Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

Balyndar saw nothing but stars; the pressure on Keenfire lessened. Tungdil had moved away. Now his sight was clearing.

The one-eyed dwarf stood in front of Lot-Ionan as if wanting to protect him. “Calm down,” he said. “He has agreed to help us.”

The fifthling shook his head to clear it. “ Help? ” He looked from Tungdil to the wizard and back again incredulously. “Lot-Ionan, who has oppressed the south of Girdlegard for many cycles, and whose apprentices have wiped out the population in great swathes of the land, is going to help us? And of his own free will ?”

“He knows he can’t defeat both of us.” Tungdil lowered Bloodthirster. “To save himself pain and humiliation he is prepared to accept my offer.”

Balyndar gulped. “You sound like his spokesman, not his enemy.” It was hard to believe what he was hearing. Behind Lot-Ionan he suddenly made out a vague slim shape moving. “No, don’t!” he shouted.

Tungdil and the magus both turned.

Coira stood behind them, her arms half raised as she prepared a spell. Over her breast her clothing hung in blood-soaked tatters and the naked skin revealed below the garments was lighter in some places than in others.

Even if nothing remained of the terrible wound, Balyndar could see by looking at Coira’s widened eyes that she had not recovered from the shock. She seemed determined Lot-Ionan should pay for the injury inflicted on her. Could she have forgotten that their mission needed him alive?

Do we really need him? The thought came flying into his mind from somewhere and it started to take root. He looked at his magic ax which had served so well against magi and monsters of all kinds. Why would it not work against Tungdil Goldhand’s master?

Tungdil looked at the young woman. “Maga, stop whatever it is you are doing! No force is needed. He will come with us to the Black Abyss.”

Coira’s lips were moving. Her palms glowed red and a beam three fingers wide was released, hissing, toward Lot-Ionan, who held out an arm, the hand turned upwards, pointing at the ceiling. The beam collided with the palm of his hand and dissipated, with smaller rays diverted in all directions. And so the duel ended.

And that was how she was planning to vanquish him? Given this pitiful performance on the part of the maga Balyndar was glad that they had settled the matter without her help.

Tungdil changed position and came to stand between Coira and Lot-Ionan.

Balyndar went up to her. “Can you hear me, Majesty?” he asked gently, holding Keenfire so that he could use it to defend himself against a spell.

The young woman lowered her head until she could look him directly in the eyes. “I nearly died,” she declared blankly, and he could see fresh blood on her lips. “I nearly died, but…” She looked down at herself. “I am not decent. The alf tore off my clothes and…” Coira sobbed. “I have failed against Lot-Ionan, because I used up my magic to heal myself.” She buried her face in her hands, weeping hysterically. Her words were for the most part unintelligible but the name Sisaroth occurred again and again.

Balyndar looked helplessly at Tungdil. “What’s wrong with her?”

“What would be wrong with her, do you think? Death had her in its hands and she was in pain great enough to unman any stout warrior and make him lose his senses.” The one-eyed dwarf put Bloodthirster away. “It may be a long time before her mind recovers.”

“Or maybe it never will.” Balyndar watched her sadly. Taking her in his arms to offer consolation would not be right for him. And not only because of the difference in their heights.

“All the more vital that we have Lot-Ionan.” Tungdil bent down to pick up one of the splinters from the onyx jewel. “You broke his staff. That weakens him, he tells me, but he is still capable of creating powerful spells.”

Balyndar studied the magus. The man was not looking at him and his eyes were wandering past him as if he were some trivial object. “Can’t he speak for himself?”

“Not with you or any other. He does not consider you to be of equal status.”

“But you are?” Balyndar’s retort was louder than he had intended, and more scornful.

“I am his foster-son.”

“If we want to know something we have to speak through you?” Balyndar could not grasp it. Tungdil had found yet another way to make all of them dependent on him, dwarves and Girdlegarders alike.

The one-eyed dwarf nodded. “Exactly. I don’t like it either but that’s the way he wants it.”

“ He wants it! ” Balyndar laughed outright. “It’s not up to him to want it! He is our prisoner!”

“He surrendered voluntarily. It’s different.”

“Then let’s make him our prisoner.” Balyndar swung Keenfire. “I can knock him down. This weapon gives me the power and he won’t be able to do anything to defend himself.”

Tungdil was angry now. “You know that is not true. He could have you buried under the collapsing tower and Keenfire would have to let it happen.”

“But…”

Tungdil took a step toward him. “Control yourself, Balyndar Steelfinger! You are an excellent warrior with a legendary weapon, but I am the high king! Do what I tell you or I will give you a lesson in respect. And by all that is infamous: I will do it!” He looked at the doorway. “We have not finished here. The alf Sisaroth has got away. He nearly robbed us of our maga.” He marched off. Lot-Ionan followed him, not even glancing at Balyndar.

Balyndar went up to Coira and touched her arm. “Forgive me, Majesty, but we must leave,” he told her gently.

She wiped her face on her sleeve to dry her tears, then smiled bravely and followed the others. As she went, her eyes searched the dark corners of the hall in fear.

Balyndar noticed that she stayed very close to him. She was terribly afraid of the alf who had escaped.

In a state of high alert they left the throne room where, until recently, Aiphaton had resided. That was all in the past. Like the kordrion. Like the Dragon Lohasbrand and his vassals. Balyndar thought Lot-Ionan’s name would fit nicely in the list of dead monsters.

While the group made their way down the stairs, he placed his right hand on the sigurdacia wood handle. He would ensure the magus did not return alive to Girdlegard after the battle at the Black Abyss.

Balyndar could see Lot-Ionan’s bald head in front of him. There were such stories about him. The originally affable magus had turned into an evil despot whose cruel deeds and indifference to the suffering of others were well known. And he had practically annihilated the entire tribe of secondling dwarves.

This thought alone was enough to bring Balyndar’s rage to boiling point, making him snort with fury. He did not believe now and would not in a hundred cycles ever believe that Lot-Ionan had joined forces with them without having evil in mind. He and Tungdil have come up with a plot. Perhaps they had decided to split Girdlegard between the two of them? What he would have given to have been able to overhear those negotiations.

Lost in thought he was suddenly made aware by Keenfire that an ambush threatened.

The inlay pattern flared up and Balyndar whirled round with a shout, the ax lifted ready to strike dead the alf who had crept up on him. “May Tion take you!”

But nobody was there.

A sharp pain burned its way down through his shoulder.

Balyndar dropped to the floor, thus freeing his body from the sword that had skewered him. He rolled onto his back, just in time to see the second thrust coming and to avert it with his own ax; the sword tip clattered onto the basalt floor tiles, leaving a furrow in the stone.