Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

We know nothing about it. Only that it is immensely strong and heavy. It is partly steam-powered. I assume it is of a similar construction to the hoists we use to lift the wagons onto the rails, but it is smaller and it is mobile.

The runes on the armor plating make it clear that a thirdling force is behind it: “Beaten yet not destroyed, we bring destruction.”

I do not want the entire thirdling community blamed for the actions of an individual or of an ignorant and malicious minority. But they must all be interrogated to find out who is capable of constructing something like this.

I have sent warnings to all the other dwarf realms, because I do not know if the danger is targeted solely on us or whether-Vraccas help us-there are similar machines elsewhere.

The dwarf assembly must be called, so that we can decide on action.

May Vraccas bless you and keep you, High King Gandogar.

Queen Xamtys Stubbornstreak of the Clan of the Stubbornstreaks, in the Firstling Kingdom of Borengar’s Folk

“There we are! That’s the explanation. That figure in the tunnel was a thirdling,” Ireheart exclaimed, slamming his hand down so hard that the spoons rattled. “We must have discovered their base in the Outer Lands.”

Tungdil took a deep breath. He was not feeling well. He had swigged that beer far too quickly. “Why would they bother to dig to the outside and send their machines from the Outer Lands into our tunnels?” he objected, mumbling and burping.

“To advance unhindered-much less likely to be disturbed than coming overland from somewhere in the Outer Lands,” said Gandogar, agreeing with the dwarf-twin.

“It would explain why they were making the tunnels collapse behind them, like you said,” Eldrur chipped in. “They want to be sure they’re not found.” He continued the line of thought pursued by the previous speakers. “I think they must be based in the Outer Lands just on the other side of the border. They’re sending the machines in from there.”

Gandogar put the letter down on the table. “Xamtys is right. I’ll call an assembly. All the dwarf folks and the freelings, too, must decide on what to do. We’ll have to send a force out through the Northern Pass to find this fiendish workshop.”

“We’ve seen one at least of these evil bastards,” said Boindil, clenching his fists in anger. “If only we had been quicker… Who knows? Perhaps we could have put a swift end to all this horror.”

Tungdil was no longer in any condition to follow what was being said; the room was going round and his stomach was rebelling. “I must go,” he mumbled, getting up and swaying off toward the door. Boindil sprang to his aid in case he fell. “Leave me alone.” Tungdil pushed his friend away, “I can manage.” He stumbled off through the door and disappeared.

Ireheart watched in distress. He hardly recognized the good friend Tungdil once had been. Sighing deeply he returned to the table to face the disapproving elves and Gandogar’s anger. “It’s a fever he picked up on the journey,” he said in excuse. “It’s affecting his mind.”

Irdosil smiled; his light gray eyes said he believed not a single word yet he did not confront the lie, wanting to spare Boindil’s feelings. A dwarf did not tell lies.

“This is how we shall proceed,” said the high king. “A summons will go out this very day to all the dwarves.” He turned to the elves. “You are also welcome to attend our assembly.”

Boindil was about to object. He thought better of it and put some food in his mouth instead. He did not like the open manner Gandogar used with the elves. Letting the pointy-ears see their customs and way of life was one thing, but to admit them to their innermost decision-making circle was a step too far, he thought. Then it occurred to him that the arrangement went both ways. “So, who will be going to Alandur, Your Majesty?” he asked innocently, looking at Eldrur.

“I don’t understand.” Gandogar was irritated. “What do you mean?”

“Our return visit. Our elf friends are all out visiting at the moment, if I’ve got it right?” he expanded. “They are bound to expect the children of the Smith to send a delegation to Alandur to pay our respects in turn.”

Eldrur’s smile came out crooked. “Prince Liutasil will not be insisting the visit be reciprocated, Boindil Doubleblade. He is aware of the discomfort you face if you have to spend time under the open sky or in forests.”

Ireheart folded his arms over his long black beard. “Not so fast, Friend Elf. If you can cope with spending time underground we can certainly manage to do the reverse. I’m not afraid of any tree.”

Gandogar grinned. “A good idea, Boindil. Why don’t you take on that responsibility?”

“ Me? ” That was hardly the outcome the dwarf-twin had been expecting. “I think it’s better if I stay here, High King Gandogar. If we’re off to the Outer Lands you will have need of me.”

“Of course, there was never any doubt about that. But it will be some time before all the dwarf clan delegates arrive,” said Gandogar unwaveringly. “Alandur is not far away, so I suggest you pay a courtesy visit to the realm of the elves. What more suitable ambassador than one of our greatest heroes?”

“Your Majesty, I…” Boindil attempted to change his sovereign’s mind. He and Eldrur were looking equally unhappy about this.

“No more objections, Boindil,” Gandogar said amicably. “It’s settled. You shall leave at daybreak with gifts for Lord Liutasil to thank him for his efforts to further understanding between our peoples. I shall send for you when our assembly reaches consensus and we are ready to set off for the Outer Lands.”

He stood up and nodded to the elves. “Eldrur, if you would be good enough to compose a document in your own language, explaining my ambassador’s mission and stating that he bears with him the most cordial greetings of the high king of the dwarves.”

“Certainly, Most High Majesty.” The elf bowed as Gandogar withdrew, leaving Boindil and the other guests to their meal.

Eldrur considered the warrior’s bearded face. Ireheart was picking reluctantly at his food. “You are cursing yourself, aren’t you?” he remarked, hitting the nail on the head.

“No,” retorted Ireheart, chewing on a piece of mushroom. “I could hit myself in the face, though. With this weapon,” he said, pointing at the crow’s beak at his side.

The elves laughed. It was a soft melodious sound: more a refined, tinkling chorus than merry heartfelt laughter. False as gnome-gold. “You will certainly be something of a novelty for Alandur,” predicted Eldrur, sounding anything but pleased.

“That letter you’re writing for me to take-why don’t you tell your prince to send me straight home again?” Ireheart requested grimly.

“Are you maybe not as tough as you were telling us?” joked Irdasil. “What wouldn’t I give to be going in your place?”

“No chance.” Ireheart gave him a disdainful glance, then looked back down at his plate. “You’re far too tall for a dwarf,” he muttered, shoving the plate away and getting up.

“I didn’t mean I wished to go as a dwarf, I meant…”

“So you don’t fancy being a dwarf, eh?” He looked out from under beetling black brows, laying hold of the handle of his weapon. “You got something against my race? Come right out and say it, my friend.”

“No, no, not at all,” protested Irdosil. “What I was trying to say…”

Eldrur laughed. “He’s taking a rise out of you, Irdosil-he’s joking, can’t you see?”

Boindil was grinning. “Took his time, didn’t he?” He sauntered off toward the door, crow’s beak hammer harmlessly shouldered. “Have you heard the one about the orc who stops to ask a dwarf the way?” The three elves shook their heads. “Then it’s high time the forests were told some proper jokes.” He winked and left them.