Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

“Lohasbrand,” he yelled and ran off. “To arms! To arms! The Dragon is coming!”

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Weyurn,

Eight Miles from Lakepride,

Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles

The kordrion’s assault had cost Tungdil twenty-one Black Squadron dwarves and three Zhadar. They burned the bodies of the dead warriors and took their ashes to be buried back in the Red Mountains with all ceremony. Dwarf-remains belonged in the mountains, not in a desert and certainly not in an alfar realm.

But they had also lost the majority of the ponies. There was nothing for it but to cover the initial miles to the northwest border of Phoseon Dwhamant on foot before buying in more stock bit by bit from the farmers of the former kingdom of Tabain.

It was inevitable that a marching column such as theirs would attract attention. Tungdil urged them on. Orbit for orbit they marched on through the dried-up lakebed, now covered with ice and frozen fog which crackled underfoot.

They passed islands towering high on stalks, reminding Ireheart of huge stone mushrooms. There were also many small islands that had collapsed without the buoyancy provided by surrounding water. They had toppled over and broken apart.

It looks unreal. As if the gods were planning to make a new country. Particularly fascinating were the places where reefs had been. They soared up like sharpened mountains, sometimes a good hundred paces high. The travelers came upon stranded wrecks of ships and the remains of mighty fish. The dwarves guided their ponies through the arched bones, which they could ride through without banging their heads, such was the size of the skeletons.

I know now why I have always avoided deep water like the plague. Ireheart looked at the fish and at the thick skulls with their incisor-lined jaws. No prey would escape those sharp teeth.

“You’d think our high king was trying to avoid any conflict with the Lohasbranders and the orc contingents,” Slin remarked as they rode along.

“Yes, indeed,” Ireheart agreed. “But it’s not a question of being frightened of battle,” he stressed. “It’s about making swift progress. Our priority is to reach the Red Mountains and the Dragon’s hoard to relieve him of the most valuable pieces of treasure, so that he’ll attack Lot-Ionan in revenge.”

“So why the diversion to see Queen Wey the Eleventh in Lakepride?” Slin asked.

“Could it be that you weren’t paying attention? Because the Scholar wants to suggest we wage a joint campaign against Lot-Ionan as soon as the Dragon and his orcs have left for the south,” replied Ireheart. “On the way back, when we’re nicely loaded up with the Dragon’s valuables, we can come and collect her answer.” He looked around at the landscape. “This is the kind of lake I like,” he said with satisfaction. “Back home they’ll be astonished when I tell them I’ve been walking around on the bottom of a lake and Elria can’t get me!”

“Unless it rains,” Slin pointed out.

Ireheart gave him a suspicious glance. “What do you mean?”

“If it rains hard the water won’t soak in. It will collect on this hardened surface like in a dish. If we happened to be at the deepest part of the dish at the time we’d end up having to swim.” Slin enjoyed catastrophizing. “And we all know the dwarf-race is none too good at swimming.”

Ireheart checked the sky. It was growing steadily darker. “Vraccas, send us anything, send us molten rock-anything but Elria’s rain. Don’t let her water us like a crop of peas.”

Tungdil pointed. “We need to get back to the bank and head south. We should end up directly opposite Lakepride. From there it’s only a short boat-ride to the maga’s island.”

Ireheart’s good mood was now thoroughly dispersed. The thought of those fish skeletons came back to him. “Curses! So I shall have to set foot on a boat, after all.”

“It’s been fine so far,” Slin attempted to cheer him up. “And so what if we do fall in? I like a good bath.”

“That’s because you’re a pansy fourthling,” came the mocking response from under a helmet. It was a Zhadar laughing at him.

Ireheart remembered that coarse voice. It was the same warrior who had tried to provoke Slin with remarks about bolt length when they were up on the roof. He fell back to come level with the armored voice. “Was that you just now?”

“Was that me what?”

It was not the right voice. “No, it wasn’t you. But you know who I mean: The one who’s trying to stir things up-the troublemaker.” Ireheart pushed the man’s visor up. A blackened face with a short beard. As a dwarf Ireheart was finding it extremely difficult to tell one of these Invisibles from another. The dye gave them all the same appearance. It was really a kind of protection to stop them being identified; no one would be able to describe an attacker. “Whichever helmet you’re hiding under,” he called out, “hold your tongue. I won’t have this sort of thing.” He guided his pony to the front of the column again.

Tungdil had already changed direction and was riding with Barskalin, heading for the dunes. The remnants of the lake must lie behind them.

Ireheart urged his mount up. Its hooves sank in the loose dune sand. Then they reached the top and could see the edge of the lake. There was an island some four miles out, resting on a basalt stone pillar. To the left of it iron walls could be seen rising out of the water.

“That’s Lakepride over there,” said Tungdil. “We’ve arrived.” He pointed to the iron building. “The source is underwater so I suppose that’s a mineshaft of some sort.”

“Yes,” said Balyndar. “My mother sent her fifthlings as a favor to help one of Weyurn’s queens with the construction.”

“A masterpiece!” Ireheart was extravagant in his praise. “The pressure on the walls must be enormous.”

Balyndar did not conceal his pride in his tribe’s achievement. “Our engineers put in the wall supports to keep the water out. If it were a marine environment, like in the Outer Lands, where there are tides to cope with, it wouldn’t have worked.”

“That’s the advantage held by the fifthlings. They took in the best of all the tribes and so they’re way ahead with all the special skills the dwarves have, “Slin said generously. “I’d be interested in taking a look at that shaft. I can’t really imagine what it must be like.”

Barskalin pointed out a village about half a mile away. The upturned boats and fishing nets drying on the sand looked promising. “We’ll get ourselves a little fleet to take us over to the island.”

Tungdil turned his pony’s head toward the village. “Or one boat that can take ten of us. I don’t want to arrive with the Black Squadron. You can get somewhere to stay in the village. We shan’t be spending long with the queen.”

They galloped off to the village.

Ireheart was not surprised to hear a tinny alarm bell greeting them; it sounded as if the bell itself was frightened. “Not quite the joyful fanfare of welcome we’re used to, is it, Scholar?” he said, watching what the humans were up to. “They’re running to the lake.”

“They’re launching the boats.” Slin pointed to those who were making a break for it.

“I bet they think we’ve been sent by the alfar.” Balyndar touched his own black armor. “We don’t really look like friendly visitors. The last time any dwarves were here will have been ages ago when they were building the shaft.”

Hargorin laughed. “They seem to know my Black Squadron.”

“Send a couple of men over quickly to tell them we come in peace,” Tungdil ordered. “You’re right, Balyndar, I should have thought of that… We’re spreading fear even when we don’t want to. Back where I’ve come from that would have been a good thing. But not here. I’m sorry.”