god. Even so, Torrin let the brooch lie there.
A spark of magical energy leaped out of the space the voice had come from, stinging Torrin’s hand. He startled.
“If my intentions were ill, you’d already be dead,” the voice told him. “Put on the brooch. I have something I want to say to you, away from scrying eyes and ears. They’re likely not listening-yet. But they will be, soon enough. The brooch will protect our privacy.”
At last, Torrin relented. He tied his mace to his belt, then picked up the brooch.
“Pin it to the inside of your shirt, said the voice.”
Torrin did as instructed. He glanced up and down the staircase; still, there was no one in sight.
“Letting the talismonger escape is just an excuse,” the voice said. “The real reason the order has gone out for your arrest is because the Deep Lords don’t want you revealing why gold is being confiscated. They’ve already arrested the alchemist you visited yesterday. You’re next.”
“But we have to warn people!” Torrin said. “The gold bars won’t be the only source of contagion. Some will have already been melted down and-”
“Poured into sacred pools, among other things,” the voice said wearily. “We know. But consider this. With our citizens already in a panic, is it truly wise to heap fresh coal upon the forge? An economic crisis is the last thing Eartheart needs. And it’s just what our enemies want. Moreover, there are always profiteers who seek to make the most of such a crisis. Gold being secretly stockpiled for more stable times is something we must avoid. Any cursed gold that’s hidden away won’t be cleared of its taint.”
“Secrecy isn’t the answer,” Torrin insisted. “We dwarves are a sensible race. We won’t panic or riot. If the Council explains why-”
“That argument failed to sway the Council,” the voice said, sounding older, more tired. “We’re doing what we can. Gold is being rounded up and examined, and any that isn’t cursed will be returned to its rightful owners once the crisis has passed. The stoneplague is being contained. Here in Eartheart, at least.”
Torrin was shocked by what the words hinted at. “And the clans elsewhere in the Deep Realms?” he asked. “What about them?”
“The vote was taken-the outlying communities were deemed at fault,” the voice replied. “They’ll be left to find their own solutions until we deem it the right moment to tell them. The vote passed by the narrowest of margins, despite my urging. But… it passed.”
As the silence stretched, Torrin realized the subtext of what the invisible speaker was telling him. It was one of the Deep Lords he was speaking to, one of the dissenting voters.
The voice sounded familiar, but not overly so. It was as if the speaker were deliberately disguising his voice. Even so, Torrin eventually placed it. When he did, his eyes widened. He suspected that, were he to touch the invisible dwarf’s beard, he’d feel three braids. If his guess were correct, it wasn’t just any Deep Lord, but the Lord Scepter himself!
“Why are you warning me?” Torrin asked. “Why don’t you want me arrested?”
“Last night I had a strange dream,” said the Lord Scepter. “I was standing in a foundry, in front of a melting pot that held molten gold, holding a star in my hands. A star made of black iron. I knew that it eventually had to go into the melting pot, but that the time wasn’t right. The fire was only hot enough to melt gold, not iron. I stood, wondering what I was supposed to do with it. Then a hand reached down from the sky-a hand attached to an arm that wore a gold bracer.”
“Moradin,” Torrin breathed.
“The Dwarffather,” the Lord Scepter agreed. “He wanted the star, but couldn’t reach me; something was preventing him from moving properly. It was as if he himself had the stoneplague, and had been crippled by it. I stretched as far as I could, but wasn’t able to place the star in that mighty hand. It was too far above me, lost among the stars. Then, suddenly, I realized what I must do. I let go of the star, and it sailed up into the sky.”
Torrin was hanging on every word. The Deep Lord had also experienced a prophetic dream involving Moradin! And clearly, judging by that iron star, a dream about Torrin. Was the melting pot in the Lord Scepter’s dream the Soulforge that Torrin had dreamed about finding for so long?
Torrin felt his heart pounding in his chest. A prickle of pure excitement shivered down the back of his neck. “You released the star and then… What happened then?”
The Lord Scepter chuckled. “I woke up,” he said.
Hope rushed out of Torrin like water from a punctured waterskin.
“What do you think the dream means?” Torrin asked.
“I have no idea,” the Lord Scepter admitted. “But I infer the ending to mean that you must remain free, for the good of the dwarf race. You need to leave Eartheart. At once.”
Torrin bowed. He started to unbutton the brooch, intending to hand it back to the Lord Scepter, but he interrupted. “Keep it,” he said. “Whatever task the Dwarffather has in mind for you, I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”
Chapter Ten
“Silence is golden.”
Torrin crossed Silvershield Bridge by night and headed for the city’s southern gate, his conversation with the Lord Scepter still echoing through his thoughts. He saw one of the Steel Shields coming toward him across the bridge. His helmet plume was bobbing, and his armor glinted in the starlight. As the knight approached, Torrin lowered his head so his hood shadowed his face, and slowed his pace. He didn’t want to enter the lantern light just yet. “Dumathoin, shield me,” he prayed. “Keep my secret this night.”
The Steel Shield barely glanced at Torrin as he passed by. The knight’s boots thumped steadily against the stonework as he marched away into the night.
Torrin sighed in relief.
Ahead, at the spot where a lantern illuminated the apex of the bridge, he saw a dwarf walking slowly, one hand on the stone bridge rail and his back to Torrin. He seemed to be blind, feeling his way along. As Torrin watched, the dwarf’s hand bumped against one of the silver-plated shields that gave the bridge its name. Abruptly, he stopped and cradled his bruised hand against his chest.
Like Torrin, the dwarf wore a hooded cloak. In itself that was nothing unusual; it was a chilly night. But as the dwarf stood nursing his hand, the hood slipped back, revealing a bald spot on the back of his head that shone in the lantern light. With a start, Torrin realized that it was the dwarf who’d waylaid him outside the motedisc factory.
The rogue yanked his hood back into place, and continued walking.
Immediately on guard, Torrin glanced quickly around. Aside from the rogue, the bridge was empty. There was no sign of Vadyr-although that didn’t mean the human rogue wasn’t invisible.
Torrin drew his mace. Openly wielding a weapon would invite the attention of any other Steel Shields who happened by on patrol, but he was willing to risk that. He wasn’t about to get knocked out a second time. The balding dwarf was laying it on thick, moving even more slowly and stiffly than when Torrin had first had the misfortune of making his acquaintance. Putting on a show, for Torrin’s benefit.
Torrin didn’t let it distract him. He stood, his mace ready, his back against the bridge railing. “Show yourself, coward,” he called out. “If you want the runestone that badly, let’s see you try to take it.”
Several moments went by. Nothing happened. Torrin started to feel foolish standing there with his mace raised. He suddenly sprinted across the rest of the bridge, in the direction the balding dwarf had gone. He reached the deeper shadows at the base of the bridge and ducked into an alcove that held a stone statue of Clangeddin Silverbeard. The god’s twin axes poked into Torrin’s lower back.
Torrin waited. No footsteps approached. No second assailant attacked.
