Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

Above them all, larger than life, was the picture of a being that he knew well: broad jaws with rows of protruding needle-sharp incisors and an oversize bony head a bit like a human skull, and covered with a thin layer of unhealthy-looking skin with veins painted in yellow. Instead of a nose there were three large holes.

“ Djer n! By… the gods,” stammered Tungdil quietly.

Lot-Ionan took the diamond out of the pouch on his belt but even he could not take his eyes off the portrait. “What sort of creature did Andokai have at her side?”

“We’re there now,” said Flagur, taking a deep breath. “Are you ready to meet the ruler of Letefora?” He pointed to the picture. “To your eyes he may look like a monster but don’t forget he is the image of our god Ubar. Show respect.” He nodded to the undergroundling and she gave a signal to the acronta guards.

The sentries sprang to life, took hold of the gate’s iron handles placed two paces above floor level, and flung wide the double doors.

Light streamed through the tall room; countless windows, each as high and wide as one of the tall armed guards, permitted the ruler a view over the eastern part of Letefora in the early morning sunshine.

The chamber walls bore enchanting painted friezes, with inlays of gold, silver and other precious metals adding opulence.

On the regal stool on the throne dais there sat the mightiest acront they had ever seen. Now they knew why the corridors all needed such high ceilings; the monarch must have been a good four paces tall.

He wore neither armor nor helmet but instead a flowing garment of white fabric embroidered in gold and black. The similarity to the details of his portrait in the entrance hall was striking: according to Girdlegard standards a long way from a beauty.

His large violet-colored eyes appraised the visitors. With a deafening crack the wings on his back unfolded, blocking out some of the light. It had been with that very noise that Djer n had so terrified the orcs and all other creatures of Tion.

The undergroundling in blue went to stand at the acront’s side. She addressed Flagur.

“He says you are welcome here in Letefora and he is delighted our mission has had a positive outcome.” Sirka translated for Tungdil and his friends.

“So she can understand him?” Ireheart stroked his black beard, puzzled. “I thought it was supposed to be impossible.”

“She is his consort. She needs to be able to understand him,” Sirka answered simply. “In each generation there is one of us born able to understand an acront and she has been chosen to be his wife and to rule at his side.”

Rodario bent over to the warrior. “How does it feel when you’ve just insulted the mightiest woman in the land, Master Foot in Mouth?”

“I did not insult her, Big Mouth,” Ireheart insisted, quietly, but he was furious. Goda placed her hand restrainingly on his arm. This was not the moment for an argument.

The acront was speaking again and, as his spouse transmitted his words, Sirka translated for the others. “It seems the news of the army’s destruction was false?”

“Who brought that news, Celestial Acront?” asked Flagur.

“It was a stranger, a woman who knew magic. She came to Letefora some time ago and told us how badly things were going in Girdlegard. She said she had managed to get here with the last of her strength. With the diamond.”

“She showed it to you, Celestial Acront?”

“She did. I gave her an escort to go to the Black Abyss.”

“But that cannot be,” exclaimed Lot-Ionan in agitation, opening his palm and displaying the true diamond. “You have been tricked by a forgery. We have the real stone!”

Rodario took a deep breath. “I have absolutely no idea what is happening but it’s not going to be good.”

Tungdil stepped forward. “Did she give her name, Celestial Acront?”

The acront’s uncanny eyes focused on the dwarf and the creature spoke once more, its voice transfixing Tungdil; the import was transmitted to the consort and then translated by Sirka.

“Yes. She called herself Narmora. Narmora the Forgotten.”

The Outer Lands,

East of the City of Letefora,

One Mile from the Black Abyss,

Early Autumn, 6241st Solar Cycle

The noise created by twenty thousand swift-moving befuns and the jangling of weapons and armor was enough to send the monsters crawling deeper into their hiding places in the ruins of the old houses. Not one dared emerge.

The acront of Letefora was not relying purely on the combined strength of ubariu and undergroundlings. With the army he sent war machines as complex as any Furgas had devised. Four armored vehicles, each forty paces long, ten wide and ten high, rolled at the head of the march and four at its rear. Iron plating across wooden frames made them look like hulls of overturned ships.

Catapults in the bellies of the machines were ready to launch flurries of spears and arrows through the slits; placed high up, these afforded a superior range of around three hundred paces and could fire in three hundred and sixty degrees and so cover any part of the battlefield.

These colossi were driven by a simple but efficient system of wind sails. On the upper side there were large rotating towers and sails to catch the wind’s power, which was transmitted by shafts to the driving axle, much as wind power drives a miller’s wheel. The machines labored along on a series of small rollers and could match the speed of a furious dwarf. Not to be sneezed at.

“Impressive, aren’t they?” Rodario said to Tungdil. He, too, had changed mounts and was now riding a befun; they were so much quicker than other animals. “Did you see how quickly the vehicles change direction? The rollers work individually, so they can turn on the spot and even go sideways.”

At the roadside Tungdil noted the corpses of creatures shot in encounters with the first wave of troops. The beasts had learned not to attempt the same thing again. “With just one of those vehicles the orcs could have been cleared out of Girdlegard ages ago.”

Rodario seemed to be studying the wagon but he was preoccupied with what the acront had told them. “It can’t be Narmora. We saw what was left of her. The Star of Judgment burned away all that was alfish in her. She can’t possibly have survived.”

“Magic and love are powerful forces-and not always benign,” Lot-Ionan chimed in, riding at Tungdil’s side. “Don’t forget it was Furgas who located the magic wellspring. In his madness he might have constructed a machine out of her remains, similar to those he made out of the unslayable’s beasts.”

Rodario gave himself a shake. “Narmora turning up again-a dead thing with a mechanical heart made of iron springs and cogs, and only moving because of magic in her veins? Furgas could never have done that to her. He loved her too much for that.”

“He loved her so much that he could do it. He did not want to be without her,” contradicted Tungdil. “Let’s hope we can stop her before she destroys the artifact.”

“What terrible vengeance to wreak on Girdlegard. What would be the motive?” asked the magus.

“But it’s exactly what he swore in Porista that he would do,” Tungdil recalled, thinking back to when he had broken the news to Furgas of the deaths of his daughter and his life-partner. The hatred in the magister’s eyes had been greater than any smoldering in a thirdling.

“The Judgment Star cost her all she held dear: her children, her whole life.” Rodario looked at where the ground fell away and no grass grew: only sand and dead earth, as if life itself were afraid to approach what lay below.

The armored vehicles at the head of the column broke formation now, slowing down and fanning out so that the ones from the rear could join them.