Lord of the Rose (19 page)

“Pap had somethin’ of yours?” snapped the bearded gnome. Abruptly, he sniffled. “Hah! Pap was no thief, and I never laid eyes on you before. How could he have something of yours?”

“Look, let’s be reasonable about this,” Dram said in a bluff attempt at friendliness. “What’s your name? The short version?”

“Pap himself named me,” said the little fellow sentimentally. “He called me Carbonfoundationremnantbasicintermixturefour partstoseven—”

“No, the
short
version of your name!” spluttered the dwarf.

“That
is
the short version. The first part of it anyway. You can call me Carbo.”

“All right. Carbo.” Dram turned to the female, his beard splitting into a grimace which he intended as a friendly smile. “And who are you?”

“I’m … well, you can call me Sulfie.”

“All right, Carbo. Sulfie. I’m sorry about your Pap. Let’s start with what happened to him. Tell us.”

“Well, it wasn’t just him. It happened to most all of Dungarden. We were just lucky that day—Pap sent us out to chop stones. Us and our brother, Salty Pete. He was working on the compound.”

“Who? Pap, or Salty Pete?”

“Pap! It was Pap’s compound! Usually we helped him, but
that day he sent us out to chop on the coal vein. Said he needed more black rocks, even though the hopper was still half-full. So we were gone when it happened.”

“When what happened?” pressed Dram.

“Something killed your Pap?” Jaymes tried to sound sympathetic.

“Something sure did,” Carbo acknowledged. “Anyway, Dungarden was gone, and so were all the gnomes.”

“Except for us, and a couple of others who were down by the fishing nets.”

“All gone!” said Sulfie, still fighting tears.

“Destroyed, you mean? asked Jaymes, a glimmer in his eyes.

“Completely gone,” said Carbo sadly. “We heard it—like one big clap of thunder, and a huge cloud of smoke flew up into the sky. Rocks flew for a mile around the big hole in the ground. Everyone in Dungarden was dead. There was just nothing left.”

“So you came here, to Caergoth?” Dram coaxed. “How long ago was this?”

“We—the Heirs of the Compound—came here three summers ago. We are just starting to make some progress recovering our Pap’s work. Now, if you will be on your way, we can get back on the job!”

“Not so fast,” said Jaymes. “What of this brother you mentioned—this Salty Pete? Did he come to Caergoth too?”

The two gnomes exchanged a furtive glance. “No,” Carbo replied after a long pause. “Poor Pete. He didn’t make it. Got killed by dracos in the Brackens.”

“Why did the dracos kill Pete?” asked Dram, as gently as he could manage. “Tell us.”

“We got attacked by these big dracos. They spit acid, killed two oxes, and carried Pete off into the swamp called the Brackens. We got away with one wagon. Dracos got the other one and Pete.”

“The Brackens? Where’s that?” asked the dwarf.

“I know,” Jaymes replied. “It’s a swamp, where the Upper Vingaard River meets the Kaolyn River. Nasty place.”

“Yup,” said Carbo.
“Real
nasty.”

“Hmm. So your Pap and Salty Pete are dead. What about your Pap’s work? What did you bring with you from Dungarden?” Jaymes probed.

“One wagon, the one the dracos didn’t get,” said Sulfie. “One of the two we rode out of the mountains.”

“Picks and a scoop shovel,” added Carbo, fidgeting. “Now you can go away, right?” His eyes, as if against his will, flickered anxiously toward one of the far counters.

Jaymes followed the look. “That little keg—did you bring that from Dungarden?” He rose and started across the room.

A loud knock on the door interrupted them. The warrior turned while Dram fingered his axe nervously, and the bearded gnome, with a snort of exasperation, stomped over to fling it open.

“What?”
he demanded, before adding “Go away!” The gnome slammed the door shut, but a diminutive, rotund figure had already somehow slipped past Carbo to enter the room.

“You!” the new arrival said, pointing a filthy finger at Jaymes. It was an unfamiliar gully dwarf, cloaked in an even heavier—and more aromatic—layer of the scum that was the usual final layer of any Aghar’s outfit. “You killed Highbulp!”

The gnomes stepped back in fear as the warrior’s eyes narrowed and the dwarf stepped forward indignantly. “That’s a lie!” Dram growled. “The great Highbulp was alive when we left him a half hour ago—he was going to have a drunk, I mean a drink, somewhere.”

“He dead now,” said the Aghar matter-of-factly.

“What! How did he die?” Jaymes asked. The gully dwarf’s eyes widened, and he stepped closer to the gnomes, who were muttering anxiously to each other.

“Knight kill him. Cut him with big sword. Alla his blood come out.”

“Then why did you say that my friend killed him?” demanded Dram.

“Knight was hunting human fighter—him with big sword!” The Aghar waved his finger accusingly at Jaymes.

“How do you know all this?” asked the man.

“Me watching from shadows. Gonna come to rescue when I hear him make Highbulp say ‘Firesplasher Lane!’ Same thing you ask Highbulp. Knight cut Highbulp then. Go tell more knights.”

The dwarf and the warrior exchanged a glance. Jaymes crossed to the workbench in two long strides, snatching up the keg, shaking it once, checking to see that the stopper was securely fixed. It vanished under his cloak. The gnomes squawked in protest, but just then a violent crash rang outside, followed by shouting voices—a man’s voice barking orders mingled with the higher-pitched sounds of protesting gnomes.

Dram stepped to the door, opened it a crack, and peered out.

“He’s not at Number Two—but he’s on this street somewhere. Take every door!” they heard.

The dwarf stepped back, closing the front door and dropping a heavy iron bar into place. Jaymes, meanwhile, fixed his eyes upon the only other door, a small hatch-like cover low in the rear wall. “Does that lead outside?” he asked the terrified Sulfie.

