Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

Furgas was sitting on the bed, his legs crossed. His gray-green eyes stared straight through his old friend. He looked neglected, with a long beard, filthy clothes, and badly matted hair that reached down to his chest.

“Furgas! My dear Furgas!” called Rodario, hurrying over to him. “It’s me, the Incredible One.” He shook him by the shoulder, keeping on eye out for any more alfar approaching. “Get up. On your feet. This is the dramatic escape scene where the hero gets away and finally vanquishes evil forever. Well, that would be neat, anyway.” He dragged the lethargic figure of his friend to his feet. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

Furgas followed him like a reluctant child. “Rodario? What are you doing here? How did you find the island?” he murmured in a daze.

“It’s a long story,” Rodario answered as they stepped out into the corridor. “Prologue, then three or four acts, I reckon. It’s got the makings of a terrific series. Any idea how we get out of here?”

Furgas started to come round. “Depends whether we’ve dived yet.”

“Yes, we have.” The smell from Furgas took Rodario’s breath away. Sixty orbits without a bath was the minimum he must have had to produce body odor like that.

“Then there is no way out.”

“Furgas! Pull yourself together.” Rodario stared intently into his friend’s eyes. “If I managed to get onto this damned island, we will find a way to get off it.”

“But there are guards everywhere…”

“Nod’onn had orcs everywhere, the avatars had soldiers,” he retorted, playing down the dangers. “We beat them. It is our duty to return to Tungdil and the others to tell them about the thirdlings. Come along, for goodness’ sake!”

Now Furgas looked at him properly. “Rodario,” he smiled. “The Incredible Rodario. You’ve earned your name again.” He pointed to the left. “And you’re right. There’s a shaft that the hover-gas goes out through. We could escape through there and swim up to the surface. If we survive.”

“Are you sure?”

Furgas grinned at him, showing corn-yellow teeth that had not received any attention from a cleaning-root for a very long time. “I built the island. I should know its weaknesses.”

The door on their right flew open and five alfar stormed in; two of them carried bows. Bandilor pushed his way to the front with a two-handed ax at the ready.

“There he is, the play-actor,” he roared.

“Threaten me,” whispered Furgas to his friend, standing in front of him. “I’m too valuable to them-they won’t hurt me.”

Rodario couldn’t come up with a better solution, so he broke a spear from the wall in half and pushed the blade against his friend’s throat. “Get back, you rejects from a third-rate theater,” he called with disdain. “If you try and follow us I’ll kill him and you’ll have no one who can work your accursed island.”

And Bandilor actually stopped in his tracks. “Halt,” he ordered the guards. “We’ll get them later.”

“Get the island back up to the surface,” demanded Rodario.

But the thirdling shook his head. “We can’t do that. We’d have to collect enough hover-gas again. The ballast chambers are full.” He grinned maliciously. “You’ll have to give up.”

“We’ll do it the way I said,” Furgas mouthed to Rodario and started to walk backwards. “Through the bulkhead door, then we’ll bolt it from inside and disappear.”

It seemed like a mile to Rodario before they reached the opening. At last they got through to the next passage, closing the heavy iron door behind them and wedging the catch shut.

Furgas took the lead and steered them through the narrow tubes, climbing natural and artificial ladders until he forced himself through an opening. There he waited and held out his hand to Rodario. “Thank you for never giving up on me,” he said, emotion in his voice. “Without you I’d never have had the courage to escape. I’d lost the spirit ages ago.”

“What are friends for?” beamed Rodario. “And between ourselves, you’re the best props man any theater could have. The Curiosum can’t function without you.” He stepped into the shaft. “After you.”

Furgas moved aside. “No, you first. I’ve forgotten to release the flood-hatch safety mechanism.”

He crawled out again while Rodario started the ascent. It was quite a while before Furgas followed-but it was less of an effort for him to do so. Rodario was horrified to see how water rushed up in the tube, with Furgas on top, bobbing like a cork.

“There we are, that’s the easy way,” he said, spluttering proudly.

“Do you want to drown us?” Rodario exclaimed.

“No.” Furgas pointed up. “I can’t open the hatch until the passage is flooded. Otherwise the body of water surging in would hurl us back down again.” He smiled at the actor. “You still have no idea about technical matters, do you?”

“I always had you for the technical stuff,” laughed the showman, high on excitement. He was about to do the impossible: he had found his friend and was going to rescue him. “What are the thirdlings up to here?”

“They’re making machines. Death machines.” Furgas’s countenance grew dark. “Tell you later, Rodario. We need to save our breath.”

They reached the hatch, and as soon as the rest of the cavity was full of water, Furgas opened it to make the connection between the shaft and the waters of the lake.

Far above them the sunlight glittered with promise. They struggled to the surface with vigorous arm movements, but it was a tortuously slow process.

Rodario was running out of air. He took a breath against his will and swallowed water, but at that moment broke through above the waves and paddled around, coughing his lungs free. Furgas was also coughing up water. When they had got their breath back they looked around.

They were drifting in the middle of Weyurn’s lake and there was no sight of land.

“Some great escape that was,” Rodario said, blinking at the sun. He reckoned the island would shoot up next to them at any moment. But then to his relief he remembered what Bandilor had said: even if they wanted to, they couldn’t surface. Not yet.

“Well, we won’t die of thirst. There’s plenty to drink.”

“The gods are with us.” Furgas pointed over to the horizon. “There’s a boat!” He lifted his arms to wave, shouting and calling to get their attention. Rodario helped out to the best of his ability and soon the barge was heading over their way.

They were heaved on board and after Rodario told the mariners the story of Nightmare Island and how the sloop had foundered, the terrified captain steered an urgent course to Mifurdania, all sails set.

The two friends sat on deck exhausted, wrapped in the blankets the sailors had supplied.

“There’s a lot to tell,” said Furgas, his face serious. “I pray to Vraccas that the dwarf tribes can forgive me for my part in what has happened to them.”

“You? What do you mean…?”

He lowered his head. “Bandilor forced me to make vehicles. Vehicles to be run on the tunnel rails to bring death and destruction to the dwarf realms.” He wiped the water from his face and Rodario wasn’t sure whether there were tears there, too. “He’s planning something worse than that. The apparatus is ready,” he said quietly. “It will cost the lives of hundreds of dwarves.”

Rodario slapped him on the shoulder. “Only if we can’t prevent it, my friend. And we shall prevent it.” He smiled. “This diving, by the way, has one big advantage-apart from freedom, of course. Do you know what?” His smile became a wide grin. “You don’t stink anymore.”

Girdlegard,

Kingdom of Idoslane,