, we must make an example of him. We must show the entire kingdom that I fear no man. Not even Lorik the Protector.”

Lorik closed his eyes and wished the king would just slay him and end his misery, but instead Yettlebor moved closer and leered. There was spittle on his fat lips, and Lorik could see the puffy bags of skin under his eyes, which were riddled with tiny red veins and had a sickly yellow cast.

“She is mine. The kingdom is mine. And once I've seen to your death, which won't happen quickly, I assure you, then I will cut down your precious forest, burn what is left, and ensure that nothing of your name or progeny remains.”

Lorik had a spear in his right leg and another pinning his left arm to the wall, but his right hand was free. He struck as hard and as fast as he could. His fingers were bent at the middle knuckle, his hand rigid. If his blow had been on target it would have crushed Yettlebor's windpipe. But the punch was just slightly off the mark, and it hit Yettlebor on the edge of his chin. The fat king's head snapped around and he fell to the ground, his body twitching.

Then the butt of a spear smashed against the side of Lorik's head, knocking him sideways, tearing his left bicep in two and ripping the spear out of his leg. Lorik was just barely conscious, and then a boot came down on his face and his world went black.

Chapter 23

Traveling through the tunnels with Reenah and Moss went much more quickly than on his own. Zollin was lost within minutes. He had been moving slowly, marking each tunnel and intersection so that he wouldn’t get lost, but there was no time for such precautions with the dwarves. He simply had to trust that they could get him back out of the labyrinth of tunnels once his work with them was over.

The magic pulsing up from the strange gemstone in his hand made him feel invincible. It reminded him of the heady power he’d unleashed when he’d first been in Brighton’s Gate. Skellmarian warriors from the mountains were attempting to raid the small village, and Quinn had fought their chief to hold back the raid. Quinn had succeeded, but then fell through the ice into the river that traversed the Great Valley. Saving his father had been the first time Zollin had tapped into the mighty reservoir of magical power that resided inside him. It made him feel invincible, as if he was larger than life. All his problems and the threats around him felt tiny and insignificant compared to the raw power coursing through him. The magic from the stone felt much the same way, but Zollin was acutely aware that the magic wasn’t part of him. It was familiar, it was comforting, but it was not his own. He was already starting to worry about losing the stone.

The dwarves moved at a brisk pace for almost an hour, their short legs whisking them swiftly through the tunnels, until they finally came to a large cavern. Zollin had been in many of the caverns and clan villages of the dwarves, but this space was different. It appeared to be a high dome, with veins of glowing crystal streaking across the dark ceiling. An underground stream spilled out of the side of the cavern, flowing down large boulders, then forming a stream that ran through the cavern before disappearing into another hidden chamber below, near the opposite wall. In the center of the huge, underground space was a walled city. Zollin had seen walls in the dwarf villages before, the Jaq clan had a wall and gate along one end of their clan’s community, but the structure before him now was more like a castle.

“This is Kelladoon, the fortress of the dwarves,”
Reenah said proudly. “It is the first stronghold of the northern clans.”

Moss grunted.

“Some have prophesied that our people will flee to Kelladoon just before the end of our race. It is our beginning and our end.”

Zollin looked up at the towering walls. There were dwarves moving along the battlements in full armor, but even from a distance Zollin could see that they were elderly people. He felt a twinge of fear for the people under the mountains.

“It is time that you meet Grenda; she has taken up the mantle of leadership,”
Reenah said. “She’ll know what to do with you.”

The entrance to the fortress was a small door, not a grand draw bridge like the castles of men. The door was guarded by dwarves who eyed Zollin suspiciously, but allowed him to pass. In his past visits to the dwarf communities, he was always struck by the quiet resourcefulness of the dwarves. While few dwarves were as animated or jubilant as Jute had been, the dwarves in Kelladoon were hopeless by comparison. They moved slowly, their heads bowed by fear and desperation. What Zollin missed most was the ring of hammers on steel—the fortress was ominously quiet.

Reenah led Zollin through a series of hallways, most of which sloped upwards. The dwarves rarely made stairs, so the corridors led ever higher in the fortress as they wound around the large structure. There was also very little light. No torches burned, the lanterns and candles were all covered with shades to keep the ambient light from shining in the gloomy cavern. Finally, they came to a round room with a cold fire pit at the center. Stone benches circled the pit, while arched windows looked out in all four directions over the fortress. At one window stood a stout dwarf wearing armor and an ancient dwarf leaning heavily on a small staff.

“Chieftain,”
Reenah said. “We have a report.”

The armored dwarf turned and waved them into the room. Moss stayed by the door, but Zollin followed Reenah into the round chamber, doing his best to honor the solemnity of the moment. But the magical power throbbing through the gemstone made him want to throw back his head and laugh or perhaps scream at the top of his lungs, he wasn’t sure which.

“Reenah, tell us what you’ve found.”
said the elderly dwarf as he looked up at Zollin.

“We found another group of crynods,”
Reenah reported. “They were digging feverishly and we waited to see what they were after.”

“And who is this?”
said the armored dwarf in a low voice.

Zollin wasn’t sure which dwarf was in charge, but he bowed to show his respect.

“I am Zollin,”
he said.

The armored dwarf spat to show her disdain, but the elderly dwarf stood up a little straighter.

“The wizard has returned,”
he said. “And what of the other clansmen?”

“I do not know,”
Zollin said, feeling a stab of shame. “I assumed they had returned to you. I was hurt in the fighting, but we were victorious. It wasn’t until I came to visit Jute and the Yel clan that I discovered your people had not returned.”

