Markus Heitz: The Revenge of the Dwarves

Gandogar stopped him with a gesture. “No, Tungdil Goldhand. Do not kneel to me. Let me shake your hand. You are our greatest hero. Your deeds are beyond measure. It should be I who-”

Tungdil rose to his feet, grasping the king’s hand and interrupting the flow of praise. As he and the high king shook hands, Tungdil’s rusty chain mail grated.

Gandogar concealed his sense of shock as best he could. Tungdil was looking old, older than he really was. The brown eyes were dull, as if all simple joy of life were lost. His face was swollen, beard and hair matted and unkempt. The change in him could not all be from the long journey. “It should be I who kneel before you,” he finished.

“Don’t praise me so much,” smiled Tungdil. “You are embarrassing me.” The one-time rivals had become friends.

“Let us go in so you can see with your own eyes what the best of the firstlings, secondlings and fourthlings have achieved.” Gandogar hoped that his surprise at Tungdil’s state had not been too obvious, as he gestured toward the entrance. “After you, Tungdil.”

“And the thirdlings, king? What have they contributed?” asked Tungdil as he untied his pony to lead behind him.

“Apart from your own contribution, you who made everything possible?” returned Gandogar. It was not easy for him to see in Tungdil the dwarf of five sun cycles ago. If a child of the Smith ever let his chain mail rust it was a bad sign. There would be a chance later on to speak of that. Not now. He took off his helmet, revealing his long dark brown hair. “The thirdlings do what they do best: training us in warfare. And they are unbelievable at it.” He smiled. “Come. We have a surprise for you.”

They strode through the gate.

On the other side a rousing reception awaited him, with dwarves of all ages lining the way into the mountain, their laughing faces aglow. They were celebrating his visit, honoring him, applauding. There were musicians in the crowd and up on the towers and the walls. Flutes and crumhorns sounded out and the rhythm was given by the dwarves beating on their shields. The enthusiasm was palpable; it was all in his honor, and the crowd’s welcome flowed round him like liquid gold.

“Word got round quickly that you were on your way,” grinned Gandogar. He was pleased at the success of the surprise welcome. “They’ve been longing to see their great hero.”

“By Vraccas!” Tungdil was so moved by the reception that his throat went dry. “Anyone would think I was returning in victory from a great battle.” His gaze swept over the crowd, noting the laughing faces of men, women and children who had turned out eagerly to meet him. And they had come despite his five-cycle absence away in the vaults of his foster-father. On the other hand, for a dwarf five solar cycles were not long.

He waved at them all, responding to their hearty welcome as he strode at the high king’s side through their ranks. “My thanks,” he called joyfully. “Thanks to you all.”

The applause swelled and he heard his name shouted.

He could easily have been running the gauntlet of their disapproval, it struck him. For his wife Balyndis was once married to Glaimbar Sharpax from the Iron Beater clan of Borengar’s people: the same man who now held no less a title than ruler of all the fifthlings.

Meeting Glaimbar would be the biggest challenge. The people of the Gray Range had seemingly forgiven him for being with Balyndis now, but did there have to be so many of them? He smiled at them bravely and breathed a sigh of relief when safely within the enormous corridor that led inside the mountain.

Gandogar stopped at the entrance; he noticed that Tungdil’s joy was not unmixed. “Are you all right?”

The dwarf did not answer at first. “It’s strange. On the one hand my heart sings like sounding iron smitten on the smith’s anvil. But on the other…” He broke off, fell silent, then cleared his throat. “I think it’s just that I am not used to having so many dwarves around me all at once, Gandogar.” He smiled, lifting his hand in excuse. “Normally it’s just the one dwarf, my wife.”

“I understand. In part,” responded Gandogar. “How you can live so isolated, far from any company-that’s a mystery to me. All those strangers around one can be frightening.” He winked. “I know what it is like. My wife’s clan is enormous. I’m always terrified of their family visits.”

Tungdil laughed. Meanwhile one of the dwarves had taken the reins of his loyal pony, promising the best of grooming and care. Tungdil and the high king progressed through the corridors, passages and rooms; the music and the sounds of rejoicing from the crowds grew quieter now.

Tungdil recalled… Here he and his comrades had encountered nothing but dust and rubbish. After the defeat of the fifthlings, Tion’s monsters had ruled in these mountains for hundreds of cycles.

But now it was over. Delegations of all the dwarf folk had come and brought new life after the victory. The Gray Range pulsated; Tungdil could hear children’s laughter. What pain he felt at that sound.

“We haven’t been content merely to make good the damage to the stonework on the walls and in the rooms,” he heard a man’s voice in the adjacent passageway. A dwarf came out with his retinue. “We have created new halls. New halls for the children growing up in the light of the sun that rises up over the Dragon’s Tongue, the Great Blade and the other mountain peaks.”

Tungdil recognized the impressive figure and the characteristic voice at once; he would have preferred not to meet this dwarf until later on. “Greetings, King Glaimbar Sharpax,” he said, bowing. He was surprised to see a female dwarf in an embroidered brown robe standing behind the ruler, a newborn baby on her arm. “May I congratulate you on the birth of your child?”

Glaimbar, taller and more solid in stature than Gandogar, ran a hand over his luxuriant black beard. “My thanks, Tungdil Goldhand, and welcome to my kingdom.” He pointed to the baby. “These are the true fifthlings. The rest of us will keep their kingdom safe until they are old enough to defend it for themselves.” He held out his hand; the metal plates on his elaborate armor clinked as he moved. “I can see the concern in your eyes, Tungdil. We shall let bygones be bygones. My heart has found another and I harbor no grudge, neither against you nor against Balyndis. Tell her so when you return.”

In spite of the many adventures he had experienced in his short life, and the many lucky escapes from perilous situations, Tungdil had seldom felt so strong a sense of relief as now. He grasped the king’s hand in both his own, shaking it so vigorously that Gandogar restrained him. “Stop, my friend. Glaimbar will need that arm again,” he laughed indulgently; he knew the history these two shared.

A swift glance at Glaimbar’s face showed Gandogar that the king of the fifthlings was also taken aback by the lack of care in Tungdil’s appearance. This was not how a hero should look, even if he had withdrawn from society and lived away from them all for such a long time.

“Sadly, I don’t need my arms for fighting anymore,” added Glaimbar after a pause. “It has grown quiet on the Northern Pass.”

“Be content, King Glaimbar,” said Tungdil. He felt as if a leaden weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Following on from the rapturous welcome he’d been met with, here were words of forgiveness from a former rival; two of his greatest fears were resolved. But still he warned himself not to be too trusting. Until he saw deeds to back up the words of reconciliation, he must remain on his guard. “Your arms will soon be tired from rocking the child.”

“Come. I will show you the new treasures of our flourishing dwarf kingdom.” Gandogar, Glaimbar and Tungdil walked away together to explore the fortress.