Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

Flagur and Rodario cranked the handle, and the journey to the tunnel mouth began.

Lot-Ionan glanced over his shoulder. Again he saw the vague figure of a man standing by the machine, his arm raised in salute, as if he were going to stay there to await their return. The magus quickly turned; as he did so he was aware again of an acute pain in his spine.

They were all tired when they reached the point where this part of their adventure had started. Not a single beam of light fell through the tunnel entrance; it was nighttime. In darkness they climbed the broad steps.

“Imagine: if it weren’t for us, armies of orcs would have been marching up here,” said Rodario when they were halfway up. “It’s so good to know what we have achieved. What a fight! Me, in combat with an unslayable! Who’d have thought it?”

“So why did you come?” Tungdil asked.

Rodario winked at him. “I thought you might need not my sword but my store of knowledge. And my way with words: my best weapon. Closely followed, of course, by what only the prettiest girls get to see.”

“I knew that was coming,” said Tungdil, laughing. In spite of their exhaustion, their spirits rose.

“Isn’t it great?” Rodario was on a high. “The toughest of all missions, to defeat the unslayable-and we’ve done it! Now for the Outer Lands: a long journey, but one with no danger.”

Tungdil grinned. “What makes you say ‘with no danger,’ Fabuloso?”

“What could go wrong with an escort of a hundred thousand warriors and a powerful magus on your side?” He tripped on a step and fell forwards. “Cursed darkness! This is no good.” He searched in his pocket.

“What are you doing, Rodario?” asked Tungdil.

Stone scraped on metal and sparks ignited, catching the wick of a lamp. The warm glow illuminated the actor’s fine features. “Light, Tungdil. I don’t want to have survived combat with the alfar, only to break my neck on some stairs.” He looked round. “What do we do with the tunnel?”

Whoompf! The air was full of flame and a smell of burning.

With a loud whistle the fire shot down into the depths. The tiny flame had brought about the event most dreaded by miners and dwarves everywhere.

“You are so stupid, Rodario!” hissed Tungdil, batting out flames in his hair. Luckily, the explosion had not set their clothes alight. He grabbed Sirka’s hand and ran.

They rushed frantically to escape the inferno that threatened to engulf them. Just as they raced out of the tunnel an enormous vibration shook the ground, hurling them onto the sandbank.

In front of them the whole surface of the lake exploded, with a huge water spout shooting up into the dark night sky. When it had reached its zenith at a height of one hundred paces, a jet of flame illuminated the geyser from within. The hissing steam reminded Tungdil of the hot springs in mountain areas. The magnitude of the detonation caused by the dust igniting had destroyed the shoring, and the lake waters had gushed into the tunnel.

The water ebbed away and then rushed back in waves that swamped the sandbank, carrying all of them away with it. They heard loud gurgling as it cascaded down into the tunnel, flooding the whole excavation. With all their strength they clung to the cliff face to avoid being swept off and sucked down into the tunnel to drown.

At last the cave was full and the noise of the water died away. The foaming waves quietened and the last of the eddies on the surface calmed.

Then, to their intense relief the Waveskimmer approached to take them on board and with all sails set they headed east.

Girdlegard,

Kingdom of Gauragar,

Floodland,

Late Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

I suggest we join up with the ubariu army in Pendleburg.” It was evening. Tungdil was in the captain’s cabin with his friends, poring over a map of Girdlegard as they discussed strategy.

The Waveskimmer had passed the Gauragar border; now they were in Floodland, the part of the kingdom that had become submerged five cycles previously when Weyurn’s lakes spread. Where the inundation had brought death and destruction, now the water made travel easier. They had crossed directly to the east and were approaching the Brown Mountains.

Flagur nodded. “That will be best. There’s no one in Girdlegard trying to get the stone now, so we can take the risk and go to Urgon without an escort.” He looked at Lot-Ionan, who was holding the diamond in one hand and gazing absent-mindedly through the tiny window. “What is your view, revered magus? Is there still any danger?”

The magus gave no answer.

Instead Tungdil spoke up: “There is still one alfar on the loose. He was on the island the thirdlings used as a base. But he did not join the unslayable one and I’ve heard no rumors about him recently.”

“That’s a good start.” Flagur rested broad forearms on the table and the wood creaked in response to his weight.

“I’m not afraid of him,” the dwarf repeated.

“But I am, my noble fellow hero,” murmured Rodario. “The last alfar slit my belly open and it was not a nice feeling. I don’t think this one will be any more kindly disposed to me. Don’t forget. We murdered its parents. That is reason enough for hostility over and above natural viciousness.”

“I’m for an escort guard,” Sirka chipped in. “King Bruron should send troops. The more swords we have, the better defended we are.”

“Agreed,”said Tungdil.

Rodario scribbled it all down. He had been nominated scribe. The messages would be duly sent off as soon as they reached dry land. He sorted through his notes. “One letter for Bylanta, queen of the fourthlings, to say we’re on our way; a message for Ireheart, and one for the ubariu army, and one for all the monarchs to tell them we’re taking the diamond over the border, and…” he said, indicating the last piece of paper “… a message to Bruron asking for an escort.” He dipped the nib into the ink again to write the final sentences.

Lot-Ionan sighed. “It’s no good trying to hide it any longer.” He placed the stone on the table. “Flagur, what do you see?”

Rodario said nothing. He glanced at Tungdil and hoped he was remembering what they had talked about the other night. “No, don’t touch it,” he said when the ubari stretched out a hand. “Just look at it, like the magus said.”

Flagur was hurt. “Why shouldn’t I touch it?”

“You ate orc flesh, Flagur, and it will have been contaminated with Black Water,” he explained.

“I understand,” said the ubari without malice. “So he’s afraid-so you’re afraid-the badness might have infected me and that I might have quite different reasons for wanting to hold the stone?” He grinned wickedly. “A nice thought!”

“Don’t get me wrong. We had another visitor to Girdlegard once, supposed to be on the side of goodness,” Rodario pointed out. He felt it was his duty to explain. “I have great respect for you and for Sirka, but,” he inclined his head, “so far we’ve had to take your word for everything. I mean, how do we know the Black Abyss and its terrible threat even exists? Maybe the diamond isn’t really needed for activating the artifact?” He cleared his throat. “Ever since that night these doubts have been around. Forgive me, Flagur.”

“Accursed actor!” Swift as lightning Flagur seized the diamond. He stared at his own fist; from deep down, dark laughter sounded and his pink eyes flashed with cruelty. “At last!” he bawled, jumping up. “The trick worked! Ubar be praised!” Sirka went to his side, brandishing her battlestick at the showman. “See what a magnificent rune master I am,” he continued. “Feel my power!” Then his countenance transformed itself. He grinned at Rodario, who had drawn his sword courageously. “What do you think of my acting skills?”