Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

Sirka had been listening in silence. Now she heard the fanfare. “We’ll soon be at the Black Abyss. We need to take the diamond up to the front.”

The befuns altered their pace to powerful leaps. Strangely enough, the unpleasant swaying motion was reduced at these high speeds.

A wide bare indentation appeared in the landscape with the chasm at its center. The Black Abyss was a good half-mile in length and a hundred paces wide and looked like a slash cut in the body of the earth, its edges dark and smooth. Steep paths led up on either side.

“Like a gangrenous wound,” commented Ireheart, spitting in disgust. “The beasts are the pus.”

Flagur gestured south to a strange device at the entrance. “That’s the artifact.” He gave a sigh of relief. “It seems to be intact. I had feared the worst.”

Tungdil forced himself to say nothing; he must not kill their optimism. Narmora had been a powerful maga. Who knew what a demi-alf was capable of? “Have those exits guarded,” he said to the ubari. “To be on the safe side. We don’t want to be ambushed while we’re activating the diamond.” He turned to Lot-Ionan. “Are you prepared, honored magus?”

He studied the vast crater. “If it is possible to be prepared for what awaits here.”

Ireheart looked around him. “What’s happened to the advance party? We’ve seen no trace of them.”

“The escort will have gone down the ravine. But I can’t think why. Perhaps a battle? Or maybe Narmora had a trick in store and she’s woken the beasts of the abyss.”

The army split into two sections, with ten thousand ubariu and undergroundlings positioned in front of the exits from the Black Abyss, a living barrier to whatever might come storming out. They kept a hundred-pace safety margin from the precipice edges of the dread ravine.

The armored vehicles moved into position sideways-on behind the troops. Inside the tanks adjustments were made; the wind sail-wheels were running but as yet not engaged.

Flagur had explained that the sails were not just a driving mechanism but also produced energy for additional catapults. If the wagons were stationary it was possible to activate mechanical slings. These could fire off constantly using wind power and the crew only had to ensure the aim was correctly adjusted. They used their own supply of munitions or could scoop stones up from the ground below the vehicle through small hatches.

The vehicles were ready.

In the meantime Sirka, Tungdil and friends had reached the artifact. It consisted of several upright linked metal rings in roughly the form of a globe with a diameter approaching twenty paces. Symbols, runes and chiseled marks and patterns adorned the rings. A series of reinforcing rods radiated out to the circumference from a central decorated hub.

“The diamond needs to go in there, I assume,” said Lot-Ionan, getting down.

Ireheart shaded his eyes against the sun and looked up. “How do we get up? I can’t see a ladder.”

“That’s why we need a rune master.” Flagur bowed to Lot-Ionan. “Or our magus, of course. You must have a flying spell?”

“No, why would I?”

“Then you’ll have to climb.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if you carried him on your back into the center?” Rodario ventured. “You look stronger.”

Flagur shook his head. “I can’t touch the artifact. Only a rune master or a magus who is pure in spirit. Anyone else will be pulverized if they try.”

At that moment a horn sounded. It was a leaden tone issuing from the depths of the ravine, a dark, ear-splitting screech full of hatred and elation. It summoned its subjects with the promise of freedom, murder and destruction.

The friends could do nothing until the last echoes died away.

“It’s been heard,” Sirka mouthed fearfully. “We…”

Out of the ravine surged an angry chorus from thousands of throats.

“Here they come!” Flagur leaped onto his befun. “I must join my warriors. They must see I am not deserting them.” He drew his sword and nodded to Lot-Ionan. “Revered sir, it was an honor to meet you.” Flagur raced off; his commands could soon be heard in the distance.

The first rows of soldiers knelt down holding long iron spears to impale the first wave of beasts; in the ranks behind, the archers made ready their bows, while others held their huge shields to form a protective cover for their heads. The wagons opened up their shooting flaps.

Lot-Ionan approached the artifact, which was sending out enough energy to make the individual white hairs of his beard and on his head bristle and stand out. His steps slowed the nearer he got to it. He glanced behind to where the others were waiting and following his every move.

“I…” He was trying to say something, but he felt a blow in his chest. He stumbled backwards and fell in the dust, a black alf arrow in his breast. It had struck him right in the heart.

A shadow fell over him and a man leaped over his body, grabbing the bag at his belt that held the precious stone.

Warm blood spread as Lot-Ionan’s damaged heart continued to pump. Then it stopped. With a groan, Lot-Ionan closed his eyes…

F urgas?” Rodario had recognized the man who had sprung from behind one of the iron rings.

“We are in the Outer Lands. Here the dead return.” The magister snatched the diamond from the dying magus and walked slowly backwards. “I tricked even you, Incredible Rodario,” he smiled in satisfaction. When Tungdil took a step forward, Furgas raised his arm. “Stay where you are! Or the arrow will get you.” He indicated the other end of the artifact where a woman was standing with a bow spanned ready. “We shall see evil released from the Black Abyss. With my assistance it will march into the heart of Girdlegard.” He put the diamond in his mouth and swallowed it.

Ireheart raised his weapon slowly. “What a stupid idea,” he growled. “Now I’m really going to hurt him.”

“You can’t prevent it.” Furgas looked over at the ravine. “ That is the revenge I wanted for Girdlegard. The land will be submerged in waves of the beasts and will be annihilated. A fitting punishment for its arrogance and for having followed the dwarves and their false beliefs.” He stared at Tungdil. “The eoil were never a danger. It was you misbegotten dwarves interfering that robbed me of my family.”

“That isn’t Narmora,” murmured Ireheart. “She would be doing magic.”

Rodario said nothing but knew he was right. It could be the woman he had seen on the boat in Mifurdania. He was cross with himself for not having thought about her again. Now that the name of Narmora had been mentioned he was clear who she had resembled. That was why Furgas would have selected her as his ally. Perhaps in his twisted mind he actually thought she was his beloved spouse come back to life? “All that, the destruction of a whole land, all for the sake of vengeance? Do you think that’s what Narmora would have wanted? She fought with us against the danger.”

“She did not want to die!” Furgas cut in. “No, you will all pay by mourning your loved ones as I have been mourning mine. For over five cycles now.” He shook his fist and moved away. “In Girdlegard there will be not a single soul who does not experience the pain I feel.”

“And then?” Rodario carried on the train of thought. “Then Girdlegard is finished.”

“Why not? For all I care the lands can go hang.” He shrugged. “None of the worlds are anything without her; she gave me children and she saved my life.”

“You deceived me, Furgas.” Rodario went up to him.

The archer let her arrow loose and it hit Rodario in the right thigh. He fell next to Lot-Ionan. The archer woman notched a second arrow with lightning-swift and practiced moves.