He gasped, sobbing uncontrollably, as the whole cliff face across from him-the very wall of the First Circle- crumbled and fell away. The rope girdle cinched tighter across his belly, restricting his breathing, choking him until, mercifully, the world went black.
The great stone house sprawled above a tiny bay, a rocky niche in the shore of the Undersea on Axial’s wood coast. Two great watch beacons, bright with eternal coolfyre, blazed from the promontories at either side of the bay’s mouth, lighting the placid waters with white reflection, casting a gentle wash of light across the columned portico, the balconies leaning outward from each of the manor’s three broad wings.
Darann had always found this view soothing, and even now, when her heart was still heavy with the reality of the goblin suffering, she felt a lightness in her step, a girlish sense of anticipation as she climbed the smooth path toward the great front door.
That portal was open, and Rufus Houseguard stood there, outlined by the spill of brightness from within. He threw out his long arms as his daughter came closer, and Darann relished the strength of his hug, the familiar musk as she buried her face in his long, soft whiskers.
“I’m glad you could come,” he said. “It gives me an excuse to get out the nice dishes, to have something beside dried shroom for dinner.”
She patted his gut, bulging slightly as ever, and laughed as she passed him into the entry hall. “You don’t seem like you’re in any danger of starving.”
His expression grew grave as he followed and carefully shut the door. “Not from lack of food, in any event,” he said guardedly.
Darann understood; any more pointed discussion would have to wait until later.
“I picked up a bottle of Toad’s Head Malt,” she said, producing a flask of the dark brew from her pouch. “Bermie was just rolling a fresh keg into the market square as I started on my way out here. This is the first gallon he drew.”
“Ahh, now that looks to be a treat,” exclaimed Rufus, taking the bottle, holding it up to the full brightness of the coolfyre chandelier. Brown bubbles meandered through the syrupy fluid, and a foam of chocolate-colored lather formed at the top. “I think I have a main course worthy of this: grilled blackfish, taken with my own spear from the bay not three hours ago. Are you hungry?”
“I can’t wait.”
As usual, Rufus took great pride in laying the table and presenting the dishes. Since his wife had died, some thirty years earlier, he had become something of a gourmand. In addition to the serenity she felt in his company, Darann was always delighted by his culinary accomplishments, and tonight proved to be no exception.
“The spiderweb fungus came from my own mold house,” he proclaimed as she sampled the flaky filet on its bed of netlike mushroom strands. “I bought the citrishroom, of course. It came from the warrens on the Basalt Islands. Tart, don’t you think?”
“Unbelievable!” the dwarfwoman agreed, speaking around a savory mouthful before reaching for her brimming flagon. The mead was the perfect complement to the delicate food, for the drink was thick and sweet and potent enough to put a nice burn into her belly.
“Any word from my brothers?” Darann asked, as they meandered through dessert: a sweet roll made from moon wheat and caveberries, two crops that had been cultivated to grow under the illumination of coolfyre.
“Yes,” Rufus said, “I had a letter two cycles ago. It seems they’ve found another niche in the Midrock, a tiny gap on the edge of Null.” He frowned. “Don’t like to think about them runnin’ around in that lightless void,” he admitted. “Wherever the Delvers are collecting themselves, that seems to be a likely place.”
“At least they have Konnor to look after them,” Darann said, trying to mask her own alarm. “And who knows-maybe they’ll find the opening, the route that will lead us back to Nayve!”
“I still think our best hope lies with the Worldlift,” Rufus said. “I was talking to Donnwell Earnwise, last week-you know, the engineer who’s in charge of the project.”
“Of course I know, father. I’ve only called him Uncle Donnwell since I was a little girl!”
“Er, yes,” Rufus said, reddening. He huffed. “Guess I’m not as sharp as I used to be, and that’s the truth. But that’s beside the point. Donnwell said that his rocket experiments have been remarkably successful. He thinks that’s the way to break through the barrier, to reach Nayve again.”
“If he finds someone foolish enough to ride a rocket!” Darann said scornfully. “If I ever get back to Nayve, it’ll be the old-fashioned way, step by step!”
“Well, that worked for you four hundred years ago… and for your brothers, when they went to see what trouble you’d got yourself into. But this is a new and modern age, girl, and things like rocket lifts are going to be a part of it.”
“I’m glad you think so,” she said, growing serious. “As for me, I don’t know…”
Her father looked at her, his expression morose, and she was unable to maintain the hopeful facade. “I know,” she said quietly. “I’ve admitted it: the Worldfall closed us off for good. I don’t think any dwarf will ever go back there.”
“Makes it all the more important that we manage our own affairs. Come, humor me while I smoke a cheroot. I’ll show you my fountain-I’ve installed a few new valves, and a flute that plays a tune when the water flows across it.”
She followed him onto the wide portico overlooking the bay. Rufus pulled a lever down, activating the water flowing from an uphill tank, then fiddled with an array of circular valves. Soon Darann heard the trilling of water, and moments later a curtain of white spray erupted from several nozzles flush with the paving stones. A circular bowl rose from the middle of the ring of spray, catching the spumes, then channeling the water through an intricate series of chutes. As it splashed downward, a simple tune emerged, deep musical notes that sighed through a mournful, minor key.
“It’s ingenious,” Darann declared in wonder. “That’s the ‘Dirge for Cubic Mandrill,’ isn’t it?”
Rufus nodded. “It’s one of my favorites. And what a story: a hero who died protecting his liege, serving in good faith. But it has come to my attention that there might be more to the story.”
“What do you mean?” Darann asked, very curious.
His eyes were narrowed as he looked around, casually inspecting the balconies of the house, the slopes of the surrounding hillside. Instead of answering, he asked a question of his own, somehow mouthing the question without visibly moving his lips.
“Did you see Hiyram?”
“Yes,” Darann replied in the same discreet fashion. “I gave him another knife and some provisions. I think his people will be patient for a little longer. I don’t know how long it will be before they revolt. But tell me: what makes you think that there might be more to the story?”
“There is a dwarfwoman in the city who knows much of that assassination. She has written me a letter and makes some intriguing speculation. There will come a time, my daughter, when I shall tell you about it.”
“But not now?” pressed the dwarfmaid, knowing that her stubborn father had made up his mind.
“I have to see the king,” Rufus said, glowering in spite of himself. “A few minutes, a real conversation-that’s all it would take for him to see the wrong he is perpetrating, or that is being perpetrated in his name!”
“I wish I shared your optimism,” the daughter answered. “But I cannot believe he doesn’t know exactly what is going on in the ghetto. The guards-there were six of them at the Metal Gate today! He’s getting ready to put down a rebellion.”
“A bad sign,” Rufus agreed. “But we can’t know they were sent there under King Lightbringer’s orders. You know that Nayfal has complete command of the garrison.”
“Nayfal!” Darann all but spat the name. She drew a breath, conscious that her emotions might be visible on her face. And there was no way to know who was watching the house, lurking in the darkness beyond the beacons. At least she consoled herself that the fountain’s noise made it impossible for them to be overheard.
“Have faith, daughter,” Rufus said gently. “I have some indication that I might be invited to the throne room, perhaps within the next ten cycles. We have survived travails before. You should know that this, too, shall pass.”
Later, as she walked backed to her apartment in one of the city’s Six Towers, she reflected on her father’s words. Try as she might, she found his sentiment impossible to believe.
