Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

“Yes. We lost many Zhadar in battle and the Black Squadron did not join us,” answered Tungdil. “Have you heard anything from Hargorin Deathbringer?”

“No. He’s not with us.” Aiphaton turned his slender alf face to Tungdil. “The attack starts tomorrow. Word has got round that the rebellions in the west of Girdlegard have spread to Gauragar and to my other possessions. It’s said that the thirdlings have left their positions and have withdrawn to their strongholds in the Black Mountains. The alfar want to open the gates to allow reinforcements in, to get the situation under control before the uprising turns into a prolonged civil war.” He sat down, because the low ceiling was making it uncomfortable to stand. “Is it true that Lohasbrand is dead?”

“Yes. And has been for a long time.” Tungdil gave a concise account of their recent experiences, not hiding the fact that they had killed one of the Dson Aklan.

“But there are still two of the triplets alive.” Aiphaton looked at Mallenia, who was cursing under her breath. “Tirigon survived the shot and has been convalescing back in Dson Bhara. I shall kill him for you, Princess. It will be on my way…” he said amiably. “But I have heard nothing more of Firusha. She is apparently at the bottom of the lake.”

“May Elria ensure she sinks further down than the heavi est of stones, to be eaten up by fishes,” murmured Ireheart. “Oh yes, and may Lakepride crash down on her while we’re at it.”

Aiphaton went into detail about his planned attack. It sounded worryingly simple. “We storm them. From three sides at once.”

“He’s got two famuli left for his defense. We killed one of his other two and another is on our side. They’ll bombard you with spells.” Tungdil took a seat opposite the alf. “You’ve got fifty thousand with you?”

Aiphaton nodded. “And if we get only ten thousand of them into the tunnel system, that’s all right with me, as you know. I shall be leading the attack,” he said, his left hand against his armor. “And the spells they cast on me I shall catch and send back, as I did before when fighting Lot-Ionan.”

“They are more likely to send their magic against your warriors.” Tungdil looked at him. “Won’t they take flight when they see the attack is bound to fail?”

“I have told them we must act swiftly if we want to escape death. And alfar can be extremely fast,” said Aiphaton calmly.

“No wonder, with those long legs.” Ireheart played with his beard. “Anyone could run fast with legs like that. But you’ll bang your heads in those low-ceilinged tunnels!”

The emperor grinned at Ireheart. “Still the old Boindil!”

Tungdil had come up with a new concern. “Your soldiers are sufficiently fired up to get into the tunnels. But then you’ll have no control over them. What if they find Lot-Ionan and kill him? You know we need the magus alive.”

“I’ve told them we need him alive to open the gate for us. That’s incentive enough.”

Ireheart cleared his throat. “What if the incentive is so great that they actually do it? How are we going to get the magus out of the clutches of ten thousand alfar?” He stroked his crow’s beak. “Now, don’t think I’m a coward, emperor of the black-eyes. I like a challenge and I like to have a good few opponents. But does it have to be that many? And ones with those… skills?”

“I’ve just been thinking about that,” Tungdil admitted, tapping his left forefinger against his eye patch with an audible clink.

“I’ve made arrangements to ensure that the majority of them will not survive the fighting. There are substances toxic enough to poison a whole lake with one drop.” The alf looked at Tungdil. “The water supplies for my warriors have been treated with this poison. They will all die after two orbits, either in the desert or in the Blue Mountains. That will be the ideal moment for you to get the magus from me.”

“That’s good news!” Ireheart was relieved. Clearly, Aiphaton had had the same idea as Mallenia. “And then you’ll be off to Dson Bhara on your own to eradicate the northern alfar before disappearing forever?”

Aiphaton was amused by the way the dwarves reacted to his plan. He was not offended by the question. “Yes, Boindil Doubleblade. That is what I shall do. I shall leave, taking an evil away from Girdlegard.”

“That’s going to be quite an orbit.” Ireheart rubbed his hands, looking forward to it. “Then, after all that, off to the north!”

The alf stood up and nodded to them. “I shall go back and tell my soldiers that I have encountered and killed some traveling merchants. That way you won’t be pursued by my forces.” He raised his hand in leave-taking before going out of the cave.

“Mallenia scored a bull’s eye with her idea about poison.” Ireheart was glad that the alf had gone. “We’ll get Lot-Ionan sooner or later, Scholar.”

Tungdil nodded. “Indeed.” He put his hand on his friend’s back, his brown eye warm. “Get some rest, my friend. You need your sleep just as much as Rodario and his two women.”

There’s absolutely no trace of eye-swirl or sparks. Ireheart suppressed a yawn. “Yes. But don’t forget to wake me. Putting the Zhadar on watch together is not a good idea. We’ve just seen how they let the most dangerous long-ears in the whole of Girdlegard walk in,” he said, exaggerating wildly. “The legendary Zhadar! Ha! We’ve got two of them left. And what did for the others? Magic creatures.”

“The only things able to defeat the Invisibles,” guessed Tungdil. He considered his options. “I think we should keep them both safely out of the action.”

“What? I can’t be hearing right, Scholar!”

“Troublemaker and Growler, as you call them, know all the secrets of the Dson Aklan,” he said with emphasis. “If Aiphaton were to fail, their knowledge would be vitally important in helping us to defeat the black-eyes. Only then will Girdlegard find peace.”

Ireheart looked dismayed. “Does that mean it’s my job to look after Troublemaker and Growler, and not the other way around?”

Tungdil made as if to applaud and then slipped back down onto his blanket.

“If we go on like this, I’ll be drinking from an alf flask of my own free will.” Ireheart stuck his finger in his ear crossly and stomped off to tell Balyndar and Slin the outcome of their strategy discussion.

Girdlegard,

Blue Mountains,

Realm of the Secondlings,

Late Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

Ireheart was overwhelmed by his impressions.

He was back in the homeland he had left so long ago; because of Lot-Ionan it had been impossible since for him even to make visits. He took a deep breath and recognized the unique smell of the Blue Mountains, remembering these same tunnels from the old days. He was dismayed by the dilapidation.

Vaults, passageways, caverns, halls and chambers-everywhere was in need of attention. A mountain is not dead, as humans tend to assume. Things there are always on the move. Rocks shift as the mountain grows, shudders and sways. Places die away, and the inhabitants of the mountain have to adjust accordingly. Supports have to be put in, rubble cleared, new chambers hewn. Since Lot-Ionan’s takeover, none of the maintenance had been carried out.

“Cracks, roof falls, leaks,” he noted with distress. “What a disgrace! For that alone the hocus-pocus wizard deserves a good beating!”

“Quite apart from the wanton destruction,” added Slin.

“That’ll have been the experiments he and the famuli carried out,” said Franek, who was at the head of the company alongside Tungdil.

“Then you deserve the same beating,” growled Ireheart, giving him a shove. “A mountain will be resentful. I hope it doesn’t take it out on us, when my folk move in again.”