Book of Kinsey: Dark Fate (The Dark Fate Chronicles 2) (8 page)

Alone once more, they completed their climb, coming to a stop beside a massive stone disk that closed the tunnel mouth off from the wild elements beyond. A mighty iron wheel secured the door, and after much effort and more than a little swearing, a high-pitched whine followed by the ticking of interlocking gears filled the tunnel. The monstrous stone door slowly rolled to one side, replacing the insidious creeping chill of the tunnel with a strong gust of frozen wind. It was as if the tearing breath of an ice wyrm blasted through the widened opening and stripped all the heat from their tired limbs.

Thorn sucked in the chill air involuntarily and muttered a curse, tugging his blue cloak tightly about his body.

Sargon took the torch from its bracket. The flames leapt wildly as he thrust it forward and yelled into the darkness, “Gideon!” The priest repeated the call several times until a line of dark, heavily bundled forms shambled from the darkness bearing shielded lanterns aloft. Sargon stepped aside, and the fur-clad group tromped through the entrance, tracking snow as they came.

Thorn pulled on the wheel to seal the entrance once again.

The heavy door rolled closed much more agreeably than it had opened, but the stone disk hesitated short of closing in defiance of Thorn’s kingly authority as well as his every effort.

One of the fur-covered newcomers hurried down the short passage and lent his strength in closing the door. The others moved deeper into the hallway and began uncovering their faces. The giant circle of stone ground to a halt with a deep thump.

With the portal successfully closed, Thorn’s bundled assistant immediately went to a knee. “Yer Majesty,” the familiar voice of Gideon said. The breath of his voice leaked through gaps in his wrappings like steam through the vents of a cauldron. The others in the enclosed space all knelt upon hearing the general’s words. All except for one—a silhouette of oddly human proportions remained standing.

Thorn took a step toward the large man, trying to get a better view of his face. He was sure this was the one the Dark Advisor had spoken of. The one named Kinsey. A small voice in Thorn’s deepest being cried out that this could not be so, that there was no possibility of having an heir. He had hoped, certainly, but his mind shied with sudden doubt.

The tall figure was unwrapping the coverings from its head and shoulders. As Thorn continued to approach, the stranger turned so that the torchlight outlined his heavily bearded jaw and brought forth the detail and contours of his broad, masculine features.

Thorn stumbled to a halt and took in a sharp breath. “Ma boy.”

The giant version of Thorn’s son cocked his head. His voice was deep and strong when he spoke, “Your pardon?”

Tears sprang unbidden from Thorn’s eyes and ran freely down his cold-reddened cheeks. He pressed forward to lay hands on his grandchild. “By Dagda, I can’t believe it. A miracle be standin’ before me, and I can’t believe it!”

His grandson cast an unsure eye at the group around them, raising a brow.

Thorn tore his eyes from Kinsey to look at those who still knelt. Every dwarf had broad smiles and eyes shining with tears as they took in their king’s happiness. He motioned for everyone to rise. “Ta yer feet.” He waited for them to rise. “I be in yer debt, every last one o’ ya. Whatcha done fer me I can’t put inta words.”

“It be our duty, Yer Majesty,” Gideon said, stepping forward. “Whatever ya need, we be doin’.”

Thorn smiled and gripped the general on the shoulder, alternately squeezing and then slapping him on the back. “I be needin’ this ta be quiet fer now and fer all of ya ta stay hidden. I’ll give orders ta my personal guard ta watch this hall and keep ya all safe from the eyes o’ others.” He looked back up at his grandson. “I know ya be havin’ questions. We’ll be gettin’ ta those when I get all o’ ya settled.”

Kinsey seemed to consider the words for a moment then nodded.

Thorn grunted. “I be off then, before someone finds me missing from ma’ chambers.” He embraced Sargon and gave Kinsey a last lingering look, then headed back down the long stairwell.

Despite the real potential that he might be missed, Thorn did not go to his chambers. The stairs of the long descent flew away beneath him as his mind reeled from the impact of Kinsey’s face. A miracle. Almost unbidden, his hurrying feet took him to the Rhomedeyagda, the holy temple of Dagda. The Rhomedeyagda was a cathedral of carved columns and finished stone that could house some three thousand souls with room to spare. As with most of the structures in Mozil, the original builders had taken advantage of the natural fissures and spaces within the mountain, crafting the space lovingly and reverentially. At this late hour, only the penitent or acolytes charged with maintaining the ever-lit flames would be about, so it was unsurprising that Thorn found himself alone as he virtually ran through the central aisle to fall on his knees before the giant basalt monument dedicated to his god.

The black stone glowed dimly in the lambent light of the never-quiescent flames surrounding the chamber. Thorn threw his arms wide. “I cannot thank ya fer the gift ya bestowed upon me. I haven’t the means nor the words ta do so.” Thorn’s voice echoed through the empty hall. “All I can say is, I shan’t be failin’ ya again!” His hands tightened into fists as he lifted them above his head. “I swear ma life on it!”

As the last word left his lips, a clap of thunder drowned the echo.

Stunned, Thorn fell backward and cried out. The king blinked and shook his head against the whine in his ears. The smell of heated rock wafted across his nose. Thorn envisioned an explosion of cave gasses and hurriedly pushed himself to his elbows to look around for the source.

Curling columns of black smoke rose from the obelisk he had knelt in front of. At the base, a gaping hole had appeared. The ragged edges of the rock still glowed angry red. Somewhat panicked, Thorn searched himself and his surroundings for evidence of the explosion. He could find none.

Thorn scrambled to his feet, never letting his eyes waver from the glowing rock in front of him. He was convinced that this was not an explosion but an act of his god. Dagda had spoken or at least had given a sign. The old king stumbled forward to get a closer look.

