Rise of the Blood Masters (Book 5) (10 page)

Another pause. Skemtun coughed and cleared his throat. “Well ...yes,” he admitted. “They do have
one
spellcaster. Name’s Mugla. But she’s very old. Probably even senile. But enough about that! I don’t want to talk about them anymore. They’re a bunch of traitors.”

“Not everyone believes that, you know. I went to Highport recently. Utan described how horribly they were treated here. Is it any wonder they left?”

Skemtun frowned and bit his lip. He
really
didn’t want to talk about this, but he managed to subdue his rising anger and tried to change the subject again. “If the orcs attack us, we’ll defend the mountain. Our clans are strong. We have enough warriors to fight the greenskins.”

Kathir lowered his voice. “Having trained warriors isn’t enough. Your clans have a bigger problem than the threat of war, and that is one of internal conflict. How can you defend your kingdom against an outside attack with so much civil unrest within? The division between the dwarf clans places the security of the entire eastern seaboard at risk. That’s why I was sent here—to warn you and the other clan leaders.”

“We’re strong enough to defeat the orcs,” Skemtun insisted again, keeping his arms locked against his chest. “We have enough men.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. What if another clan decides to leave Mount Velik as the Vardmiters did? The remaining clans won’t be strong enough to defend this mountain against any outside attack, much less the orcs. The dwarf clans are more vulnerable now than they’ve been in centuries.”

“Look, I still don’t see how our problems affect Miklagard. What do the white wizards care about dwarf politics?”

Kathir sighed and rolled his eyes. “Can you really not see it? Everyone else can. The orcs are multiplying like rabbits. In the past, the orcs kept their own population in check by participating in vicious death-battles, but King Nar has outlawed them. Their numbers have exploded, and they’re looking for new lands to conquer. The orcs are testing the boundaries of their territory. The dragon riders killed several small bands attempting to cross the northern border of the desert. They’re ready for war. If Mount Velik falls to the greenskins, then the orcs will have a stable foothold in the east. If they capture Mount Velik, they’ll control the east and the northwest. Once that happens, they’ll march on the capital city. Morholt is heavily fortified, but there’s no way the city could stand the onslaught of two huge orc armies. And, if Morholt is conquered, it’s only a matter of time before Parthos falls too. The orcs could overtake the entire continent in a decade. But in order to do that, they need to conquer Mount Velik first, and they know it.”

Skemtun exhaled and shrunk back on his stool. The horrible possibility became clear under Kathir’s waiting gaze. For the first time since they had started talking, Skemtun felt nauseated. “Maybe you do have a point.”

“Yes,” Kathir said, nodding, “I do. This is a very credible threat. The orcs have always desired this mountain, but their previous leaders have been either too bloodthirsty or too stupid to lead the orc armies to victory. King Nar is different. He’s intelligent and calculating. That’s bad news for the rest of the mortal races, but it’s especially terrible for yours.”

Skemtun threw up his hands. “All right! I’ll admit things are bad. But what can I do? How can I convince the council?”

“Start by talking to them. Stay positive, but warn them of the danger. Miklagard hopes you’ll be the voice of reason; that you’ll take this critical information to your leadership, and they’ll act on it, before it’s too late.”

“But why me?” Skemtun’s voice was full of anxiety.

“We came to you first, because there was
no one else
to turn to. Utan left with his Vardmiters, and Bolrakei cares about no one but herself. Hergung is too sick to do anything, much less lead your clans into battle. Who else could we trust with this information? Do you understand now?”

Skemtun’s lip trembled. He looked defeated. “Aye,” he said softly. “I do. I’ll talk to the other families. Maybe they’ll listen to me,” he concluded lamely.

“That’s our hope. Miklagard has been quietly observing the situation at Mount Velik for a long time. Hergung is in terrible health and has no legitimate successor. Once he dies, the clans will be united under a new ruler. Miklagard favors
you
for kingship.”

Skemtun gave a bitter shout of laughter. “Ha! That’s not going to happen. Bolrakei is well-loved among the clans, and she’s itchin’ to be queen. That greedy witch is number one in line, ye can bet on it.”

Kathir crossed his arms and shook his head. “You’re wrong. Bolrakei is too power hungry and irresponsible to be queen. She cares nothing for the welfare of her people unless it fattens her own coffers. It’s not as if this is a big secret, Skemtun.”

