Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

“That’s all I need,” muttered Tungdil bad-temperedly. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings or to insult your bloodline, Kiras, but I can’t remember her. I don’t remember what she looked like and I don’t remember loving her. Much of what I experienced in Girdlegard in the past has been wiped from my mind.” He looked at her intently, as if the sight of her could bring back his memories. “No,” he said finally. “No, I still can’t see her even if I look at you.”

Kiras gulped, her huge disappointment obvious. “Then let me still bid you welcome in her name, Tungdil,” she said, moving to embrace him. “It doesn’t matter whether you remember or not. I am her message to you. The love you shared…”

But the warrior drew back, evading her arms as if she carried a fatal contagion.

“No, Kiras, don’t,” he commanded darkly, his voice dimming the light in the corridor. “I don’t want you to touch me.”

The young undergroundling stood facing him, bewildered and shocked. She let her arms drop to her sides. “You are rejecting not only me, but Sirka herself in me!”

“Forget me. And pray to your god that you carry more of her in you. My inheritance is death.” He stared at her, then walked round her to his rooms as if she were a piece of furniture in his way.

“But… I have a letter she wrote to you!” She reached to take a sealed parchment from her belt, holding it in an outstretched hand.

“Then burn it, or do whatever you like,” he suggested, without turning round.

Kiras looked at him as he walked along the corridor. “This can’t be happening,” she whispered in disbelief. Slowly she lowered the hand holding the ancient letter. The lamps regained their former brilliance as he moved away into the distance.

“Didn’t I warn you?” Goda had witnessed the incident from the shadows, the meeting between the undergroundling and the hero of the dwarves having been no coincidence. It was but one of many tests that would follow.

“How can he leave me like that?” Kiras asked angrily.

Goda watched the dwarf go, then put an arm around the undergroundling’s shoulders to console her. Because it is not the real Tungdil. Everyone will see that soon.

Tungdil returned to his rooms, pulled off his gauntlets and placed them on a wooden chest. When he went to unfasten his armor, one of the runes, the one on his right breast, started to glow in warning.

“There’s probably a very good reason why you didn’t announce yourself when I came in,” he said, facing forward. “You could make up for that mistake now. Because if you don’t,” and Tungdil laid his right hand on the grip of Bloodthirster, “I might assume you have come here with unfriendly intentions.” He did not turn around, but just listened to the sounds and trusted in his armor.

There was a person standing behind him, likewise in armor. Metal clanked and a weapon was being drawn. “You are correct in your assumption,” said the deep sonorous voice of an ubari. “But only if you refuse me answers to my questions.”

This time Tungdil turned and looked at the warrior sitting next to the desk, waiting.

It was the ubariu’s leader, who had escorted him, Boindil and Goda back to the fortress from the artifact. Now he stood three paces from him, extra-long sword with its reinforced tip held diagonally in front of his body, the blade pointing down. His red eyes were focused on Tungdil attentively. He was nearly twice the height of the dwarf and the muscles in his upper arms were rippling with tension.

“What questions might an ubari have to put to me, Yagur?” Tungdil asked simply. “Or have you been told to put them under someone else’s orders. Her orders, perhaps?”

Yagur did not respond to the insinuation. “I know the legends about you and the general, Tungdil Goldhand. Nothing is further from my mind than to insult you with a lack of respect on my part,” he began carefully. “But I am not the only one who has doubts about you.”

“And you thought if you hid in my room and threatened me with a sword that I’d be happy to tell you anything you wanted to know?” observed the dwarf, his one brown eye flashing with malice. “You’re due a surprise there, Yagur.” Slowly he lessened his grip on the weapon at his side. “What will you do if I stay silent? Try to bribe me? Beg me to talk?”

The ubari warrior lowered his head and took a step forward. “I can loosen tongues,” he threatened.

“Believe me when I tell you that you won’t get a chance to interrogate me against my will.” Tungdil nodded toward the door. “Go and tell Goda whatever you like. I don’t care if you lie to her. I won’t tell on you.” He opened the fastening on his weapons belt and laid it aside. Bloodthirster came to rest beside the gauntlets.

Yagur approached him. “If that’s the way you want it,” he said bitterly. His broad hand stretched out, pointing the sword at the dwarf’s throat. “Don’t try to resist. I’ll take you somewhere we can talk without being disturbed.”

“I don’t think so.” Tungdil did not move back, but allowed the ubari to clutch him by the collar. He suddenly placed his right hand on the warrior’s hand, holding it fast. With his other hand he aimed a blow at the attacker’s forearm. There was a crunching sound as the elbow fractured and the arm was ripped off. Blood poured out of the ugly stump.

Before Yagur could recover from the shock, Tungdil had dropped the limb, drawn the ubari’s own dagger and plunged it into his neck. The huge fighter could do no more than utter a rattle, collapsing onto the flagstones and letting his sword fall.

“You’ll have to speak more clearly, Yagur. I can’t understand what you’re saying.” Tungdil stared pitilessly at the dying creature.

The door burst open and three more masked and heavily armed ubariu forced their way into the chamber.

The dwarf drew his head down into his shoulders, a cruel smile playing around his mouth. Thin black veins appeared from nowhere, radiating out from the eye patch and covering his whole face as if with a spider’s web. “Let me guess: You are here to ask me questions,” he said with malice. Two runes on his armor started to glow, throwing their golden light onto the attackers. “Let’s hear them. But beware of my answers!”

The ubari stopped where they stood-then the alarm sounded. The trumpets gave the dreaded warning that signified the approach of monsters storming out of the Black Abyss to finish what the first wave had not achieved.

Tungdil straightened his shoulders, boundless arrogance in his expression. “You have a choice: Do you wish to die here in my chamber or out there on the battlefield?”

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Weyurn,

Mifurdania,

Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle

Coira scuttled from one shadow to the next. She chose the town’s narrowest alleyways to avoid the orcs. The creatures never dared go down these lanes because they could only walk single file between the houses, so it was the perfect place to ambush hated enemies!

The guards seemed to have given up searching for her, convinced she must be back in her palace on the island known as Lakepride, but the Lohasbranders had got their heavily armed orcs to patrol the streets to intimidate the townspeople and bring home to them how powerful the Dragon was.

The situation in Mifurdania was extremely tense. The competition to select the most worthy person to follow in the footsteps of that fabulous actor of past renown, Rodario the Incredible, had attracted a large number of spectators, so the town was filled to bursting with visitors. And a popular freedom-fighter had been arrested after a number of the detested occupying forces had been killed. Even now calls were being made to the populace in leaflets issued from his very prison cell, encouraging them to resist and promising better times to come. A dangerous state of affairs.