The plinth that Thorn had always assumed to be solid appeared to be hollow in fact. Rough stone steps trailed off into the darkness below beyond the still-glowing edges of the new portal. A slight breeze came up from the depths to lightly brush Thorn’s braided beard and disheveled hair. There was a crisp, clean, and inviting feel to the gust instead of the stale and musty air that was often found in the opening of a long-lost or just-discovered cave.

Intrigued, Thorn took a tentative step through the gap and glanced back before descending further. No hurrying or wide-eyed priests had come to investigate the sudden thunder. The hall remained empty and had returned to its previous somber silence.

Thorn gingerly began to descend into the depths. The passage began to turn in a wide corkscrew, and he reached a hand to the wall to steady himself as the open space of the great chapel disappeared. Even with the light of the Rhomedeyagda being closed away, Thorn was able to see. It wasn’t the walls and floors themselves that glowed, but it was almost as if the light was emanating from his own body, though he could see no sign of it when peering at his hands.

The king’s questing fingers touched the cool stone, and he immediately hesitated to peer at the wall. The entire surface had been covered in stone carvings depicting his people and a rearing creature.
Dakayga,
he thought, touching the figure that towered over the heads of the dwarves the way an adult towered over small children. Thorn tore his gaze away from the creature and the thoughts of Duhann that it had inspired.

An arched opening was revealed as Thorn rounded the spiral stair. Through it spilled a flickering glow of golden light that lit the steps below. Thorn passed through the portal with a breath of relief. The dim passage with its spectral light had begun to spawn chills of apprehension in the old king’s spine. Free of the small tunnel, he gazed in awe about this new discovery laid before him.

The chamber was nearly as large as the Rhomedeyagda but completely clear of obstruction. A domed ceiling loomed above his head, and coffering detailed the planes of stone between the arching ribs. Statues depicting the mighty dwarven god evenly paced the perimeter. To the right of each statue, a flaming brand provided the light; to the left, arched openings let into darkness beyond. At the room’s center was a giant, circular rune of inlaid gold and silver. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds set in various places within the circle sparkled in the torchlight. A set of heavy manacles lay bolted to the floor at the very center of the rune.

Thorn moved to stand next to the thick chains and bent to examine them more closely.

Smaller versions of the floor’s silver runes ran along the surface of each link and both broad cuffs. Thorn had seen runes like these before, but only in books—scriptures telling of legend.

A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he spun, bringing his fists up.

Nothing but dancing shadows and silence greeted him.

Thorn narrowed his eyes, inspecting the dark spaces around the room, and his gaze fell upon a short stone column placed between two of the largest and most ornate statues of Dagda. Upon the slanting surface sat a large book. He walked cautiously toward the ancient tome.

Darkened leather with worn edges covered the yellowed pages. The same runic script from the manacles decorated the tome’s callused surface.

He reached out and touched the thick leather cover, tracing the glyphs. Hope raced like a surge of energy through his fingers and up his arm, spreading throughout his entire body.
A gift indeed,
he thought, eagerly but carefully laying open the cover.

Blank pages returned his gaze placidly from the inside.

Thorn frowned and flipped the pages, one after another. Not a single piece of the heavy parchment contained the slightest mark. He shook his head in consternation and picked the book up by the spine. He gave it a gentle shake in hopes of dislodging a clue that may have been tucked away between the empty pages.

Nothing was revealed.

Growling, Thorn returned the book to its resting place. He drummed his fingers lightly on the leather cover as he peered about, looking for another clue that would answer the riddle of the blank pages.
Ah!
he thought when his eyes stopped on one of the statues of Dagda. Remembering how the chamber had been revealed to him, he seized the book once more. This time he didn’t open it but held it out in front of him reverentially while he sank to his knees and attempted to sing one of the old hymns glorifying Dagda. At several points along the way he found himself humming the tune and hoping fervently that it would be sufficient. When he came to the end of the last refrain, he lowered the book into his lap and with trembling hands once more opened the leather cover.

“Mot’s fire!” Thorn swore as persistently blank pages greeted him. He instantly regretted the outburst as he knelt in the very presence of his god. Sighing, the king clambered carefully to his feet and placed the book once more on the plinth.

The archway from which he had entered the chamber caught his wandering gaze. The edges of the stones were glowing softly and invitingly. Thorn knew in his soul that this chamber was an answer and a sign from Dagda. It had obviously been sacred to the people in times past, but it had been unknown to any in recent memory. Thinking that this might be a good location for Sargon and his grandson to hide while they decided what to do, he moved for the stairs.

The steps passed by Thorn swiftly on legs that belied his age. His lungs and thighs began to burn as he pushed himself harder, and he reveled in the feeling. As he climbed, Thorn racked his mind on how he might keep the mysterious chamber secret despite the entrance being located in one of the most sacred and public places of Mozil. Sargon would have to help him hide this place. They would find a way.

The end of the tunnel came into view much more quickly than Thorn had expected. He pressed on, rushing through the glowing portal and then skidding to a halt just outside the passage, stunned once more. He had not emerged through the crater in the base of the obelisk dedicated to Dagda. Instead, Thorn stood in front of Sargon and the others he had left atop the mountain. They had huddled together and now were staring at him in surprise.

“By Dagda’s mercy!” The king laughed. “It be another miracle.” He looked over his shoulder back to the portal from which he had emerged and saw that it was tucked into a very conveniently shaped fold of the tunnel wall. Suddenly he suspected that there might not be a worry about the hole in the obelisk being discovered.

Kinsey, Sargon, and the other dwarves scrambled to their feet with questions bubbling from their lips. Thorn gave them a broad smile. Instead of answering, he simply said, “Follow me.”