“We don’t have to worry about that for a while yet. King Hergung might be in poor health, but as long as he’s living, he’s still my king. Hergung’s got a few good summers left in him.”

Kathir said calmly, “Do you really believe that? Is that what the king’s physicians have been telling you? That Hergung has a lot of time left?”

“Yes. Why? What do
you
say?” Skemtun asked, leaning forward.

“Miklagard has more accurate information than you, it seems. They have their own spies here, as you probably guessed.”

A bewildered worry flitted across the dwarf’s brow. “I guess that’s no surprise. Everyone seems to wants to stick their nose in our business. That’s why the dwarf council doesn’t like outsiders. They’re always meddling in our affairs. The humans, the elves, even the Balborites! The Balborite assassin that attacked our king five years ago almost killed him, but Hergung pulled through. I’m lucky to be alive myself.”

“Speaking of that…two other clan leaders were killed that day. Why haven’t the clans elected new leaders to replace the ones that were killed? It’s been five years already.”

Skemtun shrugged. “Lots o’ reasons, I guess. Five years isn’t a long time for us. Dwarves are a long-lived people. The clans aren’t stupid. Everybody knows that Hergung is really sick, and they’re waitin’ before they elect new leaders. A clan leader serves for hundreds of years. We like to be sure about our leadership choices.”

“Well, you’ll be choosing new clan leaders soon, as well as your new king. That time is closer than you think. Your life is also in danger. As soon as Hergung dies, Bolrakei will try to kill you. You’re right to think she wants to be queen. She wants it so badly that she won’t risk you’ll be chosen as the new king, even if the possibility is small.”

Skemtun laughed bitterly. “That ain’t news to me, stranger. Bolrakei’s threatened me plenty of times already. She hates me and wants me gone.”

There was a long stretch of silence where neither said anything. Skemtun licked his lips and looked across the table. “Maybe your spies are wrong? The council says the king will survive another year. So maybe they’re exaggerating, and he’s only got a few more months.”

Kathir shook his head. “No. The situation is worse than that. Hergung is already on his deathbed. He shall not live to see the next full moon. King Hergung has only days to live. That’s why I was sent out here so quickly.”

The dwarf let out a nervous laugh. “Come, come, now. I’ve had enough scares for tonight. He’s got a few seasons, a few months, maybe. Not days. It’s impossible he’s that sick.”

Kathir shook his head. “How would you know? Have you seen him lately?”

Skemtun face fell. “Well, no, but…”

“Your king cannot eat, walk, or even talk anymore. He’s past the point of no return. There’s nothing the doctors can do for him. Things in this kingdom are about to change, and quicker than you think.”

And then, as if on cue, the clang of a gong resonated through the air, cutting through the silence like a knife. The gong sounded again, deeper and louder than before. The mountain stilled.

“No!” gasped Skemtun, the blood draining from his face. “It can’t be! Not this soon!”

“I’m afraid so,” Kathir said.

The gong sounded a third and final time. Everyone knew what it meant. It was the death gong, the official announcement that the dwarf king had died. There was nothing more to say.

Skemtun buried his face in his hands. He shuddered, his chin quivering. “Nay, nay…” Fat tears rolled down his cheeks and into his beard.

A great lamentation rose up inside the mountain. The sound went through the caverns, creeping upward like a giant wave.

Kathir placed his hand on the old dwarf’s trembling shoulder. “I’m very sorry. I know you didn’t expect it to happen so soon, but your king is dead. The clans must now choose his successor. Until they do, you’ll be in constant danger. It looks like I won’t be leaving Mount Velik after all. I shall remain here to protect you. I’m your new bodyguard.”

A Funeral Interrupted

              The oxen were chosen, the food prepared, and the funeral litter decorated with thousands of flowers. Everyone prepared for the funeral. The bird messengers went out five days earlier, a steady stream of foreign visitors had been arriving since then. Mount Velik had become increasingly crowded, and now all the caverns were full. Any new visitors were forced to stay outside in tents.

The king’s body had been preserved by dwarf spellcasters and was laid out in a private chamber. It seemed especially quiet in the mountain, with all the normal sounds of a bustling city subdued. The funeral would be held this evening, and Skemtun and Kathir were getting dressed.

