Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

The enormous overhang crashed down in one piece, burying the company of warriors. Weighing many tons, the gigantic boulder crushed elves and horses like grapes in a wine press.

Just seventy of his four hundred soldiers survived the attack. They crawled out of the debris. Others were pinned down and screaming for help.

The air was filled with the sound of arrows as crossbow bolts showered down on them, bringing swift death to thirty more.

With fearful roars the dwarves leaped down off the cliff and launched themselves without mercy on the wounded and helpless elves, taking no notice of pleas for help or gestures of surrender. Hammers that had made the rock face collapse were now smashing slender bones.

More and more dwarves appeared: the new arrivals, carrying axes, cudgels and shields. The remnants of Limasar’s unit were hopelessly outnumbered.

“Accursed dwarves!” Limasar yelled. “May Sitalia strike them all!”

He heard footsteps and a shadow flew past. Suddenly a red-headed brawny dwarf with a bright beard was menacing him. “What coward is crawling around here in the dirt?” the dwarf laughed grimly. “Stand up, pointy-ears. I am Ginsgar Unforce of the clan of the Nail Smiths from Borengar’s firstlings.” He was wielding a two-headed hatchet and holding a shield. “You shall follow those you have led to ruin.”

Limasar stood up and drew his sword. “How do you dare to attack us?”

“Your trickery has been exposed. All of you, you and your princess; you killed our high king-despicable treachery!” He made a great sweeping blow, but the elf dodged the ax. “We know your plans. Eoil, huh! We destroyed her and we’ll do the same to you.”

Limasar stabbed at the dwarf, catching his shield. “ You? The dwarves think they will destroy us?” He laughed at him. “Not today, not tomorrow and not when the world comes to an end.”

Ginsgar hacked at his opponent’s right flank and, when the elf parried the blow, hit him on the head with the edge of his shield. The blow met bone and sent Limasar lurching into a block of stone. “You are wrong, as you see.” He rammed the flat side of the shield onto the fist in which the elf held his sword. Putting his weight behind it he broke the fingers of the elf’s hand. The weapon fell to the ground.

Limasar yelled and drew a dagger with his other hand. “You cannot prevail against purity.”

Ginsgar struck the elf with his hatchet before he could be harmed by the dagger. The ax blade laid open the armor, and the chest beneath it. The elf collapsed.

“Bring me a hammer!” called Ginsgar, setting his foot against the elf’s shoulder and wrenching his ax blade out of the elf’s flesh. “Don’t die yet, pointy-ears!” he laughed. “My hammer wants to smash your arrogant face. It’s been waiting so long.”

Five dwarves ran up with the weapon Ginsgar wanted. On their clothing could be seen the blood of countless elves. The head of the hammer was red and sticky and had fine hairs clinging to it.

“Tell me your name,” Ginsgar demanded of Limasar, who shook his head weakly in protest. “No? then keep it to yourself and tell your false gods when you meet them.” He lifted the hammer and dropped it vertically onto the skull of the wounded elf. The bone stood no chance against the strength of the blow. The skull burst open and blood streamed out through nostrils, ears and mouth before the head was crushed beyond recognition.

“That’s for Gandogar!” he cried and spat on the mutilated corpse. He shouldered his hammer and went over to where the overhang had collapsed.

Pools of blood had formed on the rock; life-juices trickled out from underneath the huge slab of stone and from the bodies of those slain by arrow or club.

“A fine sight,” Ginsgar laughed roughly, and the others joined in. “It was a good idea, paying the elves a visit and paying our respects to Gandogar, wasn’t it?”

“Good thing you saw them coming,” agreed Bilandel Lighthammer of the clan of the Hammer Heads, wiping blood off his face with a bit of rag. The two were alike, but his beard was brown whereas Ginsgar’s was red. They would be taken for brothers were they not from different clans.

Ginsgar climbed onto the nearest rock to have a better view. He and his clan’s five hundred warriors were the contingent from the Red Mountains sent as reinforcements for the Toboribor siege. The news of Gandogar’s death had reached them as they marched. Dwarf spirit had flared up in fury and his soldiers were of one angry mind.

Seeing the numbers of elf dead did not cool his blood. He was eaten up by the thought that there were still elves alive. “What are these few paltry corpses? Alandur is full of them,” he murmured belligerently.

Bilandil looked up. “I agree. When it’s over someone will find a way of explaining away what the pointy-ears have done and they won’t get the punishment they deserve.”

Ginsgar looked at his friend. “Hear me, children of the Smith!” he called. The dwarves thronged in front of him, not a trace of regret showing on any face. “Our high king has been taken from us. And we know who perpetrated his treacherous murder. They tell us the elves were dazzled and led astray by the avatars and the elf-woman that led them.” He raised his hammer and pointed north. “Remember the wars our folk have waged against the elves over thousands of cycles. We never sought such wars but were forced into them by the aggression of the elves: their cruel deeds or malicious threats. Even the alfar are more honest than they are. I say the elves never wanted peace with our people. The slaying of Gandogar shows their true colors. We tried to negotiate reconciliation; may Vraccas be our witness that we tried. And this is how they repay us.” He struck the rock a mighty blow with his hammer. “Enough! Let us make for Alandur and tear the deceiving evil heart out of the elf-folk before another malevolent fruit ripens on the trees of their glades!”

And the dwarves roared approval in a frenzy of victory and blood-lust. They put aside the task they had been given.

“Long live Ginsgar!” shouted Bilandel, brandishing his morning star. “Let him lead us to Alandur. And if our kind track down the diamond, we shall make sure no pointy-ears are alive to grab it!” He headed the march. “To Alandur! Vengeance for Gandogar!”

Ginsgar was hoisted up and carried on a shield. “Vraccas is with us!” he promised his dwarf-following. “Death to all elves!”

Above the heads of the warrior throng he held his shield up with one hand and raised his warhammer in the other.

To see the impressive figure of the red-bearded dwarf was immediately to recognize the new high king of the dwarves-one who would preside over bitter and terrible times.

Girdlegard,

Kingdom of Idoslane,

The Caves of Toboribor,

Late Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

I reheart took a peek round the corner. The passageway, as yet unexplored, lay dark and abandoned before them. Or rather, it gave the impression of being abandoned.

“What happens if we meet elves, Scholar?” he said, before jumping round, his crow’s beak raised.

“Depends how they behave. If they attack, we fight back,” Tungdil answered. “But I don’t want to see any of us lift a weapon first,” he warned his companions.

He was leading one of the dwarf bands that in the last ten orbits had penetrated deep into the former orc territory. As well as Ireheart, Goda and Sirka, he had fifty heavily armored experienced warriors who had already shown their mettle in battles on the Blacksaddle and against the avatars and orcs in the Gray Range. Resolute veterans all, they feared no peril and would fight Tion himself if need be.

Lot-Ionan could not be with them. Instead, they had Dergard to counter the magic of the unslayables or perhaps of the elves. The dwarves were taking over all the fighting.