Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

“Do you not see how they build their houses and their keeps, Alvaro?” Prince Mallen pointed to their destination, the city of Goldensheaf with its royal fortress, over to their left. The segments of his costly armor clanked as he moved. “How would we take that? There’s not a single tree in sight to make a siege ladder, no rocks for our catapults. And, of course, no wood to make the catapults from in the first place.” He patted the neck of his stallion reassuringly. “And I don’t mean that seriously, either, of course.” He grinned and clapped Alvaro on the shoulder. “King Nate is welcome to his smooth little country.” He set his horse in motion again and the troop moved off. They would soon be in Goldensheaf itself, visiting in response to an invitation from the sovereign.

Alvaro still felt uneasy about what he had said. “Your Highness, forgive me my words, if you will.” He rode at Mallen’s side and searched for the right thing to say. “I was brought up to measure myself against orcs and other beasts and always to defend my beloved Idoslane against invading hordes, but now…” As he shrugged his shoulders in excuse, his harness clinked. “… now men like me have nothing to do. Idleness puts warlike schemes into our heads, my prince.”

Mallen unfastened the old-fashioned helmet from his belt and set it on his blond head, securing it with the leather chin strap. “I know. There are many warriors who are kicking their heels.”

“Palandiell knows the truth of that!” snorted Alvaro, relieved to hear he was understood. “The odd robber and band of highwaymen really don’t present the same challenge. I have fought against Nod’onn, against the avatars, against marauding orcs.” He hit himself on his armored breastplate. “My sword is rusting in its sheath; I put on my leather doublet and my arms hardly know what movements to make.” He sighed. “It is good that Girdlegard and in particular that Idoslane no longer need fighting men. But it is hard for the likes of us.”

“But instead of fighting battles you can travel with me and see new things,” smiled Mallen. He was enjoying the sunshine and soaking up the fragrance of the ripening sun-drenched ears of corn. He looked up at the sky and saw two raptors were circling above the crops, searching the ground for prey. “You would never have been able to do that before. All thanks to those orcs you seem to be missing now.”

“You are right, Your Highness. I am being selfish and unjust.”

The route taken by the troop of forty horsemen and four wagons led to a generously broad road through the fields directly to the heart of Goldensheaf. The town was tucked down into the earth and even the fortifications looked as if they had purposely been made less high than one might expect.

The men admired the fields, heavy with ripening crops. This was the first winter barley, promising a rich harvest. Then the summer crop would be sown; it would fill Tabain’s barns and storehouses up to the rafters and help to feed the neighboring kingdoms as well. That is, if they were spared the destructive storms notorious in these flat plains.

“It must be the way of the landscape itself that tremendous storms are such a feature. Not even in the mountains of the dwarves or in the kingdom of Urgon do they suffer the whirlwinds they get here, when everything is dragged up from the ground,” mused Alvaro, watching the crops wave in the strong breeze.

“That’s why their houses are made solid as fortresses,” said Mallen. “Any normal house would get blown away at once. And the corpse of any man caught in a tornado like that might never be found.”

Alvaro looked up at the clear blue sky. “Let’s hope we’re spared that spectacle.”

They rode on, entering the city. Goldensheaf opened its gates in welcome. Hundreds of citizens lined the streets of the capital and waved flags and scarves; others strewed flower petals from windows and rooftops in honor of the guests. Strains of joyful, if unfamiliar, music interwove with the shouts and cheers of the townspeople.

Mallen noticed that none of the houses was taller than the occasional two-storey building. To lighten the overall impression of grayness, some of the stone blocks had been painted. Other people had taken the easier path and decorated their houses with colorful banners in various widths.

“It’s good to feel so welcome,” remarked Alvaro, thoroughly enjoying being the center of attention.

A delegation of youths and maidens in dazzling white robes and carrying sheaves and garlands drew near to serve the officers with refreshments: wine and slices of different types of fruit.

“This is what I call a reception,” grinned Alvaro. “Don’t worry about anything else, I’m happy just to travel through Girdlegard with you for the rest of my days, my prince.”

Mallen tried the wine, surprised at how light it tasted. Idoslane’s own wines were famous for their fullness, rich ruby-red color and a slight woody by-taste. Tabain, on the other hand, had learnt the skill of producing a wine so light you could drink it as easily as water. So deceptively light.

The delegation drew back when a mounted escort arrived to accompany them to the fortress. The next surprise awaited.

“They really have built right down below ground level. One easy jump and we’d be over the walls,” Alvaro whispered to his prince when they had seen more of the construction. The walls were not more than five paces high, while the yard into which they were riding down the ramp lay a good ten paces down.

“We’d have quite a fall after your one easy jump,” Prince Mallen laughed. Some of the walls had stone projections too symmetrical to be considered mistakes. He must ask King Nate about them later.

Once in the courtyard they dismounted and followed one of the royal courtiers into the palace, the exterior of which was an unprepossessing and unadorned box shape.

But this impression was more than compensated for as soon as they took their first glance inside. Splendidly decorated walls, ceilings and floors graced the building. Carpets deadened their footsteps and made walking a pleasure; wonderful mural depictions of landscapes gave the feeling not of a gray-walled castle but of rolling fields of corn.

There were no sharp corners here or mean passageways, but generous corridors with curved lines and elegant dimensions. Likewise, none of the rooms they marched through was starkly geometrical. The whole building was a glorious feast of architecture, pleasing to the eye and to the soul.

King Nate, with his sparse wheaten-blond hair and eyes as green as fresh grass, received them in the throne room with open arms of welcome. The two rulers embraced. “So you have finally managed, after all these cycles, to come and visit us here in Goldensheaf,” King Nate said, his voice joyful. “And what do you think of the corn-basket of the whole of Girdlegard, Prince Mallen?”

“The land is as even and smooth as the face of a beautiful woman,” Mallen answered diplomatically, falling into step next to Nate, who walked him to a feast table loaded with a magnificent variety of fruit, vegetables and meat dishes, and many types of bread offered as an accompaniment.

“Don’t tell me you think it is too flat?” laughed his host, inviting Mallen to sit at his right. The seat on his left remained empty. “Surely the flatness has the great advantage of not overtiring the horses, doesn’t it?”

Mallen and Alvaro laughed. “Perhaps you would grant us a few moments to shake off the dust of the journey…?” asked the prince, but Nate dismissed the request.

“No, leave the dust on your armor. You carry part of the riches of my kingdom into the palace for me. What possible objection could I have…?” he smiled. “Take refreshment with me now, then you shall find a hot bath and a bed waiting.”