Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

Spotting that the dwarves were splitting into two groups, the machine operated a mechanism that let down two long blades right and left.

Ireheart grinned. “Not all the constructions are perfect. Those blades are set too high. We can easily…” With a loud clicking noise the blades were lowered down to mid-dwarf height.

“I should have kept my mouth shut.” Ireheart was furious.

Then the monster machine started after them. Before long it had struck one brave warrior on the hip. The combination of the vehicle’s speed and the blades’ sharpness was enough to cut through chain mail and bone. Screaming and spurting blood, he collapsed onto the orc remains while the chase went on.

Three more dwarves were cut to pieces. The rest of the group swerved out of reach, pushing into a narrow cleft where the beast could not pass.

Tungdil made use of the distraction. With some of the other dwarves and Ireheart, Sirka and Goda, he ran through the cave, stopping at the altar on which the unslayable one lay. Their target was the diamond lying unguarded there.

“Ireheart, you get the diamond,” Tungdil commanded. “I’m going to decapitate the alfar woman.”

“Why not the other way round? I’d like to cut her head off.”

“Because only Keenfire can put an end to the life of an unslayable.”

Goda looked over her shoulder. “It’s seen us and is coming this way.” She slowed her pace and was about to confront the machine.

“No, keep going!” Ireheart grabbed her by the shoulder. “Behind the altar-it’ll be safer there. Or it’ll roll right over you.” Running headlong he launched himself and leaped onto the alfar. If he wasn’t going to get to take her head off at least he wanted to injure her.

A beam of green light hit him on the groin; the magic hurled him backwards and his crow’s beak flew through the air, striking Sirka on the forehead. She sank to the ground, unconscious.

Goda whirled around to face the new attacker, but only found a very familiar face.

Dergard was crouching by the altar with one hand raised. “You must not disturb her, didn’t you hear?” he hissed. “Don’t you dare try again!”

Ireheart clambered to his feet, cursing. Apart from pins and needles all over and a few grazes on his hands he was all right. “You wait so long for a magus and when one finally arrives he’s nothing but trouble.” He looked to see how Sirka was. “She’s alive, Scholar. You deal with the human.”

But the machine rolled onwards like a demented fiery bull, lowering the spear in its hand. The blade edges shimmered in the diamond’s bluish light.

Girdlegard,

Kingdom of Idolslane,

The Caves of Toboribor,

Late Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

Tungdil confronted Dergard, thrusting Goda back. “Go and help your master,” he told her. Then he made a feigned attack on the young magus, reckoning Keenfire would afford the protection he needed.

Dergard moved fast. From his fingertips he shot a light-ray toward Tungdil, but Keenfire attracted and then absorbed the magic beam’s energy: its inlaid patterns lit up and the diamonds were transformed into brilliant miniature stars.

Tundil was unscathed; he felt the sigurdacia wood of the ax handle grow warm, that was all. Without further ado he struck the magus on the temple with the flat of the ax blade and Dergard passed out and sank to the ground.

“Look out, Scholar!” shouted Ireheart from behind. “Get down!”

Tungdil launched himself into a backwards dive.

The hybrid creature’s long blade whirred past his face, missing him by the breadth of a beard-hair. The sharp metal edge clanged against the base of the altar and shattered. A roar of frustration was heard.

But the machine’s powerful array of wheels continued onwards, rolling over the unconscious Dergard and slicing him to pieces. Limbs were severed, and all that remained of the head was a shredded mass. Only the gods themselves could have revived him.

“I am going to kill you!” The monster hurled a spear at Ireheart, who had clambered onto the altar. The dwarf sprang back and with Goda dived under cover at the far end of the stone bier.

“I’ll distract it,” Tungdil called over his shoulder. “You two know what to do.” He felt Dergard’s death had been his fault. He had knocked the magus out and, unconscious, he had been easy prey.

The monster drew another spear stored lengthways on the vehicle’s side. “Your ax is nothing to me,” it said, slowly advancing. You cannot even reach me, groundling.”

Tungdil ducked down to grab a loose blade fragment; he weighed it carefully, then cast it with all his strength at his adversary. The machine swiveled and struck him on the left shoulder with a jagged-edged knife. His own throw had not even damaged the machine’s armor plating.

The creature laughed and sped onwards while Tungdil moved back from the altar to give himself more freedom of movement. “You will not defeat me,” he vowed to the creature.

Now Goda tried her luck. She sprinted along the other side of the altar and jumped up in an attempt to get the diamond.

The fiendish creature turned its head and launched a spear in her direction. “Get away from the Creator Spirit!”

Goda was taken by surprise. The sharp point cut through her chain mail links and armor, piercing the collarbone and shoulder joint and forcing her to the floor. The weapon shaft protruded from her back.

Tungdil could not let himself think about her fate because the machine-monster was nearly upon him. He crouched down, did a shoulder roll to escape the lethal touch of the wheels and vicious blades, then jumped back on his feet.

With a mighty leap, he launched himself onto the broad platform of the vehicle. Above him towered the armored back of the creature.

Raising his arms he whacked Keenfire with tremendous force against the place he assumed the creature’s spine to be. If this blow were not a death-dealer, his own life would shortly be over.

But the ax did not fail him. It tore into the tionium, hacking at the flesh and gouging through to the vertebrae giving off a dazzling glow as it did so, the diamonds pulsating as if they contained a heart.

The monster gave an ear-splitting screech, cringing and collapsing, its long arms convulsively grabbing at the dwarf on its back. “Get off me!”

“No!” Tungdil had already landed a second ax blow, despite difficulty in keeping his balance on the swaying metal deck. The next swipe was less powerful but hit the same spot, maximizing the injury.

With a bestial roar the creature waved its arms wildly and struck Tungdil on the chest. He flew through the air, landing with a thump on the ground, but without losing his grip on the ax handle. Dazed, he struggled to his feet and, as if through a veil, saw the creature lurching toward him again at high speed.

The other dwarves raced over to support their leader.

He glimpsed the spear that had narrowly missed Ireheart. “My life is in your hands, Vraccas!” Snatching up the spear he hurled it at the foe.

The machine drove on to its own destruction. Keenfire’s strikes had rendered it incapable of taking evasive action or defending itself, and the spear-blade struck it full in the chest.

It swerved violently, then repeatedly somersaulted, each flip forcing the weapon deeper into its chest until the spear finally broke.

Tungdil vaulted aside to escape the heavy vehicle. It rumbled past him and burst open on impact with the cave wall, piercing the monster inside with the array of cogwheels, rods and gears that had propelled it. Blood poured down the rock.

Tungdil saw that the creature’s legs had been amputated above the knee and the stumps fitted with hooks and chains to enable it to move along. It was a horrific sight.