Brandon took comfort from that familiar, pastoral vista. It wasn’t until they came around the last bend in the road and he saw the massive gate itself that he again thought about the realities of his homecoming. Would he be welcome in Kayolin? What was the fate of his father? What business was it of his that Regar Smashfingers had crowned himself king?
Kayolin’s main gate barred entry to a lofty tunnel at the base of one of Garnet Peak’s true precipices, a soaring cliff rising some two thousand feet to a shoulder of the massive summit. In times of war, the entry was sealed by a massive stone plug, but at the moment, as usual during times of peace, that gate was retracted far into the mountain, leaving the tunnel mouth gaping as a black hole in the rock wall. The road led directly to that entrance.
It was midday, so there was no other traffic in view as the pair of dwarves strolled up to the looming entry. “In morning, it’s crowded with hunters and lumberjacks heading out,” Brandon explained. “And the same thing is usually true in reverse at night. But most of the time it’s just a few travelers coming and going, maybe some merchants from Solamnia or dwarves carrying their own goods down to the humans.”
“My skin is tingling!” Gretchan said, looking up in awe as they moved into the shadows of the tunnel. The roof towered some fifty or sixty feet over head, and the gateway was a similar length wide.
“Well, just remember. Act like you’ve been here before when we walk in. There’ll be some redcoats, soldiers of the Garnet Guards, watching the gate. We’ll have to nod politely at the guards so they can make sure we’re not goblins or ogres, and then we’ll get lost in some of the midlevels. I know a few nice taverns where we can catch our breath and I can maybe send word to my dad.”
“You don’t think the king or his men will be looking for you?” Gretchan asked as the coolness of the shady cavern enclosed them. Their dwarf eyes quickly adjusted to the low illumination.
“Don’t see why,” Brandon replied. “I’ve been gone long enough that I suspect he’s forgotten all about me. Probably doesn’t ever expect me to come home.”
They grew silent as they advanced into the tunnel of the nation’s main gate.
Brandon nodded casually to an axe-bearing guard in black metal plate armor as they started on past the guard post. He could smell the hops from a nearby brewery, and his mouth watered at the familiar, evocative scent.
“Just a minute there, fellow,” said the guard, stepping forward and, surprisingly, placing his hand on Brandon’s arm. Three more armed and armored dwarves, also garbed in black, emerged from a small alcove in the side of the cavern to back up their comrade.
“What is it?” Brand asked, puzzled.
“You can’t just walk in here!” the sentry declared. “I order you to stop, in the name of the Enforcers!”
Brandon bit back a sharp retort. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been traveling for … for a while. What do I need to do?”
“Give us your name!” snapped the guard. “Who are you?” Another stepped out to further block their retreat.
Caught by surprise, Brandon didn’t even think of lying. “Brandon Bluestone,” he said stiffly. “Of Kayolin. This is my home!”
“Check the list,” said the first guard.
“And what’s your name?” another dwarf-at-arms demanded of Gretchan. “Are you a native of Kayolin also?”
“I’m Gretchan Pax, from Pax Tharkas,” she replied. “Just visiting here.”
“Bluestone!” snapped an unseen guard in the alcove who was presumably consulting the afore-mentioned list. “Take him! Lord Heelspur has his name down here!”
“What?” Brandon declared, starting to step back as two guards seized his arms. His gut wrenched in sudden panic. He had read about the League of Enforcers in the king’s proclamation, but he didn’t expect his own name to be on their lists. Reflexively he put his hand around the hilt of his axe.
“Oh, he’s not that Bluestone,” Gretchan said breezily. She laughed, a musical, trilling sound, and waved her staff gently before the faces of the sentries. The top of that shaft, the small anvil that was the symbol of Reorx, glowed slightly, and Brandon realized that she was casting one of her priestess spells.
“He’s the Bluestone you’ve been waiting for. Aren’t you glad he’s come home?” she asked sweetly.
“Oh, Bluestone!” said one of the guards, his face breaking into a broad smile. “Yes! Welcome back! It’s been too long!”
“Yeah, it’s great to see you!” said the first guard, releasing his arm to clap him on the back.
“Uh, yes. Sure. Thanks,” Brandon said as Gretchan took him by the arm. Kondike trotted along behind him as they swept out of the gateway and into a Kayolin that Brandon was not sure he would recognize.
ELEVEN
Brandon led Gretchan by the hand into Kayolin, walking as briskly as he thought he could without attracting any undue attention. He was still shaken by the discovery that his name was on a list held by the guards at the gate.
The two passed the Gateway Brewery and its public room without entering that classic watering hole. Instead, Brandon followed the long entrance tunnel for perhaps a quarter of a mile then turned into one of the passages leading into the lower levels of the city of Garnet Thax. The route had at one time been a mine tunnel, but it had been widened and supported with the installation of stone archways every fifty feet or so. It was mostly empty; the few dwarves they met were miners bearing wheelbarrows, tools, and other objects from one work site to another.
The most direct route from the main gate of Kayolin into the city of Garnet Thax was a wide thoroughfare, a ramp lined with inns and plazas as well as numerous shops, leading directly into the main residential zones of the city, the midlevels. Spooked by the fact that his name was known, and that the Enforcers might be searching for him, Brandon elected to lead Gretchan on a more circuitous route into the city proper. They made their way into the deep-levels, a district of smelting and forging plants, passing along narrow, darkened streets, moving quickly amid the infrequent pedestrians in that industrial locale.
Kondike, who seemed completely comfortable in the underground setting, paced easily along behind them. The dog drew more interest from passersby than did the two dwarves.
“Those sentries-they wore black, not red,” Brandon noted. “They must be a new outfit. The Garnet Guards are well known for their scarlet tunics.”
“Have things changed very much otherwise-at least, that you can see?” Gretchan asked as they strode along past a row of smithy stalls, where the clang of hammers striking steel made a rhythmic cadence and created enough of a din that they could be certain they wouldn’t be overheard.
“It looks pretty much the same as before,” the Kayolin dwarf admitted. He gestured as they passed a large chamber, visible through a series of arched openings off of the road. Massive piles of coal filled one side of the room, while dwarves chopped with picks to reduce the fuel to small chunks and cart it into the interior of the factory. They could hear the sound of roaring furnaces and feel the waves of heat emanating as far as the passing tunnel. “I mean, work is getting done. From the look of those coal supplies, the foundries are as productive as ever-maybe more.”
“Why don’t we just go to your parents’ house?” his companion asked. “You’ll be able to learn a lot from them, I’m sure.”
Brandon nodded. “We’ll end up there, yes. But I don’t want to just march down the street and go in the front door. Who knows who might be watching? What if the League of Enforcers has a spy there … or if my father has already been arrested?”