They drifted past a wide gap in the wall, and he saw a number of dwarves shoveling coal from large piles into the metal carts that carried the fuel to the smelters and smithies in the lowest levels of the city. One of the diggers dropped his shovel in startlement as he happened to look out and catch a glimpse of the two dwarves riding their makeshift parachute down the Atrium. By the time he shouted to attract the attention of his coworkers, Brandon and Gretchan had passed from sight, but they heard a clatter and scramble as the entire workforce raced to the edge of the pit to gawk.
He spotted the Deepshelf Inn as it swept up from below; then they passed by it too. He met the eyes of a waitress who was carrying a tray crowded with full mugs; by the time he heard her scream, followed by the loud crash of crockery, they were already gone.
“Um, this was a pretty good idea,” Brandon admitted, relaxing a little and twisting to try to look around. “But that was the last of the deep-levels we just passed. Do you have any idea how to stop us before we get down to the fires of the Abyss?”
“I have a sort of idea, but I’m not sure how it will work. Look, can you swing your legs like this? Let’s try to shift ourselves closer to the wall.”
Following her lead, he kicked his feet at the same time as Gretchan, starting a pendulum motion toward the cliff then back to the middle of the shaft-which was growing steadily narrower as they continued their rapid descent. They swung sideways again, and he felt a sickening dizziness, momentarily wondering if they would tip the cloak so much that they would lose buoyancy and plummet into the fiery depths. Instead, he found that they were indeed edging closer and closer to the rough stone wall.
Here and there the precipice was scarred by cave mouths and broad, shelflike ledges. All of a sudden Brandon realized her plan: if they could swing into one of those openings or land on a ledge, they might have a chance to arrest their fall. He didn’t even begin to think about their prospects of climbing back up to Garnet Thax undetected.
“Look, there’s a spot!” the priestess said, pointing with her toe. Brandon saw it too: a wide cave hole, gaping like a mouth in the cliff wall. A narrow ledge jutted from the floor of the cave out and into the Atrium. “Let’s swing and drop … on ‘three!’ ”
Trying not to think about the seemingly bottomless drop off the edge of the shelf, Brandon followed her count, swinging his legs over in the steady “one,” “two,” “three” count she barked out. On the last, their feet swung over the ledge, and they both let go of the cape, tumbling onto the shelf. Brandon landed on his feet, flexing his knees, but Gretchan stumbled and slipped, rolling to her side and starting to slide over the edge.
Diving toward her, Brandon reached out a hand, and Gretchan caught it with both of her own. The force of landing on the ground nearly wrenched his shoulder out of the socket, but he pulled her away from the ledge, rolling onto his back and holding her on top of him.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” he said, grinning into her face.
But she wasn’t looking back at him. Instead, her eyes were trained on the dark cave just behind the ledge. Whatever she saw there caused her to draw a deep breath and scream.
FOURTEEN
Where’s my wife?” Garren Bluestone demanded. “Where’s Karine? What did you do to her?”
The dwarf struggled against the ropes that bound his arms tightly behind his back. He twisted in the muscular grip of at least two captors. He couldn’t see anything because the Enforcers had placed a dark hood over his head before they’d even removed him from his house. He’d heard his wife screaming for help but had been powerless to intervene as his captors dragged him into the street.
She had been pulled out the door with him, but Karine’s voice had faded into the distance as they forced him to march along, leaving her and his home behind. Whether she had been taken in a different direction or perhaps returned to the house, he didn’t know. He’d felt miserably helpless and terribly frightened for his family as the king’s Enforcers pushed Garren toward the nearest stairway. With swords poking his back and buttocks, the prisoner had been marched up a long series of steps. He’d been too distraught to count them but estimated that he’d climbed some six or eight of the city’s levels. His best guess was that he was in the League of Enforcer’s headquarters, which he knew to be on the level directly below the palace-the very highest level of all Garnet Thax.
After hearing several doors clank open then slam shut behind him, Garren was pushed down into a hard wooden chair. One more door slammed, very nearby, and he heard several other dwarves moving around him and chairs scraping on the floor. Someone with a big chest and a deep voice coughed harshly.
Abruptly the hood was pulled from his head. Garren was seated at a small table, his arms still bound behind him. Two black-clad Enforcers stood flanking him; one of them had removed his hood.
But the captive dwarf’s eyes immediately went to the fellow sitting across the table from him, a villain regarding him with flat, emotionless eyes. Garren recognized Baracan Heelspur: the son of Lord Heelspur had his father’s large, hooked nose, and a thick head of dark hair that sprouted so low on his forehead it almost merged with his black, shaggy eyebrows. His eyes receded far into his head and were shaded by a blunt, protruding brow. They might have been black cave mouths, dark spots underneath a shelf of cliff.
“I’m so happy that you could join us,” Baracan said, his sneering tone unmatched by any expression of delight or even interest in those black eyes. “I’ve wanted to have the pleasure of your company for some time now. I was just waiting for the proper occasion.”
“Where’s my wife?” demanded Garren. “What have you done with her, you butcher?”
One of the guards smacked Bluestone, hard, on the ear. “Don’t insult the captain,” snarled the dwarf.
Wincing, his head ringing, Garren drew a breath. “Where is she?” he repeated.
“Don’t worry about her,” Baracan Heelspur said with an easy chuckle. “It’s you we’re interested in. If you tell us what we need to know, nothing … untoward … will happen to your lovely wife.”
“Is she here? Did you lock her up too?”
“I told you,” Baracan said with just a hint of annoyance. “Stop worrying about her. It’s you we’re interested in.”
“All right.” Garren forced himself to breathe deeply, to remain calm. “Why are you interested in me? What do you think I’ve done?”
“Obviously, for one, you were harboring a fugitive. Your son is a renegade dwarf, I’m certain you understand. Not only did he defame me, personally, in the presence of the king, but he sought to deny my father’s rightful claim to a new, and very valuable, vein of gold ore. You’ll be flattered to know that he was one of the first outlaws to be placed on the list; you might even say his name was noted before there even was a list.”
Garren seethed. He knew the real story: his two sons, Nailer and Brandon, had discovered the ore on a daring expedition. They had battled and slain a fearsome cave troll in the process. Then, as they had made their way back to the city, they had been ambushed by masked assassins. Nailer had died; Brandon had been fortunate to escape with his life. The purpose behind the assassination had become clear when Garren and his surviving son had heard Lord Alakar Heelspur loudly claim the ore in the name of his clan, crediting his son with both the discovery and the slaying of the cave troll. Brandon’s appearance in the royal court-and his strenuous objection to Heelspur’s claim-had badly embarrassed the lord. Lord Heelspur hadn’t forgotten that humiliation.