Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

One by one they too arrived at the barrier, through which they spied the master and the last of his followers.

“Go on,” Ireheart urged the magus. “Get the barrier down so we can do for him!”

Lot-Ionan paid no attention. His fingers were making shapes in the air.

Tungdil stepped up to the barrier and banged on it with Bloodthirster. It pinged like glass. “Our duel is not yet over. Your fighters are being defeated, as you can see. Would it not spur you on to see me dead even if you have lost them all?”

“He who bears many names,” the nearest enemy fighter spoke up, “announces that the battle is not over. But until then,” and suddenly the barrier moved to encompass Tungdil, locking him in, “he will fight you and punish you.” Then he lifted his black bugle and blew a blast on it. Numerous holes in the instrument allowed him to play a range of notes, as if on a flute.

“No!” called Ireheart, smashing his crow’s beak into the shield. It hummed but did not disintegrate. “Let me in!”

Balyndar grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to look at the ravine. “What do we do now?”

Ireheart pulled himself out of Balyndar’s grip. “Don’t you touch me…” Then he noticed what all the others were staring at.

Another kordrion had appeared in the cleft. The head was smaller than the fully grown version-but then one head after another popped up. The beast revealed itself to the armies of Girdlegard.

“A kordrion with four heads,” groaned Ireheart.

Tungdil had taken up the fight with his former master while the shimmering protective shield expanded in size once more. The dwarves and Lot-Ionan had to step back.

Ireheart cursed and looked at the magus, who was still casting spells but having no success on his own. “Goda!” he called. “Goda, we need you!”

“Disappear!” Balyndar struck the magic hemisphere, but Keenfire had no effect. It bounced off and nearly injured its owner with the spike.

The giant bugler sounded another range of notes and, in response, the kordrion hissed and charged the nearest ubariu soldiers, breathing a sea of white fire over them. Spewing out flames in three directions at once, the four-headed creature was inflicting carnage on the troops. At a further signal it unfolded its wings, took off and landed in the very heart of the ubariu, crushing many of the valiant warriors; two of the creature’s heads snapped and bit at them while the other two sent out the deadly white fire.

“Come, on, wizard!” Ireheart bellowed at Lot-Ionan. “We need to get that trumpet thing.”

Meanwhile, the bout between Tungdil and his master was progressing; they were well matched. Neither was gaining the upper hand, each succeeding in inflicting cuts and dents on the armor of the other. The runes stayed still. Ireheart did not know why.

Goda turned up, breathing heavily. “I can only do one last spell,” she admitted.

“And that’s just the one I need,” said Lot-Ionan, facing forward without even glancing at her. “Do you know the Sarifanie words?”

“Remember, you taught me that one shortly before I quit,” she replied. “It is not good magic.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Ireheart fumed at her. “Not now, Goda! Help him to break down the barrier or the kordrion will destroy one army after another!” He waved his weapon, noticing how the blood had dried on it.

The dwarf-woman was obviously extremely reluctant but she stepped up next to her former mentor and put her left hand in his right. Each of them pointed at the barrier with the forefinger of their free hand, then shut their eyes.

At that moment Tungdil was stunned by a hammer blow to the head that hurled him right over to the edge of the barrier, barely a hand’s breadth away from Ireheart. His helmet had fallen off and blood was coursing down from a cut on the forehead.

What…? Eyes wide in horror Ireheart stared at his friend’s face: It was covered in black lines, just like an enraged alf, the lines spreading out from the golden eye patch. Ireheart half expected the whole face to shatter into pieces like broken pottery.

Tungdil shook himself and warded off the next blow, striking the master in the face with the jagged edge of Bloodthirster. The sharp tips stabbed through the skin to the bone beneath, lodging fast.

The dwarf in the vraccasium armor hit out blindly and Tungdil grabbed his hand, broke the wrist and snatched the hammer. Then he swerved aside. Smashing it down on Bloodthirster’s blade, he drove the sharpened tips further into his opponent’s face.

The master fell on his back and tried to crawl away from Tungdil, blood pouring from the neck wound and staining the ground.

A further signal was sounded on the enemy bugle.

Dropping its pursuit of the decimated ubariu, the four-headed kordrion launched itself onto the group of humans, wings flapping. They did not even try to offer resistance, but took flight at once.

The catapults on the battlements had started up. Losses among their own troops should shots go astray were regrettable but a four-headed kordrion could not be allowed to survive. Clouds of arrows and spears darkened the battlefield as battle raged against the beast.

Ireheart paid no attention to the battle. He wanted to be with his friend, and it was his friend under the magic dome . I have to get in there!

The final monster warrior drew his sword, about to intercede in the duel.

Tungdil kept his cool and raised the hammer. With all his might he slammed the hammer down-once, twice, three times-onto Bloodthirster, driving the blade right through the skull of the convulsing enemy, until the head was split in two. The sharp movements of arms and legs ceased; the limbs flopped back and were still. The famulus had taken the life of his master.

“ Huzzah! ” yelled Ireheart, beside himself. “ He’s done it! ”

Smiling grimly, Tungdil pulled Bloodthirster out of the carcass and aimed the tip of it at the final enemy, whose approaching steps were slowing now.

A loud high sound, like a storm whistling through a canyon, reverberated around them and the barrier flickered and disappeared.

“Scholar, leave Long Legs to me!” bellowed Ireheart, charging with his weapon raised high at the enemy. The monster, having been unable to save his leader’s life, raised the fateful bugle to his lips once more, forcing Ireheart to an action dwarves only contemplate if they are carrying a second weapon on their person: He hurled the crow’s beak.

The weapon hummed across toward the opponent, its spike striking him just as he was about to sound the first note, penetrating his helmet and destroying his brain. The giant fell, bugle clattering to the ground and bursting into tiny pieces.

“Ha!” rejoiced Ireheart, fists in the air, as he turned toward his friends. “Did you see that…” His jaw dropped.

Goda had sunk to her knees in front of Lot-Ionan; their hands were still joined. She was convulsed in pain, her face a grimace, and her breath coming in rapid gasps.

Lot-Ionan’s other arm was pointing forward, with a lilac ball of energy floating above his palm emitting rays of light in sudden jets. Then the color turned to deep green.

“I knew the dwarves would be able to manage without me,” he said, laughing. “I saved my magic for now.”

Balyndar was about to fall on the magus, but suddenly all the discarded weapons rose up out of the swamp and aimed themselves at him.

“Nobody comes near me unless I permit them to.” Lot-Ionan looked at the kordrion. “A useful animal. It is keeping the army occupied for me so I’ll have less killing to do before I go back to Girdlegard. My dream of reigning supreme is coming true.” He made a bow to Tungdil. “Thanks to you, foster-son. Without you I should never have achieved all this.”