Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

Goda looked up at Ireheart, but he shook his head so vehemently that his short black braid flipped back and forth. “No, it’s absolutely your decision. But if you want to stay I shall not leave your side,” he vowed. “I shall never leave you alone again. And who knows. Perhaps the scholar will return. Then it’s fitting there should be two familiar faces to greet him,” he grinned.

“Then it is agreed,” Goda confirmed. It was obvious that the decision was not an easy one for her. “I shall stay until the ubariu have a new rune master.”

The acront inclined his head and his eyes glowed purple under the veil. Then he got to his feet and left the tent with his royal consort. He had said all there was to be said.

Rodario watched him depart. “So that means that he is not innocent and pure in spirit, either,” he concluded. He adjusted the bandage on his leg. “As for me, dear friends, don’t be offended, but I’m for heading back to Girdlegard in a few orbits’ time. Someone’s got to report what has been happening here, and that we’re safe now. Safe until the next adventure,” he added, stroking his beard. He was looking forward to taking Tassia in his arms again and to relating his own heroic story. “I tell you, the theater tents will be overflowing with people wanting to see these events on stage.”

Ireheart lifted his eyebrow quizzically. “ Tents, impresario? Since when have you owned more than one?”

“ Not yet, Boindil, my friend, not yet. But it’s time I started to expand my little troupe into a theater empire known throughout the lands.” He nodded to Goda. “I shall come back at intervals to get your news, you’ll see.”

“You’ll get lost and end up with the monsters,” the warrior teased, wiping the sweat from his brow.

The hint was enough to unsettle Rodario. “Mm, I’ll have to think of how to get home in one piece. Maybe I should try out that secret path, the invisible mysterious pass that leads to Girdlegard.” He got up. “They’ll be striking camp tomorrow to return to Letefora, I understand. And I hope very much that there might be the odd conquest on the way. There are pretty women on the streets.” He raised his hand in farewell and left the mess tent.

“I, too, shall be leaving the Outer Lands,” said the magus to the three dwarves. “I have the feeling that I am needed back home. It is time to find new famuli and to spread the high art of magic in Girdlegard.” When he moved, his back gave him a sharp twinge again. He thought he had spied Nudin’s silhouette at the doorway, but the dark shape had disappeared quickly. “It won’t be easy to use the magic wellspring at the bottom of the lake, but it will be possible. Tungdil had some brilliant idea about a metal diving bell.”

Goda smiled. “Girdlegard will be glad to have your support. Will you take me on as your famula when the four cycles have passed?”

He stroked her blond hair. “Who knows what you will have learned in that time?” he hinted. “Perhaps you will discover a style of magic all your own. I know nothing about ubariu magic. You will be way ahead of me in that. Even for one such as myself the ways of magic are unfathomable. It likes to keep something up its sleeve. I can only warn you not to be prodigal with your powers.” He stood up and shook hands with each in turn. “We shall surely meet again. And we shall see Tungdil again. I feel it in the depths of my soul, and so my spirits are high.” He turned his bright blue gaze on Sirka. “You will live to see him again. Don’t despair. Look forward to the dawn when he returns to you from the Abyss.” He nodded and left.

Sirka also bade her friends farewell. Boindil let her depart, even though he still had not told her the punchline. It was not the right time for jokes at the moment.

The two dwarves were alone.

“Do you know what’s bothering me?” said Ireheart thoughtfully, after the last steps had died away. “Why did the artifact reject Lot-Ionan?”

“Well, if anyone is pure in spirit then it has to be Lot-Ionan,” said Goda springing to the defense of the magus. “And who expects a magus to sacrifice his life to chastity? I’m sure he doesn’t get up to anything like that now, but I’m sure he remembers what he did when he was younger…” She took his hand. “He is good.”

Ireheart was thinking. “Yes, you’re right.” He let himself be persuaded. Then his face took on a worried expression. “You know what this means for our iron band?”

“We shall have to wait another four cycles.”

He sighed. “That will be hard. As hard as any diamond.”

Goda laughed. “In the meantime you can train me up to be the very best warrior maiden there’s ever been in Girdlegard or the Outer Lands. Your efforts and your noble restraint will receive their reward after four cycles.” She gave him a long kiss. “And we’re not forbidden to kiss.” She smiled. For a second it crossed her mind that they still had to fight the duel she had vowed to her dead grandmother. That could wait.

Ireheart touched her cheek, stroking the pale down on her skin. “It will be the best and the worst four cycles of my life,” he joked. “Vraccas hates me for some reason.” He kissed her and then became earnest. “I pray daily to our creator that he may keep Tungdil safe.” He stood up and went to the doorway, opened it and looked over toward the Black Abyss under its shimmering globe. “I wonder where he is? And what he’s doing, alone with the misbegotten offspring of strange gods?” Again he wiped the perspiration from his brow.

Goda took his hand. She could give him no answer and she certainly did not share his optimism about Tungdil’s fate. She presumed him dead. But she was not going to say so.

In silence they both watched the glowing sphere under which lay both hope and horror. You could not have the one without the other.

Girdlegard,

Porista, Royal Capital of Gauragar,

Winter, 6241st Solar Cycle

O nce more Girdlegard’s rulers were meeting to confer.

King Bruron escorted his guests into the first completed chamber of his royal residence. Huge stoves ensured a pleasant temperature despite wintry blizzards without.

Bruron had ordered sumptuous decoration of the hall, commissioning furnishings, frescoes, tapestries and sculptures with taste and care. The impression given was that the rest of the palace was already in place. However, only the outlines of the main structure were visible. The elf Esdalan, the monarchs of the human realms, lords of the dwarven kingdoms and heads of the freeling cities were gathered to hear Rodario’s reports from the Outer Lands: eloquently and with compelling and colorful detail he described recent events at the Black Abyss.

“… and so-with the sacrifice brought by Tungdil Goldhand-the battle ended. We have lost a great hero. He gave his life for Girdlegard…” He bowed to his audience. “… for your sake and to enable you to sleep soundly in your beds. May this courageous dwarf forever remain in your thoughts, and let us ensure that it is not only the children of the Smith who mourn him.” With these words he took his seat to deafening applause, in particular from the dwarves, on whose faces many a tear glistened.

Lot-Ionan rose to his feet. Dressed in a light blue robe, he wore white gloves to hide the disfiguring burns he had received from touching the artifact. In his left hand he held a long, superbly carved walking stick of birchwood. “I see it as our task to utilize this new peace accorded us by the sacrifice of my foster-son Tungdil and his companions, some of whom remain in the Outer Lands. It is time for reconciliation.” He looked at Esdalan. “The elves have been subjected to horrendous treatment meted out in anger. Are you prepared to let bygones be bygones and excuse the deeds targeted at the atar?”