Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

Suddenly she spotted the Black Squadron galloping after them through the snow; they had not given up their pursuit by a long chalk. No thirdlings willingly resign themselves to failure, and this elite unit of the Desirers would be the last to think of doing so. In contrast to most other dwarf folk, they were excellent riders who had been perfecting their art for more than a hundred cycles. Because the other children of the Smith preferred not to use ponies, the thirdlings had the upper hand on the battlefield. This had been proved painfully time and again to the humans and dwarves who opposed them.

“We don’t have much time left,” she said to her companion and opened another of the chests to release another masked figure. The lock had jammed, preventing him from freeing himself from his hiding place.

The horses rushed along the narrow woodland path, clouds of snow rising in their wake. They had hardly reached the shelter of the trees before seven tree trunks came crashing down onto the path behind them to prevent pursuit. Anyone wishing to give chase would have to slash their way through dense undergrowth. This had all been prepared in advance and worked a treat.

The man got out of the wooden chest and went straight to the driving seat, fishing up the loose reins and taking control of the horses while the other man continued to hold his weapon at Hargorin’s throat.

Mallenia clambered over to the thirdling and sat on the sack next to him. Her eyes scanned the wrinkled face of her captive; then she pulled a blanket over her shoulders. She was wearing only thin clothing instead of protective armor-a considerable risk, given her mission, but that could not be avoided. Otherwise she would not have been able to hide in the sack. Her long blond hair was gathered in a braid. Black knee-high laced boots each had long-handled daggers strapped to them, and she held a small crossbow, which she aimed at Hargorin.

“And now what?” asked the thirdling with contempt.

“Now we’ll take the tribute somewhere safe to distribute to Idoslane’s citizens at a later date. It belongs to them, after all. And not to you or your overlords,” she retorted heatedly. “You’re nothing but an occupying force here! You deserve death. You’ve no right to a single coin!”

It seemed Hargorin wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. He looked at the man with the saber, then dropped his voice. “Whatever you do, think first of your own family,” he whispered to her suddenly.

A shudder of fear went through Mallenia. His words had not sounded icy or arrogant, but like an honest warning. Probably a thirdling trick to intimidate and confuse her. She laughed out loud to show she did not believe him.

He frowned. “So when you were inside that sack you won’t have seen Councilor Cooperstone die?”

She shook her head, her fingers gripping the crossbow.

“I had to kill her on the orders of the alfar, and she won’t be the only victim in your family. The alfar are out looking for them.”

“The alfar ?”

“And not just any alfar. The Dson Aklan came to Hangtower to wipe them out. Three siblings: Threefold viciousness and threefold cruelty.” Hargorin’s brown eyes were staring intently at her. “I’m not allowed to say, but they’re out to kill anybody connected with Prince Mallen’s line. It doesn’t matter how far they have to travel to do it or where they have to go. But they claim it’s your deeds, your insurgency, that is the cause for this persecution and slaughter. They want you to lose your support base among the people of Idoslane, Urgon and Gauragar. Your mission will fail and the land’ll never be free. Not as long as the alfar are around.”

Horrified, Mallenia stared at Hargorin’s face in front of her. In her hiding place she had been unable to hear anything when her relative was killed other than dull murmurs, and she had likewise seen nothing through the slits in the sacking. She gulped. “I don’t believe you,” she said waveringly and aimed a kick at the shoulder where her crossbow bolt had struck him. “You thirdlings are all liars!”

Hargorin gritted his teeth to bite back a moan, then cursed out loud. “To Tion with you, you bitch! Don’t believe me, then! I don’t care.”

“Watch him,” she told the man with the saber while she went up to the front. “How far is it now?”

“We’ll be out of the woods soon. Our people are waiting over there,” he explained, pointing to the light area ahead that marked the way out of the dark trees; figures could be seen moving around.

“Excellent,” she murmured, clapping him on the shoulder. But she was not able to enjoy her triumph over the Desirers, for Hargorin’s words to her had fallen on fertile ground. Mallenia did not know what to do. Ride back to her family? Or go on ahead with the men?

The wagon soon left the shelter of the wood and the driver brought it to a halt near a group of two dozen riders.

They cheered Mallenia and started to unload the treasure. The Desirers would have to follow twenty-four different trails to retrieve the coins and gold bars. They would have no chance at all on their short-legged ponies, in spite of their riding prowess.

The tall woman was handed her padded armor with its engraved coat of arms of the family of Prince Mallen of Ido. As she put it on, her thoughts were on the heroic deeds of her ancestor, who had taken arms against Nod’onn and the eoil, risking his life more than once for the sake of Girdlegard. He had been a true and high-minded champion of justice, and she would continue his work until their people were free of the alfar and their cronies. She attached her short swords to her weapons belt, threw a hooded cloak around her shoulders and mounted her white steed.

Mallenia rode next to the cart on which the thirdling was being guarded. There was a pool of blood by his shoulder wound, dripping through the boards onto the snow.

“What shall we do with him?” the guard asked.

She considered the dwarf at length. “Kill him. Anyone who works with the alfar deserves to die,” she said after careful thought. Then she spurred her horse to take her back to Hangtower. She wanted to help her family and prayed to the gods she might arrive in time. “We’ll meet in four orbits’ time in the usual place,” she called, and disappeared behind a clump of trees at the edge of the forest.

The tribute money had been distributed and most of the messengers had left. Four of them were stowing the last of the sacks behind their saddles when the sound of approaching troops alerted them. The Black Squadron were coming up fast.

“Run for it!” the man guarding Hargorin shouted to his colleagues. “I’ll take one of these horses…” But he was suddenly kicked and sent flying back against the lid of the box. As he fell, he drew his saber, swiping it from right to left in an attempt to slit the dwarf’s throat, but the blade met resistance…

The dwarf had fended off the blade with his hand! Blood was gushing out of the cut and running down his beard, but Hargorin’s eyes sparkled and he had a malicious grin on his face. He kicked the box and turned it over. Then, while his adversary was trying to regain his balance, he jumped up and punched the man in the face with his bloodied fist. The latter groaned and fell into the open chest, the lid banging shut on top of him.

“Ha!” The dwarf grabbed his long-handled hatchet, ran across the wagon and took a leap that landed him directly onto one of the four messengers. The hatchet blade struck the man’s neck and his body fell into the snow, letting Hargorin take his place in the saddle. Without a moment’s hesitation he turned the horse toward the next opponent and hit out with his weapon.