Hunter's Tales: The Imps' Curse

By Kate Tavegia

Hunter’s Tales: The Imps’ Curse is a story within a story. An old man who everyone calls Hunter is telling the tale of one of his adventures to a small crowd on a stormy day. This story is one of his earliest adventures. It begins when a bedraggled young dwarf named Ryder arrives at the Guild College with a plea from her father for aid against a dragon that a group of his warriors stumbled into. Along with his best friend, Tamra, and the powerful mage Sariah, he accompanies Ryder back to her home.

Throughout a journey that takes them through land, sea, and even air, the small group encounters hidden foes, unexpected friends, and dangerous, hidden lands. Meanwhile, a rebellion is afoot in the dwarven kingdom. The loyal survivors of a coup are forced to flee into the deep tunnels underneath the dwarven capital city.

Unaware of this violent transfer of power, the group continues south. Through a strange twist of fate, they join up with the rebel dwarves and other allies to free the rest of the dwarves from the grip of a cruel tyrant. Will they succeed in their endeavors and oust the usurper to instill the rightful heir to power, or will they all, friend and foe alike, be consumed by an unknown power that none of them know exists?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646542482

Book preview

1

The muffled thump of boots on stone and the creaking of leather were the only sounds as the scouting party made their way through the pitch-black tunnels. Under other circumstances, the party would have been as silent as smoke on the wind as they moved, but since this mission was right under their home city, they felt no fear and had no reason to suspect any trouble.

No reason to completely forget themselves, though, thought Roary Silvervein. He made a soft whistle, and the noise stopped immediately. Better. Roary was the commander of the most elite group of soldiers in the entire kingdom, the Black Stars. As the middle child of the king, he felt almost useless anywhere but when commanding his men in the field. He was big for a dwarf, almost five feet, and broad and burly. He could wield a battle-ax with one hand. His hair and beard were both long and black, and his eyes were silver-blue, like chips of ice. He wore his hair braided back and his beard loose, with only braids in his mustache. He passed on the gold and jewels others of high blood put into theirs. He felt he was more of a fighter than a highborn, anyway.

The whole company wore armor made of black leather and steel. A large multipointed star was etched into the steel on their chests, and each one had a gray cloak that clasped at the right shoulder with a small black steel star broach. As hunters and scouts, they favored lighter armor and weapons than most of the other companies in the army wore. Silent and quick to maneuver, they were often chosen for the more dangerous missions that the king needed handled.

The group made their way through the pitch-black tunnels under the dwarven capital city of Archenmere. The dwarven scouts needed no light. Centuries of living underground had given them night vision.

Blood of the gods, it’s hot down here, a voice muttered beside him. Roary turned to look at his second, Wynar Stonefist. The older dwarf’s grizzled countenance was shiny with sweat. My armor’s going to rust if we’re down here much longer, he said as he wiped sweat from his brow.

Stonefist was a legend in his own time. Every dwarf in the kingdom knew him. His hair and beard were dark brown with large gray streaks in them, his visible eye brown; the other had been lost in a training accident when he was young and was hidden under a black eye patch. He had lost an arm in a skirmish with imps almost five years before but refused to give up. He had bound the wound with a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, then re-entered battle. He and his men drove off an army of imps twice their strength, breaking the back of the enemy army and bringing the twenty-year war with the imp clans to an end. Each surviving member of the company had been given a Silver Crown, the highest honor a dwarven soldier could achieve. Artisans and engineers had fashioned an arm out of stone and metal that would allow Stonefist to continue in the field. A grizzled veteran, Stonefist was almost twice the age of his superior; in fact, he had trained Roary. The two had become good friends, and Roary still looked up to his mentor.

We’re next to the main chamber of a volcano. Heat kind of goes with the territory, Roary quipped, earning himself an annoyed glance from the older dwarf.

I don’t see why they had to send us, Stonefist continued after a moment. You’re the son of the king, and the Shadows are the most skilled group of scouts and warriors in the kingdom. Why send us on an errand that a group of first-year trainees could do?

The miners said they saw something strange when they broke through the wall. The king sent us because we’re the best, Roary answered. If it’s something dangerous, we’re the company best prepared to handle it.

I still say scouting a place for the council to build pipes is a job for a bunch of squires, not an elite scouting party, Stonefist muttered into his beard.

Roary smiled and shook his head. He let Stonefist mutter for a little longer before interrupting him. That’s the sappers’ job. All we’re supposed to do is scout a path and make sure it stays safe while they take their measurements and whatnot, Roary said as he wiped the sweat off his brow. Maybe I’ll use my influence as the son of the king to get out of guarding down here, though. We’ll cook in our armor if we stay here, and I don’t fancy a fight in my small clothes.

Stonefist chuckled, and they walked on in silence. A soft red glow slowly illuminated the faces of the twenty dwarves in the tunnel. The heat grew to the point where it was almost unbearable. Sweat ran off Roary’s face in rivulets, and it started to get hard to breathe. The air was heavy with the smell of rotten eggs.

The party rounded a corner and came upon an opening cut in the wall in front of them. Roary called a halt, and he and Stonefist made their way to the front of the line.

This must be where the miners broke through, Stonefist said.

Roary nodded in agreement. All right, form up and follow us in, he gave the orders to his men before following Stonefist through the opening and a short tunnel into the adjoining chamber.

The chamber was huge. It was almost completely round, and the walls rose up from the floor and swept gracefully up hundreds of feet to the open caldera of the volcano. Far above them, Roary could see a small point of light from the sun outside. The chamber itself was almost three hundred feet across. A fissure in the center split the room in two. From this fissure came a red glare and intense heat. The floor was smooth and even, but there were odd circles of stones scattered everywhere. The rocks that made up the circles looked as if they had been purposely set that way. They were arranged so as to make a solid wall between the rocks inside the circle and the chamber beyond. Inside the circle were half a dozen larger stones.

Roary stepped out of the tunnel, looked briefly around the chamber, and then signaled his men. The well-disciplined company instantly split into three groups. One followed Stonefist to the right along the chamber wall; the second, led by a young sergeant named Zar Catson, started slowly across the chamber toward the fissure. The last group followed Roary toward the nearest stone circle. Each stone in the circle was up to Roary’s waist. He climbed over the wall and crouched down next to the nearest stone. It was smooth, oval, and a beautiful dark blue shot through with silver veins. He reached out to touch it, almost mesmerized by it, though he couldn’t think why. Part of his mind screamed that something was wrong, very wrong, but he ignored that voice. He heard his men shuffling nervously on the other side of the wall. He tried to drag himself back to reality but couldn’t look away from the stone in front of him.

Realization struck a second too late. Eggs! They’re eggs! He leaped back and scrambled back over the wall, frantically signaling his group as he did so. His men, though, were holding their weapons and watching the shadows above nervously and didn’t see his warning. He saw movement in the darkness above them. A low growl echoed around the chamber, trailing off to a menacing hiss. The others, farther into the chamber, stopped at the sound, looking around as well. A huge shadow detached itself from the wall of the chamber and drifted effortlessly down toward the cavern floor.

The beast was fully fifty feet long from snout to tail tip. Its head resembled a horse’s, only much larger, long face, large eyes, and wide nostrils, with a fringe of short gold spikes at the base of its skull. A bony ridge ran from its eyes down its snout to alongside its nostrils. A long sinuous neck connected the head to the bulky, winged body. Its front legs were shorter than its back, and it flew with them tucked up against its body. Both the front and back legs ended in three toes tipped with long golden claws. The tail was a third of the length of the animal’s body and tapered to a tip before flaring out into a triangular rudder. The wings measured at least the same length from tip to tip as the body was from nose to tail. The beast was covered in black scales, small circular ones on its face and head and large oval ones on the rest of its body, which sparkled darkly in the glare of the light from the fissure. Two gold lines ran the length of the animal’s body, one on each side, starting at the base of the skull and continued, unbroken, to the tip of the tail.

