Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

“I told you. Stay there and watch.” Furgas stared at his former friend without a trace of remorse. “It’s your own fault you were hit.”

From out of the ravine the roar continued to belch.

An ugly hail fell on the allies: the remains, severed limbs and heads and chopped flesh, of the advance party, whom Furgas and his assistant had lured to their deaths. The dull thuds were sickening as the gruesome missiles fell on upturned shields and armor plating. The spraying blood and appalling smell did not fail in the intended effect.

Sirka became resolute. She had lost friends and relations and was determined to avenge their deaths.

“You have made terrible mistakes,” Rodario groaned, clasping his hand over the arrow wound. “Don’t make it worse.”

“No one will forgive me what I have done. There’s no making it worse,” Furgas cut in. “I built the machines to hound the dwarves. I didn’t take a lot of persuading when Bandilor suggested it. And I was happy enough to side with the unslayable. I knew exactly what I was doing and I planned it all in detail. Now I am at my goal. Why would I stop now?”

“We’ve found your tunnel. Evil won’t be getting through there anymore,” Tungdil told him, as he gave Goda a signal; Ireheart understood as well. “How ever did you manage to make those bastard hybrids out of machines and monsters?”

“There’s always room for coincidence in my plans,” he smiled. “When we were prospecting for iron ore on the lake bed we noticed the rocks were quite different. I thought of the source in Porista and started to suspect a connection. And it occurred to me we had found the metal that conducts magic.” He looked over to the abyss. The shower of body parts did not seem to be drying up. “I wondered if the machines could use it. Narmora had told me about the magic dormant in alfar. When the unslayable left his bastards with me I just tried it out.” Pride shone in his eyes. “The two thirdlings smelted me the special metal and then I created the new machines. Nobody before me had ever thought of combining magic, iron and living bodies.”

“You turned them into well-nigh undefeatable monsters.”

“That was my plan, Tungdil.” He folded his hands and was deathly calm. “I just wanted a distraction. While you were chasing the machines nobody worried about me. My tunnel could have been finished without anyone noticing. But the Black Abyss serves my purposes better.” Furgas turned to the mighty incision in the earth and nodded. “Hard to credit, isn’t it? I was playing you this farce all along, ever since Rodario turned up on the island.” Furgas turned to the actor. “My simulated suicide made it all perfect. You believed me and you told me all your secrets. Because of you my revenge will be sweeter than I could ever have imagined. Yes, if we did but know certain things in advance… Like the existence of the Black Abyss.”

The thudding had stopped and the horn sounded once more. The Black Abyss launched its horrors onto the defenders.

Tungdil was too far away to see exactly, but the monsters surging out of the chasm seemed far worse than anything known previously in Girdlegard: some had four arms and claws, others had two long necks and heads like snakes.

He noted a big fat creature as tall as a tree, with a red body shimmering moistly like raw meat, and half a dozen tentacles waving in the air, grabbing at anything in range. When it caught its prey it simply squashed it up against its own flesh until clouds of steam rose. The victims were dissolved in acid and ingested directly via countless mouths.

Similar ghastly beings came running and riding out of the ravine; large and small, unspeakably ugly and horrific to see.

Winged monsters as tall as a house crawled up the ravine sides and threw themselves off to take advantage of updraughts and prevailing winds. They sailed over the heads of the ubariu and with their long claws ripped open the scalps of the defending warriors.

The catapults had opened fire now and were keeping up an answering barrage on the attackers.

Flying beasts attacked the armored wagons, landing on them or climbing on top to destroy the wind sails, or to strip off the iron plates to get inside. The allied army had to support the vehicles under attack.

Suddenly the shrillest of screams issued from the depths of the chasm; it was louder than any other noise. The voice was so loud that it cracked the rocks at the side of the chasm. Friend and foe alike stopped in their tracks in utter horror and the monsters ceased their onslaught. They were terrified of their own kind.

“Ubar protect us,” whispered Sirka, flinching and stepping back involuntarily. “A kordrion! Only the cry of a kordrion can split rocks, it says in the books. Nothing can hold it back if it escapes.”

Furgas scuffed. “And there isn’t anyone to hold it back, Sirka.” He pointed to Lot-Ionan. “Your last hope lies there. The old man has failed.”

The hand of the magus moved. Assumed dead, he still managed to direct a dark green beam at Furgas.

It swept the technical genius off his feet and sent him flying up toward the hub until suspended exactly above it. Then the wizard broke off the ray and Furgas sank down. At the last moment he put out a hand to grab one of the reinforcements.

The woman took a shot at Lot-Ionan but the arrow never made it. Magic forced it to hang in the air. Lot-Ionan had been prepared for the attack.

“Great! The stone is up there now. It’s just got to get into the setting.” Ireheart ran to confront the archer-woman, Goda at his heels. “I’ll take her, Scholar. You find a way to get Lot-Ionan up to the diamond.”

Tungdil and Sirka helped the magus to his feet.

Lot-Ionan drew the arrow out of his flesh and discarded it. “It’s not so easy to kill a magus,” he said with a peculiar smile. “Evil will not prevail.” He grasped the iron rings to start the climb.

A bolt of lightning struck from the center of the artifact, sending the wizard sailing through the air to land four paces away. He lay groaning as smoke poured out of his body.

“Lot-Ionan!” Tungdil ran to his side. The wizard’s hand was badly burned and the skin was flaking off onto the ground. Blood seeped out of the blackened flesh. His eyes had turned back in his head and he was convulsing.

Sirka stared. “It’s because his soul is not true,” she realized with horror. She watched the battle rage. “What now?”

Their army was holding their ground on nearly all sides, but a few of the creatures had broken through the defense line. And it was these misbegotten beings that were now heading toward the artifact. They were well aware what had held them prisoner for so long in their black ravine. They were desperate to destroy it.

“I don’t know,” Tungdil replied quietly. Raising Bloodthirster he mounted his befun and rode to confront the monsters. “I’ll keep them busy. Then we’ll have to see. Look after the magus.”

I reheart had reached the archer and smashed her bow just as she was notching her next arrow. It fell harmlessly to the ground and she leaped back in fury, drawing her sword.

His eyes flashed. “So, you cowardly murderess. Let us see what battle skills you have now that I’ve broken your favorite toy.” He dealt her a blow with his crow’s beak.

She sidestepped deftly and launched a kick but he was able to ward it off with the handle of his ax. He drove the jagged point, where the spike had broken off, deep into her flank, tearing a gaping wound. She fell back, gasping.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, you crafty bitch,” he crowed and, whirling his ax, was about to strike when she threw her sword.

It missed him and he heard Goda cry out.

Up until recently there would have been nothing that could have distracted him in combat, but his concern for Goda did so now. He turned.