Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

“I don’t believe it,” said Balyndar, looking at Slin, who was grinning as he reloaded his crossbow. “What are those bolts made of? Let’s use them against Lot-Ionan!”

Coira and Mallenia suddenly stood before them. It was obvious who they really had to thank for their deliverance. Slin made a face, and the fifthling laughed.

They retrieved their own weapons from the tumble of iron and steel, not forgetting Keenfire, before hurrying to join the ladies.

“We were just in time,” said Mallenia, staring at the alleyway that bristled with weapons. “We met similar creatures back where we were resting.”

Vraccas-I’ve a bone to pick with her! Ireheart planted himself squarely in front of the maga. “Didn’t you tell us there was no magic here? Perhaps you’re not as good at your job as you profess to be,” he complained, until Rodario interrupted.

“Not now! We have to get back to protect the others from the water-creature. There was a stone creature following us as well, but Coira dealt with that one.” Mallenia supported her friend, who had gone very pale in spite of the sunburn. Ireheart feared she might have next to no magic powers still at her disposal. “Follow us.”

The dwarves checked behind and then the five of them clambered over bricks and broken roof tiles to reach the jewelry market. Mallenia explained to them that the debris represented the remnants of the disintegrated stone monster that had been chasing the girls.

“Will there be enough for one more spell?” the Ido girl whispered to her as they walked.

“There will, but I can only do weak spells now. It’ll be enough to break up a shape formed from magic, but it won’t be powerful enough to eradicate it completely. We must leave town,” she urged breathlessly. “The magic fields are tied to this place. We’ll be safer out in the desert.”

Mallenia cursed Bumina and the trap she had set, which had been intended for Franek and not for them.

They reached the square and found puddles everywhere. Rodario lay on the ground coughing and spluttering, trying to collect up his papers but then discarding them in disgust. Tungdil’s armor was steaming gently and his hair hung down wet, as if he had just taken a bath.

“What happened, Scholar?” Ireheart helped Rodario up.

“The magic cannot withstand my armor. The water-shape left as soon as it tried to swallow me,” he said grimly, turning to Coira. “And your advice is?”

“To leave. We cannot destroy the magic, but it cannot get away from here,” she said, holding her side. Her right forearm felt as if it were made of raw flesh-which was in fact the case when magic was not sustaining it. It would not be long before she lost the limb.

“Right, then we’ll do that before the next…” Tungdil stopped, fascinated by the ax Ireheart bore in his left hand. The ax head was glowing, the inlays and the diamonds shining out dazzling as any star. “What, by all that’s infamous…?”

Ireheart likewise noted the way Keenfire was glowing. “It wasn’t doing that just now,” he said, taken aback. He saw Barskalin come out of a shop doorway. “Ah, that explains it. The ax doesn’t like the Zhadar.” He lifted it up and studied it carefully. “By Vraccas! It must be the real Keenfire!” he exclaimed, when he realized what was happening. “Scholar, your old weapon has made its way back to you!!” He went over to the one-eyed dwarf and held out the ax. “Take it. It is back with its rightful master-a fit weapon for a high king.”

Tungdil looked at it and Boindil thought he saw fear in Tungdil’s eyes. “Give it to Balyndar,” he ordered after a while. “My weapon is Bloodthirster.”

“Scholar!” exclaimed Ireheart, horrified. Three steps backwards!

“Bloodthirster has been with me for hundreds of cycles and we know each other now.” He pointed to the fifthling. “He is the son of the valiant dwarf-woman who was there when Keenfire was forged. The ax will be aware of the connection and will serve him now as well as it ever served me.” He called Barskalin over and gave orders to set off immediately.

Ireheart pressed Keenfire into Balyndar’s hand. The ax head was still shimmering, and would presumably continue to do so as long as the Zhadar were in the vicinity. Or Tungdil, of course , added a little doubting voice. “Take good care of it,” was all he said.

Balyndar was touched and awed to have been given this weapon, as was obvious from the way he received it. “Vraccas, I vow I shall destroy your enemies and those of my own folk, whenever there is need,” he vowed simply. He discarded his own morning star, not dignifying Tungdil with a single glance or bestowing on him a word of thanks for the more-than-generous gesture.

The company proceeded swiftly toward the east, escaping from the town and its magic ambushes. Going east was the shortest way out. Dwarves, humans and Zhadar all kept their eyes peeled, wary for danger.

The ground beneath Coira’s feet seemed to sway and rock. She held on to Rodario’s arm and was about to say something but her strength abandoned her. He carried her and marched on.

The desert loomed up ahead of them. It was less than forty paces to the gate of the settlement.

“We’re almost out of the town now,” Ireheart said happily. “Our maga can rest now. Ho, that…”

An old friend in new garb confronted them. Knives, shields, swords and lances had turned themselves into a form four paces high, on legs and with a squat little body. Stretched out toward them were four arms with rotating blades going so fast that they appeared as a metallic shimmer, whistling and humming as the wind blew up the dust on the road behind them.

“There’s no time to wake the maga,” ordered Tungdil, indicating the next alleyway. “Split up. We’ve got to get past this beast. As soon as we’re in the desert we’ll be safe.”

“Mind your weapons,” warned Ireheart, grasping the crow’s beak with all his might. “You’re not skipping away from me again,” he muttered to the weapon. “And if you do, then take me with you and we’ll have this magic monster in little pieces.”

Their flight began in earnest.

The group sprang apart, each finding their own way past their adversary. Ireheart, Slin and Balyndar had decided to go with Rodario. In spite of all his heroic bravado they did not trust the actor to be able to get past the creature fast enough carrying the maga.

Ireheart looked at the enemy, which had selected itself an easier target. Its whirling blades had sliced two Zhadar to ribbons. Several of the blades broke off during this exercise, and some of the spears fell off as well, but new items from the arsenal replaced them; guts and odd bits of flesh from the victims flew through the air.

“Whatever happens, don’t let it get you,” Ireheart urged his companions.

Somehow they reached the safety of the desert, Rodario not stopping until he was twenty paces into the deep sand. He was exhausted. Sinking to his knees he let Coira slip to the ground. Then he turned and looked back at the town.

He and the three dwarves looked on helplessly as the blade monster continually changed shape to insinuate itself into the narrowest of alleyways, taking out one Zhadar after another. The Invisibles seemed to be its favorite targets.

Eventually, Tungdil, Franek and Mallenia emerged to join them, but they waited in vain for Barskalin and his troops. As if the iron creature had not been danger enough, now a being the size of a house and composed entirely of sand was stomping through the streets.

“Our Troublemaker,” called Ireheart, seeing three Zhadar come running out of a courtyard and race toward them.

More did not survive.

The Outer Lands,