Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

Tungdil noticed that the elf’s speech was changing, becoming more flowery and, to his ears, unbearable.

“That makes things different. So we cannot exclude the possibility of there being a descendant of these magically endowed elves in the ranks of the atar. Perhaps the eoil gave him part of the knowledge.” Lot-Ionan was summarizing. “That explains why they want the diamond.”

Gandogar furrowed his brow. “Please don’t think I am being unreasonable, noble magus, but what if you or Dergard had the power of the stone. How powerful would that make you?”

“If it is as Tungdil tells me, then this power would be…” He rubbed his white beard as he searched for the right word. “Immeasurable,” he said finally. “The power would be immeasurable.” He laughed slyly. “Have no fear, High King Gandogar. It does not entice me and for Dergard it is the same. We have the magic source to give us the same power. It would be nothing special for us. And then of course neither Dergard nor I are attracted to evil.”

“Are you so sure?” Gandogar disappeared behind the bar and poured them all some simple country wine. “He was one of Nudin’s pupils. We know what happened to that magus.”

“But don’t forget the particular circumstances, Your Majesty,” Lot-Ionan said, taking young Dergard’s part. “There is no daemon, sending out insidious messages. Our opponents are mighty but they are physical enemies. And thus we can confront them.” He held out his hand to receive the crockery mug, but gasped with pain. His back was troubling him with the movement. His eyes glazed and grew dim… Then he thought he saw a figure by the door. A strangely familiar figure. “Nudin?”

“Noble Lot-Ionan, what is it?” The bearded face of Tungdil appeared suddenly in his field of vision, looking very worried. “Is it your back again?”

The magus shook his head, emptied the mug of wine and asked for more. “There are probably still tiny fragments of stone embedded in my body,” he said slowly. “They affect my mind and make me see things that cannot be there.” He stood up and went over into the dark corner of the room where he had seen his old friend. But however hard he looked, to his great relief he could find no trace.

“What is the matter, noble magus?”

“Nothing. I must stretch my legs. My back. It hurts. I never noticed when I was a statue.” He returned to the group. “So what shall we do with the elves?” He picked up the thread again; he was cold now. “Shall we confront them and hear what they have to say, or shall we deal with the unslayables first?”

“My feeling is we should not postpone the conflict with the princess,” said Mallen. “I’ll tell you why. I don’t like the idea of the elves following their own ends in the middle of a battle with the alfar and their new creatures, snatching the diamond for themselves and then carrying out unimaginable deeds with its power. Of course, they will defeat the evil, I have no doubt.” His gaze took in all of them. “But I don’t think they will let us influence their decisions after that. I want to have Rejalin as a hostage. Before the battle starts.”

“A good plan. If the elves go along with it,” said Lot-Ionan, rubbing his eyes as if to punish his sight for the trick it had played on him.

“Now, Prince Mallen has just said exactly what I was thinking. If they refuse, it will be obvious they’re up to no good,” said Esdalan, raking his fine hair with his fingers. “I would suggest taking no risks at all. Let’s impound all the elf warriors from Alandur-there aren’t many of them here at Toboribor.”

“We’ll take Esdalan with us and he can address the assembly in the morning,” proposed Tungdil. “And then we’ll see what the elves say in response to your story.”

“Don’t forget: We’re all willing to listen to Esdalan because we have already had experience of the atar.” Mallen turned to the elf. “But tomorrow you’ll be addressing a less compliant audience. King Nate from Tabain and Queen Isika are both strong contenders for the elf support camp. You may not win them round.”

Esdalan bent his head graciously as if he were a monarch acceding to a request. “Thank you for your warning, Prince Mallen. But I am sure I shall open the humans’ eyes, though it cost me my life.”

“Your life?” echoed Gandogar in horror. “No, no. We do not wish that. We cannot lose the only right-thinking elf in the whole of Alandur.”

“It can’t be helped.” Esdalan was adamant. “I know Rejalin and can predict how she will react. I shall provoke her and from a certain point in my speech the line will have been crossed.” He laid his hand on Tungdil’s arm. “This I owe to you and to Girdlegard. My life was preserved by Sitalia when she sent a dwarf to me. I understand the will of the goddess. Our two peoples must proceed together against those who could bring about the destruction of the elves.”

“Vraccas looks kindly on what is happening in this room.” Gandogar spoke with emotion. His brown eyes encompassed the small group of conspirators. “Yet we should not forget to pray for the success of our venture. We urgently need the support of the gods.” He planted his hand on the center of the table, and Esdalan laid his own hand on top. Mallen, Tungdil and Lot-Ionan followed suit.

“May we meet with success,” the magus said gravely.

Girdlegard,

Kingdom of Idoslane,

Four Miles from the Caves of Toboribor,

Late Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

T ungdil slept badly. He dreamed about Balyndis and Sirka. In the morning he awoke with only confused fragments still in his mind. Had the women been fighting about him or had he been fighting the women? Sirka had plunged her knife in his heart…

He sat up as soon as the first birds were singing. He felt his breast where the pain had brought his dream to life.

“A real nightmare,” he sighed, rubbing the sore place while he got to his feet. He washed and put on his clothes and armor. The face in the polished silver mirror was old and tired. Of course this could all be the effect of the old drinking bouts. Or of the frustration in his soul. It had not left him. “Have I done the right thing?” he asked his reflection, as so often in the past.

“Are you sleep-walking or did you really get up this early?” said Ireheart, propping himself up on one elbow. “What’s the trouble? Birds too loud?”

Tungdil turned round to face him. “Get up, Boindil. I’ve got something to tell you.” And so, while he dressed, the warrior received a summary of the previous night’s events. “The assembly will be deciding today and I want you to keep an eye on Esdalan. Keep him safe from the elves. Protect him, not me.”

Ireheart ran his hands through his black hair. It was still too short to braid. “Why didn’t you take me along to your meeting?” he asked disappointedly. “How have I forfeited your trust?”

Tungdil was surprised. “I didn’t think to, because…” He was searching for a reason and could not find one at first. Well, not one he could actually voice.

Boindil was drawing his own conclusions. “It’s Goda, isn’t it?” He pulled on his boots. “You don’t trust her and you think I’ll tell her everything. You think she’s a spy for the dwarf-haters. Since our quarrel at the farm things haven’t been right. It’s not how we were at the beginning of this adventure, Scholar. I keep wondering which of us has changed. How did it happen?”

“We have both changed, Ireheart.” Tungdil hooked a stool with his foot and sat down by his friend. “You’ve lost your heart to a dwarf we don’t know. She could be up to anything. You don’t see the danger and I’m probably over-reacting.” He smiled sadly. “And my heart is lost to a dwarf you absolutely abhor.”