Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

Ireheart roared with laughter.

Aiphaton’s entrance put a swift end to the dwarves’ banter. He shook everyone’s hands-except for those of the Zhadar-then took his seat at the head of the table. Two alfar came up to pour out a variety of wines.

The emperor studied his visitors closely, his eye sockets black as night.

So he does not wish to put aside the blemish-or perhaps he can’t? Ireheart wondered.

“You and your friends have amply demonstrated that you are not among Phoseon’s enemies.” Aiphaton’s voice was calm and steady as he raised his cup in salute. “For this and your support in our hour of need I thank you.” He drank a toast to them.

“The kordrion young we found on the packhorse had been smuggled into our train,” replied Tungdil. “In my view Tirigon is the only one who could have done this. And that means that at least one of the Dson Aklan is against you.” He looked at the emperor expectantly.

Aiphaton slowly replaced his goblet. “Your tone suggests to me that you know more, Tungdil.” He gestured to his alfar to leave the chamber, then ran his eyes over the dwarf-faces. “Before we go on, I should like to ask that only those permitted to hear all the truth remain in the room with us.”

Tungdil nodded, but continued, “As some of them still do not trust me because I returned after two hundred and fifty cycles of forced exile and they doubt my integrity, I shall not ask anyone to leave the room. I want all of them to hear what the emperor of the alfar and the high king of the dwarf-tribes have to say to each other.”

Ireheart breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared that only he would be allowed to stay. That would have meant yet more bad blood.

“Our original plan was different,” Tungdil began, after taking a swig of wine. He explained to the alf leader what they had first intended to do with the kordrion’s young. He described what was waiting in the Black Abyss and told him they needed Lot-Ionan and what they planned to do with the Dragon and his treasure: To get the Dragon to the magus and provoke a war between them.

Aiphaton listened with no sign of emotion.

“Things have happened differently,” Tungdil summed up. “And a good thing too, because I think the southern alfar will be better as our allies than as our foes when we march against Lot-Ionan. That was what you were planning, yourselves.”

“To march against a magus is pure suicide,” answered Aiphaton soberly. “That is why I gave in to what my subjects from the south have been urging.” He poured himself more wine and smiled. “I see you are surprised?”

Ireheart looked around. Nobody spoke, so he said, “I thought you meant to go to your own death?”

Aiphaton leaned slightly forward, chin on his hand. “I never wished to be like my father. I always said that. And yet I have become like him. It would be too easy to find excuses for what I have done to Girdlegard, but I admit it all. That is why I shall lead them to the south to ensure their eradication in battle with Lot-Ionan.”

“Hurrah! That’s the right attitude!” Ireheart applauded in spite of himself, and then coughed to cover his embarrassment.

“I have been dazzled for too many cycles, inebriated by my own power. I have made conquests, taken lives and broken the will of the people. Not because I had to but because I could. Because I was stronger,” the emperor explained. “That terrible intoxication has passed now, but the memory of my guilt remains. With every new day I see the suffering I inflicted on Idoslane, Urgon and Gauragar. It has to end. And I shall end it.”

“The Dson Aklan and northern alfar won’t follow you,” Tungdil pointed out.

“That is why I shall return alone from the Blue Mountains and destroy Dson Bhara with my own hands. There are only a few hundred alfar who gained entry to Girdlegard through the secret passageway under the Moon Pond. I shall deal with them on my own.” As if to prove his intentions the runes on his armor started to glow. “Your arrival and plan, Tungdil, have strengthened my resolve. Once the Dragon is dead, nothing stands in the way of Girdlegard’s liberation.” He closed his eyes and a red tear emerged from under the lid and made its way down his cheek. “I never wanted to be like the Unslayables. My words shall at last be matched by my deeds.”

Ireheart tried to catch Tungdil’s attention. The Scholar returned his gaze. “It could not have worked out better,” was the silent message.

“Would you be prepared to support us against the enemies from the Black Abyss?” Tungdil asked. “A warrior such as yourself…”

Aiphaton shook his bald head. “When I have wiped out my own race, my debt of guilt to Girdlegard will have been settled. I led the alfar into Girdlegard and I shall free the humans from that yoke again. Without the oppression they have suffered the humans will be prepared to follow you in battle to the Outer Lands to defend their new-won freedom.” He opened his eyes again. “I suggest that I announce to the alfar that we have signed a peace treaty with all the dwarf-tribes, and not only with the thirdlings. You must swear to me that nothing of what I have said will get out.”

“Of course, for our own sakes,” promised Ireheart, speaking for them all. “If the black-eyes got wind of your plan and opted to stay here instead of going to fight the magus, we’d have a much tougher task to get rid of them.” He grinned and gave thanks to Vraccas. This was all turning out so much better than he could have assumed when the journey started.

Balyndar stared at Aiphaton. “What about you? When all the alfar are dead, what will you do?”

He drew a deep breath. “I shall go away. To the east, to see what I shall find. I swear that I shall never return to Girdlegard-unless, of course, I am invited.” He smiled at Tungdil. “For whatever reasons. And with the help of your gods and mine,” he raised his goblet in a toast, “the last remaining northern alfar and I shall die together.”

Tungdil bowed to him. “My respect for your courage, Aiphaton. I see that I was not mistaken in you.” He stood up. “With your permission we shall now withdraw. On the morrow we shall head for the Red Mountains to test the waters with the Dragon. For him and his orcs we shall lay a trail he can’t ignore.”

“By the time he arrives I should be in the Blue Mountains with the army. Lot-Ionan and his famuli won’t find my troops easy to contend with, but they will be victorious. Then the Dragon and the orcs will arrive just in time to take on the magi.” Aiphaton also got to his feet. “But have a care that Lohasbrand does not turn Lot-Ionan into a glowing torch. The Scaly One is very powerful. He managed to subjugate Queen Wey the Eleventh, a mighty ruler with the reputation of being a great maga. If Lot-Ionan is killed you will be faced with the problem of cleansing the Black Abyss on your own.”

Tungdil’s eye narrowed. “Is she still alive?”

“Queen Wey? Yes. As far as I know. And she has a daughter said to be good at magic.” The alf had understood the reason behind the question. “They would make excellent allies once the Dragon has been vanquished. If Lot-Ionan were to die she would be my first choice to aid us against the monsters in the Outer Lands.” He shook hands with the dwarves once more. “May Vraccas be with you. If fate wills it we shall meet again.” Aiphaton left the throne room.

Onwards and upwards! Vraccas, we shall do heroic deeds! Ireheart helped himself to water, drank and belched, patting himself on the belly. “Bed now, Scholar? We’ll have an early start in the morning, off to relieve the Dragon of his treasure. And to pay our respects to a lady sorceress, I understand?”