Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

Then he noticed the foul taste-not a bit like the herbal tea he had filled his flask with. He spat the second mouthful onto the sandy floor of the cave. The liquid was a dull blackish red, viscous and slow to disperse.

“What’s that?” Ireheart looked at the flask. That’s not mine! His own still lay on the ground where it had fallen.

Revolted by the taste he spat again, then grabbed his own bottle and rinsed his mouth out. The metallic taste reminded him of blood and strong alcohol and it stayed heavy on his tongue, like pitch.

“Whose is this?” he called out, holding up the flask after he had screwed the top back on.

The Zhadar he had been talking to came running up. “It’s mine,” he said, annoyed. “I must have dropped it.” He grabbed hold of it as eagerly as if it contained one of Girdlegard’s prime wines.

“What’s it got in it?”

The Zhadar looked shocked. “Why? You didn’t drink any, did you?”

Something in his voice warned Ireheart not to admit he had. Instead he pointed to the damp patch in the sand. “No, but it can’t have been closed properly and the stuff that’s leaked looks odd and smells peculiar,” he lied, hoping Vraccas would not make him blush. “Is it herb brandy?” He grinned. “Maybe that’s where you get your special powers! A magic drink, eh?”

The dark dwarf leaned forward. “It’s distilled elf blood,” he muttered to Ireheart. “It’s been modified with terrible alfar magic, then distilled, boiled up and diluted with brandy.” Then the Zhadar pulled a face again, and gave four weird laughs before looking normal once more.

Ireheart felt sick. “Elf blood,” he repeated. “What’s it good for?”

“Our magic,” sang the Zhadar. “Our magic.” Then he turned and went back to his comrades.

“O Vraccas! What have I done that you punish me like this?” Ireheart murmured in distress, placing his hand on his stomach. “Who knows what that stuff will do to me?”

So long as he did not notice any change, he decided, he would keep his misfortune to himself. Maybe the crazy Zhadar had just been having him on and it was, perhaps, merely a harmless liqueur.

Girdlegard,

The Former Queendom of Weyurn,

The Entrance to the Red Mountains,

Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

When darkness fell the Zhadar set off out from the cave in the pouring rain and disappeared into the murk after only a few paces, lost to Ireheart’s view. Having glided out into the night, they seemed to become part of it.

“Odd fellows.” Rodario nodded at the women. “I wonder what Boindil has learned from that Zhadar.” He went over to Ireheart.

Rodario’s continued transformation had not escaped Coira. She noted he now wore chain mail and carried a sword at his side. Having not shaved since his involuntary unmasking, he now sported a short beard on his square-jawed face. This and his manly bearing meant he had nothing in common with the figure everyone was familiar with: The eternal failure in the Mifurdania competitions.

Mallenia, on the other hand, was watching the maga, her rival, while at the same time berating herself for having fallen for a man who had never existed. Her heart had been captivated by a stage character, a seemingly vulnerable, clumsy man who had suddenly turned out to be brave and bold. The former incarnation had appealed to Mallenia more because she was a born protectress. But still…

Coira sighed. “Who would have thought it?”

“That he’s a real man?” Mallenia gave a bitter laugh and cut herself a slice of bread to spread with seed oil. “I’m as surprised as you.”

The maga reached for her flask and took a drink. She looked at the Ido girl. “How does he kiss?” she demanded directly.

“What?” Mallenia nearly choked.

Coira’s eyes shone; she clasped her knees to her as she sat. “He stole a kiss, didn’t he? What was it like? Tell me, do!”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Maybe,” she answered daringly. “He’ll think I’m a lovesick young girl if he finds out. But I don’t care.”

“Isn’t he a bit too old for you? He’s more my age, about thirty cycles, and you’ve surely only seen twenty?” Mallenia realized that her tone was unfriendly.

Coira noticed it as well and looked at the Ido girl in puzzlement. “Is that a touch of jealousy?”

“No,” she snapped-and next moment she was furious with herself. That had been as good as an acknowledgment. She had little experience in affairs of the heart. The struggle for freedom had left no room for that kind of thing. There had been only two short outings into the realm of physical passion.

“It seems to me his kiss has done more than you want to admit,” said the maga, putting her leather drinking pouch back on the floor. She pushed back her dark hair and tied it at the nape. She could not help grinning. “So there we are, in the middle of a great adventure, just about to launch an attack on the Dragon, and we find we both fancy the same man. The gods have a strange sense of humor.”

At first Mallenia wanted to deny everything, but she dismissed that idea. Why should she not own up to her feelings? “It’s much harder for me, Coira,” she said. “I actually preferred him when he was Rodario the Clumsy.”

“Then be glad you never saw him the way I did. You would have run a mile! We’ll get him to play the helpless clown and audacious hero on alternate orbits.” She handed the other girl her flask. “Let us vow never to fall out over him.”

“Fall out?” Mallenia was not aware of any pact of friendship. She stared indecisively at the flask.

“Look! You’ll soon be on the throne of Idoslane and I shall be taking over from my mother in Weyurn. How nice it would be if, as two future rulers, we were to get on well and not start fighting and feuding over some man. Otherwise we may end up with a war between our two countries.” Even if it was clear from her smile that she did not mean these words seriously, there was a grain of truth in them.

So Mallenia accepted the flask, unscrewed the top and drank to sisterhood. Coira then did the same. “He kisses in the most masculine way,” the Ido girl confessed. “I was puzzled at the time but did not worry about it. My suspicions were overcome by his acting talents.” She continued eating. “Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

“Tell him I love him?” The maga sighed. “I don’t know. It would be… it would be so humiliating if I told him and he laughed at me. Or if he turned me down for another.” She looked Mallenia in the eye. “It was you he stole the kiss from, not me. My jealousy is bound to be stronger than yours.”

Mallenia hesitated. “Well, if you say so… But I think he saw it as a sort of game. It wasn’t serious. He has no idea how I feel about him.”

They smiled at each other and both turned to look at Rodario, who seemed to sense their eyes on him. He swiveled round to meet the double gaze, and waved before turning back to his discussion with Ireheart.

“Men.” Mallenia drew out her sword and proceeded to sharpen it.

Coira cut herself a slice of ham. “You’re better off than me.”

“How do you mean?” asked Mallenia.

“You’re good with weapons. I need magic to defend myself. And without a magic source my inner reserves are quickly exhausted.” The maga chewed on the tasty meat. “And I’m not terribly brave. I’ve never needed to be.”

“You’re joking! You stood up to the alfar!”

“But I had lots of magic power in me then. No bravery required.”

“You said you got some energy from the source in Lakepride when it was released in the explosion.” Mallenia raised her head. “So you’ve got enough to cast some spells?”