Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

Ireheart looked at Tungdil, struck by the resemblance between his old friend and this young dwarf. The chin, mouth and nose were almost identical and their voices were so similar in intonation. By Vraccas! If I didn’t know better I’d take them for father and son . A swift glance to Gemholder showed that the same thing had occurred to the king.

Tungdil watched the queen’s son, opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, sounding as if he had really intended to say something quite different. “We thought the sickness curse on the northern realm was banished for all time.”

“Tion’s power has grown. No surprise, considering what’s been going on in Girdlegard,” replied Balyndar. “But thank you for your sympathy.” He nodded to the older dwarf.

Ireheart’s eyes whizzed to and fro; he compared the dwarves as unobtrusively as possible and found his first impression confirmed.

Balyndis had been Tungdil’s companion, but he had rejected her and selected an undergroundling as his mate: Sirka. Balyndis had gone to the fifthlings and been welcomed again by the king; soon she shared his throne and bore a son.

What an awful thought. The warrior screwed up his eyes. The boy’s age would be about right.

“You will want to refresh yourselves…” Frandibar began.

But Tungdil shook his head. “We need to get down to business first,” he interrupted, looking at the clan delegates. “You may find yourselves amazed by what I say but don’t laugh at my words or interrupt me. What I’m going to put to you is the only way to free Girdlegard from the repeated plagues and assaults it now suffers. From what our whole race now suffers.” He walked round the table and reached the place where the table edge had been hacked away. “I am a thirdling and so I shall sit here,” he announced. He held himself very upright, with neither fear nor awe in his expression. It was clear to all that he was accustomed to commanding and being instantly obeyed.

Boindil was surprised to note that there was no resistance among the clans to what Tungdil had said. The hero was indeed an impressive presence. Or does his appearance make them afraid, and that is why they are submitting?

Gemholder got a servant to bring a chair for Tungdil and the dwarf took his place as if he were the king. As if he were still ruler over a realm and commander-in-chief of an army. “What about the office of high king?” he asked.

“After Ginsgar died and all the things that happened in Girdlegard there was no time to elect a high king to govern all the tribes,” replied Balyndar. “We were all too busy fighting the attackers. And it’s been like that right up until the present orbit, Tungdil.”

“The secondlings have been wiped out, the thirdlings don’t count. What about the firstlings? Have they crawled so deep into their tunnels for fear of the Dragon that they can’t find the way out?” Tungdil looked first at Balyndar, then at Frandibar. “What’s the last you heard from them?”

“There was a letter sent to my mother,” said the fifthling. “A certain Xamtor Boldface was asking for support against the Dragon, but we had to tell him that we don’t have enough soldiers to man an expedition. They would have had to fight their way past the kordrion and across Dragon-land to get to the Red Mountains.” Balyndar’s face went dark. “The Lohasbranders, it is said, kill any dwarf they set eyes on. Our deputation would never have reached the west alive.”

“We thought the same,” agreed the king of the fourthlings. “Queen Balyndis passed on the request to us, but we are having to defend ourselves against the thirdlings and the alfar. We need every weapon and warrior available.”

Tungdil glanced over at the second unoccupied place at the table. “Where are the freelings?” Shoulders were shrugged. “Well, you’ve still got to put a coalition force together to fight for Girdlegard.” Tungdil ran his gauntleted fingers over the broken edge of the table. “A fighting group composed of the best of the fourthlings and fifthlings. Like in the past when we were looking to forge Keenfire.” He stopped. “Did Keenfire ever turn up again?” The dwarves shook their heads. Tungdil reached for his tankard and downed the contents in one; then he slammed it down and appeared to stare into the void.

Ireheart felt the unrest that was spreading through the gathering. The clan chiefs had been expecting more than this.

“Lot-Ionan,” said Tungdil suddenly, and a jolt ran through the assembled company. His voice was deeper now and the sound of it struck fear in their hearts. “He is the last magus, and so, for our race, he is undefeatable. The tribes are in no position to be able to deal with our other adversaries; or, if they could, then only one at a time and with terrible losses. That would only give an advantage to remaining foes.” He banged the table. “ If you are mad enough to attack first. But if you let someone else do the spadework and wait with your attack until the enemy has been weakened, then victory is a possibility.”

“What do you mean?” Balyndar wanted to know. He was drinking water, Ireheart noticed, and not touching any food that was heavy or greasy.

“We get the kordrion, the alfar, Lot-Ionan and the Dragon to wage war on each other,” he explained, smiling darkly. “Whoever emerges as the victor will be annihilated by the children of the Smith.”

Balyndar uttered a peculiar sound that turned into mocking laughter. “Simple as that? The four of them have split up our homeland among themselves for cycles now, but they’ll attack each other at the drop of a hat just because the great Tungdil Goldhand turns up and asks them to?” He got up, looking furious. “My mother was right. You won’t change anything. It’s like being in a battle waiting for the veteran fighters to arrive, only for a feeble old man to turn up instead.”

Hardly had he said that last word when he was hit so hard on the back that he fell forward onto the table. A shadow had grabbed him by the nape of the neck and was rubbing his face against the rune that stood for the realm of the fifthlings.

Ireheart blinked and then saw it was his friend. How did he manage to move so quickly?

“Balyndar Steelfinger! You may have inherited much from your mother, but not her iron will,” said Tungdil angrily. “Take a look at the symbol for your tribe!” He increased the pressure. Balyndar tried to resist and turned to grab his attacker, but he could not. “Look at it, I said,” shouted Tungdil. “The name Balyndis will be the last name of a sovereign in a whole line of queens and kings if we all follow your way of thinking. There’ll be no one at all who can read about the exploits of the dwarves.” He let Balyndar go and went back to his own seat.

Balyndar pushed himself upright and stared at the one-eyed dwarf in fury. On his right cheek and on his temple the rune had left an imprint that was gradually fading. “You dare to…”

“I dare, yes, I do dare !” Tungdil’s voice drowned out the words of the younger dwarf. “I dare to tell you and the others what must be done. It is simple; all it takes is skill, courage and sharp blades. But not an army. Not at first.” He pointed north. “Steal the kordrion’s young and take them to Lot-Ionan. The beast will follow, looking for its offspring. You have to be ready with a small force to overthrow the victor. And the victor will definitely be Lot-Ionan. You need the magus to put a stop to what is being prepared in the Black Abyss.”

Frandibar folded his arms. “What if the kordrion defeats the long-un? Then, according to you, we’d be helpless.”

“He won’t. A kordrion can’t defend itself against magic. It might be able to destroy the wizard’s famuli but it will be powerless faced with Lot-Ionan himself.” Tungdil’s fingers ran along the line of the Red Mountains on the map on the central table. “After that you take the best treasures from the Dragon’s hoard and plant them on the alfar. Lohasbrand will set his humans and his orcs on the alfar in Dson Balsur, and because they won’t be able to overrun the black-eyes on their own, he’ll have to get over there himself.” Tungdil’s gaze swept over the assembled dwarves. “Again it will be the task of the children of the Smith to watch and wait. And then to attack the victor, who will be weakened by then, of course, from the battle. You should manage that. And there you are: Girdlegard is free of all tribulation.”