Roary shook his head and rubbed his eyes, thinking he was seeing things. It was well-known that dragons had been extinct for thousands of years. The other members of his group were shuffling nervously and looking at him. The other two groups had drawn together, Catson’s near the edge of the fissure and Stonefist’s against the chamber wall. They all had their weapons out and ready, though they looked uncertain of how to use them against this foe.

The dragon drifted slowly toward the hapless dwarves stranded near the fissure. Roary yelled at them to run, scatter, but they either couldn’t hear him or didn’t understand what he said. The dragon opened its maw and spewed lava onto the entire company. The molten rock melted through armor and flesh. The smell of charred flesh spread through the chamber, suffocating those left standing. The dragon turned its attention to Stonefist’s company. Stonefist had spread his men out along the wall so they wouldn’t all be lost in one attack. He stood at the end of the line of men, closest to Roary and his group. The dragon glided slowly to meet this new threat, seeming to hover in the air, barely moving its wings. It glared down at the older dwarf, then suddenly pulled up in the air and flapped its wings hard, buffeting the dwarves with air and knocking the whole group to the ground.

Stonefist struggled to his feet, hefting his war hammer as he did so. As the dragon inhaled, preparing to attack the group again, Stonefist drew back and flung the hammer with all his strength. His aim was true, and the hammer struck the dragon square in the right eye. The beast let out an earsplitting, bellowing shriek, cracking the very stone of the chamber. The dwarves dropped their weapons and clapped their hands over their ears.

The dragon landed, shaking the chamber and knocking the dwarves who had managed to regain their feet to the ground again. Roary scrambled to his feet, looking up at the huge beast towering above him. The beast’s visible eye was dark and oozing fluid. It’s blind on this side, he thought to himself. If I’m quick, I might be able to end this before any more die. Before he could act, the dragon jerked its head up and shot a bolt of lightning at the dwarves against the wall. Two were hit by the first bolt and didn’t get up again. The rest scrambled up and grabbed their weapons. The dragon jerked its head again and shot another bolt of lightning. The bolt missed the dwarves but struck the wall behind them. The rock shattered, sending shards flying through the air and causing huge cracks to run up the wall. The dragon shot another bolt, hitting the same spot on the wall. Too late, Stonefist realized what was happening.

Get away from the wall! Run! he roared, shoving those closest away. But his words were drowned out by the thunder of cascading rock. The second bolt from the dragon hit the weakened wall, shattering it and raining sharp rock shards and large fragments of the wall onto the dwarves. A large section of the wall slid off, burying those dwarves unlucky enough to be too close. Roary caught a glimpse of Stonefist standing with his hammer somehow back in his hand, trying to rally his men as the wall fell around him. Then, he disappeared in a cloud of dust and rock debris.

no! Roary yelled. His yell drew the dragon’s attention. It turned its undamaged eye toward his group. Get on its blind side! Attack! Roary bellowed to his men. They charged, weapons glinting in the ruddy light from the fissure. The remaining dwarves struck at the dragon with swords and hammers, but the dragon’s scales were harder than any armor. The beast roared and swung its tail around, knocking several dwarves across the room and slamming them against the wall.

Roary dived aside to avoid a blow from the dragon’s front leg. Another dwarf wasn’t so lucky. He was knocked down and didn’t get up again. Almost the entire company was gone. Either buried under the remains of the rock wall or dead by the claws and deadly breath of the dragon.

A few dwarves were still on their feet. Retreat! he yelled at them. He dodged the dragon again and ran to the last place he had seen Stonefist. He dug through the debris until he found the older dwarf. He had no idea if Stonefist was alive or not, but he grabbed him under the arms and dragged him toward the tunnel. Two of the remaining dwarves ran over, and together, they managed to get Stonefist into the tunnel.

