Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

“Well, thank you.” She smiled. “You’ll be wanting to know if I’ve spoken to your daughter?”

Ireheart tilted his head and his braid fell forward. “I’m so worried about her… she’s so low and seems very confused. So different.”

Coira frowned. “Have your wife’s suspicions taken hold of you, too?”

“What suspicions?”

“That it is not really your daughter.”

Ireheart threw up his hands. “Is she saying that? First it was the Scholar she had doubts about and now she thinks her own daughter has been replaced! It’s persecution mania!”

“Yes, yes,” said Coira mildly, to calm the dwarf down. “It obviously is your daughter. She has told me many personal details.” She stopped at the door. “She has endured the most terrible thing that a woman can ever go through. The dwarf that abducted her announced his intentions and put the blame squarely on Goda for not accepting his conditions. Her spirit has been damaged by the thought of this betrayal.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I can do nothing for her, Boindil Doubleblade. My fate was harmless in comparison.”

Ireheart could find no reply, so great was the hatred raging in his soul. Hatred for the enemy in the vraccasium armor, against whom all his fighting prowess would be useless in battle. I shall desecrate his corpse.

In a fury he stepped into the hall with Coira-but stopped dead in his tracks: As well as Tungdil, Slin, Balyndar and Balodil there were two white-clad elves in the room, wearing light palandium armor under their robes.

They carried swords and shields on their backs and long daggers hung from their belts. The male was dark, while the female’s hair was almost white; both looked too tall for Ireheart’s taste, too thin and too pretty. As with the alfar; they don’t come in the fat and ugly format at all. If only one of them would just fart like a pony so they weren’t always so damn perfect.

Tungdil asked the maga and Ireheart to come in, and introduced the elves. “These are the last two heroes to whom you owe the annihilation of the Girdlegard alfar. They were as much a part of it as I was myself.” He said their names, then indicated the elves. “This is Ilahin and his wife Fiea. When the rebellion started in the alfar regions they left their hiding place and led the humans to where the black-eyes were.”

“But we would never have been able to do that without your preparatory work,” Fiea said sweetly in typical singsong elf tones. Dwarves had never liked the way the elves spoke. Nor the way they admired the humans.

“So you’ve heard?” said Ireheart, baring his teeth and looking at the tips of their ears.

Ilahin laughed. “I’ve missed all those dwarf-jokes.”

Ireheart stopped. “You like being made fun of?”

“He’s an exception,” Fiea said, not sounding quite so friendly now. “I’m not fond of it at all.”

“Stop right now, old friend,” said Tungdil, motioning to him and Coira to sit down. “They have come to thank us and to bring news from Girdlegard.”

Ilahin waited until everyone was seated. “Aiphaton’s action and your own involvement have meant that it is safe for us to appear once more and for us elves to take some part in the liberation of our homeland. As we are not able or willing to give our thanks to the Unslayables’ offspring, because of who he is descended from, this makes it all the more important for us to thank you.” He lifted a chest from the floor and opened it. It contained daggers made of a white metal. “They are made of pure palandium and can cut through anything. They have the power of the elf goddess in them and will equip you for the coming battle.”

Fiea handed a knife to each of them.

Ireheart had to admit that the workmanship was excellent, even if they could not compare with dwarf-weapons. He could see the elves employed different procedures when tempering and forging metal. Children’s toys. But he did not want to be disagreeable so he thanked them politely for their gift and tucked his new dagger in his belt. It was quite something to have an elf weapon hanging on a dwarf’s combat belt.

“We have also destroyed wide swathes of Dson Bhara, as well as Phoseon Dwhamant. The area has been given back its old name of Alandur. The humans will make sure that nothing remains to remind them of alfar occupation.” Ilahin pointed to his wife. “Fiea and I will return to the Golden Plain to found a settlement. We are convinced the elves will return to Girdlegard when the news of the victory gets out into the Outer Lands. We want them to find a home waiting when they arrive.” The elf smiled.

“How charming. But there are only two of you,” commented Slin.

“We live long enough to get a lot done,” was Ilahin’s reply.

“And we shall not die before the other elves have arrived,” added Fiea determinedly.

“The daggers are not their only gift. They have offered to fight with us against the monsters,” Tungdil explained.

“Isn’t that rather dangerous if you are keen to start a new homeland for your people?” Slin asked, not noticing until after he spoke that his words could be construed as an insult of sorts. “I’m not doubting your skill in a fight, Fiea and Ilahin, but… it will be a fierce battle and many will be injured, many will be killed. Of course it is nothing compared to the campaign you fought against the alfar in Girdlegard.”

Fiea looked at him. “Your concern is touching, but we know how to fight, Slin.” She bowed. “Permit us to retire. We must rest to be ready for the morrow.” She and Ilahin left the room.

“Well, what do you know?” Balyndar had the dagger on the table in front of him. “The elves have emerged from their forest haunts.” Slin and Balodil laughed quietly.

“They know when a battle is hopeless and can assess when victory is possible.” Tungdil stared at them sharply, tying his new dagger to his belt. “Ask the fifthlings and firstlings. They have used similar strategies in past cycles, as far as I can make out. There is a difference between strategic withdrawal and the cowardice you seem to be accusing them of.” He walked to the door. “We meet tomorrow. I am not to be disturbed until sun-up, when we attack the beasts.”

Ireheart also took his leave and disappeared.

Slin studied the model of the ravine and fortress. “Right, so tomorrow it is.” He glanced at Coira. “You will cope, maga?”

“With Lot-Ionan and Goda’s support there should be no problem getting the mountain to collapse in on the abyss,” she answered. “On my own I would never manage it, but with the three of us I’m sure it’s possible.”

“But what if you have to use up your energy in the battle?” Balyndar tipped over some of the little figures in the evil camp.

“I don’t think we’ll have to. Lot-Ionan is the one who’ll have to cast most of the spells. His magic reserve is incredible. I don’t know how he does it. Even though Balyndar damaged his onyx staff.” She suppressed a yawn. “We’ll attack and defeat the army of darkness. If we run out of missiles for the new catapults, then it’s your turn. Together with the ubariu, the undergroundlings and the humans it should be easier than…” she flicked another of the little figures off the board “… doing that.” With these words she took her leave and left the chamber; the Zhadar disappeared without a farewell.

Slin looked first at Balyndar, then back to Keenfire. “Don’t do anything silly,” he warned, as he got to his feet. He held his crossbow in such a way that it could be construed as a threat. “I shan’t let you out of my sight on the battlefield and should I see you up to any treachery directed against the properly elected high king…” He left the sentence unfinished and strode out, his weapon shouldered.