Delver Magic Book II Throne of Vengeance Jeff Inlo Smashwords Edition Copyright © 1995 Jeff Inlo Smashwords Edition, License Notes Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. Thank you for your support. I have tried to make this eBook available in as many formats as possible. If you encounter any difficulty with the formatting, please let me know. Contact information can be found on my web site at www.sitelane.com. 120110713 By Jeff Inlo Fantasy: Delver Magic Book I – Sanctum’s Breach Delver Magic Book II – Throne of Vengeance Delver Magic Book III – Balance of Fate Spiritual Thriller: Soul View Soul Chase When Do I See God? by Jeff Ianniello Science Fiction: Alien Cradle Humor: Counterproductive Man For everyone that believes in Magic, and for Joan, because you believed in me! I wish to thank Christine Bell for continuing to review my work in the Delver Magic series. Her generous contributions serve as an inspiration and confirmation that goodwill and thoughtfulness are not as rare as I might otherwise believe. Once more, I would also like to thank you for continuing to read the Delver Magic series. Chapter 1 King Bol Folarok rigidly kept his back to his son. He stared vacantly at the stone wall before him. "I am leaving Dunop," he said. The tone rang hollow, his emotions encased in a vacuum. He spoke as if it were some well-rehearsed line he had already repeated a thousand times. The announcement, though cold, remained firm, and it indicated more than just a temporary absence. The finality of the statement slowly took substance, and it lingered in the dimly lit chamber. The words fell upon Prince Jon Folarok's senses like a lead weight. He looked upon Bol's back, impatiently waiting for further explanation. He was offered nothing. He stared breathlessly into the dark space between him and his father. This was no time for the king to leave. What could be more pressing than the current and growing unrest? Bol was needed here, needed now. He couldn't leave. Jon wanted answers, but the back of his father wouldn't reply. Face me! But Bol would not turn. The dwarf prince squinted as if hoping to see clearly through a dense fog. "Where are you going?" Jon stammered. "Does it truly matter?" The temperature seemed to drop several degrees. "When are you coming back?" "I'm not coming back," King Bol replied with the same sterile tone as before. If he had sympathy for his son's confusion, he would not show it. His words remained as brittle as frozen twigs. "Not ever." "What?" Jon felt his innards tighten, a familiar attack of anxiety. He was not a dwarf that dealt well with conflict or adversity. During the past few days, much of that was heaped upon him. Now, he faced a climax of catastrophe, and the accompanying nervous tension boiled over in his midsection. "What do you mean not ever?" "I'm leaving Dunop and I will not be returning," Bol repeated, still not turning to face his only surviving son. Jon dropped his head and stared at the floor. He could not look at his father's back for another moment as it only served to tighten the knot in his belly. The pain in his stomach was making it hard to think. His mind nearly went blank. He fought to seize upon something to say, words which might end this absurdity and set everything right. He could find nothing. He blurted out his confusion. "I don't understand!" "It is simple." Bol extended a hand to the wall in front of him. He patted the polished stone as if hoping to pull conviction from the intrinsic strength of the rock. "I can no longer stay in this place. It reminds me too much of " He held his tongue just before his voice cracked. He paused for long moments until his hollow tone returned. "I have made grave mistakes, mistakes I can not simply forget or erase. I can do nothing but leave." Jon knew instantly what his father could not say, knew that the king was referring to the decision that had sent him and his older brother, Tun, to Sanctum Mountain. They were sent to assist the elves, to destroy Ingar's sphere which held all the magic in the land, but Tun was killed at the hands of a sand giant. That was the moment Jon first felt a hole open in his soul. An empty hollow pain was his from that day on. It now felt as if that hole was expanding. To Jon, this was madness. He shook his head as if to scatter cobwebs from his face. "You just can't leave. You're the king here." "Am I?" A note of sarcasm edged Bol's tone. This time, the king did not swallow his emotion. He let his bitterness spill out with his words. "Will the dwarves here even listen to me anymore? I doubt it. The separatists gain power every day. They grow in numbers even faster. They hate the monarchy and they want me out. They say I'm responsible for freeing the magic and putting them all at the mercy of the spell casters that are sure to follow. They say I have made dark alliances with the elves, and even the humans. They call me the king who murdered his own son." "No " Jon cried out, but the anguish in his stomach tightened his lips. Though Bol would still not face his son, he held up his arm to silence any further outburst. "That is what they say, and far too many believe. I can no longer be king, and I can no longer live with the memories of this place." The past which Bol spoke of now exerted its force upon Jon. The memories came crashing down upon the prince. An image of Sanctum's outline pierced his mind. It once held the sphere, but now it served as a tomb for his dead brother. It seemed, however, that Sanctum's toll had not yet been fully collected, and it now threatened to take Bol from Jon as well. In truth, this should not have surprised the prince. He should have almost expected it. He had witnessed his father's spirit sag since the day he had returned from Sanctum with bittersweet news. Yes, Ingar's sphere had been destroyed, but Tun had died in the effort. Jon could still remember how the very life began to drain from Bol's face when he reported the loss. The entire town of Dunop wept for the death of its heir prince, but none endured as much torment as the royal family. Bol was inconsolable in his