The rest of the surviving dwarves broke off their attack on the dragon and ran for the tunnel. The dragon roared and fired bolts of lightning randomly at its fleeing adversaries. Somehow it missed the dwarves, and they all scrambled into the tunnel. As they reached the other side, the dragon shot a bolt of lightning into the far entrance. It struck the side of the tunnel, causing large cracks to appear in the stone walls. The dragon roared and slammed itself against the wall on the far side. The force caused the walls to collapse. A huge cloud of dust and debris belched out of the tunnel mouth. A muffled roar followed the collapse of the tunnel. The dragon was still alive, but the entrance to its lair was buried under tons of rock.

Roary slumped down the wall opposite the blocked tunnel opening. Dazed, he surveyed his decimated company. Fully three-quarters of the dwarves who had accompanied him were dead. The rest sat nearby, covered in rock dust and blood. None had escaped without injury. Stonefist was unconscious, but alive. Several others were incapable of walking without assistance. The rest had injuries ranging from concussions and broken ribs to deep gashes and lacerations that would need tending before the men bled to death. His right arm hung limply at his side. One of the dragon’s claws had found a mark in his right shoulder. Blood ran freely down his arm and dripped from his fingers onto the ground beside him.

That’s funny, he thought. When did that happen? His medic, Kaylin Hammerhelm, had been moving among the men. She was one of the few with relatively minor injuries. A couple of years younger than he was, with light skin, a smattering of freckles across her nose, blue eyes, and red hair, she had earned the right to be here. She was one of the best saboteurs he had ever known and was a damn fine medic to boot. She could calm people down, even in the tightest of jams, and he admired and appreciated that about her. He was too often hotheaded. Acting instead of thinking. She was one of his most trusted advisers, thinking with her head instead of her heart.

Your turn, boss, she said as she knelt down beside him.

As Kaylin worked on getting his breastplate off, Roary asked, How is everyone?

She was silent for a moment, freeing the last strap on the breastplate and lifting it off him. She started tending to his wound before answering, keeping her voice low so only he would hear. Two or three will be lucky to make it back to the city alive, another four can’t walk on their own, and two of them may not again. The rest have plenty of broken bones, concussions, and gashes but should live to fight another day.

She paused for a moment, working on his shoulder. He winced as she poured a foul-smelling liquid into a bandage and applied it. The stuff works wonders on cuts and deep gashes, but it burns like fire and smells like the wrong end of a mule, Roary thought.

Kaylin wrapped a bandage around his wound, tying it off so it wouldn’t shift around when he moved. She started packing up her supplies and asked, without looking at him, "That was what I thought it was, right? I’m not crazy or seeing things? We got hit by a dragon, a real-life, ancestors be damned, dragon!"

Roary was slightly taken aback by this outburst. She had seemed so calm and collected while she was working. He took both of her hands in his and looked her in the eyes. She wasn’t crying, not yet. Tears were there, but she wasn’t letting them fall.

You’re not crazy, Kaylin, he said. We did get hit by a dragon, and we lost the fight. We’re torn up bad, and we’re a long way from home. We have injured friends who need us to keep it together. I need you to help me figure a way out of this jam. You’re my brain, remember? He said the last with a slight smile.

She smiled briefly back, shook herself, like she was shaking off a bad dream, and stood up. Your brain, your right hand, your conscience—what would you do without me? She held out her hand to help him up. He took it, and she pulled him to his feet, saying, Get your armor back on, boss. I’ll look over what we have and see if I can figure out a way to get us home.

Roary struggled back into his breastplate and followed her, thinking about how he really didn’t know what he would do without her.

2

Ryder Silvervein charged up the stairs leading to the entrance to Archenmere. It was a steep climb, but she barely noticed. On the top landing, she paused briefly, pushed a stray lock of her gold hair from her face, and then pushed on one of the two massive double doors granting entrance to the city proper. The heavy, iron-banded stone door moved effortlessly at her touch. She moved through the underground streets, weaving her way through the midmorning shoppers. Most of the stores and dwellings in Archenmere were carved into the sides of the mountain. Lately, the population had gotten so large that new buildings had to be put up. They had been carefully carved and shaped so as to look like they had sprung up from the rock floor, not put there by men.

Ryder passed out of the merchant section and into the government section. Here, the buildings had been built of imported white marble. They rose out of the rock around them, looking like beacons of light in the darkness. They lacked the delicate curves and tapering spires the elves loved, but they were impressively beautiful all the same. The white marble seemed to glow in the light from the oil lamps that were constantly lit.

Three buildings sat along the edges of a large plaza. The plaza was a large open area with a tall three-tiered fountain in the center. Spread out around the fountain was a huge compass. It had been carved into the living stone of the plaza floor, then gold, silver, and precious gems had been inlaid into it. It depicted the nautical history of the dwarves; anchors, ships, whales, and sea serpents paraded around the edges and along the points.

The west compass point was toward the parliament. The dwarves had, and would always have, a king or queen. The parliament was there to keep the more unruly monarchs in check. They proposed bills and laws, but the king or queen had the power to override them if he or she felt the need. The parliament chamber was a high domed structure with columns set at intervals along the front. It had many stairs leading up to two large silver double doors. The doors were covered in etched writing that was a copy of the Basic Rights for the population and the government’s role in protecting those rights.

The building to the east was a mirror image of the parliament building. This was the hall of justice. This was where any and all grievances were heard and judged.

The building to the north was the royal palace. The outside was made of the same white marble as the parliament and the hall of justice. A large flight of stairs rose up to the entryway. Columns ran the length of the front of the building. The doors of the palace were gold, rather than silver, and were etched with the names of the kings and queens who had reigned throughout the history of the dwarves in Archenmere.

Ryder crossed the plaza and climbed the marble stairs quickly, barely glancing at the marble facades. She pushed open the golden doors and entered the palace. The hall was sparsely decorated; tapestries depicting the dwarves’ history ran the length of the hall on both sides. Alcoves carved into the walls held the busts of former kings and queens, each with a bronze plate telling of his or her triumphs and defeats. One day, her father’s bust would be among them.

She quickly climbed a flight of stairs to the second floor and made her way to yet another set of stairs. The royal family’s quarters were on the third floor of the palace, and that was her destination. That was where her brother would have been taken.

She climbed the stairs to the third floor and paused. Dwarves were not known for expressing emotions. In fact, it was considered unseemly for any but very close family to see any display of emotion of any kind. She had, however, seen and heard several servants and visitors whispering fearfully to one another. She glanced around the deserted landing to make sure she was alone, then leaned against the wall to compose herself. Ever since Roary and his company had been brought back, a cloud of fear and doubt had permeated the entire city.

She had gotten the news of the attack on her brother’s company the day before. She had been sent to the surface farms to inspect the construction on the domes her father had thought up. Her company had been scheduled to go to the deep shafts, but one of the head engineers for the dome project was sweet on her, and her father was eager to see her settle down, so he rearranged the patrols so that her brother’s company went to the deep shafts and she was forced to endure several days of a bumbling fool’s attempts to woo her.

It wasn’t like she had a shortage of suitors. Being a dwarven princess didn’t help her situation. Even though she was the youngest child, marrying into the royal family was a highly attractive option. That would have been enough for most of the men, but she was also a soldier. Most dwarven women chose more sedentary lives—seamstress, nurse, teacher, etc. As a result, most dwarven women were on the heavy side. Having chosen a much more physical role, Ryder was extremely physically fit. She routinely wore clothing that accentuated this. She wore a black leather corset, pants, and boots nearly every day. Usually, she had her chipped chain mail vest over the top, and metal and leather gauntlets on her hands and arms. She held back her voluminous gold hair with a purple headband. Her golden hair and blue eyes were a rare combination among dwarves. It wasn’t like she wasn’t interested in men; she just wasn’t interested in the men her father wanted her to be interested in.

She sighed and shook her head. Playing politics had almost gotten her brother killed. But, she thought, if I hadn’t been playing politics, I would have been the one down there, and who’s to say I wouldn’t have been? She pushed herself off the wall and walked slowly toward her brother’s apartments. Servants bowed and stepped aside as she passed, some with a murmured, Good day, Princess, but she barely noticed.

An open door halfway down the hall led to Roary’s rooms. She entered, nodded a greeting to the three apprentice healers standing in the hall, and then entered her brother’s sleeping chamber. It was a large well-appointed room. A large bookshelf ran along one wall, ending at the large fireplace carved into the center of the wall. The shelf was filled with an assortment of trophies, books, and weapons, all won in various competitions in which Roary had always excelled. A large, overstuffed chair was pulled near the fireplace, along with a short table. On the table were her brother’s arms and armor.

Her gaze passed over the assortment of objects and settled on the bed in the back of the room. The royal healer was standing over a bruised and battered figure. He was bent over, checking bandages, but stood up quickly at her approach.

Ah, Princess, I see you made it back. How are things on the surface? The older dwarf bowed slightly as he spoke.

Coming along, or so I’m told, she answered. All I really saw was a mess of glass and wire. How is he?

Physically, he’ll be fine. A few bruises, a mild concussion, and a deep gash in his shoulder, but he’ll recover. The company’s medic survived and was able to patch him and most of the others up pretty well. The healer—Ramshorn was his surname, but Ryder couldn’t remember his first—did his best to reassure her. The old man wore a cream-colored wool coat and sash over a dark-blue silk shirt and black leather trousers. The traditional garb for healers. His apprentices wore white or light-blue shirts, depending on their rank.

She nodded, staring absently at her brother as she did so. The healer turned back to his patient, finished checking his bandages, and then turned back to Ryder. We should go, he said. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s on the mend. Rest is what he needs now. My apprentices will keep an eye on him, let us know if anything changes.

She nodded again and followed the old man from the room. What about the rest of the survivors? she asked as they entered the antechamber.

A couple of them died on the way back to the city. One other may or may not make it through the night. Three have injuries so severe they won’t be returning to the guard, will find walking difficult. The rest are doing okay. Concussions, lacerations, and broken bones aside. Kaylin did an excellent job patching them up. She had a concussion and several broken ribs but helped carry the injured to safety, Ramshorn said, a note of admiration in his voice.

Where are they? Ryder asked, wanting to talk to Kaylin, at least. The two had been good friends all the way through childhood and had joined the guard together.

Those with the worst injuries were taken to the barracks infirmary. The rest were treated and released and are probably at home, Ramshorn answered.

Ryder nodded, thanked Ramshorn, and left the room. Back in the hall, she leaned against the wall and tried to think. As children, she, Roary, and their eldest brother Rogun, had all loved to listen to their storyteller tell stories of dragons. There had been a time, according to her, when dragons were plentiful. The dwarves had actually had to fight them out of the caverns they now called home. The battles had been great; many had died on both sides, but the dwarves had eventually beaten the dragons, and the survivors had been forced to flee. Most had always considered the dragons to be a fairy tale, a story to excite the imaginations of children. Now, the stories from a bygone age were coming back to haunt them.

3

Ahand shook her, forcing her from the deep sleep she had been enjoying. She grunted slightly and rolled away. The hand shook her again, this time more forcefully. I’m sorry, m’lady, but your father has sent a messenger to summon you to his chambers. He said immediately. The familiar voice of her handmaid, Lildy Pasqua, penetrated her sleep-fogged brain, and Ryder stirred awake.

What time is it? Ryder asked, stupidly. She felt as if her brain were stuck in slow motion. She had had precious little sleep during her time on the surface. The lord supervising the project had insisted on treating her to dinner parties every night she had spent there. He had also insisted she stay until the last guest left and they could spend time together to get to know each other, as the lord had said.

A couple of hours before dawn yet, Lildy answered.

