Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

But for Hakulana this was only the beginning.

The lightning bolts came thick and fast as the thunderstorm reached its peak, allowing her a clear view of the ghastly events in the cave. It was a vision of horrific brutality. The monster was hacking men to pieces with its axes; then it bit through the neck of one of her young lieutenants and crushed another man’s skull with a blow from its foot. The resulting noise made Hakulana gag.

Her legs refused to let her re-enter the cave, however her brain might command it, to stand by her troops. She remained in the rain, shaking all over, and watched her people die.

A shadow raced up to her out of the blackness. With a scream she stepped aside and dealt a wild blow. Too late she saw her mistake. She had slain Torant.

A deep slash in his throat, he fell at her feet in the mud. He turned his unbelieving gaze to his leader as he breathed his last.

“No,” she whispered, taking two strides backwards, away from the accursed caves which housed evil. The dying breaths of the young man would haunt her for the rest of her days.

Two more soldiers stumbled out into the air; one was missing an arm and his comrade was bleeding profusely from a wound on the chest, though it looked possible he could survive it.

Now at last Hakulana shook off the paralyzing fear. She supported the less severely wounded man and left the amputee to his fate. The loss of blood would do for him and nothing could alter that.

“We must get away from here!” she shouted above the noise of the storm. “We have to report to the prince. There’s nothing we can do against the monster.”

“What was that thing?” whimpered the man, his legs collapsing under him.

She grabbed him under the arm and dragged him back down the hillside to where some of their horses still stood, having found shelter under a tree. “A new misbegotten monster of Tion’s.” She gasped. The man was heavy and she was bearing most of his weight and that of his armor.

Something hit him on the chest. Hakulana felt the force of the blow. At once he went limp. She stared at the long black shaft of an alfar arrow sticking out of his body.

When she looked up she saw the monster at the entrance to the cave. Right next to it there was a tall slim figure wearing fantastical black tionium armor in the style favored by the alfar. The head was concealed behind an elaborate helmet; two swords hung from its belt. It seemed almost like a monument, erected to remind people of the danger presented by the cruel race from Dson Balsur.

The figure notched a second arrow to its curved bow and aimed straight at Hakulana.

Dropping the corpse in her arms, the girl vaulted swiftly to one side, but felt a burning sensation in her left shoulder. She had been hit.

With a curse she broke the arrow’s shaft, leaving the tip embedded in her arm for now. Keeping in the shelter of the ruins and rubble, she slid down to the nervous horses and tried to mount one.

Just as she managed to grab the mane to swing herself up onto its saddleless back, it collapsed in a heap, struck in the right eye by an arrow.

Showing great presence of mind, she quickly transferred herself to the next animal, clambering on it just before it raced off in terror. The next missile missed her by the breadth of a hand, but buried itself in the horse’s neck, spurring it to double its speed.

Lightning struck all around. The troop leader had never experienced a worse storm. But in spite of the thunder she could hear something else. Rhythmical pounding. She looked back over her shoulder.

The monster was pursuing her! Pursuing her with huge strides and in all its terrifying ugliness, its lipless mouth gaping wide, and issuing loud snorts. Its boots left dents in the soft earth, from which water spurted up as it bounded along.

“Faster, faster,” she urged her horse, forcing the arrow deeper into its flesh to spur it on.

The monster took aim with one of its axes and was about to hurl it at the fleeing girl when Hakulana received truly divine help.

The next lightning bolt shot down from the black clouds to meet the tip of the raised ax blade. All the rune signs on the armor and weapons flashed bright green. The eyes, too, behind the helmet mask, sent out a light brighter than that of any lantern.

The power of the lightning was too much even for a creature of Tion’s. It crashed down at speed, dropping its weapons, to lie motionless on the ground, steam rising from it.

Hakulana did not fall into the error of stopping. She rode on through the storm to find the nearest garrison. If she did not reach the safety of its walls alive there would be no one to carry the news to Girdlegard of the unslayable she had seen.

Girdlegard,

Queendom of Weyurn,

Early Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

Rodario ran for all he was worth. The cave was long and narrow, and at the far end a path led steeply upwards to an iron gateway. The water was already lapping round his ankles, so he raced to reach the opening.

Realizing it was unlikely to open for him he rushed past and tried to find somewhere further up where he might get inside the mountain without being seen.

As the water mounted so did the fear that he might not survive this unexpected adventure. Finally, well hidden between the rocks he found an iron grating emitting foul gases. Before common sense could prevent him, he had opened the grating and forced himself inside, climbing up the chimney-like shaft.

Up and up, as if the flue would open at the very top of the mountain. The all-pervasive smell of rotten eggs made Rodario gag, cough and splutter, but, using hands and feet, he continued to work his way upwards, until finally he slipped through an opening into a large chamber.

Water was bubbling into a huge pool below him, filling more and more of the hollow space. If the iron door ten paces in front of him stayed shut he would be done for.

Rodario hurried to the door and prayed that no sentry would be standing guard. Pushing on the bolt, which miraculously moved in his hands, he found and turned a small wheel above it. It clicked several times in succession as he continued to turn it; then the door opened and he was able to escape to safety.

No one was expecting him, spear at the ready.

He found himself at the end of a twisting passage with rounded walls polished like marble. Moss glimmered and spread a faint brownish light.

Carefully he moved forwards, listening out for suspicious noises that might warn of a possible encounter with an alf. He remembered how silently Narmora, the partner of his friend Furgas, had moved. She was part alf. Presumably, then, he wouldn’t notice an alf coming until after it had cut his throat.

Soon he found himself in front of a door similar to the last; this one was secured with several bolts and a wheel-lock. Rodario opened it a little way, halting when he felt heat from the other side, and heard noises-dull thuds at regular intervals: the stamp and hiss of machinery, the clunk of forge hammers, the sounds of workmen calling to each other. The air smelled of hot metal, of slack, of coal fire and of oil. Going by his ears and nostrils alone he would have said he was in a forge in the fifthling realm.

To avoid immediate discovery, he crouched down on all fours, pulled the door open and crawled inside. Underneath him was an iron platform attached to a metal ladder.

Rodario’s heart stood still. On the ladder were two alfar! They wore black armor, held spears in their hands and were looking down.

“That was worth the wait,” said the blond one. “A nice fat sailing boat with lots of crew and passengers to set to work for the master.”

“Then we can stop work at last,” laughed his friend, scratching his ear; the tip had come away in his hand. “Oh, damn, the resin’s gone soft again. Wretched heat!”