Bayne

Bayne trudged through the woods, wondering what was waiting for him at home. Wynrift and Moire had both discovered that Bayne’s assistant was not his son Dayne, but an Imperial girl. Not only an Imperial girl, but an Imperial thief as well. He was sure it was she who had stolen his crystal.

He would have liked to ask her about that, but she’d disappeared. Bayne had hidden as best he could—he was an engineer, not a soldier—as the Imperial and Dwarf forces drove the Wizards out of the Council room, then made a plan to take over the Wizards’ Lair. The Dwarves of Silverkeep Conclave would play their part, of course, but Bayne wasn’t sure what his fate would be. He’d knowingly harbored a traitor and lied about it. What would Ruthie have said about this?

Ye must switch on yer own good sense the way ye switch on yer contraptions.

He smacked his forehead, knocking the headlamp there. Moire and Wynrift gave him sidelong looks. They hadn’t said much in the aftermath of the Council uprising, or on the long trip home. Without the Wizards’ portals in place, the length of their trip had more than doubled.

And he couldn’t help thinking about the little girl he’d passed off as Dayne. Had she escaped? Who was taking care of her now?

If he switched on his good sense he’d realize that the little girl might be small, but she was anything but helpless. She didn’t need him. She was smart enough to help him with his engineering work and make a fool of him in the process. His cheeks burned at the thought.

Well, there was no point worrying because he would never see her again. He’d probably be fired. Of course he’d be fired! Confined to his quarters for who knew how long. Maybe even sent down into the mines. There were Dwarves who loved hacking away at stone, unearthing gems and sparkling veins of silver, but Bayne wasn’t one of those. His muscles weren’t hard and tight and itching to wield a pickaxe. He was an engineer. It was his mind that needed exercising.

When they arrived at the northern entrance to Silverkeep Conclave at dusk, the Stoneguard Enforcers were waiting for them. Bayne didn’t have to ask why they were there. Two burly Dwarves at least a head taller than Bayne stepped forward. They each gripped one of his arms, hauling him into the caves.

Despite the circumstances, Bayne felt relief as the damp air in the tunnels cooled his skin. This was home, even if he was reassigned to the mines. In the evenings he could work at the workshop in his quarters, testing the purple crystals, finding a way to recharge them.

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The burly Dwarves hustled him through the tunnels, where other Dwarves moved aside for them to pass, their gazes heavy with judgment. Bayne felt ashamed to be coming home like this, but there was no way to explain it. He hadn’t known the girl was a traitor. Of course, he should have known. Any other Dwarf would have known.

He craned his neck at a ruby mosaic cut into the wall, wishing he could kiss his fingers and touch it for comfort, but they shuffled him past it. Past the tunnel to his home, past the tunnel to the mines, even. Deeper and deeper.

“Where are we going?” he asked in a small voice. The Stoneguard Enforcers didn’t answer.

That’s when he heard the rush of an underground river.

Ruby’s mercy, no! This could mean only one thing. They were going to drown him as a traitor!

Bayne struggled in the Enforcers’ grip, but their thick hands only gripped him tighter, hustling him down to the ledge butting over the water’s edge where a figure waited in shadow. It was his boss.

“Orin!” Bayne cried. “Don’t let them do this to me!”

“I’ll be sorry to lose ye,” Orin said, shaking his head. His blue eyes were melancholy as he handed a heavy rucksack to one of the Enforcers, who bullied it onto Bayne’s back. Full of rocks, no doubt, to ensure he sunk to the bottom.

“May I not plead my case?” He looked around for the ruling members of the Conclave, but none were present. “At the very least, I’m owed that!”

“The decision’s been made,” Orin said sadly.

Bayne slumped under the weight of the bag. “I didn’t know,” he whimpered as Orin reached toward Bayne’s forehead with a wry look, pulling off his headlamp and handing it to him, then replacing it with a heavy iron helm. “I mean, I knew she wasn’t Dayne, but I didn’t know she was a traitor.”

Orin shoved something thick and heavy into Bayne’s hand. “I requisitioned a good one for ye,” he said. Bayne looked down at the wooden handle of the battleaxe. “Nice and strong. Sharp, too.”

The Enforcers shoved Bayne to the edge of the river, then stepped back and drew their blades—angry, curved steel, notched in just the right places for a practiced slice that would do the most damage. Bayne trembled at the edge of the river, the battleaxe sweaty in his hands. Was he meant to fight for his life? Was this how the execution ritual went? The black water seemed to giggle like a naughty child, mocking him. The river was wide here, far too wide for Bayne to swim across. He’d never been a good swimmer, anyway. Perhaps he should just jump in. Make it easy for everyone.

But he didn’t want to die!

“Goodbye, Bayne,” Orin said. “Opal’s blessing on yer journey.”

“No!” Bayne took a step towards his old boss. “I can do better, Sir. I will do better! I promise! I can learn!”

But one of the Enforcers gave Bayne a rough shove, and he toppled backwards, off the ledge toward the water.