Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

“Hope you don’t want to make dwarf-water?”

“Not yet,” said Tungdil impatiently.

“I could tip you over so that it runs out of your helmet?”

“You would, too.”

“Of course.” Ireheart laughed.

“By all that’s infamous! If only I knew the counter-incantation.”

Now Boindil’s jaw dropped open, showing the mouthful he had been chewing. “That thirdling put a spell on you? A dwarf-hater that can do magic?” He picked up his cup of tea. “Vraccas help us! It’s getting more and more complicated.”

“No, it wasn’t magic. It was… a command,” Tungdil said, attempting to explain the effect of the thirdling’s words.

“Right. Like with a pony; I say whoa and it stands still.” Ireheart pointed at the armor with his spoon. “Why would it do that?”

“So the wearer can be sure nobody else uses the armor,” sighed the one-eyed dwarf. “It would take too long to go into it.”

“Oh, I’ve got masses of time.” He licked the spoon clean. “So’ve you, Scholar.”

“I don’t feel like explaining, dammit!”

“So, if I’ve understood correctly, it could happen again. For example, when you’re having to deal with an orc. And that,” Ireheart waved the spoon, “is something that’s more than likely. Certainly in Girdlegard.” He contemplated the runes. “You really should take it off as soon as it’s working again. One of these orbits. Soon.” He winked at Tungdil. “If I have to I’ll drag you back all the way to Evildam. Back in my forge I’ve got all the tools I need to crack you open. I’ve got hammers this size!” He spread his arms wide.

“It wouldn’t help.” Tungdil watched the sausage swinging in the breeze. “It’s enough to drive you mad!” he shouted, exasperated and trying with all his might to sit up. But the armor could not be moved. The joints did not even squeak.

“Do you think I could use you as a sledge?”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Taking the rise out of me?” said Tungdil accusingly. “Pity would be more appropriate than this teasing.”

“I’m not being malicious. I’m just saying there are drawbacks to walking around in someone else’s armor if it’s as moody as a woman. I hope you see it that way, too.” He took another mouthful and stood up. “I’ve got an idea,” he mumbled, taking the crow’s beak in one hand. Legs wide apart, he stood over Tungdil, about at the level of his friend’s knees. “Perhaps it’s the same as with a stubborn woman. If you want something from them you have to win them round.” He shoved the last piece of bread in his mouth.

Tungdil stared at him in bewilderment. “What are you up to?”

“Winning it round. Properly.” He took the measure of the blow he would land on the breastplate, using the flattened side of his war hammer. “It might hurt, Scholar. But it’s in a good cause.”

Tungdil’s head bobbed up and down in the helmet; he was trying to break the armor’s strength. “No, Ireheart! Wait! I… I’ll remember, how…”

Ireheart raised his weapon. “Close your eyes. There’s bound to be a flash,” he warned cheerfully, and smashed the crow’s beak down.

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Weyurn,

Lakepride,

Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle

Rodario cursed under his breath and tried to melt into the darkness of the shaft.

He was afraid the guards up on the walkway would shoot at him. How should they know that he was just a harmless, curious actor, not an adventurer or a bounty hunter after the money offered for Coira’s head?

He made himself as small as possible and waited to see what they would do. Calling out excuses would not be any use; any proclamations of innocence on his part would sound like unintelligible nonsense at this distance.

The shouts became louder, and a trumpet sounded a warning fanfare.

Rodario started to perspire. In other circumstances he would have felt honored should people make such a fuss on his account, but at present he could not enjoy the attention.

The bluish glow at the bottom of the lake was diminishing and Coira drifted back down, twisting round to land on the planks where her clothes were.

Rodario was granted another full view, and was able to admire the princess in all her beauty, even though she was now covering herself. Utterly besotted, he gave a contented sigh.

Coira fastened her belt, hurried to the gondola and moved the lever. The trip up to the surface began.

The actor ascended at the same time. Clinging to the cable, he was spared the exhausting business of having to pull himself up hand over hand, but the situation was not without danger: The wire rope attached to the winch at the top was coiling as the cage rose.

Rodario saw the square of light drawing closer and closer. The ropes were disappearing into it. Jets of water drenched his back as he was carried up. It was icy cold and he had to clench his teeth so as not to cry out. When he was pulled through the opening, he jumped aside and let go.

He landed safely on the floor and two stumbling extra steps absorbed the momentum. To his relief, there was no one waiting for him. The alarms and commotion had not been on his account.

Hardly had he regained his footing than the cage arrived, clanking and clattering. Coira pushed aside the door and saw him. “What are you doing here?” she asked, fastening the top button of her blouse.

“I was waiting for you,” he replied easily. If you only knew what I have been watching all this time… Rodario looked at her gloves. They were identical and did not have any runes or other decoration. Had she merely not had time to take off the second glove?

She noticed that a puddle was forming at his feet. “Don’t tell me you’re sweating in this weather.”

“What do you mean…?” He laughed in embarrassment. “Oh, that… I was soaked through by the ferry, coming over. All that spray…” Rodario turned toward her to show her where his shirt was wet.

“The spray? Well I never. Pretty specifically aimed, the spray, it seems. Never saw the like. I know the lake quite well.” Coira looked at him sternly. Her gaze wandered over him and she noted the dirt on his hands. “So you were waiting here the whole time, you say?”

Before he had to tell a lie the door opened and an excited Loytan stood facing them. “You must look at this, Your Highness!” he said, pointing outside. “There’s a very strange race taking place.”

Coira looked Rodario keenly in the eyes once more, then ran out with Loytan. With a sigh of relief Rodario followed them out.

An icy storm wind had risen up and gray clouds hung over the lake. The waves splashing against the metal walls were noticeably higher than earlier; a fine mist covered cloaks, helmets and faces with tiny drops.

Loytan took them round to the west side, from where you could see past the island to the land. He handed her his telescope. “Have a look at the shore. Just now they were about half a mile from the ferryman’s house.”

The young woman lifted the glass to her eye. The shore was too distant for Rodario; he could just make out two black marks on two black spots chasing a white mark on a black spot.

“And? What is it?” he urged. One of the guards lent him a telescope. “Are those… nightmares?” he asked in a mixture of fright and surprise. The muscular black animals were galloping along the crest of the dunes. Under their hooves the sand seemed to be exploding, shooting up high, and there were flashes round the horses’ feet. The black-clad riders on their backs were alfar.

Rodario turned to focus on the pitiable creature they were chasing and cried out in astonishment. “By Elria and Palandiell! What a sight! A human riding a nightmare!”