Ryder groaned and fell back on her pillows. She had been asleep for less than five hours. She had gone to the barracks to visit Kaylin and hadn’t gotten in until late. She pulled the blanket up over her head and tried to fall back to sleep. Lildy grabbed the end of the quilt and yanked it off her. She had lit the lamps in the room as Ryder had been trying to go back to sleep, and even their dim light penetrated Ryder’s brain like knives. She pulled a pillow out from under her head and put it over her face to keep the light out.

Ryder, Lildy admonished (they had dropped all pretense of propriety, at least in private, long ago) and pulled the pillow off her face.

Ryder finally sat up and looked at her, scowling. Lildy chuckled softly and said, I am sorry, but the messenger was insistent. Your father needs you as soon as possible.

I don’t suppose he said why, huh? Ryder asked, grudgingly crawling out of bed and looking for her clothes.

I’m afraid not, Lildy answered, still smiling slightly.

Ryder glanced up, but Lildy had turned from her and was rummaging through the closet, looking for a clean top for her. Lildy had been a surrogate mother for Ryder, whose own mother had died soon after she’d been born. The other woman was already dressed and ready to go. In all the years Lildy had been her handmaid, Ryder had never seen her ruffled by anything. Her brown hair was always held back in a tidy bun, and her skirts were always clean, wrinkle free, and the perfect fit. By contrast, right now her ample bosom was almost falling out of the shirt she had thrown on. Lildy helped her get her corset laced over the shirt, and then she threw on her pants and boots. Minutes later, the two women were standing outside the door to the king’s apartment. Ryder finished tying her headband as the pair pushed open the door to the antechamber.

The entryway to the king’s rooms was a grand archway made of thin gold sheet etched with pictures of trees, birds, mountains, and the sea. Through the arch was a stone hallway with a thick red rug edged with gold. The rug ran the entire length of the hall, ending at a far wall covered with a thick tapestry depicting the flight of their ancestors from an erupting volcano. The hall had several doors leading off it. One, the first door on the right, led to the king’s private office. There was no throne room in the palace. Dwarven rulers would conduct most business from the privacy of his or her office. If a public session was required, a large courtroom in the city council chamber was used.

Ryder straightened her clothing and pushed open the door. When Lildy made no move to follow, Ryder looked at her questioningly. The older woman just shook her head, motioned Ryder forward, and walked away, back toward the main palace.

Ryder took a deep breath and entered her father’s study. She didn’t know why she was so nervous. As a girl, she had always loved her father’s study. It was a fairly small room with a large fireplace that always had a bright fire burning. The room was always warm and inviting. The stone hearth was covered with carvings that depicted a great hunt. The hunters and the dogs were on one side, and the stag that was their target was on the other. Trees and bushes were carved in between them, up one side, over the top, and down the other. As a girl, she would make up stories with her toys and the carvings. In her stories, a fairy or some other benevolent creature would trick the dogs into going the wrong way, and the stag would escape.

A large rectangular rug the same color and style as the one in the hallway was on the floor. It was kept in immaculate condition, even with the number of feet that had walked across it through the years. Directly across the room from the fireplace was her father’s desk. It was a large, heavy mahogany desk polished to an immaculate sheen. The dark wood reflected the light from the fire, drawing the eye and almost hypnotizing the viewer. The walls were decorated with tapestries and the heads of several animals her father had killed in hunts over the years.

Behind the desk, in a large stuffed, studded leather chair sat the king, her father, Hannar Silvervein. He had been the king of the dwarves for almost thirty years. He had taken the throne at a very young age, his father having been thrown from his horse during a hunt and killed. In those days, he had been a handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed dwarf with a thick curly beard who enjoyed his pick of the ladies (quite frequently, from the rumors she had heard). Presently, his hair and beard were graying, the black shot through with silver. His face was lined, not heavily, but visibly, especially around his mouth and eyes. His eyes were as bright and clear as ever, and his sword arm had not lost its strength.

His inner strength was not in evidence on this day, however. He looked worn and tired, sad almost,