Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

“What have you done with all that other stuff?” Boindil found himself asking.

“Is one constrained to seek artistic expression only in one single vein for all eternity?” responded Tiwalun. “We have hardly any visitors in our forests to see how often our tastes change, seeking subtle nuances and variety. Let us tell you, Boindil Doubleblade, that we have experimented with many different art forms over the cycles. As with your own people, one or two hundred cycles are as nothing to us.”

He took a left turning and was attempting to lead them out of the tree-hall when Ireheart pointed to a triangular white monolith standing where once they had seen Liutasil’s throne. Guessing from this distance, the object must be at least fifteen paces high and seven in circumference. “May I have a closer look, Friend Elf?”

“It is nothing of significance,” said Tiwalun, in an attempt to downplay the importance of what they had seen. “The meal will be waiting for us…”

Boindil had forgotten Tungdil’s advice that they should pretend to follow the elves’ suggestions in all things during the daylight hours. Boldly he marched straight past Tiwalun to inspect the three-cornered monolith. “The eye of a stone-expert is called for here,” he announced. “My people are renowned as excellent stonemasons.”

The elf swiftly overtook him and walked backwards in his path, shielding the object from his view. “No, Boindil Doubleblade. I would ask you not to do that. It is a holy and revered object that may only be touched by us elves. You should not have been permitted to see it even!”

Ireheart looked up the length of the elf’s legs, slowly up along his body, till his gaze reached Tiwalun’s face. “That seems very discourteous,” he complained. “Your delegation is shown every inch of our land, but here I am not allowed to cast eyes on a stone?”

“It is a holy relic: didn’t you hear, Boindil?” Tungdil interjected to save the day.

“So why did he say it wasn’t of any great significance?”

“Not of any significance for you,” said Tiwalun with a smile. A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead, over that smooth unblemished skin that would surely remain wrinkle-free and youthful for at least a hundred cycles. “Please turn around.”

“Elves revering stones?” grinned the warrior. “Our peoples have more in common than I had thought. Aside from the type of things you like to eat, of course.” He turned around quite calmly and pointed to the passageway Tiwalun had previously indicated. “This way, is it?”

“This way,” confirmed Tiwalun, sounding relieved. He strode off before the troublesome dwarf could change his mind. “Thank you for showing such understanding, Boindil Doubleblade.”

“But of course,” grinned Ireheart, looking at Tungdil.

L ate evening brought a surprise for elf and dwarf alike.

They were sitting with Vilanoil and Tiwalun finishing the final course of a light but lavish supper when a messenger came in with a letter. On reading it the elf looked at the dwarves.

“Very worrying news,” he said. “Three of the diamonds have been stolen-King Nate’s has gone and so have King Ortger’s and King Malbalor’s. They’re talking about dreadful creatures and dwarves, too, launching these raids.” He read out the lines that described just how these terrible deeds had been committed in each of the three kingdoms. The guests listened in horror: the attacks by the awful machines in the Red Mountain Range were mentioned. “Evil has taken hold and is stretching out its claws to grasp total domination,” Tiwalun finished.

“We’ll leave first thing,” said Tungdil, extremely concerned. In such circumstances he would have to ensure that the stone Gandogar had entrusted him with, hidden away safely in the vault, was being properly guarded. He was frightened for Balyndis, his wife, who wouldn’t have heard the news. If these unknown raiding parties had found the stones in all these kingdoms and dwarf realms, then they would have no difficulty locating his own, deposited simply in mine galleries that were comparatively easy to enter. The only soldier left in charge was Balyndis herself, and she would be hopelessly outnumbered.

“But our mission…” objected Boindil, until he remembered that his friend had one of the diamonds in his possession. “Forget it, Scholar. The ponies will carry us to your home like the wind.”

Tungdil stood up from the table. “We don’t wish to be rude, Tiwalun and Vilanoil. We need to get some rest. The next orbits will be hard for us. Please give Prince Liutasil our warmest greetings. I assume we will see him very soon at the rulers’ assembly.”

Tiwalun looked distinctly relieved to hear of their departure. “Of course. He will understand why you have to leave. I shall get provisions brought for you so that you can set off as soon as you want.” He got up and bowed to them. “I would have wished for a calmer conclusion to your visit here in Alandur, but the gods are testing us.” He smiled. “You will have an important role to perform, will you not?”

“I could do without tests like this,” replied Tungdil. “But if my people and Girdlegard need me I shall be there.” He strode to the door. Ireheart followed, a laden plate in his hand.

Vilanoil and Tiwalun watched them go. When the door had closed behind them, Tiwalun reached for the wine and poured himself a glass full to the very brim. He had seen the hidden instructions in the letter; that morning, the dwarf hadn’t noticed he had been reading over his shoulder, until alerted by the sound of his voice. This bad news could not have come at a better time, since it meant the unwelcome guests were leaving Alandur of their own accord.

It had been a serious error letting the dwarves anywhere near the monolith. Any moment things could have got much worse.

Tiwalun raised his drinking cup. “Here’s to you, Sitalia. I drink to you and in honor of your purest of creatures.” Ceremoniously he lifted the vessel to his mouth, took three sips and then poured the rest on the ground as a libation. “May the eoil one day return and take power.”

Vilanoil smiled.

B ut there was something afoot that night.

In spite of extreme tiredness Boindil could not help going out on his own to inspect the white stone Tiwalun had so adamantly insisted he should not approach. They would be leaving Alandur the following orbit anyway so it would not matter if he was observed. What else could happen to him? They surely wouldn’t cut off his head for it?

Stealth didn’t come easily to him: he wasn’t good at it and didn’t like it. He’d taken off his leather-soled boots and left off his chain-mail shirt. Completely naked-that’s how it felt-he’d made his way through the tree palace as if stalking a deer; it seemed not a soul was around. He had thought he would remember how to get to the hall but he had soon lost his sense of direction. This would never have happened to him underground. “Wretched bloody trees. They all look alike,” he’d grumbled, taking the next corridor to the left.

At first he had been delighted that there were no elf guards about, but now he was getting worried about it. This was the prince’s residence after all and there should be servants all over the place. He bravely opened the nearest door and found an empty room; starlight fell into the deserted chamber and there were a few leaves on the floor. That was all: no clothes, no chests, no bed.

Boindil continued through the palace trying a few more doors. He did not find a single room with any sign of occupation. It was nothing but a refuge for ghosts.

By chance he happened on the great hall with the tall white monolith dominating the space.

Although no torches were burning, the stone itself gave off a glow, as if it had stored up light during the day to release in darkness.