Oberon's Dreams - By Aaron Pogue Page 0,65

only barrels. They were heavily sealed, and none of them tall enough to hold the sword, so he left them unexamined.

The next door opened smoothly, its lock newer or more carefully maintained, and Corin found a little workshop. A table against one wall held a set of heavy tools, an extinguished lantern, and a scattered pile of the small sheets of paper. On the left side of the table, stacked in a neat pile, were small bundles of the paper, wrapped into careful little cylinders that Corin could have easily concealed within his palm. He picked one up, surprised at the weight, and gashed the paper with his thumbnail.

Heavy grains spilled out across the back of his thumb, and the sulfur scent immediately warned him of danger. Dwarven powder. Not the fancy starlight stuff Corin preferred, but the explosive black powder that drove his ship’s huge cannons.

Tucked inside the paper packet, with a neatly measured dose of powder, was a single iron ball. This was a shot. Every packet was a shot, ready to cut a man down at sixty paces, and easier to load than anything known even in Corin’s time.

Corin remembered the stacks and stacks of paper. He remembered the crates he’d seen nearer the stairs. Were those full of musket shot? He groaned under his breath. The barrels. How much powder did Ephitel already have? How much more did he need from the dwarves to arm his regiments?

Too many questions. Corin had to carry word to Oberon. There was no more time for farces, no more time to play at madness. If the king did not act quickly, he was doomed. Corin grabbed a handful of the packets to take back as proof, but something panicky and hot burned behind his breastbone as soon as he did. He had no love for dwarven powder. Especially this sort. It had only burned him once, and only superficially, but it was devilish stuff. He settled for one packet and tucked it carefully into an inner pocket. Then he tore the rest apart, some minor strike against Ephitel’s plans, and scattered their dust across the floor.

For a heartbeat he wished he had some flint and steel, some spark, that he could use this bit of powder to reduce all the precious paper to so much expensive dust. But paper was not hard to come by, and Corin’s heart quailed at the very thought of lighting the powder. No. He would settle for this scattering. He gulped a calming breath and turned back to the door.

And saw the shadow of a man. His panic redoubled, but Corin fought it down, stealing closer to the door for a better view. He just had time to recognize Avery before the figure began to move again, back toward the stairs where they’d left Kellen.

Before he could go more than a step, Corin whispered, “Pssst. Nimble Fingers.”

Avery spun, stopped himself from crying out, then dove toward the door. Corin let him in, then eased the door almost shut again. He waited for a count of ten, then heaved a weary sigh and asked quietly, “Avery…why are you crying?”

The gentleman didn’t sob. He dabbed a handkerchief to his eyes and answered gravely, “Because we’re going to die. Ephitel gets to be a god, and we all have to die. There’s no justice in it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“I’d like to slap you,” Corin said. “You and Kellen both. Keep calm and keep quiet. Isn’t that what you told Kellen?”

Avery shook his head. “That was before.”

“Before what? What have you seen?”

“Heard,” Avery corrected. “I found Ephitel.”

“Down here?”

“Indeed. And he has the dwarves.”

“That’s good,” Corin said. “They’ll keep him busy while we—”

“You don’t understand. He has the dwarves. They’ve already made a deal. He gets all the powder his wretched heart desires. The sneaking gnomes are even making him his hand cannons.”

“Guns,” Corin said, but Avery shook his head.

“That name isn’t large enough. I heard how Ephitel spoke of them. I saw Ephitel smile.”

The gentleman shook his head in tired melancholy, all the fight gone out of him. Corin sighed and stepped closer. “So?”

“So we are lost.”

“And that’s the end of it? Do you really want to die down here?”

Avery shrugged his shoulders.

Corin crowded closer still. “Do you want Maurelle to die? Because that is what comes next. A battle in the city streets.”

Avery narrowed his eyes. “Of course I don’t.”

Corin jabbed a finger in his chest. “Do you want Ephitel to win?”

“No!” Avery snapped. “I want him dead!”

“Good. Then we