Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

“And?” Rodario tried to glimpse the contents over her shoulder in a manner inappropriate for a man of his class. Loytan shot him a murderous glance and clenched his fists.

“He commands me to search for the alf and to take him prisoner. To this end he is sending one hundred orcs for my use,” she summarized. “And he insists on my taking an oath of allegiance.”

“That would mean being constrained with a collar like your mother,” said Rodario, horrified. “Surrounded by four guards? Abjuring magic completely?”

“I don’t care. That way I shall never be tempted to get back down to the lakebed to reinforce my powers,” she answered dully.

“Majesty, you mustn’t!” Mallenia was beside herself. “You are the last of all the maga…”

Coira’s countenance darkened. “So what?”

Rodario cursed under his breath. Mallenia had done the one thing he had been trying to avert-and he saw that the queen now would not be persuaded to change her mind. “It has been a difficult day and we are all over-excited. Let’s get some sleep. We can discuss this tomorrow.”

“Who are you to talk to Her Majesty like that?” raged Loytan. “You’ll not be discussing anything with anyone.” Then he glanced at Mallenia, fearing a reproof.

“Rodario is right.” Coira dried her tears. “I am exhausted and need to rest. Let us meet in the morning to talk about what the future holds. All of us,” she repeated emphatically, passing close by the actor as she left the room.

He heard her whispered “thank you” and then she was gone, followed by Loytan.

Rodario stared out of the window for some time before setting off for his own chamber, taking a detour via the open arcaded walk. He loved the freshness that came from the lake waters.

He would never have believed himself capable of driving the alf away with his fire-seeds trick. He thought it more likely that the black-eye had retreated in private sorrow over the sister’s death. Sisaroth had killed eighteen grown men before making off. May Firusha rot at the bottom of the lake , he wished.

Lost in thought, he had not noticed someone stepping out of the shadows. Only when the new arrival coughed did Rodario pay any attention. “Loytan. I didn’t expect to find you here,” he lied, brightly. “Is it time for that beating now?”

Count Loytan came nearer. “When I chucked you into the lake I should have shackled you first, stage scum!” He pointed down at the water. “This time that won’t be necessary. A fall of eighty paces should be sufficient to break your neck. Then there’s an end to your play-acting! You will not be missed.”

“You took me by surprise last time, count. Do you think you could do the same thing now?”

Loytan laughed in his face. “Without your theater tricks you’re nothing. Nothing at all,” he taunted, fitting knuckledusters over his hands.

Rodario grinned. “But you don’t seem to be relying on hitting me unaided. Do you think my chin is that hard?”

“I don’t want to have to touch vermin like you more than once, that’s all,” the count retorted.

“And how have I made you so jealous? I was only comforting Coira. Does your lady countess know about your private passion for Weyurn’s new queen?” Rodario was enjoying pouring oil onto the fire. It was always easier to fight an adversary who was beside himself with anger. “I’d be happy to inform her.”

“There’ll be nothing left of you able to utter a single word.” Loytan moved swiftly, but the actor stepped backwards.

“Stay where you are!” ordered the count.

“If you insist.” Rodario sighed. “But I warn you: If you attack me now no one will ever see you again. Not even your lady wife.”

“Dream on, idiot! And anyway, she already hates me.” Loytan launched a blow-and his fist met thin air!

“On stage you have to be agile and move quickly.” Rodario had simply done a forward roll between his attacker’s legs and had sprung upright. He kicked the count on the behind, making him stagger. “What’s the matter? Was that all you had in mind?”

Loytan struck out again.

“Saw that coming a mile off.” Rodario blocked the charging fist and his arm did not even quiver as he pushed his elbow into his attacker’s face. Grabbing the man’s hair, he dragged him down; at the same time he propelled his knee at Loytan’s nose; there was a crunch as the bone broke. Then he released his hold on Loytan and kicked him in the belly.

The count fell groaning to his knees. “I’ll kill you for that,” he croaked.

“Weren’t you going to do that anyway?” Rodario put on a look of surprise. “And anyway, it’s my turn to have a crack at murder now, not yours. For what you did out there at the shaft.” He watched Loytan toss away the knuckledusters and draw a knife.

Rodario dodged two attacks, ducked under a third before showering a concerted hail of blows on his opponent, so that blood started pouring out of the cuts on his face. Loytan collapsed, fighting for breath. “You know,” Rodario explained to his injured rival, “when you’re an actor you need many talents. In order to portray a valiant warrior, for example, it’s not enough simply to put on some armor; I have to actually be like a warrior. To fight like him, do you understand? I won’t deny that it sometimes comes in very useful.”

Loytan dragged himself up on the wall, coughing and spluttering. “That took more than a few hours to learn,” he mumbled. Three teeth lay on the floor.

Rodario made a bow. “Thank you for your kind words. You should see me fence. I’m a real master with the rapier.” He laughed. “Another time, perhaps. When you feel like a duel again and have recovered from your injuries.” He thought for a moment. “Now what was it that you were wanting to ask me?”

Loytan reached under his coat and threw a lump of cotton wool to the floor. “I found this in your room.”

“Ah yes, my stage props. What a discovery.”

“You have your face padded out all the time, don’t you? And that beard and mustache are only stuck on,” Loytan went on, wiping the blood off his mouth. “Who are you really? Why do you keep up this masquerade from dawn to dusk?”

The expression in Rodario’s eyes altered and became deadly serious. “Curiosity has killed more than just a cat, my friend.” He took a sudden step forward, grabbing the count by belt and collar. “So you’ll be in good company.” He lifted the thin man and pushed him over the wall.

There was no scream.

Maybe I didn’t push him far enough out? Rodario leaned over the balustrade and saw Loytan four paces down hanging by one hand from a drain pipe. “Your excellent reflexes won’t get you very far, except downwards.” He ran to a nearby brazier, the coals in it cold now, and started to drag it over to the wall.

The count was still attempting to climb up the pipe.

“Wait! I’ll throw you something to hold on to.” Grinning, he rolled the wrought iron container over the side. “Here! Catch! It’ll take you quickly and safely to the bottom.”

Rodario saw how the brazier smashed the pipe, plunging Loytan down toward the water. The iron basket followed at speed. No splash was audible from up here. “Give my regards to the alf woman,” he called down.

Then he made sure that his actions had not been observed. The windows on that side were dark and the chambers un occupied. Rodario allowed himself a broader grin as he picked up the cotton wool and stowed it under his coat. He preferred people to go on underestimating him.

He was about to turn on his heel and continue on his way when he saw a vague outline against the evening sky. It looked at first sight like a bird.

The nearer the shape came, the larger it grew and the closer it came to the magic source, the surer Rodario became that this was no bird, but…