He wasn’t used to that kind of treatment, and he didn’t like it, not one bit. Restlessly he backed down from his upright perch and paced some more, back and forth across the platform. He whined and sniffed the air, but there was neither promising scent on the breeze nor any sound that might indicate his owner’s imminent return.
He looked toward the door, the way that led into the tower, that allowed passage down the stairs and eventually out the front gate. That door was still closed, so the dog resumed his pacing, broken only by the frequent looks toward the Kharolis Mountains. He ignored the two sentries who paced back and forth, just as they ignored him. Every once in a while, another anxious whimper escaped him, and he would return to the parapet, rise onto his hind legs, and once again stare southward. Seeing nothing, he’d then go back to pacing, occasionally glancing toward the door.
Finally that door opened, and the dog’s ears perked up at the sight of the young dwarf emerging into view with a dish and a bucket. Kondike raced over, tail wagging, and immediately set to work chewing and swallowing the scraps of bread, gravy, and fatty meat that filled the bowl to the top.
Of course, he still missed Gretchan, but food was food. And the food was right there.
While Kondike ate and drank deeply from the bucket of fresh water, the young dwarf scratched the big dog’s head or stroked the strong ridge of backbone extending down along his sturdy frame. The nice, young dwarf had been there every day since Gretchan had left, and Kondike had gone from tolerating him to welcoming him, especially since, at least once a day, the lad brought him food.
“I wish I could go too,” the young dwarf said in a low voice, speaking more to himself than to the dog. “My father’s going to war to get his kingdom back. Gretchan and all those other dwarves are going to help him, and I’m stuck here, waiting to find out what happened. I should be out there with them. I’m certainly old enough to wield a sword!”
The dog gave the youth an ambiguous look, swiping a sopping tongue across his smooth face. Then Kondike sat, hopeful and attentive. It would be unusual for the dwarf, or anyone, to give him a second meal immediately following the first. But in case it happened, the dog would be ready to eat. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.
Instead, the dwarf boy wanted to talk, apparently. Kondike huffed, not impatiently, and settled on his belly, resting his head on his forepaws while he listened, only half interested at first, to the sounds of the lad’s voice.
“Want to know a secret?” the young dwarf was saying, his voice tense and quiet. “About Garn Bloodfist? No one else knows, but I let him out, you know? He didn’t escape on his own. But I didn’t like my mother talking to him all the time; I wanted him to get out of here. So I unlocked his cell door and let him go.”
The dog raised his eyebrows, almost quizzically, as the quiet words reached his ears. He, like most dogs, was a good listener, nonjudgmental and very patient. The boy seemed to appreciate that.
“I never thought my mom would actually leave. Going back to Hillhome, they said. Why? Why?”
Finally he stood up and went over to the wall, to the same parapet where Kondike had been staring to the south. The dog trotted over after him, while the young dwarf simply stared into the distance, resting his beardless chin on his fist.
“This is stupid!” he said finally, his tone vehement enough to cause the dog to tilt his head in puzzlement. “I mean, we’re just sitting here, doing nothing.” He waved at the mountain range rising along the southern horizon. “Everything happening in the world is going on out there!”
Finally he seemed to make a decision, looking down at Kondike as if seeking some kind of agreement or validation.
“Come on!” he said finally, starting-at last! — for the door to the stairs, to the hall, and to freedom. “Let’s go to Thorbardin,” he added quietly.
Kondike wasn’t sure about Thorbardin, but for the dog, it was enough just to “go.”
General Blade Darkstone walked once again through the ranks of his garrison troops, the veteran dwarves he had handpicked to stand at the north gate of the kingdom. His master and king, Willim the Black, had ordered him to be ready to defend the gate against attack, so Darkstone had made ready. He had been ready for days.
Scant hours earlier, the wizard had informed him that an enemy army was indeed approaching Thorbardin and that he and his men should get themselves ready to face a fierce attack. Darkstone had studied the fortifications of the great gate, seeking any potential weakness, and came away satisfied there was none. He made sure that his men were alert and sober, ready to fight if they were attacked. And he kept his own eyes open.
Still, Darkstone couldn’t imagine how any army could hope to drill its way through the massive gate, not without a thunderous amount of noise and at least a week’s worth of intensive labor, during which time he and his defenders would easily slaughter them. But his was not to question his ruler-that he knew from long experience-so instead he obeyed and prepared and kept his eyes open. He had even gone so far as to bring another three hundred dwarves up there, all of them trusty Theiwar, so he had five hundred veteran warriors crammed into a barracks designed to hold half that number.
“But, General,” protested his captain, Dack Whiteye. “What good will all these men do here? Even if the gate is opened, the enemy can only enter two by two. Don’t we run the risk of the whole garrison, all four companies, getting trapped in these close quarters if they spring some sort of surprise on us? Or what if we get attacked from inside Thorbardin? You have your best men here, where they’ll be of no use in defending the city!”
“Stop with the questions! Those are my orders, and so are they yours! Or perhaps you’d like to take up your objections with the black wizard himself?”
That retort served the desired purpose: Whiteye’s already pale face grew white as a sheet of snow, and he shook his head firmly. “No, my general. Of course I will obey the order.”
“Good. I thought as much.”
Darkstone left his captain and went into the machine room of the gate itself. The great screw of stone was mostly invisible, buried as it was in the snug, threaded socket of bedrock. A series of metal gears, connected with pulleys and levers to a large water wheel drive system, filled the chamber below him. Those gears had not turned so much as a quarter inch in more than a decade, but the general was pleased to see that they were all free of rust, well oiled, and apparently ready for immediate use-should such a use be ordained by a power greater even than Darkstone’s.
The gate truly was impregnable, he believed. Even if someone found a way to move the massive weight of stone that was the gate, the threaded socket held it firmly in place. It could be unscrewed if the machinery within the mountain were employed. Of course, the mechanism was of no use to anyone on the outside. And he didn’t see how the gate itself could possibly be smashed.
So General Darkstone stood listening, looking, and thinking. He remained certain that he had done all he could do to be ready and kept his eyes open.
Then the world exploded around him, and all his confidence, all his calm assertions vanished in the instant of destruction. The solid stone floor beneath his feet split asunder, opening a gap that, to his panicked brain, appeared to be bottomless.
Somehow daylight was pouring into the gatehouse.
Then he was falling, and darkness surrounded him again.
When Willim snapped his fingers, a flickering light came into being in the air over his head. It burned as bright as the wick of a candle, only there was no fuel, no wick, not even any visible flame. The brilliant fire shed its light far and fiercely, driving back the shadows in the cavernous laboratory, illuminating even the distant corners and the lofty ceiling.