Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

The alfar did not deign to answer. Instead he launched a terrific blow, the momentum of which nearly had him down as Tungdil parried with his ax. A strike like that would have had even the strongest orc on its knees.

“What miserable creatures you are,” said the alfar hollowly, disgust in his voice. “You deserve the destruction that awaits you all.” Nonchalantly he sidestepped a blow from one of the ubariu whilst easily maintaining the pressure on his sword hand, and thus on Tungdil.

“The machine is useless now,” the dwarf gasped, thrusting his opponent back toward Flagur’s raised weapon.

“I don’t need it anymore.” The alfar was defiant. “The last section of quarrying I shall do with the diamond’s power.”

He swept the sword to one side, catching Tungdil off balance, and used the momentum to sink the blade into the belly of the last guardsman. “As soon as I have killed you.” He sprang up into the air and onto the nearest of the wagons and catapulted off, his sword aimed at Lot-Ionan.

The magus lifted his hand toward the foe and closed his eyes. A single syllable was all that passed his lips-and suddenly the alfar hung suspended in mid-air.

Flagur leaped up with both of the enemy’s own weapons, plunging them through his upper body. The razor-sharp steel pierced the armor and had the unslayable screaming in pain. “That’s what my soldiers suffered, alfar!” Flagur growled, pleasure glinting in his pale pink eyes; he moved the blades from side to side to aggravate the creature’s pain. “Suffer and die, monster! Suffer and die!”

But again the spell lost its effectiveness all too soon, and the unslayable dropped to the floor. With a furious bestial cry he pulled his swords out of his body and attacked Flagur with them.

Exactly what the alfar did next could not be followed with the naked eye. Blades whirled, blood sprayed out and then the ubari sank down into the gray dust that swamped him like water.

“I might have known,” sighed Rodario. “Me up against a madman again. Like in Porista.”

The alfar retreated, grabbing at a bag on his belt and taking the diamond out. His armored fist closed around the stone, grating and crackling.

“Destroy him!” called Tungdil, leaping forward. He had heard the enemy reciting alfar words: he must be attempting a spell. Sirka and Rodario attacked from different sides. The unslayable could not dodge all of their blows.

Then the diamond blazed out.

Dazzling beams shone through the armored fingers, illuminating the tunnel wall. The tionium became translucent, showing the bones of the hand holding the stone. The alfar pointed two fingers at Lot-Ionan.

Tungdil had no doubt that his foster-father was about to be hit by a ray from the diamond. “Vraccas! Help us!” He lowered his head and made a mighty leap toward his enemy, the blade of his ax directed at the unslayable’s wrist.

The aim was true!

Tungdil felt the resistance offered by armor and bone, but neither could stop the blade’s advance. The severed limb lay on the dusty ground and the stone’s glare was extinguished.

Shrieking loudly, the injured alfar struck out at Tungdil.

The dwarf managed to lift the ax, but the alfar’s sword sliced through the handle and dealt him a blow on his upper arm. It cut deep into armor plate and dwarf flesh, biting into the bone, where it lodged. If the sword had not first met the ax handle it would surely have cut off Tungdil’s arm.

He gave a shout and staggered; his fingers opened involuntarily and he dropped the ax.

But Sirka did not abandon him. She leaped in front of him and attacked the alfar to drive him away from Tungdil. In the meantime Rodario and Lot-Ionan were scrabbling in the dust for the severed hand and the diamond it had held.

But even Sirka was no match for the unslayable one. He made as if to deliver a diagonal blow but instead pierced her shoulder. Then he pulled the blade sharply upwards and cut through her collarbone. Without a sound she fell to the ground and was swallowed up by the dust.

“No!” Blind with fury Tungdil stormed up to the alfar, who awaited his onslaught with sword raised ready to deliver a fatal blow.

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” Rodario had located the amputated hand and slammed it against the side of the wagon to break the grip on the stone, which he neatly caught as it fell. He handed the diamond to the magus, who accepted it with reverence.

Its appearance was no longer immaculate. There were now dark patches and dull places on its previously clear surface. Lot-Ionan even thought he could see cracks. Being touched by the alfar had not helped the stone at all. “Palandiell and Sitalia, I ask you for your aid,” he said, enfolding the diamond in his hand. He searched for and found the power that slumbered deep within the gemstone.

Tungdil had reached the unslayable and had drawn his knife, aiming it at the lower of his opponent’s wounds.

But he could not even get close. The alfar struck and the sword hit the dwarf on the left side, slicing through on a slant under the arm, between the iron rings of the armor, between the ribs, and into the heart.

Tungdil’s blood turned into molten ore of the mountain; his whole body glowed with heat. But his heart was ice cold.

“Your death bears the name Nagsor Inaste,” the alfar intoned clearly before he moved the blade and pulled it out. Dark red dwarven blood gushed out of the gaping wound, pouring down Tungdil’s clothing and soaking into the dust. “I shall have your life, groundling. There will be no grave for your bones, and your soul will wander, eternally lost. As lost as the whole of Girdlegard will be on my return.”

“I…” Tungdil frowned, took two steps and lifted his knife. “Sirka…” He collapsed at the feet of his alfar murderer and sank up to the neck in the thick dust. The iciness spread into every last corner of his body, robbing him of movement. Everything grew dark. The alfar merged with the shadows and disappeared into the gray.

Rodario had witnessed the death of his friend. “Magus, you must perform a miracle,” he said in lifeless tones, and raised his weapon. “I will ensure a few moments’ grace for you.”

Lot-Ionan could feel the strength of the diamond, but it was refusing to do his bidding.

“It’s not as easy as it looks, is it?” said a familiar voice next to him.

The magus shivered, not daring to turn his head. “Nudin?”

“What is left of him, old friend.”

Lot-Ionan swallowed with apprehension as he saw the alfar approaching again, keen to complete his handiwork and regain the diamond.

Rodario pushed forward in front of the magus and brandished his sword, even if he knew that he was likely to be the first to fall. The other two seemed incredibly slow-as if their limbs were tied down to the heaviest of weights.

“You have to open yourself up to the stone,” said Nudin, speaking from Lot-Ionan’s other side this time. “Let it see inside your soul. If it sees you are worthy, its power will help you against the unslayable.”

“Get away from me! You are a specter!” Lot-Ionan hissed, deep in concentration.

“Only in part, old friend,” he heard the long-dead magus say, now from behind where he stood. “I continue to live in you.”

“How could that be?”

Nudin gave a quiet laugh. “How is your back, Lot-Ionan the Forbearing? Does it still hurt when you make certain movements?”

Lot-Ionan turned round and thought he could see a man by the machine, but he could not make out the features. He blinked and the figure had disappeared. “How do you know that?”

“Shouldn’t you be helping Rodario rather than chasing ghosts?” The friendly admonition echoed from all sides. “The good man will die and then the unslayable will cut you to pieces.”