Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

Former Orc Territory of Toboribor

Early Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

D o you know what torture it is to live without your voice?”

This quiet sentence, spoken in the deepest mourning and despair, floated up to the roof of the cave, shattered against the rock and drifted back down again to the sintoit. He was wearing close-fitting clothing in black silk embroidered in dark green and was kneeling in front of a simple bed on which a sleeping female sintoi rested. A cloak the color of night lay over his shoulders; he held her pale left hand in his own, gloved in black velvet. The sintoi herself was similarly dressed.

“I see your wonderful face, I can touch your black hair and I cannot believe what has happened to us. Not even after five long cycles.” His graceful features, which would have entranced any human, grew dark. None was more beautiful than he. Apart, that is, from his sister, his beloved sister Nagsar Inaste.

“Inaste and Samusin have deserted us, dear sister. We are our own gods.” The deep-shadowed eye sockets turned disdainfully toward the rough-hewn ceiling of their meager accommodation. Nothing was properly finished, not even the walls. Those wretched orcs were good for nothing.

“This was never a place for us. Forgive me for having brought you here. It was not what I intended, but I had been too unwell.” He touched her forehead with his right hand and adjusted her hair. Even in this condition her beauty was greater than that of any elf. Weak creatures might expire at the mere sight of her, strong ones lose their wits. “When you wake, we will go to the Outer Lands and seek ourselves a new realm. Dson Balsur will be small and insignificant in comparison.” He smiled at her, and even the rock face seemed to admire the creature.

“Do you remember? I promised you I would find you a new home. It is now ready.” Carefully he lifted her up and carried her through the dark passageways of the empty orc realm. He was slim but anything but weak. A thousand opponents had lost their lives through that misconception. “I will show you.”

The unslayable one did not make the slightest of sounds as he walked; only his mantle rustled quietly as it brushed the stone. “You will like it, my sister. It is the only room in this plagued earth that I can ask you to endure in the coming orbits while you lie thus unwaking.” He walked past countless gallery openings but knew exactly where he was heading.

His path ended at the transept of a vaulted cave that he had prepared for her. The air was cool and pure and no longer heavy with heat and the foul smell of orcs. “We are here,” he said, softly.

The cavern measured fifty by fifty paces, and its highest point was forty paces up. From there a mighty dark stalactite hung, as if it were the tip of a titanic sword that some giant had rammed into the mountain. Its sharp end pointed to an altar of black basalt at the top of four steps. Alfar runes decorated it, and they told of the immortal beauty of Nagsar Inaste.

“I have polished the walls so that the paint holds better,” he said to the sleeper, as he studied the elaborate paintings rising all the way up to the stalactite. They showed Dson as it had been before the fire, in all its glory and crowned with a tower made of ivory. The capital of their realm might have been lost, but it lived on in pictorial form on these walls.

The unslayable one went up to the altar and strode over the countless crushed skeletons of orcs covering the floor. The bones hardly moved under the soles of his feet, but gave off wooden-sounding clicks.

“Do you hear, sister? I killed them all. Their inferior blood I used to paint the walls. They have paid for what they did to you,” he said to her. “I wish I had awakened earlier from my sleep to prevent the outrage they perpetrated on you.” He mounted the steps to the altar, and laid her carefully on it. With loving gestures he folded her hands in her lap, adjusted her dress and moved to her feet. “I will never forgive myself that they touched you and defiled your body,” he whispered, making a deep bow before her, and planting a kiss on the tips of her boots.

As always, not the slightest reaction showed on her countenance. There was not even a hint that she might be able to hear his words.

“It won’t be long now, beloved sister,” promised the unslayable. “I have shown myself to the humans. They will send their warriors here as I have planned. That gives us at last the opportunity to regain the diamond with which I can bring you back to life. For I know where they are going to take the remaining stones.” He laid his hands on her ankles. “Patience, Nagsar Inaste. What are a few more orbits for such as us, who have seen a thousand cycles come and go?”

Her face remained still.

“You want to know what has happened to the dregs of deformity that crawled out of your body?” He withdrew his hands and placed them on the hilts of his swords. “They serve us well. But I shall kill them so that nothing remains to remind us of your shame. Only our own true son may live.” His features produced a smile. “He is perfect, beloved sister. The purest blood and, thanks to the magic source, he has greater strength than any previous sintoit before him. Your eyes will find pleasure in him. You may be proud of what issued at last from our union. He appeared at the right time.” Again he kissed her feet, bowed and moved next to her to stroke her hand. “I shall leave you now. But do not worry. I shall return soon. With the diamond.”

The unslayable one went down the altar steps backwards, then turned and left the cool cave.

He had not wanted to say that he had doubts, that their true son had turned against him… and that he was still very weak.

I need that accursed stone. What took away my power shall restore it. He clenched his fists. Eternal damnation to the eoil.

It was the eoil who had thwarted the magic charm that was intended to save him and his sister from destruction.

He remembered.

He remembered everything.

He remembered how he had hung imprisoned in suspended animation, remembered the physical paralysis, the work of immense effort on the magic journey and the effect of the eoil’s interference.

Never before had he applied such a powerful spell or undertaken such a great risk. He and his sister had been protected from destruction in the caves but the price had been high.

He had been hurled into an abyss, separated from his sister and immobilized. His mind, however, had been constantly at work trying to work out where he was.

When evil orc fumes reached his nose he had started to realize that some of these low creatures had survived the unspeakable blast of light.

Captive in the remote tunnels, he remembered the warning lines in the old writings of his kingdom Dson, which had spoken of the eoil.

The eternal eoil. Apart from immortality and mutual hatred there was nothing to connect him to the age-old elf woman. The writings told only of the incredible power which the eoil was able to harness. And how to make it your own.

He needed this power urgently and thanks to those writings he knew the formula for acquiring it. When he had first heard of the avatars, he had sought out the verses, and learned them by heart, making them as much a part of himself as was with his love of Nagsar Inaste. The verses meant sovereignty and signified victory over the elves and their allies.

He could not have known what the eoil was intending to do in Porista. They had almost managed to avert it-but the eoil was too strong and had nearly annihilated him.

So he lay and waited until his body belonged to him, cycle after cycle he waited. He could do nothing.

Eventually the feeling had returned to his limbs and he had risen up. Furious and mad with concern about Nagsar he had searched all the passages until he found her.