grief. From the moment Jon returned to the throne room alone, without his brother, Bol's collapse spiraled out of control. He walked alone through empty corridors of the palace, muttering to himself. He sought no one, and what remained of his family left him to grieve. Jon wrapped himself in his own guilt. He struggled to return to his duties, to return to the work he loved in the tunnels. Yet each cave and each dark corridor reminded him of the bowels of Sanctum, the grave of his older brother. Bol's wife, Queen Yave, proved even less supportive. She seemed consumed with an inextinguishable anger. She found it more fitting to blame her husband than console him. She was against assisting the elves at Sanctum from the start. To lose the son that was always willing to defend her, support her even against Bol himself, it moved her beyond grief. She burned with fury. As Yave would make no attempt to comfort her husband, Bol slipped further into his downward spiral. With this came the end of his desire to lead. He allowed rumors to abound and did little to reaffirm his rule. The cry of the separatists was not a whisper. They had called out their near treasonous desires with frequency and fervor. Bol did nothing to quell them, as if he himself believed their venomous lies. And now it seemed, at the very least, he would give them what they wanted. He announced as much as he declared his intentions to Jon. "I am relinquishing my right to the throne. I have already called for a scribe to prepare the notification. When he returns with the scroll, I will sign it. I, thus, banish myself from Dunop. You, being the only surviving heir, shall become king." No other words could have brought greater fear to Jon's heart. His knees almost buckled at the prospect. An image came to his mind, an image of himself on the throne; weak, indecisive, and confused. I do not want to be king! Jon grasped at anything which might change this edict. "If the dwarves would not have you as their king, why will they accept me?" "They do not blame you," Bol replied sullenly, almost as if he scorned such unfairness. "I have heard nothing from the crowds against you. Perhaps they think I wished you dead as well, and it was only by luck that you survived." Bol steadied himself in a moment of silence. He turned and finally faced his son. His face appeared as hollow as his words. The thick skin under his eyes sank low with dark circles. His beard, ruffled and unkempt, curled unevenly in every direction. The wrinkles on his forehead appeared as if gouged with diamond-headed stone cutters. Though he looked at Jon, his focus seemed haphazard and distant. "This is how it must be. There is nothing else I can do." Bol's haggard appearance dropped Jon further into despair. He needed a moment to gather himself, but his father's wary glance and the tightening pain in his stomach gave him no reprieve. He spoke out desperately. "What of the queen? What about her? Are you abandoning her as well?" Bol's reply remained absent of any emotion. "She abandoned me long ago." "And what am I to do with her? What do I say? If I am king, she can no longer be queen." "She will have to accept this," Bol replied, almost as if he found some satisfaction in this thought. "It should be of no surprise to her, or to anyone. If I had died, such would be the case. Though it might have been better had I actually died, the result of my leaving is the same. I would not fret over it. She no longer seems content as queen. Just as I have been powerless, she has neglected her duties as well. She may actually be relieved." Bol was interrupted by the entrance of the scribe. Four guards and several ministers of the court accompanied him. "Forgive me sire," the scribe said with a shaky, uncertain tone. "but I thought it necessary to gather witnesses. In the history of Dunop, no king has ever relinquished the throne. I wanted to make sure no one would doubt your true intentions." "No one will question this," the king responded. "If anything, they will question why it took me so long." "Are you sure you wish to do this?" the scribe pressed, wishing to make it clear to the witnesses that it was the king's true intention and no one else's. "Perhaps you should wait, take time to consider the proposal?" "Nothing will change my mind. Let me have the scroll." For the first time in his life, the scribe delayed acting upon an order of his king. He stiffened as he opened the scroll, ignoring the king's open hand. He began to read every word upon the parchment. Before Tun's death, Bol would have angrily snatched the scroll from the hand of the scribe, making it clear his orders were to be obeyed without hesitation. Now, however, Bol waited meekly as the scribe read the declaration. The scribe's hands shook visibly as he read the words on the parchment. His own voice cracked as he spoke of Bol's self-proclaimed banishment, the last order of Bol Folarok before he would relinquish his own throne. The words stung at Jon like a thousand angry bees. He wanted to shout out for the scribe to stop, but he did not. He wanted to flee from the room, but he remained. He even wished to strike out at his father, but his hands remained at his sides. The witnesses failed to notice the pain of the prince. They watched instead the expression of their king. They looked for signs of opposition to the shocking declaration, but there was none. They saw only acceptance in his eyes, and his hands, when he eagerly signed the document. The king, now a king no more, inhaled deeply. He turned his back one last time on his son, and he moved quietly out the door. Near shock, those gathered in the room turned their attention from the exiting king to Jon. Jon rubbed his face in despair. In this one moment, he appeared to age many cycles in an instant. As he dropped his hands away from his face, wrinkles etched new lines around his cheeks and forehead. His eyes sank further back into their sockets. His skin, normally pale from the lack of light in the tunnels, now hung from his bones with the shadows of even more pasty whiteness. He looked to those before him with pleading eyes, and with despair on his lips. "What do I do?" At first, no one spoke. Finally, Hern Grottman, the minister of construction and a close friend of Jon's, spoke the only true options. "You must announce the proclamation. You must inform the queen of the edict, and then you must post it for every dwarf to see. You must take the throne." Jon groaned. The wail filled the chamber. He looked toward Hern with pleading eyes as the thought of becoming king crushed his very soul. "Is there nothing else I can do?" Hern paused as he grimaced. He considered what he believed to be the only other option, an alternative which held dire consequences. "You can relinquish your right to the throne," the minister said guardedly, as if he really did not wish to speak of such a proposal. He saw a gleam of hope rise in Jon's eyes, but he quenched it almost immediately. "This holds no real hope for you, Jon. You do not have an heir. There is no one else to take your place. If you had an uncle or even a cousin, it might do, but that is not the case. If you do not take the throne, you invite anarchy. We might be able to find someone not far removed from the Folarok bloodline, but I seriously doubt our people will accept such an appointment. The separatists have grown strong in these passing days. They will see such action as an opportunity. I am certain they will rise and appoint their own leader. Do you really wish to risk this? If they take the throne, they will certainly execute every loyal member currently in your service." Jon was unwilling to give up his hope in avoiding the throne. "What about my mother? What about the queen? She can maintain the throne and rule as queen? It has been done before. I would not have to become king and there would be no question as to her authority." [...]... things were different since the destruction of the sphere Ryson Acumen, the delver responsible for saving the land from Ingar and his talisman, and just as responsible for the subsequent release of the magic, faced these changes every day The danger of dealing with the unknown, of dealing with dark creatures, and of dealing with magical mutations was now his to assume He could not ignore these things,... the driving force of a sorcerer's magic or the depraved treachery of a serp's tongue Ryson leapt to his feet The sudden movement caught the goblins off guard They could not load and fire their crossbows fast enough The delver drew his sword and the magical blade magnified the light all around them Shocked and bewildered, stunned by the glowing blade, the goblins scattered The six ran off in different... son of King Bol and Queen Yave, rulers of Dunop Tun was killed by a sand giant, a creation of the algors Jon, Tun's brother who was also with us in Sanctum, reported the event upon his return to Dunop Things spiraled out of control after that moment "Things were hard enough in Dunop as it was The dwarves were split about helping destroy the sphere at the very start Many of them are afraid of the magic. .. the season of harvest, Ryson continued a scout of the hills surrounding his newly adopted home town of Burbon He surveyed the crest of a small rolling hill He looked upon the ground with dismay as markings within the soil revealed unpleasant news "Shag tracks," he noted to himself "They get closer to the wall every day." His hand tested the depth of a single foot print and the hardness of the ground... recesses of the magical energy They wished to break their struggle between individualistic desires and group belonging that made the algors such an unpredictable breed They had succeeded in that province but left themselves reliant upon the magic When the magic was swallowed by Ingar's sphere, their presence faded as well Now, just like the magic, they were back Serps displayed greater characteristics of. .. transference of power was illustrated in Yave's own transformation Her expression of anger and fury quickly mutated into determination fueled by newfound power She felt the approval of the rebels that surrounded her, and she chose to feed it "Let it be known that the rightful ruler of Dunop has retrieved her throne Let it also be known that all treaties and alliances are null and void The dwarves of Dunop... could not; he was a delver The call was indeed strong, so many shifts in the land He thirsted to uncover them all, all of the new secrets created by the magic With each exploration, he was never disappointed He found subtle alterations in the ground, in the brush, even in the wind The magical energy that had spilled out of the sphere seemed determined to make its mark upon every inch of Uton, and though... practice their new found skill As elves, we are more sensitive to the use of magic than perhaps any other race Many have felt the surge of power in the direction of the Lacobian We have sent scouts to the rim of the desert They have all reported back with little information, but they remain certain that farther in the desolation, magic casters are honing their skills." "Do you think they pose a threat... an elf In Enin's studies, he learned that the elf was the most capable of seizing the magical energy Why would an elf mistrust him? It hurt him, and he spoke openly of it "You don't trust me." A simple statement that revealed a hint of pain Lief frowned, irritated at being exposed by a novice magic caster He responded sullenly "The magic is new to you It is dangerous to stumble about blindly trying to... Before the magic, before the breach in Sanctum, a delver could seek out the wilderness for untold days There was little to fear The challenge was in uncovering the secrets of the land, not in avoiding danger The greatest threat was the weather, or an occasional wild animal, perhaps a bear or a wolf No real challenge for a delver But that was then, and things were different since the destruction of the . Jeff Inlo Fantasy: Delver Magic Book I – Sanctum’s Breach Delver Magic Book II – Throne of Vengeance Delver Magic Book III – Balance of Fate Spiritual Thriller: Soul. Delver Magic Book II Throne of Vengeance Jeff Inlo Smashwords Edition Copyright © 1995 Jeff