But a closer look at the hill dwarf leader did surprise him-just as it apparently surprised the others in the crowd, who whispered to each other or simply stared at the hulking figure of the Neidar.
For Harn Poleaxe had changed considerably from the last time Brandon had laid eyes on him. His already oversized body seemed to have grown bigger, so that he towered over the biggest Neidar of his bodyguards. His head, in particular, looked huge and swollen, with his eyes receding into deep, almost cavernous, sockets. Several warts had sprouted on his cheeks, and the hill dwarf scratched at one of them as if it gave him great pleasure. He twitched in a sudden nervous gesture, looking behind him and glaring. Then, as Poleaxe neared the chair on the platform, those eyes turned menacingly at the Kayolin dwarf. He was a new, strangely transformed, frighteningly different Poleaxe.
Brandon met that glare even as he felt its power. A wickedness lurked in Poleaxe’s presence, an abiding evil that, somehow, hadn’t been obvious before, during his long journey with the hill dwarf. Poleaxe puffed out his barrel chest and strutted back and forth on the raised platform, and some in the crowd audibly gasped at his remarkably strapping presence. His arms, too, seemed to have grown in size and length, and his muscular limbs swung easily, his fists seemingly reaching to his knees.
“We are here to usher in a new dawn of Neidar pride,” Poleaxe proclaimed, even his voice louder and more fearsome than before. “And to rid ourselves of the symbol of an old enemy.” With a flourish, he lifted a leather pouch that Brandon recognized-for he himself had worn it around his waist on the long journey southward from Kayolin. Harn pulled the Bluestone out of that pouch, holding it up so all in the plaza could see.
“This is the stone that the Mother Oracle sent me all the way to Kayolin to find. I return with it now, in triumph!” he declared.
Most of the crowd watched silently, though a few of Poleaxe’s personal guard shouted hurrahs for their leader. With another broad gesture, Harn raised another stone, one he plucked from another pouch at his side. Brandon stared in surprise, realizing the object was nearly identical in shape and size to the Bluestone, except that it was a deep and shimmering green color.
“And this is the stone that our beloved Mother Oracle herself brought to Hillhome, nearly ten years ago,” Harn declared loudly. “She told us then that we needed both of them to work the will of Reorx. See how they match and complement each other! Now we have them both!”
The loud cheers came from all around, all quarters of the Neidar crowd. The big hill dwarf then set the two colored stones down on a small table beside his chair and waved his hand, a gesture for silence that the citizens of Hillhome quickly heeded. It was then that Brandon saw his axe, the weapon of Balric Bluestone, sitting on that same table-it was like a display of Harn’s prizes, all stolen from a betrayed companion. Poleaxe glared about the square, scratching at the wart on his cheek, then abruptly raised his hands in the air, fists clenched. With a sudden twitch, he dropped his right hand, finger extended, to point at Brandon.
“But it is not only good news that I bring you, my friends and fellows,” Poleaxe said, his voice ominously lowered. “Here today we have an enemy in our midst, and he presents a danger not just to our hopes and ambitions, but to our very survival.”
Suddenly, Brandon, seething inside, was keenly aware of hundreds of Neidar eyes turning to regard him with a mingling of accusation, distrust, and anger.
Finally Harn took his seat on the large throne. “I recognize the prisoner,” he cried, his voice booming through the suddenly silent square. “He is a son of the mountain dwarves and came all the way from Kayolin to Hillhome. Who will recite the charges against him?”
“He is accused of being a mountain dwarf spy!” grandiosely declared Rune, stepping forward and turning to regard Brandon with a sneer. “He came hither to infiltrate our lands, to gain intelligence and to purchase agents of sedition!”
“That’s a lie!” Brandon shouted. “I came-”
Rune’s backhand blow caught him across the mouth, knocking him staggering backward.
“Silence!” roared Poleaxe. “How dare you address this court? Gag the prisoner!”
Immediately rough hands pulled on Brandon’s hair, yanking his head back while a cloth was wound across his face. Only when the muzzle was wrapped tight and knotted behind his head was the prisoner allowed to stand again on his own.
“Now what proof can you offer?” demanded Poleaxe of Rune.
“He was taken in the night, on the very border of Hillhome’s lands, captured as he tried to sneak into town!” shouted one of the dwarves Brandon recognized as one of Poleaxe’s gang.
“Yes, he was traveling off the known roads,” cried another, pointing a stubby, accusing finger. “Truly, he was determined to arrive at Hillhome unnoticed.”
“And there is word from Flatrock: there, he pretended to be a hill dwarf, so he could pass in our midst without anyone knowing his true nature,” called a third. “A lie!” the Neidar spit. “What more proof do we need that he is a spy!”
The onlookers shouted and jeered.
Brandon twisted in the grip of his captors, struggling to speak, but the crowd of hill dwarves only laughed at his inarticulate squawking. The gag dug into his cheeks, and he felt his eyes bugging out as he strained. He caught a glimpse of Slate Fireforge, but even that hill dwarf, who had insisted on his trial, turned away, unwilling to meet the prisoner’s eyes. It seemed that whatever vestige of fortune he’d ever possessed had deserted him entirely. He heard his doom as Harn continued to rant.
“Dwarves of Hillhome! My fellow Neidar. We have been blessed by the guidance of the Mother Oracle, who has kept us from disaster these many years. Her wisdom sent me on my quest. We have seen the evidence in the shape of this blue stone that is our destiny. And we have heard how the prisoner tried to deceive and sneak his way into our midst. I suspect his true mission was to steal and abscond with these precious stones!”
He let the charge hang in the air then stood with his fists planted on his hips. “This court has seen enough!” declared Poleaxe, his eyes sweeping the crowd, meeting only nods and muttered encouragement from all present. “We sentence him to death by burning! Secure him to the rack! Bring tinder! And let us watch the spy die!”
“I should kill bad dwarf!” Gus repeated for the hundredth time, as he and Gretchan trudged through the darkness across the rugged landscape away from Hillhome. They encountered neither friend nor foe; no one was about at that hour. The dwarf maid maintained a vigorous pace, and the Aghar had to trot along breathlessly in order to keep up.
“Why you not let me kill him?” he asked forlornly, catching up and tugging on her sleeve.
Gretchan stopped momentarily. She was still shaken by the confrontation with the Mother Oracle and by the aftermath of Harn’s attack. She shook her head, heaving a sigh. “I confess-if there was ever a time I felt inclined to resort to violence, that was the time. But there’s always too much killing among dwarves. I refuse to be a part of it.” She smiled and patted Gus’s head. “Or to let my protectors be a part of it. Still, thank you. You were very brave, rescuing me.”
“I rescue you!” the Aghar said proudly. “Next time I kill!” he added, smacking his fist into his palm.
The dwarf maid patted his head again. “Oh dear, I trust there won’t be a next time. Come on,” she said. “I want to make it to the top of this ridge before it’s full daylight. We don’t want anyone in Hillhome to spot us and know where we are… or where we’re going.”
“Good deal. Where are we going?” asked Gus as Kondike bounded up a steep cluster of rocks. The big, black dog paused, his short tail wagging, as he looked back at the two dwarves and impatiently waited for the two to catch up.