Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

Tungdil frowned, puzzled. “We came to Phoseon at your invitation.”

Aiphaton shook his head. “No. I’ve only just heard that you had returned to Girdlegard. They told me you wanted to negotiate with me.” “Your messenger brought us here,” insisted Tungdil.

Aiphaton’s face again showed surprise. “As I did not send a messenger, let us ask him to whom I owe the pleasure of your visit.” He called the guard over and gave instructions. “Where did you meet the alf?”

“He came to Dson Bhara, when we were being received by the Dson Aklan. I’d thought we would find you there.” Tungdil answered with a half-truth.

“Charming,” murmured Slin. “Absolutely charming! We’ve been tricked.”

“Blast that Tirigon!” Ireheart exploded.

A loud melodious ringing was heard. It was repeated quickly.

“Alarm?” Boindil looked to the right and left at the alfar guards. “Get ready,” he gave the cue. “If the black-eye moves, mow it down!”

Aiphaton rose from his throne and looked at the window. “We are being attacked,” he stated, incredulous. He looked at Tungdil enquiringly. “Someone has been foolish enough to attack us now, after one hundred and eighty cycles!”

“It’s nothing to do with me,” Tungdil said calmly. “Probably…”

Then they heard a bloodcurdling scream and a great shadow filled the window.

Ireheart swallowed hard and instinctively wiped his hands over his armor as if to remove the traces of the smell of the kordrion’s young. The kordrion has followed me instead of the cocoon!

Girdlegard,

Phoseon Dwhamant (Formerly Elf Realm of Alandur)

Phoseon,

Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles

The kordrion’s earth-shattering cry resounded for a second time, but by now Ireheart and the others had inserted their wax earplugs, muffling the monster’s terrible roar so that it could no longer root them to the spot.

Tungdil drew Bloodthirster. “We are all victims of Tirigon’s treachery, Aiphaton. He’s the only one who can have put the kordrion on our trail. When we’re finished here we can both ask him what the blazes he meant by it,” he barked. “My men and I will fight to defend you, to show that the guilt is not ours.”

That’s another clever move from the Scholar , thought Ireheart.

The emperor had grabbed hold of his spear and was aiming it at Tungdil. “I can see from your armor that you must have been very close to the alfar in recent cycles. Perhaps closer than you wanted to be,” he replied. “What proof do I have that you are not working with Tirigon in this? You could be wanting to take advantage of the confusion in order to kill me.” Aiphaton was keeping his eyes firmly trained on all the dwarves-or at least, that is how it seemed. You can’t really tell, of course. Ireheart certainly felt he was being watched.

“Remember how we talked onboard ship. Isn’t that evidence enough that my intentions are honorable?”

The doors flew open and armored alfar stormed in. They held their traditional long narrow-bladed spears pointed at the dwarves.

Aiphaton stood motionless as a statue. “We have both changed since then, Tungdil Goldhand.”

“Not as much as it may seem.” Tungdil gestured to the window with his weapon. “Permit me to stand at your side in the battle. You will see the truth of what I say.”

The alf lowered his spear, and under his helmet Ireheart heaved a sigh of relief. “You may.” Aiphaton turned and left the hall with Tungdil at his heels, leaving Ireheart, Slin, Balyndar and the Zhadar alone in the throne room.

Slin lifted his visor. “What, by Vraccas, do we do now?” He took his crossbow in his hands and loaded it in readiness.

“We shan’t have to help those two,” said Balyndar, going over to the window to check on the kordrion’s whereabouts. Its shadow passed over Phoseon and a vertical sheet of white flame shot down in front of the embrasure. Screams rang out and stinking black smoke drifted up. “It got the black-eyes two floors down from us,” he reported.

“I don’t suppose they will have anything to counter an attack like this.” Slin touched his weapon. “The crossbow makes me feel a little more confident.”

Ireheart was trying to work out a plan. “Right, everyone off to the lift. I want to get up onto the roof of this weird place. I can’t see enough here.”

“Charming! I’ll be able to get a better aim at the kordrion up there.” The fourthling ran along at Boindil’s side, with Balyndar and the Zhadar following less enthusiastically.

The lift whizzed them up to the top and soon they were standing on the city’s gently sloping roof. From up there the city looked like a smooth plateau surrounded by unnaturally straight ravines. Dotted about were small square towers with vertical slits. Air blew through the spaces, causing a soft noise. Chimneys? Black sails made of linen had been strung up for food to dry. In other areas the alfar had stored huge leather sacks, also in black.

Ireheart presumed they were to let water be warmed by the sun. His jaw dropped when he took in just how big Phoseon was. “It must be a good… two miles long!”

Slin pointed out the firing towers on wheeled ramps ready to be maneuvered to the corners of the roof.

But those responsible for constructing this city had not reckoned with an enemy with the advantages of flight. Three of the domes were already manned and were hurling missiles at the monster. Too slow! If there had been a besieging army at the foot of the walls this hail of arrows and spears would have been an unbeatable defense system, with the projectiles traveling many hundreds of paces before hitting their targets. But with an attacker like the kordrion, although a few hits were landed, they were ineffective.

Slin regarded his crossbow. “My bolt is a bit on the small side,” he sighed.

“I expect your women say that all the time,” one of the Zhadar said, his comrades laughing in response.

The fourthling turned in fury, his crossbow raised. “It’ll be big enough for you and your filthy mouth!”

“What do you think he means?” joked the Zhadar. “Keep it. I don’t want it.”

“Shut up, you idiot gnome-brains! What on earth do you think you’re doing, winding each other up at a time like this?” Ireheart reprimanded them angrily, adjusting his helmet and fastening the chin strap until it was uncomfortably tight, but secure. “So, the kordrion is after me? Then it will be risking its life. I’m going to entice it over to the firing towers.” He instructed the Zhadar to inform the alfar manning the towers of his strategy.

“Brave,” said the fourthling. “But dangerous.”

“Oh, that’s nothing! I like a challenge.” Ireheart dismissed the objection and took firm hold of his crow’s beak. He bared his teeth. “Come on if you’re hard enough, you filthy creature! You want the murderer of your young?”

The Zhadar hastened between the firing towers. When they had passed the dwarf’s message to seven of them, it was time.

“It’s heading back,” warned Balyndar. “Heading straight for us!”

“That’s the way!” Boindil set off for a section of the extensive roof area that could be covered by fire from all seven towers. The kordrion’s wings swished and whistled in the air, giving Ireheart an impression of the speed of its approach-but it was not coming in his direction!

He stopped, gasping for breath and turned around. “Hey! You ugly bug-eyed monster!” He brandished his weapon to draw attention to himself. “Ho there! I’m the one who destroyed your nestlings! Are you blind?”

He watched in amazement as the huge, gray-skinned kordrion landed on the roof and slipped head first into one of the artificial ravines. Four feet like canine paws carried the weight of the hefty body. The ones in front were more like arms, with strong flexible claws. The barrage from the catapults did not seem to trouble it at all and the few spears and arrows that struck it were not inflicting serious injuries. The monster’s claws scrabbled for a hold on the stonework, leaving deep marks.