Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

Tungdil was standing with the defenders, thrashing away at the spider creatures with Bloodthirster. His weapon smashed through the chitin armor plating of the insects, hurling their innards in all directions. Bluey-green blood spattered everywhere. Tungdil had taken off his helmet so that all the soldiers could see him.

The hero marched forward grimly, confronting the spider creatures, the inlay on his black armor flashing and glowing by turns. One of the beasts threw itself at him from behind, touching him with two of its legs, and instantly there was a loud bang, the creature exploding as if it had been detonated from within.

Boindil gulped. Exactly that fate could have been his own end.

The warriors sprang back into combat with renewed vigor. Tungdil gave short commands and steered their counterattack better than any dwarf-king ever commanded his army. Ireheart had to hand it to him. He was already playing with the idea that he might pass command of the fortress to his friend-if he would accept it, of course.

The wavering veil of dirt and dust was starting to settle, allowing the fortress troops a view of the Black Abyss. Goda had a defense spell at the ready.

They were all astonished to find there was a new energy sphere in place over the abyss. It had an uneven reddish shimmer, seeming thicker here and there. But this time the edges reached nearly up to the four gates and the walls.

“Was that you?” Ireheart stared at Goda.

“No,” she replied in surprise. She could still feel the fragment of diamond between her fingers. “It must be the enemy’s magus.”

Tungdil came up to them. He was accompanied by frenetic cheers and shouts and the thundering of weapons on shields. He was not remotely out of breath after his exertions.

Goda did not look at him, pretending instead that she had to keep her eyes on the Black Abyss. Ireheart stretched out his hand in welcome. “Excellent stuff, Scholar! Excellent! Like old times! Vraccas can be proud of you, just as I am!”

“Very flattering. In the old days I wasn’t anything like as good,” he responded with a curt smile, before turning to watch the pulsing red shield, his face draining of all color.

“Goda reckoned you’d gone straight off to Girdlegard and left us high and dry,” Ireheart continued, moving to his friend’s side. “Praise be to Vraccas that you stayed. Who knows how the orbit would have ended otherwise.”

“The orbit isn’t over yet. Let’s see how useful I can be to Evildam.” Tungdil ignored Goda totally and stepped forward to the parapet to observe the energy dome, turning to his friend. “It’s worse than I thought,” he confided. “We must travel to Girdlegard at once .”

“I’m glad you’ve changed your mind about helping…” began Boindil; then he paused, rubbing his silvery black beard. He didn’t understand quite what Tungdil had meant. “Why do we have to go there? Here’s where the threat is! And, by Vraccas, a threat indeed!”

“A threat you can do nothing about,” replied Tungdil quietly. “Not you, not Goda and not me.”

“But…” began Ireheart helplessly.

Tungdil beckoned him over and pointed to the ravine. “They will gather under the protection of the barrier, right up to its edges; no one will be able to stop them,” he predicted. “They’ll build towers and ladders at their leisure; they’ll make battering rams and put them in position. The whole of the plain at all four points of the compass will be swarming with those cruel beasts. Then the dome will go and they’ll attack.” He placed his hand on Ireheart’s shoulder. “You took immense trouble constructing Evildam, Boindil, and it is a proud fortress, but it will fall.” He stretched out the hand that held Bloodthirster. “They have someone on their side I thought was long dead. We need a magus to combat him. And, from what I hear, only Lot-Ionan could do that.”

“But Lot-Ionan is evil,” retorted Goda. “He no longer serves the cause of good.”

“Exactly. That’s why we need him,” said Tungdil gently, looking at her; she dropped her gaze to hide her guilty conscience.

Ireheart had not noticed. “That won’t work. He’ll destroy us if we get close!! He has vowed to become the sole ruler of Girdlegard. He’ll never help us voluntarily.”

Tungdil replaced Bloodthirster in its sheath. “Then we will have to defeat him and force him to serve us.” His smile was colder than frost.

“You’ve gone mad, Scholar!” the dwarf-twin exclaimed. “By Vraccas, you’re talking about Lot-Ionan, the magus! Your foster-father! Do you remember what power he possessed when you left us? Can you imagine what he is capable of now?”

“We’ll get a nice little army ready for him. An army of his enemies.” Tungdil remained calm. “That would be, if I’ve understood you correctly: A dragon, a kordrion and Aiphaton with his alfar,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Perhaps we can get the thirdlings to join in as well. If they can dig up a magus or maga in Girdlegard that hates Lot-Ionan as much as your Goda does, then we’re well away.”

Boindil gave a hollow laugh, fell silent, then he laughed again a couple of times, raising his arms in a gesture of mock despair. “We are lost. I have a madman here who believes in all seriousness that his ridiculous project will succeed,” he cried, grabbing hold of his crow’s beak. “Vraccas, you are cruel!”

“Stop complaining, Ireheart,” Tungdil laughed at him. “Perhaps I’ll have another idea, a better one. And anyway, it was you who always liked a challenge.” He nodded to the dwarf-woman. “Goda and your children will stay here to help the soldiers should the beasts attack before we get back.” He looked deep into his friend’s eyes. “I need to meet with the remaining dwarf-rulers. And don’t forget the freelings.” He looked at the sun. “We’ll leave at first light.” Without waiting for an answer he returned to the battlement walkway, where the soldiers cheered him anew.

“Tell us who it is that’s opposing us, and why you thought he was dead!” Goda called after him.

Tungdil looked back over his shoulder, revealing his golden eye patch, as though he could see with it. “His name wouldn’t mean anything to you. And I thought he was dead because my sword ran him through and I took his armor.” He walked on.

Goda followed him with her eyes. “I don’t trust him,” she said. “It could be a trick to get the worst of the magi together after we’ve wiped out all the other opponents in Girdlegard…”

Ireheart whirled round. “Stop it, Goda!” he snapped at her. “I’m going to Girdlegard with the Scholar and I’ll do whatever he suggests. Because I,” and he placed his right arm across his breast, “trust my heart.”

He left her standing there and went after Tungdil to see to the soldiers who had been wounded in the fighting with the spider monsters. Beside them, the dead had been laid on their shields. One of them was Yagur. The injuries he had sustained were strange: His forearm had been pulled off and there was a stab wound to his throat. Not what you would expect if you were fighting a spider.

His astonishment grew.

Next to the ubari lay three of his closest friends, their armor pierced by something very sharp, judging by the smooth edges of the lacerations. They did not look like mandible bites.

The vague doubts within him were starting to turn into a mass chorus, fighting to be heard. They grew so loud that he decided, against his initial firm intention, to ask a few questions of the Scholar as they journeyed.

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Weyurn,

Lakepride,

Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle