The Fall of Dorkhun (23 page)

“Understood,” Roskin responded, holding his head high. “But you are bound by your oaths.”

“I respect the law,” Sondious said, barely above a whisper.

“May say goodbye to my family?”

“Of course. I’m not a monster.”

“Thank you,” Roskin said, bowing. “I won’t take long. Then, I’ll leave peacefully.”

“Please, know that all I’ve done is for the kingdom.”

“Me too.”

With that, Roskin turned and strode towards the palace, hoping Bordorn had understood their old code. If not, he would be alone at the southern gate. As he passed the soldiers, none saluted him, but he wasn’t surprised. He had handed over the throne to protect his father’s life, but more than likely, most of them didn’t know the details of what had happened. They couldn’t be expected to understand the sacrifice he had made. He hoped he had made a good choice given the situation. Were he to resist Sondious now, he would do so with a dispassionate army following from obligation, not choice. As such, he would have a difficult time stopping the uprising because Sondious’s soldiers would fight with fervor.

As he entered the palace, a hand touched his shoulder. Without thinking, Roskin grabbed the arm and slammed a young soldier against the stone wall. As the dwarf slid to the floor, Roskin drove into him and pressed his forearm against the soldier’s throat. Struggling for air, the dwarf pushed against the arm but couldn’t break the grasp. Roskin pressed harder, but in his peripheral vision, something caught his eye. His backpack lay on the ground near where the soldier had touched him. Gathering his wits, Roskin released his hold enough for the dwarf to breathe.

“Bordorn,” the solider managed, gulping for air.

Roskin stood and backed away. For the second time, he had nearly killed one of his people because he had been startled. Shame and fear filled him as he struggled with the thought. The young soldier, covered in dust and scrapes from the earthquake, sat up. He was terrified but not badly injured, so Roskin offered him a hand. The dwarf grasped his arm and got to his feet.

“Please, forgive me?” Roskin asked.

The dwarf nodded, his eyes cast downward, and then explained that Krondious and Bordorn had Roskin’s weapons and would meet him at the southern gate. Roskin thanked him and apologized again. The soldier finally looked up, his eyes showing fear, so Roskin dismissed him. The dwarf hurried away without speaking.

Roskin stood in the hallway, shaking. From his experiences the previous two years, he had become like Molgheon and Leinjar, too high-strung for sudden encounters. In the tunnels of the kingdom, there was no way to avoid those moments. How could he ever live underground again if he couldn’t control his reflexes? Then, he realized that at least Bordorn had understood the message. He composed himself and retrieved his backpack. His items were all intact, so he continued through the palace to check on his father and tell his family good bye.

King Kraganere had been moved to a room near his private study, and the chief healer worked feverishly to close the wound in his head. He told Roskin the king would probably live, but there was no way to know if he would ever awaken from the coma. Roskin looked at his father. Stretched out and prone on the bed, he appeared old and frail, and for a moment, Roskin was uncertain if he would ever see him again. However, from the same source as the dark fear, a calmness filled him, soothing and reassuring that all would be well. He kissed his father’s forehead and exited the room.

Across the hallway, his stepmother and siblings paced the polished floor of a sitting room. Upon seeing him, they raced across the room to greet him. Many times he had imagined this moment, and he wished he could stay and comfort them during so much uncertainty. Each had bloodshot eyes and tear-streaked faces, so Roskin hugged them, offering reassurance the king would be okay. His brother, the youngest of the family, was the most distraught, so Roskin hoisted him into his arms and squeezed tightly.

“Be good for your mother,” Roskin whispered into his ear. “She needs your strength.”

“Will you help me with my song later?”

“I wish I could,” Roskin managed, his voice catching.

“Why can’t you?”

“I have to leave?”

“Where are you going?” his stepmother asked.

“Sondious banished me.”

“How?” his stepmother exclaimed.

Roskin explained what had happened in the courtyard, the deal he had made.

“That traitor!” one of his sisters said, gritting her teeth.

