“What is it? What have you heard, Sull?” she demanded.
“Well …” Sull hesitated, and then he uttered a weary sigh. “Joya mentioned … well, you knew Garn and Obrin had gone out with Ruen and a bunch of other soldiers to secure the Hall of Lost Voices,” he said.
Icelin waved a hand impatiently. “Yes, I knew they were going on a scouting mission, but I thought they’d be back by now. What happened?”
“Some scouts brought word a little while ago that they fought with the drow in the Hall, and it was a big one,” Sull said. “There was some kind of explosion, and it sealed off the tunnels between there and Iltkazar.”
“Explosion?” Icelin felt lightheaded. “What happened to Iltkazar’s forces? Were they caught in the blast?”
“Nobody knows,” Sull said. “They’re tunnelin’ through to send reinforcements. We won’t know anythin’ until they clear the debris and make sure the tunnels are safe.”
“Ruen’s with them.” Icelin didn’t know why she said it. Of course, Sull knew that. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner, as soon as you found out?” she said, her voice rising. “We have to do something, go after them.”
“Icelin,” Sull said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “They’re already doin’ everythin’ they can. We just have to wait.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” Icelin said, trying to quell the panic that gripped her. “All this time, I’ve been in the library reading, sitting in front of a warm fire like nothing was wrong, while Ruen …” She couldn’t finish. For all she knew, Ruen could be dead, his body lying somewhere in a dark cave. Maybe the dark elves had taken him prisoner, the way the dwarves took Zollgarza. What would they do to him? Hands trembling, Icelin covered her mouth. She thought she might be sick.
“It’s where he wanted you to be,” Sull insisted. “You’re helpin’ Ruen by gettin’ the sphere.”
No, I’m not, Icelin wanted to scream. She was no closer to finding the sphere than she had been when she’d first set foot in the library. All that time, she should have been out there with Ruen.
“What about the king?” Icelin asked.
“What about him?”
“I’ve heard the dwarves whispering about him, how he sits in his empty hall alone day after day.” Icelin spread her hands, encompassing the plaza. “Will he sit there, worrying about Zollgarza and what he might be plotting, while all this is wiped away? While his soldiers are dying in the Underdark?”
“Keep your voice down, lass.” Sull looked around, uneasy. A few of the dwarves had paused in their work to stare at them. “You can’t speak of their leader that way in their own home.”
“Then let him lead!” Icelin snapped. “Let him come out and show his face to his people-give them hope.”
Sull raised his hands in a placating gesture. “From what Joya’s told me, he has reasons for being the way he is.”
“You mean because that drow-Zollgarza-tried to assassinate him?” Icelin said. “But he’s still-”
“That’s not it,” Sull interrupted her. He guided Icelin over to a bench set against the temple wall and sat down beside her. “Joya told me the king’s been fightin’ the drow for a long time, ten times longer than you or I’ve been alive. He’s worn down with it and with seein’ his city taken apart bit by bit.”
Icelin felt a stab of sympathy for the king, but at the same time, she couldn’t understand him. Perhaps it was the difference between being a dwarf and a human. “He carries a heavy burden, but if it’s too much to bear, he should set it aside for another, for the good of his people.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Sull said. He shook his head and chuckled suddenly. “Look at the two of us, discussin’ dwarf politics, kings, and war.”
“A butcher and a shop girl from South Ward,” Icelin murmured, laying her head against Sull’s shoulder. “We’re in the middle of something too big, something neither of us fully understands, but I want to know all the same. Why is it more complicated?”
“Something happened to the king a few years ago,” Sull said, dropping his voice even though they were quite alone in the shadow of the temple. “Joya doesn’t speak of it readily, but being among the wounded and the dead has loosened her tongue. Joya said the king is different from other dwarves. He rules the city for only a quarter of every century.”
Icelin’s brow furrowed. “Only twenty-five years? What does he do for the other seventy-five? Does he leave the city?” Somehow, it didn’t fit with what she knew of King Mith Barak. Why would he abandon the city for so long?
“He stays in the city, but he ‘goes to the stone,’ ” Sull said. “Joya didn’t explain it all, but I figure it’s something to do with his god, Moradin. He transforms into a mithral statue and stays that way, locked in stone, for seventy-five years at a time.”
Icelin lifted her head to stare at Sull, stunned. “Gods,” she breathed, “but why? I’ve never heard of a ritual to any god lasting so long. Why would he leave his city for so long without a leader?”
“A regency council rules in his place while he sleeps,” Sull said, shrugging. “Only, something happened the last time he went to the stone. On the day he was supposed to wake up, he didn’t. Joya said it was awful, frightening. No matter what they tried to rouse him, he stayed in his statue form. Nothing like that had ever happened before.”
“But he woke up eventually,” Icelin said. “How long did he stay a statue?”
“Joya didn’t say, but I got the feelin’ it was a long time,” Sull said. “When he finally woke, he was … different. He’s still king, and strong, but Joya says there are shadows around him now that weren’t there before. The stone took something from him.”
“He didn’t say what had happened to him?” Icelin asked. “Didn’t his people demand an explanation?”
“They’ve enough to worry about with the drow,” Sull said. “Maybe they were just glad to have their leader back.”
Icelin tried to imagine it, a king locked in stone for years. It was a bard’s tale, if she’d ever heard one. She’d never have believed it if Sull hadn’t heard it from Joya. If the king removed himself from his city for so long, how could he truly claim to be a part of it? How could one person, even one as old and wise as Mith Barak, rule Iltkazar when he existed half in the world and half in stone?
“Yet his people are loyal,” Icelin murmured. “What if he’s no longer fit to rule? Will they follow him to their own destruction?”
“I don’t know-maybe,” Sull said, his eyes filling with sadness. “The dwarves are tradition and honor bound, and they need their king now more than ever if they’re going to survive.”
But at what cost? Icelin thought. Ruen and an entire patrol of dwarf soldiers were missing, the city echoed with silence, and Mith Barak stood apart, believing a single drow was the key to it all. Was that true, or was the king losing touch with the world, with his people? Icelin’s mind was more troubled than ever, and she knew she had to go back to the library. She didn’t want to face her task now. It was small in comparison to what the dwarves faced-the extinction of one life compared to the destruction of an entire people, an entire history.
She hadn’t been reading about just the Arcane Script Sphere. She’d read about Iltkazar and Shanatar too. The names of dwarf kings, smiths, and scholars were a part of her now. She wouldn’t forget them, but in the end, what was that preservation truly worth? Death would come for her, too, and the knowledge would still be lost. One thing was certain in all her readings: cities fall and great civilizations end. Was that to be Iltkazar’s fate? If so, who would be left to remember the people who’d lived here and worked the stone?
All of this filled her mind, but her fear for Ruen overrode everything. Gods, please don’t let him be dead, she prayed silently. She’d lost too many people close to her-her parents, whom she’d never gotten to know, and her great-uncle, taken from her far too soon. Now Ruen.
“Making me worry like this, weeping and blubbering-one thing’s certain, Sull,” Icelin said, her voice quivering. “When Ruen gets back, you’ll have to hold me back from throttling him.” When Sull chuckled, she added, “I mean it this time.”