Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

Tungdil did not waste a single glance at the cadavers. He probably did not even find it particularly shocking. “A prairie fire purifies, but it must not be allowed to get out of control or there’ll be utter chaos. The rule of law must be quickly re-established.”

“We’re almost there,” shouted Ireheart, laughing. “Catch Lot-Ionan, fill in the Black Abyss and we’re finished. You’ll see. In sixty orbits it’ll all be done and dusted. If not sooner.” Slin and Balyndar grinned and the humans all laughed. The Zhadar were as quiet as ever.

With frequent changes of mount when the horses tired they raced onward, even if the dwarves did not look especially elegant bouncing up and down. The horses were certainly faster than the ponies they normally used. But all of them, except Tungdil, vowed never to sit on a horse ever again once their mission was over.

They could tell from the environment that they were now in Dson Balsur, the oldest part of the alfar territory. It was from here that the alfar had spread their influence to the south.

They passed hideous sculptures made of bone, dead plants and other objects that were oddly fascinating but morbid in the extreme, repelling dwarves and humans alike. It was, however, impossible to deny that the alfar were perfectionists.

Of course it was Tungdil who saw the cloud of smoke first. “Dson is on fire,” he announced, pointing to the north.

Now the others could see it, too.

“I thought it was a thunder cloud,” said Rodario.

“Lot-Ionan is already at work destroying the city.” Ireheart looked at the distant crater in which the city lay. “How many black-eyes has he bumped off so far, I wonder?”

“Let’s hope he’s wiped them all out.” Rodario felt the fear rising in him. Nobody knew exactly how they were going to confront the magus. There was no set plan, just a vague idea: Tungdil and Balyndar would distract his attention and Coira was then going to overwhelm him somehow. The rest of the group would hold itself in readiness to move in where needed. The rest: That was him and Mallenia. The Zhadar were under Tungdil’s command and presumably they would be willing to attack the magus directly. They were not afraid of death.

“What do you think we will be allowed to do?” Rodario asked the Ido girl, who rode at his side as deep in thought as he was himself.

“That depends whether Vraccas and Samusin are with us,” she replied. The wind was whipping her hair around her face, although she had gathered it in with a ribbon. “Our leader has condemned us to inaction, though I’m finding it hard to agree with him on this: You and me, Rodario, are as useless in a struggle against a magus of Lot-Ionan’s stature as a two-handed sword to fight a fly.”

The actor made a face. “It doesn’t look as if Aiphaton has defeated the magus.”

Mallenia looked at the edge of the crater about a mile and a half away. Nobody was stopping them and there were no alfar in sight. “No, seemingly not. Maybe he’s been killed in battle.”

Tungdil pointed. “We ride to the edge and see what’s up in Dson,” he called out to the rest of the group.

They cantered over, halting their horses at the edge of the canyon.

Ireheart thought he had seen this all before. In Dson Bhara.

But the construction of Dson was different from the more northern alfar city. The ivory tower that had once risen on that hill had been replaced by a tower of somber basalt. The building glittered from inlaid strips of gold, silver and other precious metals, like veins of ore in a rock face soaking evil up out of the shady ground to supply the building.

And it was the only building still standing.

“By Vraccas! Someone’s been busy!” Ireheart looked down on the burning houses, blazing away with bright yellow fire. The flames encompassed the whole of the crater.

He drew a telescope out of his luggage to inspect the inferno. “It will be impossible to enter,” he said, bringing home to the others what a terrible state the city was in. “The flames are leaping up several paces high and the ground is covered in molten bubbling metal. It will be many orbits before we can go there without ending up like roast chicken.”

The wind turned and drove the clouds of smoke toward them-but before they lost sight of everything Ireheart made out a figure on the plateau by the tower: A figure in a black and white robe, holding an onyx-headed staff in his left hand. “Lot-Ionan!” he exclaimed, pointing excitedly.

He saw the magus send out a black lightning ray from his jewel, felling an alf who had come storming out of the tower at him. The magic beam caught him in the throat, which exploded, sending the head shooting off two paces into the air before it tumbled to the ground to roll down the dark steps. The torso fell, convulsing.

“Did you see that, Scholar?” asked Ireheart. He was feeling distinctly uneasy.

“What’s that?” asked Rodario in alarm.

“Lot-Ionan just blasted an alf’s head off with magic,” Tungdil said simply.

Ireheart looked back at the sea of flames. “ He might be able to fly to escape the fire, but how are we going to catch him?”

Tungdil looked at Coira, who nodded back at him. “Balyndar comes with us. You all wait here,” he ordered. “Magic created the fire. Magic can put it out.” He steered his horse down the steep path and the fifthling and the maga followed at once. Everybody knew there was no other choice.

Through driving clouds of smoke they watched the three make their way down the hairpin bends to reach the valley floor to the tower.

“I don’t like this,” murmured Slin.

“Nor do I,” said Rodario, worried about the girl. “Has anyone got a suggestion what we do to while away the time?”

Mallenia grinned, opened her mouth to make a proposal, but started coughing. Blood seeped over her lips and she tipped forward out of the saddle, crashing to the ground. The black shaft of an alf arrow stuck out of her back!

“Get down!” yelled Ireheart, dropping to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rodario’s horse struck on the haunches with an arrow. The animal whinnied with the shock and made a leap into the air and over the edge of the canyon. With the actor on its back!

Strangely enough, it occurred to Ireheart at that moment that the archer must have a twisted sense of humor. Almost like a dwarf.

Balyndar tied his neckerchief around his mouth and nose as protection against the smoke. It had already served him well in the desert when there was sand to contend with. His horse was rearing up, so he reined it in and stopped before it could throw him off. “Wait! The horse is spooked by the fire,” he called.

“Let’s leave the horses here.” Coira dismounted and Tungdil followed suit.

“We have to get over to the tower. The last inhabitants of Dson will have taken refuge there to escape the magus.” The one-eyed dwarf put his hands on his hips and stared into the wind at the dancing flames. “What do you reckon, maga?”

Coira shut her eyes and murmured a simple spell to investigate the quality of the flames that were raging in front of them as high as a house. “I don’t want to waste energy now-I’ll need it for Lot-Ionan,” she explained. “So we can’t fly.” She felt the fire was being fed by magic and thus could not be extinguished by an elementary spell.

Balyndar regarded his ax carefully. “Wouldn’t Keenfire protect me from magic?”

“But not from molten metal; it will burn your feet,” replied Tungdil darkly.

Coira had noted the large loose round pebbles that lay scattered around. She smiled. “I’ve got an idea,” she said, and wove a simple hovering spell.

The stones lifted themselves up and formed a raised causeway that led safely over the inferno.