Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

Hardly was he back on his feet than Coira rushed into his arms to embrace him. But she released him at once. “I must see what’s happening outside,” she said, excusing herself.

“A hero,” said Mallenia, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “But you did need a bit of help. I like that.” She grinned and followed the maga out to where the dwarves were.

Rodario rubbed his painful hands, checking the cuts on his palms. “Samusin, god of justice, I thank you,” he prayed. Then he noticed Franek’s dead body and the black blood coating the threshold. Next to him there was a loud click and the grille was back in place.

“Huzzah! May Vraccas be praised! More black-eyes!” Rodario could hear Ireheart’s happy voice. “Scholar, these ones are mine, got it? I can’t let you have all… Scholar! SCHOLAR!” There ensued loud shouts and the clash of weapons. “He’s only gone and done it again!”

Rodario put his hands on his hips, took a deep breath and drew his sword. It was sometimes nice not to be a hero. Unfortunately he considered himself to be one now and heroes had to fight.

He followed the Zhadar; Mallenia, Coira and Slin were ahead of him, with Balyndar and Ireheart racing in front. He could not see Tungdil anywhere but he could hear the continuous barrage of battle and screams coming from another passage.

“Why won’t anyone tell me what’s happening?” he complained in his best stage manner, hurrying so as not to miss the finale.

They trotted along through the tunnels of the dwarf realm, always on the lookout in case they encountered Lot-Ionan, the alfar or Vot, the last famulus. Ireheart reckoned they had been doing this for around three orbits now.

However, they had met nothing and nobody.

The alfar slaughtered by Tungdil in his solo assault had not been part of the main force; they seemed to have belonged to a scouting party who had entered the cave system by skirting Vot and Bumina. They were probably trying to kill Bumina before she got to the magic source to replenish her reserves, and they ran straight into our arms. Boindil grinned. Nice one!

But Ireheart was still mad at Tungdil for having taken on and killed over twenty-five warriors at lightning speed. It had not seemed to cost the other dwarf any noticeable effort, nor had the missing eye limited his performance in any way. Ireheart found himself having to admit that Tungdil was superior to him in combat skills, flexibility and speed. In the old days they had been about equal but after this orbit he was painfully aware that he could no longer compete.

“Off to the right,” he instructed, leading the group into the former throne room.

The pomp and splendor of this hall had long passed, the famuli having conducted experiments that had caused the cave walls and several of the high pillars to collapse. There were holes and burns in the battle scenes showing historical victories of the dwarves; upturned braziers and fallen lamps lay scattered on the ground.

The table for the use of the dwarf-kings and the carved stone dais for the clan leaders had been smashed; the impressive marble throne on which Gundrabur Whitecrown had once sat now lay shattered after some spell had been let loose. A symbol for the loss of dwarf-power.

Ireheart had been hoping to find Lot-Ionan hiding here.

“This isn’t working,” said Rodario, noting the dwarf’s drooping shoulders. “We could be wandering around in these mountains for ages without ever coming across the magus.”

“But what else can we do?” Slin asked Coira. “Didn’t you say you had a special spell?”

“To locate him?” She shook her head.

Mallenia sat down on a section of fallen pillar. She made no attempt to conceal her dissatisfaction. “We need a new plan. Who knows what’s happening back at the Black Abyss or in my country?”

“You don’t have to worry about the alfar. The poison must have worked by now. There won’t be more than a few of them still alive,” Tungdil reassured her. “Any survivors won’t be a danger to us and Aiphaton will dispatch them all soon.”

“We should have stayed by the source,” complained Balyndar. “Sooner or later Lot-Ionan would have come along.”

“There’s nothing to say we can’t go back there.” Ireheart stretched and heard a crack as the vertebrae altered position. “I’m getting old,” he noted with astonishment. “Anyone would think my bones were made of wood.”

“Back to the source,” ordered Tungdil. “We’ll need to find provisions on the way. Our stomachs are rumbling so loudly that we don’t stand a chance of creeping up on the enemy.”

The group turned, about to leave the throne chamber, but then heard footsteps from the other side of the room.

A young man of not more than thirty cycles entered the hall and spotted the Zhadar, who brought up the rear of their party. He lifted his right arm and sent a dazzling lilac-colored magic beam shooting their way.

Troublemaker and Growler had the presence of mind to dodge behind a stone pillar.

“Thanks, Vraccas,” cheered Ireheart, wheeling around on his heel. “We’ve found Vot!”

“Charming! But actually, he found us,” said Slin, going down on one knee and lifting his crossbow ready to fire, all in one smooth movement. Before anyone could stop him he had sent a bolt flying at the famulus. “And this is my magic!”

Vot had not seen what was coming and had his arms raised to conjure up a new spell. The missile went straight to his heart but a glowing light showed that he was already starting to heal himself with magic.

Tungdil raised Bloodthirster to attack him and Coira sent out a shimmering chaining spell to tie his hands and bind up his eyes. Now he was as good as harmless, because he could no longer see his target and thus could not cast any spells.

“We want your master: Lot-Ionan,” said Tungdil. “We asked Bumina his whereabouts a few orbits ago but she didn’t want to tell us, so her corpse now rots at the entrance to the source. It’s up to you what fate you choose.”

Vot had not yet lost his arrogance. “Who do you think you are? How dare you…?”

The dark-clad dwarf cut along his throat with the tip of his blade so that the wound bled profusely without endangering his life. “The next strike will have more power behind it.”

“Lot-Ionan is not here,” said Vot through clenched teeth. He had understood that it was not his place to ask any of the questions.

Ireheart kicked his shin. “You are about to meet your death if you lie to us again, my lad.”

“I’m telling the truth,” said the terrified famulus. “The magus has left.”

Tungdil moved the tip of Bloodthirster and pressed it into the young man’s chest. “Where’s he gone? Tell me or let’s see how quickly you can heal yourself this time.”

Vot lay still, not daring to move. “He’s gone north,” came his quiet voice. “He’s going north to punish the alfar for their attack. He knew about their plans and left us in charge of guarding the source. On their return to their lands they were to find only ruins.”

“That’s a lie!” exclaimed Ireheart. “Franek told us he never lets his famuli use the pool without supervision.”

Vot sighed. “Circumstances forced him.”

“I don’t believe you.” Tungdil inserted his blade in a different place.

“It’s the truth! He let us have three visits. After that a destruction spell will be set off in the chamber,” Vot said quickly.

“What is he going to do exactly in the north?”

“Lay waste to the alfar realm for attacking him. What else?”

“Yes, and what else?” Ireheart imitated the famulus. “I do that every orbit: I get up, I shovel stuff, then I fill in the Black Abyss with my bare hands and then I do a little bit of destruction just to keep my hand in.”