Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

The mountain was still surging up out of the water. Rodario reckoned its peak was about two hundred paces high, and still it was rising.

With a final horrific gurgle the process finished. Lake water cascaded off the rock, streaming and splattering down, with the sunlight setting magnificent rainbows in the spray. The sight was unforgettable.

“Ormardin was not making it up,” he whispered in awe, staring at the impossible cliffs towering in front of him. “Nightmare Island really does exist.” The island by now must have been about one hundred paces wide and four hundred high. It consisted of dark blue, nearly black stone glittering with minerals. It seemed to resemble a piece of the night sky that had broken off and fallen to earth.

A petrified sheet of cooled lava had formed a flat beach on the side of the island nearest to him. Tall, thin figures emerged from caves, to launch boats. The alfar were about to bring in their harvest.

Rodario concealed himself under a floating scrap of canvas. The current was bringing him closer inland than he wanted to be. It was not his intention to explore the island, but Samusin seemed to like the idea of feeding him to the alfar.

Peering out from under the canvas he observed how the alfar went about picking up the dead and any survivors clinging to the pieces of the wrecked vessel. The injured they left. They only wanted the dead or the whole.

It reminded Rodario of a seal hunt he had once watched. As soon as one of the sailors surfaced to grab some air and they sensed he was injured, the iron point of a spear or whirr of an arrow brought instant death.

The alfar took their time and went about their task assiduously. The rowed past Rodario’s hiding place, piercing it several times with their spears without touching him. The random piece of canvas was then ignored as it drifted nearer the shore.

A gong sounded and the boats returned to the shore. The alfar pulled them up to the caves and the island emitted more clouds of stinking gas. Then the shoreline dipped under the surface and the island started to dive.

“Ye gods, protect me,” prayed Rodario fervently, before emerging from his hiding place, struggling out of the water and running for the dark entrance into which the alfar had just disappeared.

Girdlegard,

Kingdom of Idoslane,

One-time Orc Realm of Toboribor,

Early Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

T he spear-leader Hakulana observed the sparsely vegetated hillside in the midst of Idoslane’s green landscape. It marked one of the many entrances to Toboribor’s underground caves. She recognized the ruins of the old orc fortifications standing like ancient gravestones uneven against the sky.

“It looks quiet,” she said to her companion Torant, an aspiring young equerry who rode at her side. She liked his calm nature and the care he took over any task assigned to him. “Did you find any tracks?”

“No, spear-leader. Nothing.”

Hakulana watched the sky, where a summer storm was brewing. Dark clouds were gathering in front of the blue; her lance-pennant fluttered in the growing breeze.

Together with the twenty mounted scouts she led, they were now half a mile from the area to be traversed to reach the realm of the orc prince once known as Ushnotz.

Hakulana was too young to be able to remember the monster, but some of the veterans in Prince Mallen’s army told tales of the creature and its voracious cruelty. It had attempted to move north to found a new kingdom after the lost battle of the Blacksaddle. It was thanks to the dwarves that this terrible plan had been thwarted.

Torant glanced up at the movement of the clouds. “Should we put up the tents, spear-leader?”

Hakulana shook her head. “No.” She pointed to the hill with the tip of her lance. “We’ll camp over there at the cave entrance; that will save us the trouble.”

“As you command, spear-leader.” Torant called out the order and the troop of riders made off at a smart pace.

Hakulana followed them at a slight distance, never taking her eyes off the hill whose defenses had been demolished by Prince Mallen’s soldiers shortly after the battle of the Blacksaddle. There was no sign now of the orcs’ reign or the ugly constructions of rough-hewn stone blocks that they’d forced their human serfs to build for them.

She was here with her scouts to make sure that it stayed that way. The slightest hint of any orc activity in the area they would report immediately and the army would march in. She had a feeling that there was something hiding in that hill.

As the first raindrops started to fall they rode through the broken walls, past the ruined gates, and into the darkness of the cave.

Her people, including the women, lit torches and set up camp. Each had a specific task to carry out, be it caring for the horses, preparing a meal or keeping guard.

“Spear-leader,” Torant’s voice echoed through the cave. “I found orc bones at the back there.” He handed her an orc thigh bone. “It’s not been there more than one cycle.”

“You’re sure about that?” Hakulana got out of the saddle and looked over at the cave mouth. The clouds were racing past low over the landscape, bellies against the hillsides; vast amounts of water cascaded down in front of the entrance in great streams, splattering onto the ground and carrying off the loose earth.

“Absolutely sure. There are lots of them.”

A first lightning bolt hit the hill opposite; almost immediately the rolling peal of thunder sounded. The horses whinnied in fear. Hakulana heard their panicky steps as they pawed the ground.

“So we’ve got proof. I’d rather we hadn’t.” She turned to her troop. “It’s a good thing we didn’t put the tents up,” she said to Torant. “Go and help the others calm the horses down, or they’ll break away and trample everything. I’ll go and inspect the place straightaway.”

But then, in the dazzle of a second lightning bolt she saw the monster approaching the camp. Fleeting though the glimpse was, Hakulana was able to take in every terrible detail of its appearance.

It was huge, at least three and a half paces high and extremely broad. On its head a solid tionium helmet in the shape of a skull bore polished silver insignia arranged to increase the intimidating impression. The helmet had an opening for the mouth. The creature’s lips had been removed so its fangs and incisors were visible in a permanent grin. The helmet itself had long spikes bolting metal and skull together.

Hakulana drew back and in her fear did not even realize she had left her shelter and was being soaked to the skin by the downpour. She could neither speak nor tear her eyes away.

The creature’s body was covered with scale-like plates of tionium, nailed or wired through its flesh. The forearms had been removed between elbow and wrist and replaced by a metal pole that enclosed a core of shimmering glass. The hands were in the right place and wielded two axes decorated with runes.

Another thunderclap sounded and the creature disappeared back into the dark, except for its huge eyes which had been lit up dark green. But for those, Hakaluna might have thought she had imagined it all.

“Palandiell, be with us,” she mouthed, slowly regaining the power of movement. “Retreat!” she screamed, drawing her sword, “Everyone out of the cave, now!”

At once all the torches went out.

The unexpected pitch blackness, together with their leader’s surprise command, resulted in total confusion. The horses were terrified by now and pulled themselves free, racing out past Hakulana to her right and left.

Immediately there came the sound of dull impacts and tearing metal, and the ugly noise of twisting limbs and breaking bones. A shrill cry, hardly to be recognized as issuing from a grown man, indicated the first death amongst the soldier-scouts.