With a grimace, the axe-wielding dwarf flew at his opponent, launching another flurry of blows, forcing Baracan into a rapid retreat. The other dwarf’s sword flashed back and forth, each time knocking away the Bluestone Axe, but always that keen blade pressed a little closer to the noble scion’s pale skin.
The throne room had fallen silent-even the “Bluestone” chant fading away-as the witnesses stared at the do-or-die battle enacted before them.
“Look out!”
Brandon heard the shrill cry of alarm, recognized it as Gretchan’s voice, and tried to spin away. But Baracan, eyes alight with impending triumph, thrust once, then again, forcing the axe-wielding Bluestone to parry his blows or suffer death. Then Baracan’s eyes, looking past Brandon’s shoulder, widened in shock and dismay. A groaning sigh, mingled with cheers, erupted from the crowd. As Brandon finally broke away from the fight, he saw Lord Heelspur fall on his face. Garren Bluestone stood behind the dying nobleman, holding a bloodied sword.
“He tried to take you from behind,” the senior Bluestone said almost apologetically.
“Thanks, Dad,” Brandon replied sincerely.
Setting his axe at the ready, he again advanced toward Baracan, who retreated with fear in his eyes. “This isn’t the way it was with my brother, is it?” demanded Brandon, smashing the axe down in a series of measured, controlled hacks, forcing Baracan’s retreat. “You had four of your assassins with you when you killed him, didn’t you? You’d never take on someone in a fair fight-at least, not someone like Nailer, who knew how to use a weapon.” He taunted Baracan loudly, shaming his foe, instinctively feeling the mood of the city swing over to his side.
Baracan screamed and charged, overreaching as Brandon skipped out of the way of the thrust blade. The Bluestone Axe swung through a full half-circle-measured and controlled no longer, but like a living thing bent on blood and vengeance. The keen edge bit into Baracan Heelspur’s neck, slicing all the way to his spine before Brandon finally pulled it free.
His enemy’s head flopped backward, barely connected to the torso, as a geyser of blood erupted from the slashing wound. Already dead, Baracan’s body swayed like a drunk; his knees collapsed, and he fell heavily to the floor.
For a moment, all was silent. Regar Smashfingers stared in dumbfounded horror. The Enforcers looked about nervously, slowly edging away from the dwarves of the Garnet Guards and the two Bluestones. The murmurs started softly, quickly swelling.
“Hail to House Bluestone!” General Watchler said. “And shame to Regar Smashfingers and his legacy of greed!”
“Spare me!” Regar cried. Already on his knees, he threw himself face-first onto the floor, hands groping for Garren’s feet. “Don’t kill me!” he pleaded, nearly blubbering. “You can have the kingship! The throne is yours!”
“Throne? No, you speak of the governor’s chair,” Garren Bluestone said, drawing a deep breath and speaking so that all could hear. “The throne is in Thorbardin!”
Then the cheers began, the cry of “Bluestone, Bluestone, Bluestone!” rose to the domed ceiling, echoed through the shaft of the Atrium, and thrummed in all the many levels of Garnet Thax. Dwarves embraced each other, cheering and sobbing with relief. The Enforcers beat a hasty retreat, and in moments there were none of the black-clad bullies to be seen.
Gretchan and Karine made their way down to the floor, and Brandon embraced the priestess, reveling in the feel of her soft skin against his face, her kisses finding his lips in the midst of his bristling beard. He pulled her close, almost weeping in relief, and spotted his mother as she ran up to embrace his father.
“Here-you should take this spot,” said General Watchler, escorting Garren Bluestone up the steps before the great throne. “You would do it honor!”
The citizens of Kayolin cheered as Garren Bluestone sat on the great seat and was appointed, by acclamation, to be the new governor. The shouts and accolades thundered through the throne room, lasting for a very long time. The Bluestone chant changed to the new cry: “The throne is in Thorbardin!”
Brandon watched his father accept the acclaim, and he felt a burst of pride, accompanied by a lump in his throat. Nailer should be there, seeing that, he knew. But that would never be. Still, when he saw the pride, the pure happiness, on his mother’s face, he was able to feel his own sense of accomplishment and joy.
“Hey, where did he come from?” Brandon asked in surprise, staring open mouthed at Gus and two other filthy gully dwarves mingling with the crowd and moving toward them. The little females to either side of him clutched his arms desperately, while Gus looked around in amazement, unsure of himself but clearly rather proud.
Gretchan nodded toward the little Aghar tenderly, smiling at Brandon. “Oh, I meant to tell you. Gus and his friends are here. I think the Master of the Forge was looking out for him and them-and for us. He came here through a magic spell; he’s not sure exactly how. But the big news is that he brought us something important.”
She pulled a crimson wedge of rock from her sagging pouch, and Brandon’s eyes widened. “It’s the same size and shape as the Bluestone …” he began, understanding slowing sinking in.
“And the Greenstone,” she said. “Both of which are in Tarn Bellowgranite’s hands, in Pax Tharkas.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Garren, rising from the seat and stepping close. “This stone matches the Bluestone of our clan; I can see that much.”
“It’s part of an ancient artifact,” Gretchan explained. “It’s called the Tricolor Hammerhead, and it can smash any fortification-including, according to the legends, the Gates of Thorbardin itself. But it can only be forged with all three stones.”
“And we thought the Redstone was locked away in Thorbardin,” Brandon added. “So it didn’t help much that Tarn Bellowgranite has the blue and the green parts.” He blinked and looked at Gretchan. “Where did this come from anyway?”
“I brought it!” Gus said, stepping forward proudly. “Out of Thorbardin, when whole place burnin’ up and stinkin’.”
Brandon raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Gretchan. She gave him a “we’ll talk about it later” look.
Then she smiled and put an affectionate hand on Gus’s stringy-haired head-which she quickly removed when she caught a glimpse of the dour glares on Berta’s and Slooshy’s faces. The two Aghar females continued to hug Gus’s arms, each pulling so firmly that they seemed about ready to dislocate his shoulders. The male gully dwarf, meanwhile, gazed blissfully up at the priestess.
“Gus said we could have this stone on one condition,” the cleric explained seriously to Brandon and his father.
“What condition?” asked Governor Bluestone, already assuming an air of authority.
“He tells me that one of King Jungor Stonespringer’s acts, as ruler of Thorbardin, was to outlaw the very presence of the Aghar. He killed their highbulp and had his chair removed from Thorbardin’s Council of Thanes. The rest of his people are being hunted and killed. I told Gus that if we use this stone to complete the hammer and if we are able to liberate the kingdom, I promised him the gully dwarves would be restored to their traditional chair at the council.”
“That’s fair enough,” Garren said. “You have done all dwarfkind a great service,” he solemnly told Gus, who beamed so brightly, his face turned red.
General Watchler came forward to join the discussion. “What is this about Thorbardin burning?”
Gretchan did her best to summarize the Aghar’s extensive descriptions of the chaos in that ancient nation, with Gus chirping in every now and then with added detail.
“It sounds like the whole place is being torn apart by civil war,” she finished at last, looking around at everyone’s grim expressions. “The dwarves there need help, but since the king sealed the gates, a whole army could march against the place without any prospect of success. There has never been any way to reach them … until now.”