“Then we truly have no hope,”
the armored dwarf said.

“Chieftain,”
Reenah protested. “I do not know if that is true. I have seen the wizard’s power. He defeated over a dozen crynods singlehandedly. He may offer a chance.”

“Is that so, wizard?”
the armored dwarf, who Zollin guessed to be Grenda said.

“It is, and I found what the oremites were digging for.”

He held out his hand, revealing the stone. It had been red in the chamber with the oremites, but at that moment it glowed blue.

“Is that what I think it is?”
Grenda asked.

“A Star Stone,”
said the elderly dwarf. “It is exceedingly rare.”

“It has magical power,”
Zollin said. “But I’m not sure why the oremites wanted it.”

“Come, sit with me young wizard,”
said the elderly dwarf. “I will tell you a tale that no human has heard in many lifetimes.”

They moved to the stone benches, and the elderly dwarf grunted as he sat down. Zollin settled beside him, while Reenah and Grenda stood behind. There was no wood in the firepit, just large chunks of coal, but with a wave of his hand Zollin heated the stones until they had a faint glow. The heat radiated out and the elderly dwarf groaned softly with pleasure.

“Thank you,”
he said. “My joints are more suited to the heat from a forge than cold stone. We are hiding here, as I suspect you know.”

“I found a horrid creature in the halls of the Yel clan,”
Zollin said.

“There are many such wretched monsters lurking in the darkness these days,”
he said. “Evil is descending on the world once again. With our warriors missing, we have suffered many losses under the mountains. The Yel clan is no more, as are many other clans. Our people say that the strength of the dwarves shall be overcome in Kelladoon, but perhaps that is not our fate.

“Long long ago, when the dwarves were a young race, the roots of the mountains were home to many evil creatures. Delving in the darkness was dangerous, not all that different than it is in recent days. But in that time, the dwarves sought a place to call their own, and a strong young dwarf named Orrin was the first to make his home under the mountains.

“The caverns were rich with gemstones, gold, and silver, but many an ambitious dwarf had been lost to the endless maze of tunnels and caverns. Our eyes were not accustomed to the darkness, and it was easy to lose one’s way.”

“I can certainly understand that,”
Zollin said.

“Orrin was no different, staying close to the surface, marking his way through the tunnels in search of riches, but never venturing too far until one day he came upon a pack of griffiles. The pack chased Orrin, who was forced to move deep into the mountain to survive. He ran and ran until he lost the griffles, but also any hope of finding his way back home. Still, Orrin wasn’t the type to give up. He searched and searched, day after day, but eventually the endless maze of tunnels took their toll. Without food and water he grew weak. Too tired to keep searching, he decided to dig a hole that he could lie down and die in.

“His hammer and chisel rang as he chipped away at the stone, but before long he began to sense something in the mountain. Not a creature, not the sustenance he so desperately needed, but something else, something magical. He began to dig frantically, desperate to find what called out to him from the depths of the mountain. He dug and dug, his hole winding deeper and deeper into the heart of the earth, until finally he saw a light shining up at him. At first he thought it was vein of quartz, not unlike the mineral that gives this cavern light. But as he continued to dig, he discovered that the light came from a small gemstone. And when he picked it up, he felt stronger. His despair fell away, and in his mind he could sense his way back home.

“So, Orrin climbed out of his hole and began searching again, only this time there was no fear or uncertainty. The tunnels were no longer a mystery to Orrin. He found his way home, and in the years that followed he led many treks into the mysterious tunnels, driving back the wretched beasts hiding in the darkness, and settling many caverns that would be home to dwarf clans for centuries.

“When Orrin died, he was buried with his gem, which he named a Star Stone. No one I know has ever seen one. But the stories say they glow and give their holder great wisdom.”

Zollin felt a pang of regret. The last thing he wanted was to give up the stone he’d fought for. The magical power he felt reminded him of all he’d lost fighting the witch Gwendolyn and her foul spirit creature. He thought that if he could keep the stone, he might regain the strength he’d given up to save the Five Kingdoms. But he couldn’t deny the dwarves deserved the stone more than he did. They had sent their most able-bodied warriors to help him; he couldn’t refuse to share the Star Stone with them in their moment of need.

“Here,”
he said holding out the stone, which shimmered with an icy, blue glow. “Your people should take this.”

“I don’t believe it is ours to take,”
the old dwarf said.

“Prawg, don’t be sentimental,”
Grenda said.

She reached for the stone and it took all of Zollin’s strength not to snatch the rock away from her. Instead, even though his hand trembled with the effort, he held it out to her. She picked it up, holding the stone before her eyes, the light of the stone revealing the wonder on her face. But to Grenda’s dismay, the light faded, and the Star Stone suddenly looked like a dull rock.

“What has happened?”
she asked.

“Can’t say,”
the elderly dwarf admitted. “The story of Orrin and the Star Stone is just a myth now.”

“Why isn’t it glowing? What did you do, Wizard?”
Grenda demanded.

“I didn’t do anything,”
Zollin said.

“Perhaps it only works for the person with the gift to utilize its power,”
Prawg said.

Grenda flung the Star Stone back at Zollin, who caught it instinctively. As soon as the stone touched his skin it flared to life. He felt a little embarrassed, but also relieved at having the stone back. He could feel the stone's power, like a warm wind flowing through him, mingling with his own magic, feeding his inner reservoir of power.

“Once again you’ve stolen the strength of our people,”
Grenda said.