Skemtun washed his hair and curled his long beard with heated metal rollers. Then he put on a long gray tunic and strapped an ornate belt around his waist. Kathir dressed himself in a long-sleeved black shirt and heavy trousers. He and Skemtun cleaned and shined their boots in silence.

Skemtun nodded to Kathir. “Best we go now. It’s about time we left. Gettin’ tired of watchin’ these foreigners come and go anyways.”

Kathir nodded back, and they left the upper caverns, walking down to the main gate where the funeral march would begin. They secured a place in the front of the line, right by the entrance. Low drums sounded. The sound of ox hoofs reached their ears, accompanied by soft voices and quiet weeping.

The crowd was getting larger now. The king’s funeral procession came near; the line of mourners stretched back as far as the eye could see, forming a long gray queue that snaked through the corridors. The line moved slowly, like molasses dripping from a pipe.

Kathir whispered into Skemtun’s ear. “Who will lead the procession? You or Bolrakei?”

“We’re both allowed to walk up front with our clan flags. The other clans chose people to represent them, but they’ve got to walk in the back, because they don’t have official clan leaders right now. Now that Hergung has died, things will change. After the funeral is over, a new king will be chosen, and the other clans will elect new leaders, too.”

For once, the dwarves’ circular logic made sense to him. Then a thought came to him. “Didn’t Hergung have a son? Whatever happened to him?”

Skemtun nodded. “He’s too young to take the throne. The boy’s barely fifty years of age—he’s naught but a baby in dwarf years. If he’d been older, he would’ve been considered for the position. But the clans can’t wait another fifty years to elect a king. The clans will nominate a new king from the highest ranking members in the clans. Only dwarves from the best families will be considered.”

“The highest-ranking dwarves? So is Bolrakei going to be nominated?”

Skemtun didn’t want to admit it, but he knew it was true. “Yes… she is high born. Her blood is pure. So she’s a top candidate. She wants to be queen.”

“What about the Vardmiters? Are they invited to the funeral?”

“No,” Skemtun said, his voice irritated. “Why do ye have to bring them into this, especially today? They aren’t welcome at Mount Velik anymore.”

But Kathir wouldn’t let the issue go. “But why? Wasn’t Hergung their king, too?”

Skemtun looked pained. “Look, I don’t want to talk about them right now. After everything that’s happened, they shouldn’t come here, especially not now, while everyone’s upset.”

“What happens if a few of them show up?”

Now Skemtun looked smug. “Ha! They already did. The Vardmiters sent two raggedy emissaries here yesterday. The guards recognized them right away—with all their freckles and red hair. They arrived on a donkey, holding a silly gift and some paper flowers. The guards set them straight pretty quickly. They were given a sound drubbing and thrown out.”

Kathir raised an eyebrow at him. “You beat them, simply because they showed up and tried to pay their respects? You punished them because of that?”

Another silence followed this, but Skemtun was anxious and he broke it. “Well—of
course
it sounds bad when ye put it that way.”

Kathir spoke. “It sounds bad whichever way you put it. You’ve all acted terribly in this case. The Vardmiters have a right to be here—Hergung was their leader, too. Everyone deserves a second chance...I should know.”

Skemtun didn’t expect to feel guilty, but Kathir’s accusing words drilled into him. Maybe the Vardmiters didn’t deserve what happened. But, still...they’d left! Despite his tangled emotions, he smiled. “Look, maybe ye’re right, and we can make amends with them someday. But not right now; there’s still too much resentment.”

Kathir nodded and let the issue drop.

Several mourners stepped into the main walkway and started dropping flower petals near the doors. A ceremonial circle had been etched into the floor using brightly colored chalk. There was a carved statue of the king in the center of the circle.

The statue showed a robed Hergung sitting on an ornate bronze throne, happy and smiling, looking up into the heavens. The likeness was incredible.

Skemtun marveled at how quickly the statue had been carved. Or perhaps it had been created years before in anticipation of this day. Kathir reached out to touch it, and Skemtun slapped his hand away with a grimace. “Nobody touches the statue until the end!” he scolded softly.

Clad in white, ten sharply dressed attendants gathered near the doors. They wore pointed hats secured to their heads with silver thread. A bell sounded from far away, and the attendants scurried off, disappearing into an upper chamber. In the background, the funeral band played on. A mournful ballad rose through the caverns, drowning out everything else.