“Listen,” Roskin said, his voice as stern as Crushaw’s. “I gave him what he wanted to protect the king, but he won’t have power long. If he breaks either oath, his status is voided. If he keeps them, our father will wake soon and regain the throne.”

“I still hate him,” the other sister quipped.

“You need to focus on what’s important. Most of this city is in rubble. You need to rebuild it.”

“Yes, sir,” they said together as if addressing their father but, unlike the past, without sarcasm.

“I have a favor to ask,” he said to his stepmother as he reached into his pack and retrieved the book of Marshwogg laws that Rewokog had given him. “Make sure that Master Londragheon gets this. Ask her to study it.”

“Of course, Roskin. But where are you going?”

“South. That’s all I know.”

He looked at each of his siblings, studying their faces closely. There was no telling how long it might be before he saw them again, and he wanted to soak up their youth in case they were fully grown when he returned. His brother buried his head in his shoulder and hugged him tightly, just realizing Roskin was leaving again. His oldest sister left the room, and the other turned away as tears filled her eyes. Finally, he looked back at his stepmother and said:

“Thank you for always treating me like your own.”

She touched his arm gently and nodded. Then, she held out her hands to her son, and he hesitated but let go of Roskin and went to her. Without another word, Roskin shouldered his pack and exited. He stopped by his bedroom and gathered fresh clothes. Most of them looked much too big for his frame now, but they would have to do. He also grabbed his cape with the king’s insignia on it. He well remembered his last experience at the southern gate and didn’t want any problems this time. With one more glance around the room, he left and went to the pantry for fresh supplies.

***

Captain Roighwheil, bruised and scraped from debris, had volunteered to escort Roskin to the gate, and Sondious agreed, not trusting the heir to leave the kingdom. They walked for a week, and in each township, the earthquake had destroyed many buildings. Both dwarves wanted to help, but Sondious had explicitly ordered the captain to return in four weeks. Since taking the throne, he demanded absolute obedience from all and had already made examples of two who didn’t recognize his rule. But on the eighth day, waiting for them on the trail were Bordorn, Krondious, Leinjar, and the other dwarves.

“Where’s Molgheon?” Roskin asked. “And Torkdohn?”

Leinjar explained about the Great Empire, Molgheon’s decision, and Torkdohn’s escape.

“So Torkdohn is loose in this kingdom?” Roskin muttered, glancing around the township. “That’s just perfect.”

“Please, forgive me,” Leinjar said, kneeling.

“My friend,” Roskin responded, pulling him to his feet. “We’ll deal with that later.”

“What happened back there?” Bordorn asked Roskin. “Why’d you do that?”

Roskin lowered his head, searching for an answer. Since leaving the capital, he doubted the wisdom of his choice. Sondious would be loathe to give up throne, oath or not, and if his father never got better, there would be no removing him except through force.

“He did what he had to,” the captain said, his tone defensive. “He protected his father and this kingdom.”

Captain Roighwheil gave them details, and the dwarves agreed that he had made the best deal under the circumstances.

“What now?” Krondious asked. “What do we do about this army?”

Roskin glanced at the captain and then at Leinjar, mulling his options.

“Captain, return to the capital and explain what you have learned. Convince Sondious to send troops. Tell him I’ll go to Kehldeon for help.”

“My honor,” the captain answered.

“Leinjar, I need you three to return to your kingdom and request troops.”

“I can’t do that!” he exclaimed, his eyes growing wider than normal. “I’m disgraced there.”

“Please,” Roskin said, touching Leinjar’s shoulder. “You have the best chance to persuade them. You know as well as anyone a Kiredurk or Ghaldeon would as likely be executed as listened to.”

Leinjar nodded, but his discomfort was obvious.

“If that army is as big as you say, we’re gonna need as much help as we can get.”

Leinjar relented, motioning for the other Tredjards to gather their things.

“What about him?” Krondious asked, pointing at Jase.

“Please, I’ve suffered enough,” Jase said from the horse.

