Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

“I don’t suppose you’ve even seen a nightmare before,” countered Loytan.

“She must be a very brave woman, riding a mount like that one.” Coira saw the quarry’s long blond hair flying in the wind.

“She must have killed an alf if she’s riding a nightmare,” Rodario interjected. He managed to get a clear view of the girl’s face through the telescope. She was pretty and he saw no trace of fear in her features, just sheer determination. Her pursuers were not gaining on her. “It’s amazing the animal is obeying her.”

Loytan scratched his chin. “Lohasbrand won’t like it if he hears the alfar have encroached on his territory.”

“Am I correct in noting a certain satisfaction in your voice?” replied Coira, looking at her faithful friend. “You think this might inflame the old enmity between the Dragon and the alfar if we go about things the right way?”

The young blond woman whom Rodario was observing was seeming increasingly familiar-and then it occurred to him where he had seen her face before. “By all the gods. It must be Mallenia!”

Coira glanced over at him. “Mallenia? The freedom-fighter?”

Rodario nodded. He did not realize the princess was watching him. He continued to follow the progress onshore. “Yes! I know her face from the posters I saw on tour with the theater in Gauragar and Idoslane. The alfar and their vassal-rulers have put a huge price on her head.”

“They seem to be taking the matter in hand personally now,” Loytan remarked. “They’re speeding up. It won’t be long before they catch her.”

Rodario lowered the telescope and moved toward Coira. “Princess, even if it’s nothing to do with us, I beg you: Help Mallenia of Idoslane,” he implored. “I know how the people love her. If she dies the struggle against the oppressors in the east of Girdlegard will die, too.”

Coira raised her eyebrows.

Rodario took this as an invitation to say more to convince her.

“I beseech you, act to help her. You have the power to save her from the alfar and to keep Idoslane’s hopes alive.” He swallowed. “I would do it myself if I had your powers or a fast boat with enough men to confront the evil.”

“And it wouldn’t be good to have everyone know that Mallenia had been killed in Weyurn before your very eyes. Within sight of your mother’s palace,” Loytan observed, coming to his aid unexpectedly. “Conclusions might be drawn. It might be thought we were helping the alfar. Or that Mallenia was coming to us to organize a joint uprising, uniting resistance in Weyurn and Idoslane. One way or the other, when the Dragon hears about it, he’ll be heading this way to investigate the rumors.” The count fell silent for a moment. “The last time the Dragon came there were many deaths, if the reports are true.”

Rodario did not warm to the man’s reasoning, because it was based, it seemed, on personal fear rather than on any intent that good should prevail, but support was still support. “Your Highness, please!” He knelt at her feet. “I will be forever in your debt if you save Mallenia!”

Coira smiled at him-smiled with a totally new expression in her eyes-and touched him on the shoulder. “Get up, Rodario the Seventh. You must not kneel before me. Someone with your noble attitude of mind certainly should not be kneeling.” She climbed up the wall of the shaft-and jumped!

With a shocked cry Rodario rushed forward to stare into the raging water to look for Coira.

Next moment he saw her racing at incredible speed, suspended above the storm-tossed waves, heading for the shore. A bluish light surrounded her and turquoise-colored lightning flashes carried her along.

“What a woman,” he exclaimed in admiration, and he heard Loytan’s spiteful laughter.

“Don’t give yourself airs, actor!” he said. “Coira may pay you some attention now but she’ll never respect you. You are beneath her dignity.” His tone grew sharp.

“Listening to you one could presume you had intentions of your own that are not appropriate, sir. You are husband to another,” Rodario said cuttingly as he pulled himself up to his full height. “Let’s be frank: I don’t much like you at the best of times, and that warning you’ve just given me is the last straw.”

The count’s expression lost all its superciliousness. “I see you have a sharp tongue when you need it.”

“Sharp enough to have you in slices if you’re looking to challenge me to a duel.”

“I shan’t need to do that. Coira will always trust my word over yours. I’ll make sure you leave us soon.” Loytan bared his teeth. “When you’ve dried off, actor. Maybe. In those waters you can easily catch your death.”

Rodario nonchalantly wiped a few drops off his arm. “A bit of spray doesn’t bother me.”

“Who’s talking about a bit of spray?” Without warning Loytan gave Rodario a shove that sent him flying over the wall.

The actor’s damp fingers could get no purchase on the metal. He tumbled down into the lake, crying out as he fell. The waters of the lake had been whipped up by the approaching storm.

He fell head first and the water felt like liquid ice. Every fiber of his being registered the bitter cold; he thought he could hear the blood freezing in his veins.

Underwater currents thrust him mercilessly against the metal wall of the shaft, scraping his face roughly. Then the life force in Rodario awoke. Whirling his arms about wildly, he fought his way up to the light where the surface must be.

Mallenia looked round again and saw only the alf woman, less than one hundred paces behind her, forcing her nightmare onwards with pitiless strokes of her riding crop.

“Faster!” the young woman screamed into the ear of her nightmare mount, drawing her knife and placing it at the animal’s neck. “I swear you will die before me if they catch up.”

Without warning, a black shadow appeared on her right; it had glowing red eyes and was charging down the sand dunes toward her. It collided with the nightmare she rode, hurling horse and rider to the ground. The second alf had overtaken her and thrown her off!

Mallenia and her stallion rolled in a confused heap down the slope of the dune to the shore. The nightmare made a shrill and furious shriek. She managed to keep out of the way of its thrashing legs, but the creature’s vicious incisors grabbed her upper arm. A piece of flesh the size of a fist was gouged out of her, the animal’s teeth grinding against bone as it clamped its jaws on the limb and hurled her toward the water.

Mallenia screamed and thought at first she had lost her arm completely. Blood poured out of the wound, splashing on the pebbles. Even if everything about her hurt she could not lie here. She sat up and was about to get to her feet to run, but her legs gave way beneath her.

Trampling hooves came ever nearer; the alf siblings rode up, closing the gap at their ease. Suddenly there was no longer any need for haste. The race was decided.

“There she is, the murderess and thief,” said the female alf, full of hatred, leaping down from the saddle. She ran up to Mallenia and beat her with her riding stock.

The woman raised her uninjured arm to protect her head. Every blow cut into her skin. There were thorns plaited into the birch twigs that worked like the teeth of a saw. When she reached for her sword she was kicked in the head, landing backwards in the lake.

“Watch out, Firusha, or she’ll drown,” said her brother in reproach. “We have so much planned for her. Tie up the wound in her arm or she’ll bleed to death. The nightmare was obviously hungry.”

Mallenia saw the alf leaning over her, then the gloved hands grabbed her by the collar, dragging her back to land. “She must not have a death as gentle as that.” She punched the young woman on the chin to knock her out. When the girl’s body went limp, the alf took Mallenia’s belt and applied it tightly above the bite wound. The bleeding stopped at once. “What now, Sisaroth?”