“After a while it does,” she admitted.

“Come on.” Jaymes took the squirming gnome by her wrist. Dram grabbed Carbo. The man lifted the hatch, tossed Sulfie through, held it open for the dwarf and the male gnome, then ducked through himself. “Hey, me too!” cried the gully dwarf, just before Dram slammed the hatch, leaving him behind.

They found themselves in the main room of another gnomish domicile, not quite as crowded and cluttered as Carbo’s house. With a nod to her neighbors—a half-dozen gnomes regarding them with goggle-eyed stares—Sulfie led them down a narrow hallway where Jaymes, even though he was stooping, knocked his head against a low ceiling arch. They emerged at last into the street.

Many gnomes milled about, but no knights were in sight.
Castle Caergoth rose from its commanding height, and the dwarf led them away from the fortress, at a fast trot.

They hadn’t even reached the first intersection when a squad of knights, all wearing the tunic emblazoned with the Crown, charged into sight. The leader, a big man with the golden epaulets of a sergeant, spotted Jaymes, who was head and shoulders taller than anyone else on the street.

“There!” cried the knight. “Stop him—Jak, go tell Captain Dayr! We’ve got him cornered now.” Four knights advanced, shoulder to shoulder, blocking any escape. Doors slammed shut all up and down the block. Sulfie and Carbo tried to make a dash for the nearest houses but were held firm by the dwarf and the warrior.

“You two are coming with us,” Dram growled. The dwarf offered his companion a questioning look. “That is, if we’re going anywhere.”

“Step back,” snapped the warrior. He reached over his shoulder, drew the great sword in a single, smooth movement. Flames exploded from the blade. Two of the knights hesitated, awestruck at the sight of the mighty sword, but the other two charged forward, their blades upraised.

The first lost his sword, and fingers, as the fiery weapon slashed across his hands. He screamed and tumbled back as his comrade attacked, slashing back and forth with his long sword.

The second Knight of the Crown charged right onto the blazing tip of the warrior’s blade and fell dead next to his wounded companion, who was kneeling, moaning and clutching the bleeding stump of his hand. The two remaining knights advanced more cautiously, shoulder to shoulder across the narrow lane.

“You might cut us down, Assassin!” hissed one of them, “but by the gods, we’ll cost you time!” They rushed him.

The warrior had sheathed his sword and snatched out his crossbows. Both knights sprawled to the ground, each felled by a steel dart that punctured deep through the muscle of the thigh.

Jaymes spun and raced after Dram and the two gnomes, who were disappearing around the next corner. Another company of
knights came into view. Arrows struck the flagstones behind the warrior as he darted down the connecting lanes.

“Damn them anyway!” the dwarf cursed, halting when he found himself facing of a whole rank of crossbowmen. They were Knights of the Sword arrayed in three ranks—poised for a volley, with their steel-tipped quarrels that could punch through plate mail armor.

“Down!” shouted Jaymes, tumbling into the dwarf and gnomes, bearing all of them to the pavement as the arrows whistled past just above their heads. Sulfie shrieked as one of the missiles grazed her. Dram grunted as he rose to his feet, pulling one of the short arrows from his shoulder and tossing it aside.

The bowmen were already reloading, and shouts and pounding feet could be heard coming from another direction. “Got any clever ideas?” the dwarf asked the human irritably.

A cloud of white smoke erupted around them. The murk swirled through the air, obscuring them from view. All of a sudden a woman stood before them, in a white, bright robe. Beautiful, dark-haired, she reached out to pull the gnomes, the dwarf, and the warrior near to her.

“It’s … it’s her!”gasped Dram, shocked. He stared goggle-eyed. “Lady Coryn!”

“Hurry,” she snapped. “There will be plenty of time for fond reunions if we get out of here alive. Now, move!”

Even Carbo and Sulfie hastened to oblige, moving in close to either side of her billowing white robe. More arrows clattered through the alley, but the smoke made the shots go wild. The warrior was the last to join them, as he was busy slashing his blazing sword back and forth, knocking several of the threatening shots aside.

“Well?” demanded Coryn. “We’re not waiting forever.”

The warrior looked at her, then at the rank of knights, now reloading for their third volley. Jaymes winced, shaking his head.

“Damn,” he muttered, charging into the swirl of smoke.

“Put your sword up,” she suggested, with just the hint of a
wry smile. He nodded, smoothly sliding the weapon into the hilt concealed beneath his cape, then reached out to grasp the hand extended by the white-robed Coryn.

They stood in a tight circle—the dwarf, the man and woman, and the two gnomes. The lady in white chanted something guttural, and a swirl of magical power enveloped them. There was a sense of sickening disorientation, then the cloud of smoke and magic that hid them from the knights vanished.

With it went the knights, the ghetto, and in fact in the whole city of Caergoth. They blinked to find themselves still holding hands, all in a circle, now standing in the sunlit quiet of a vast plain, sheltered by a verdant, overgrown hedge. A wide river valley, marked by the silver course of a great stream, was visible below them. There were no other people anywhere in sight.

“Coryn,” said the warrior. “We owe you our thanks.”

She snorted, unamused. “Save that. First we have to talk.”

T
he pursuit of the assassin of Lorimar, Lady Selinda admitted to herself, was a bright spark of excitement amid what was shaping up to be a rather tedious conference. Not that the dukes would allow her to accompany the three hundred knights who rushed to bring the villain to justice—they turned deaf ears to even her most persuasive entreaties. Even so, she felt a thrill as, with Lady Martha at her side, the Princess of Palanthas climbed to the top of the castle’s gate tower, from where they could watch the progress of the knights streaming the streets of the great city.