Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

“I’m sure it will be glad to have you back,” said Slin. “It must be totally sick of magic by now.”

The humans followed the dwarves, with the Zhadar bringing up the rear. In the temperate cool of the mountain they had regained their strength; they had located an underground stream and drunk fresh courage with every gulp of water. Now they were on their way to a second, vital, source. Franek did not seem to have trouble recalling which tunnel to take.

Ireheart was being more cautious than usual. As soon as the little wizard shows the slightest indication of trying to trick us, I’ll split his skull with my crow’s beak spike and give his brain some fresh air.

“The alfar attack should already be underway,” Rodario told Mallenia. They had taken Coira between them and were helping her along. To be on the safe side. “Nobody will be in our way.”

“Apart from Lot-Ionan,” interjected Mallenia.

Rodario dismissed the idea. “What are the chances of encountering the magus in this enormous underground realm?”

“He could be at the magic source, guarding it. Then things would be difficult for us.” She spoke quietly, not wanting the dwarves or Zhadar to overhear.

“There it is,” said Franek, indicating an oval door inside a palandium arch that had runes chiseled into the lintel. “The source is behind that door.”

“What do the symbols mean?” asked Tungdil as he headed for the entrance.

“It’s a formula. It has to be pronounced to make the door open. That way Lot-Ionan knows somebody’s going in. He’s got a bracelet that starts to glow when the incantation is spoken,” the famulus explained.

Tungdil considered the entrance. “How did you get in? You knew about the security arrangements.”

“I tried a counter-incantation I thought was foolproof.” Franek looked down, humiliated. “It cost me my position.”

“We could just break the door down, Scholar.” Ireheart looked at Balyndar. “Keenfire can make a nice little hole in it and overcome any magic device.”

“But Lot-Ionan would still know,” warned Franek. “He can turn up very quickly, before the queen and I have had a chance to refresh our own stores of magic. He won’t be weakened yet.”

“So we’re practically at our destination but we can’t go in,” said Balyndar impatiently. “If the magus finds us now we’ve got no chance.”

“You and Tungdil will survive,” Ireheart ventured. “You’re both immune to magic.”

Tungdil pursed his lips and lifted Bloodthirster. “Balyndar is right. We’ll go in and let Queen Coira bathe in the pool; Balyndar and I will stand guard and make sure Lot-Ionan can’t surprise us.” He turned to the maga. “How long would you need?”

“It depends on the strength of the source,” she said, uncertainly.

“It’s enormously powerful,” Franek said. “It never took me longer than a few moments.”

“We can hold him off that long,” said the fifthling determinedly, nodding at Tungdil. The one-eyed dwarf barged the door.

A loud hissing sound ensued as the runes above the entrance flared, showering Tungdil with sparks, but his tionium armor absorbed the spell as if it had been harmless rays of light. The wood splintered and the door burst open.

Tungdil stood on the threshold with his weapon raised above his head, checking in all directions to see if it was safe. “There’s no one here,” he called back.

The others hurried over and Balyndar remained at the doorway, facing out, Keenfire in his hands.

It was a small chamber, really more like a sauna. Steps led to a vertical shaft protected with a grille; the walls were decorated with a mosaic portrait of Lot-Ionan’s face.

The magus has changed a lot , thought Ireheart. Compared with how he used to look he had gone bald, and he had three reddish-silver tufts of hair on his chin. The eyebrows were bushier, too. His features had become crueler and more demonic, as if the bones had been rearranged. But it was unmistakably the face of the Scholar’s one-time foster-father.

“Coira needs to stand over the shaft,” said Franek. “Her weight will cause the grating to sink five paces down, bringing her directly to the magic force field. She’ll need to use a spell to bring herself up again.”

Slin and Balyndar were at the door. “Why don’t the steps go right down into the source?”

“Lot-Ionan wanted it like this. I don’t know what his motives were.” He saw Ireheart’s suspicious expression. “Well, let me go first if you think it’s a trap.”

“Oh, I can see you’d like that,” Ireheart laughed. “Scholar, what do we do here?”

Tungdil gestured to Coira to come over to the shaft. “If anything happens to her, kill Franek,” was the only instruction he gave.

“That’s easy. I can do that,” Boindil replied.

The queen was taken down the steps by Rodario and Mallenia and, as they withdrew, she sank down, the grating lowering itself with a click.

“I shan’t bother to remove my clothing this time,” she said. “You will have other opportunities to admire me naked.”

“I can hear something being wound tight,” said Slin, listening to the mechanism.

“Take care!” Rodario called to Mallenia. “I don’t like it. How do we get her up again?”

The Ido girl took off her belt and asked for Rodario’s as well. She swiftly tied them together and tested the knot. “If Coira jumps she can reach this and we can pull her up.” She knelt and looked down. “Dark as the grave,” she said quietly.

“Horrid thing to say.” Rodario knelt also. The clicking still continued indicating that the grating had not reached the bottom. “Has it started yet?”

A blue shimmering light surrounding the maga showed that the source was bestowing its power.

They waited in silence. The tension in the chamber had them all sweating, except for Tungdil, who was the very embodiment of calm, as if he were in possession of a secret certainty that they would all leave the Blue Mountains alive with Lot-Ionan their captive.

Ireheart kept switching his attention between the source and the door. “I hate this,” he grunted, wiping his sweating hands yet again on his undershirt. “Oh, how I hate this. I’d rather be in a battle for a whole orbit.”

In the corridor all was quiet. Not a sound, no shouts, and no Lot-Ionan.

“Where do we go to find him?” Tungdil demanded of Franek.

The famulus shrugged. “He could be anywhere, but I reckon he won’t be far. I’m surprised he hasn’t turned up yet to see what’s…”

“Quiet,” ordered Balyndar. “Someone’s coming!”

Rodario could see that Coira was undergoing contortions in the blue light, as if in intense pain. She crouched down, cowering and holding tight to the walls, swaying and moaning. This was not at all how he remembered events at the source near Lakepride. “Coira, are you all right?”

No answer.

“We ought to get her out of there,” he decided, letting the end of the improvised rope down. “Catch!”

Ireheart stood behind Balyndar and Tungdil, taking care not to touch his friend’s armor as he peered out between them.

A young woman in a dark-blue figure-hugging dress raced toward the chamber, her long dark hair streaming out behind her.

Terrified, she glanced over her shoulder; she had not seen the dwarves at the chamber entrance. An arrow jutted out of her shoulder. A greeting from the alfar archers.

“The little sorceress is injured. Good!” murmured Boindil. So she must have used up all her magic at the first encounter, and needs to get it recharged. She would be an easy victim. “Will you let me have her?” he asked Tungdil and Balyndar.

Bumina saw them and stopped short. “Dwarves? By Samusin, how did you get in here?”