Markus Heitz - The Fate of the Dwarves

But when he pulled his head back he felt her hand at the nape of his neck, pulling his mouth toward hers again. She smiled at him and closed her eyes to sink into the embrace. Attack was the best form of defense in these circumstances. And certainly the sweetest.

The Outer Lands,

The Black Abyss,

Fortress Evildam,

Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

Winter was gone and with it the ice and snow from round the fortress-the magic red barrier, on the other hand, was still in place.

Goda watched it at dawn, and at mid-orbit, and at orbit’s end, and late at night, as if her steady gaze could somehow make it dissolve so that the stronghold’s catapults might be put into action against their foe.

But this did not happen. The glowing red screen, not unlike a thin gauze curtain in appearance, was resistant to all Goda’s wishes, prayers and spells.

Kiras came up to bring her an early-morning cup of tea. Together they observed the plain around the ravine. It had been transformed into a vast military encampment.

“Have you any idea what it means?” The tall undergroundling was surveying the scene before her.

Goda understood what she was referring to. The monsters had been making strange marks on the rock; viewed from above they formed a pattern. She guessed that they represented magic preparations rather than indications of where the monsters should be deployed in battle. There were several hundred troops by the Black Abyss, but nothing pointed to any immediate plans for attack. They were waiting, with all their war equipment around them. Waiting, just waiting.

“No,” she said slowly. “It could be a series of runes, but I can’t read them.”

“Then that’s even more worrying.” Kiras leaned against the battlements. “I’ve been asking around and nobody has an explanation for these strange marks on the ground.”

“They’re from a foreign land. They’ll not be able to understand our language either.”

“The thing that calls itself Tungdil-I bet it’d be able to read them.” Kiras looked at Goda.

“But it’s not here. We must manage without it. And anyway, it’d tell us nothing but lies.” The dwarf took out a sheet of paper on which she had previously made an exact copy of the runes she had noted. Comparing the two patterns, she realized that changes had been made. She placed the paper on the parapet and took a quill and pot of ink out of her reticule. She entered the new marks and tried, again in vain, to make sense of the drawing.

“What are you getting the guards to do with those mirrors? Whenever the sun is out they’re out there, practicing.”

“It’s just a wild idea. I need to do more research.”

An ubari brought in some news and a dwarf in black armor. He waited two paces behind the ubari messenger, not seeming particularly anxious. Goda and Kiras quickly exchanged glances. “Lady, he says that he comes from Tungdil Goldhand.”

The dwarf bowed. “I am Jarkalin Blackfist, one of the Black Squadron riding south with the high king against Lot-Ionan.”

Kiras looked him up and down. “Are all of Goldhand’s troops dressing in black nowadays? He seems to attract evil.”

“Tell me how you met up with him,” Goda demanded, holding out her hand for the message. Jarkalin gave her two leather rolls, and to the ubari he handed a sealed piece of waxed cloth with a letter enclosed in it; the symbol on one of the leather rolls was unfamiliar.

Jarkalin bowed. “This is from Aiphaton, emperor of the alfar.”

Kiras and Goda stared at him in disbelief as if he had turned into a sharp-fanged rabbit before their very eyes.

Jarkalin gave a concise report of events. “… then the high king’s company set off for the south. I was sent out with twenty others to bring the news,” he concluded. “On the way back to the fortress I received Aiphaton’s letter for you.” He bowed. “I shall wait for your answer to the high king.” Jarkalin withdrew three paces so that the queen could read the letter.

“Aiphaton has turned into an ally, it seems.” Goda was puzzled by the turn of events. “Maybe Vraccas is on Tungdil’s side, after all.”

“Or perhaps it’s another god completely, out to trick us,” Kiras said sharply, her visage darkening.

Goda opened Ireheart’s letter, which told in few words the same story as Jarkalin’s spoken report. Aiphaton wrote that the alfar were on the march and had started their campaign against Lot-Ionan.

“The emperor does not think the war will be over before the summer ends. The abyss must be contained at least till then,” she told Kiras as her gaze swept over the red globe that covered the area round the ravine. “I have a feeling our enemies will not wait that long. It’s deceptively quiet out there, a charade to lull us into a false sense of security.” She was struck by the difference between the alf’s script and her husband’s hand: The one curved and graceful, the other characterized by short straight lines, a steady pressure on the pen nib and several blots on the paper where the dwarf had been careless.

“Do we risk a sortie?” suggested Kiras.

Goda sighed. She had often played through this scenario in her head.

It would be enough if they could destroy the enemy’s equipment. The monsters had taken an age to assemble it all and they would need a long time to replace it. “I’d have to drop the barrier. That will take a lot of my energy and I can’t say how long I can hold it open.” She opened the next letter.

It was from the freelings, to say they were sending a contingent to join Tungdil. The siege the alfar and the thirdlings had subjected them to was now over-this had been effected by the negotiations or commands of the high king.

“They are glad the hero has returned to unite and lead the dwarf-tribes,” she relayed to Kiras, who grimaced. “In their eyes Tungdil Goldhand is the greatest dwarf-leader ever and has united the factions and will bring them all lasting peace following the promised defeat of Lot-Ionan.”

“Why do I feel so angry and so helpless?” the undergroundling exclaimed desperately, addressing the skies. “Shouldn’t I be rejoicing at all this good news?”

Goda embraced her. “I feel the same. We are the only ones who believe the one who returned from the abyss is a being sent by the darkness.”

“And he is uniting all the forces of evil under his banner. No one else can see it.” Kiras ground her teeth. “I’d swear that Tungdil’s pact with Aiphaton is of a completely different nature than it’s purported to be.” Her eyes flashed. “Of course! It’s the other way around!”

Goda did not follow. “Explain.”

Kiras pointed to the screen. “Tungdil is gathering these horrors to form an army: Aiphaton, Lot-Ionan, himself and these beasts from the Black Abyss with their sorcerer-commander. He won’t destroy them, he’ll consolidate them. An army nobody can stop.” She passed her hand over her face. “By Ubar! Do not let my terrible conviction prove true!”

Goda opened another letter. She lowered it in surprise. “It is from Rognor Mortalblow, king of the thirdlings… He says he’s pulling his troops out of the Brown Mountains and the freelings’ caves to march against Lot-Ionan.” She emptied her beaker. “You see me totally at a loss, Kiras. I don’t know what to think!”

“All the demons and evil spirits are with Goldhand,” she hissed, smiting the battlements with her hand in exasperation. “He must have put a spell on Mortalblow to soften his mind and bend his will.”

“You can’t do that with a spell.”

“There are no such spells that you know of, Goda.” The undergroundling was close to tears-tears of anger. “No one else can see what we can see,” she whispered in despair. “They’re all running after him. Running to their destruction.” She buried her face in her hands. “That’s what he’ll bring them: Destruction,” she mumbled.