Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

Ireheart was ahead of him, launching himself into the wild ride with a triumphant cry, “Vraccas!”

After a few paces, picking up speed all the time and with the strong icy wind bringing tears to his eyes, every bone in his body juddering and jarring, he knew one thing for certain: A lightning journey by tunnel car through the depths of the mountains was a princesses’ tea-party compared to this.

Girdlegard,

Dwarf Realm of the Fifthlings,

In the North of the Gray Range of Mountains,

Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles

Tungdil stood at the edge of a snowy stretch of ground between two mountain slopes, completely at a loss. The tracks made by the cocoon-thieves ended abruptly at the tips of his own boots. The prints disappeared at the edge of a precipice. “They’ve climbed straight down the cliff.” He bent forward to spy into the depths. It was impossible to see the foot of the cliff. “Must be at least three hundred paces to the bottom. Can’t make head or tail of it.”

Balyndar and Ireheart were waiting at his side. “Or perhaps they can fly, after all,” said the fifthling, checking overhead. “I can’t make anything out on the rocks above us, either.”

Ireheart searched around in the snow until he found solid rock. “And there’s no secret passage. I’d be able to hear it.” He noticed the funny looks the others were giving him. “So? I just wanted to make sure.”

Tungdil went a couple of paces to one side on the virgin snow of the plain. “Not a bad idea.” He bent down and carefully brushed off the thin top layer of freshly fallen snow. In the older ice crystals underneath there were clear marks of something being dragged. “Clever of them,” he acknowledged. “They’ve put a load of snow on one of the sledges and they’re using it to conceal their tracks. To make us think they’ve abseiled down the cliff. But in reality they’ve gone this way.” With a grin he gave the signal for them to march on.

“It’s a good thing I’m here,” joked Ireheart. “If I hadn’t checked for underground passages we’d all have had to shin down that precipice on a bit of string. I’m a brainy dwarf, of course.”

“If you say so. They’re heading east,” stated Balyndar. A thin layer of ice had formed on his mantle; every time he moved there was a rustling sound. “If they keep on in this direction they’ll come to the Red Mountains. The path dates from old times, when the fast tunnels had been forgotten. The track hasn’t been maintained properly by the tribes and it’s sure to be hard going. More a climb than a walk.”

Ireheart had another new idea. “If they’re planning to take the kordrion’s young off to Lohasbrand… perhaps it’s a bunch of mini orcs we’re on the trail of? The Dragon’s bred them specially small so they can use our tunnels and narrow mountain paths? The long-uns, of course, used to breed tiny dogs for going down badger setts and foxholes. Why shouldn’t it work with orcs?”

“It’s worrying, the things you come up with sometimes,” said Balyndar, surveying the plain. “What would the Dragon want with the cocoons?”

“How should I know? To break the kordrion’s will and enforce his loyalty?”

The fifthling tutted, not even bothering to respond to that. “If we head out across the plain the enemy will be able to see us coming. Shall we hug the cliffs?”

“We’ve not a grain in the hour-glass to lose. Straight across,” ordered Tungdil, setting off. Ireheart followed him at once. “What about my theory, Scholar?” he urged, with the eagerness of a young child. “Seems obvious to me.”

“Possible but not probable,” replied Tungdil. “Perhaps the firstlings had the same idea as us and sent out a scouting party.”

“Playing the monsters off against each other to free themselves from the Dragon’s clutches and destroy the kordrion, who’ll have been weakened from the fighting?” Ireheart had a good long think. “Could be. But it’s pretty odd they’re putting the idea into practice at the same time as us.” The more he considered it, the less he liked his own theory. “Nonsense. They would have gone to see Balyndis and asked for permission and support for the expedition. That’s what you do if you’re on someone else’s territory.”

Suddenly Tungdil stood stock still. “Ireheart, Balyndar, Slin,” he whispered. “Come with me. The rest of you keep going to the other side of the plain and wait for our signal.” He hurried off, bent low, going toward a cleft in the rocks that Ireheart and the others hadn’t noticed.

“It’s a bit of a miracle the way he finds things,” said Slin. “I wouldn’t have seen that till I’d walked into it.”

“Vraccas has a soft spot for our Scholar,” laughed Boindil. “It’s always been like that as long as I’ve known him.” Nothing’s changed.

The little band stepped cautiously into the cleft in the rock; it was dark but the air smelled fresh, not stale.

“A tunnel,” whispered Boindil.

“They probably won’t have come upon it purely by chance. Whoever destroyed the nest and stole the cocoons-it’s been a long time in the planning.” Tungdil led them along a sloping passage. They found crudely hewn steps leading further down.

From below they heard muffled voices.

“We’ve got them,” whispered Ireheart, full of anticipation. “Let me go in first, Scholar! I’ll finish them all off! No one will escape me in these narrow…”

“Pull yourself together,” hissed Tungdil.

“Go on, let him,” said Slin softly. “It’s fine with me…”

At that very moment the kordrion’s screeching roar was heard outside! Wind shot through the tunnel, leaving them standing in whirling snowflakes.

Boindil shuddered and remained motionless for a second before coming to his senses. He thought at once of the others in his party, who would be left facing the kordrion on the plain. “May Vraccas be with them!” he prayed. “Let them find shelter before it gets to them. We need every man jack of them if we are to free Girdlegard.” He was about to put in his wax earplugs and go over to Tungdil, but his friend was already heading down the steps. There was no time to give support or employ caution. The kordrion young had priority.

The steps were old, crumbling away in places under their feet. Slin lost his balance and was only saved by Balyndar’s presence of mind; otherwise he would have tumbled head first down the stairs.

“Shouldn’t we go back to help the others,” asked the fifthling. “They’ll be killed…”

“And so will we if we move out into the open without the cocoon,” interjected Tungdil. “And anyway, to the kordrion Ireheart smells like his offspring’s murderer. We’re no use if we fall in battle-the only ones to benefit would be our enemies. They will have to look to their own devices.”

Finally they reached the ground level and the passage became wider. They fanned out, with Tungdil and Ireheart in the first row, followed by Balyndar and Slin.

“This leads due east,” said Ireheart. “Our forefathers will have made the tunnel because they knew the high passes would not always be free.”

Tungdil stopped abruptly and Slin cannoned into him.

A loud and furious laugh swept through the passage. “They’re sending out their heroes as if they had dozens more where they come from,” came a deep voice. “The dwarf world will be hit hard by the loss. What will the tribes do without their figureheads and famous icons of bravery? Will the others emigrate? Commit suicide?”

Slin bent and quickly lit two torches he had taken from his rucksack; he kept one and handed the other to Balyndar.