Oberon's Dreams - By Aaron Pogue Page 0,73
suffer. “I have never told a soul, but I received your father’s message.”
Kellen shook his head, the only answer he could muster.
“I did,” Ephitel said. “That attack was no surprise. I could have spared a hundred men to hold the pass, and no one ever would have known your father’s name. Instead, I made him a hero, and you became the penance for my sin. If I had ever guessed there was true mettle in you, I would have made you something useful.”
“No!” Kellen growled. “I would never serve you!”
“Then I would have killed you long ago and saved myself the shot now.” He lowered the gun to finish the task, and Corin tensed himself to spring, hoping he could knock the gun aside.
But Ephitel withdrew the gun. “No. I needn’t bother. You’re dying from a flesh wound. How pathetic.”
“I…am not…done yet,” Kellen gasped.
“Nor am I,” Ephitel said. “You’ll get to watch your little manling die, for one.”
He lowered the gun again, this time at Corin. And this time he didn’t think it over. He pulled the trigger.
Caught up as he was in other plans, Corin didn’t think to dodge until it was too late. But Kellen moved as soon as Ephitel made his threat. The yeoman straightened with a cry of agony and hurled himself forward. He didn’t aim for the prince’s firing arm as Corin had considered. The soldier was too weak and much too far away. Instead, Kellen the Coward dove between Ephitel and his target. The shot meant for Corin struck the wounded soldier somewhere in his torso, and Kellen crashed down to the floor.
Ephitel rolled his eyes. “How many times do I have to kill you?” He spun his barrel and reloaded the gun.
Frantic, Corin looked to the far corner, but Kellen’s sword would not save them. He looked back into the cavern, hoping desperately to find Avery waiting with the legendary blade, but he saw only shadows. He watched Ephitel tip a bit more powder into the priming pan…
And he had an idea. A gunshot hadn’t killed the invulnerable elf, but it had staggered him. It had hurt him, clear enough. Perhaps the same again could buy them time. Corin lunged toward Kellen, throwing his cloak up over both of them just to complicate the prince’s aim. Then he grabbed for the inner pocket where he had stashed the clever little paper shot. He tore the paper with his thumbnail, then peeked past his cloak just as Ephitel lowered the gun. Corin twisted, throwing his pitiful half handful of black powder straight at Ephitel’s face.
Ephitel flinched even as he pulled the trigger. Another crack of harnessed thunder, another flash of tamed hellfire, and this time there was a cloud of dust to catch the flame. It exploded like a solstice rocket in the prince’s face.
Ephitel screamed. It was a banshee’s maddening wail. Corin knew the feeling all too well. Nothing burned quite like dwarven powder. It seared sharper, deeper than any normal flame, and left a wicked stain within the mind. He hadn’t fired a cannon since the accident off Spinola’s coast. He avoided even getting near the stuff.
Now it was the prince’s turn to burn. Even if that wound would heal, it seared right now. Ephitel dropped the gun and batted at his own face, panicking. He shuddered like a tree caught in a gale. Then, with a dreadful wail, he spun and sprinted off into his catacombs, leaving Corin and Kellen there alone.
Corin fought to catch his breath, trying desperately to guess what he should do first. Kellen was clearly dying. Avery was lost. Corin had to find the sword and warn the king. But Ephitel might regain control at any time. His guards might come. All the dangers spun in Corin’s head like a tinker’s child’s toy while he sought how to use this tiny chance.
Then a voice spoke from the darkness behind him. “Pardon me, manling.” From very near behind him. “But that was our master.”
Corin dropped his cloak and turned to see who had found him. It was the dwarf who’d done the talking earlier. And he was not alone. The others stood behind him. All the others. A dwarven army caught in treachery, and none of them looked happy.
Corin spotted Avery among the dwarves, his hands and feet tied up and a gag over his mouth. He saw the sword as well, held reverentially by one of Avery’s wardens.
Corin fought against a feverish laugh, bottled it up, and