Roskin walked over and looked at the traitor. Part of him wanted to kill Jase right there for stabbing him in the back at the logging town, but since he was now an exile, he controlled his temper.

“Captain, please take this filth back to Dorkhun and have Sondious do with him as he pleases.”

“My pleasure.”

Roskin and the captain wished each other luck and parted ways. The group of dwarves collected their belongings and continued south. Leinjar fell to the rear, not speaking. Roskin wanted to assure him that he would be fine returning to his kin, but the Trejards were a peculiar lot. There was no way to guarantee all would be well, so he gave his friend space to think. With all that had happened, Roskin needed time, too. His kingdom was in ruin, just as he had envisioned, but things were much worse than he had anticipated. Dorkhun had fallen, and the Eighth Kingdom was all but over. Once again, he wished that Crushaw were there to offer advice.

“Well, Pepper Beard,” Bordorn said, interrupting his thoughts. “This is some pickle.”

Roskin nodded, clenching his jaw.

“Look on the bright side. At least we finally get to join the Resistance.”

Roskin laughed in spite of himself and glanced at his oldest friend. How foolish they had been as young dwarves, wishing for this opportunity. Now that it had come, Roskin yearned for those days again. All his life he had sought glory and had lost his youth in pursuit of it. Marching along the tunnel, he now wished to restore peace to the kingdom.

“We’ll get through this,” Bordorn said. “I know my people.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“You’ll see.”

“I’ve brought despair to this kingdom. I have to make it right.”

“Listen to me,” Bordorn said, his voice stern. “You didn’t do this. You can’t blame yourself for treachery, and you certainly didn’t cause the earthquake.”

Roskin nodded, sorting through his emotions. He wanted to believe Bordorn, but his desire to find that statue had set this in motion, so at least in part, he was to blame. He adjusted his pack and quickened his pace. There were many miles to cover before they reached the gate, and once they reached it, they would have to find a way around the human army. Then, it would take weeks to reach Kehldeon, and there was no guarantee they would be willing to or capable of raising an army. Behind him, the others panted heavily, trying to match his stride, but Roskin didn’t ease. They would have to find the strength to keep up.

***

Kwarck moved through rows of crops, searching for pests and weeds. Crushaw and Vishghu were watering in a separate field, and he was glad for time to himself. Many pieces were falling into place, and he needed to be certain that his strategy was sound. With their spies, the Great Empire had been successful in creating the conflict between the ogres and Kiredurks and now were preparing to attack the Kiredurks from the Snivegohn Valley. They would also strike the weakened ogres on the western flank. From there, they would create a second front against the Kiredurks. Alone, there was little hope the once peaceful dwarves could defend themselves for long.

But Emperor Vassa was not the only one with spies and strategies. For many years, Kwarck had been preparing for this time. He had been much younger when the Great Empire had driven the elves from their lands, and he had long known Emperor Vassa’s greed had no limits. Deep in the Koorleine forest, the elves had been gathering strength and were nearly ready. All they needed was an experienced leader, someone they respected enough to follow. Kwarck had worked hard to keep Crushaw’s skills sharp, and soon, Evil Blade would lead his final army.

Kwarck’s only concern was Roskin. Though the young dwarf had matured greatly these last two years, convincing the Ghaldeons to join the fight wouldn’t be easy. The Kiredurks were a weakened race, hardly more than a collection of scattered tribes. They needed a leader to restore their dignity. If Roskin could marshal their strength, they could trap the Great Empire in the Snivegohn Valley. If he couldn’t, Kwarck didn’t want to think about the outcome.

He spotted an earworm on a corn stalk and grasped it between his thumb and index finger. It wriggled against his hold, and Kwarck watched it for a moment. For most of his life, he had been a healer, striving for peace on his farm. He had turned away none needing help, but earworms didn’t care about harmony. They would devour an entire crop and leave nothing for others’ sustenance. He crushed the pest between his fingers and discarded its carcass on the dirt. Soon, many soldiers would need these crops, for the Great War was about to begin.