Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

Some of the other dwarves had come up to join them now. Someone told Tungdil in a whisper that the wagons had been found. The chests containing the stones had all been broken open and the stones had gone.

“We don’t steal. We take back what is rightfully ours,” said the undergroundling. “It was a broka that took them and carried them off. We had been searching for many star-courses before the ubariu told us where they were.”

“What’s a broka?”

He thought for a while before replying. “You’d say elf-woman.”

Tungdil nodded to Ireheart. “As I thought. We called her eoil and she brought terror to Girdlegard. But she gave the stone amazing power.”

“It always was a powerful artifact,” the undergroundling responded. “And it doesn’t alter the fact that the diamond’s ours.”

“Can you take us to your leader?” Tungdil untied the belt on the captive’s hands, and then the bonds round his feet and stood back up. “Your attacks must stop. We all need a solution.” He held out his hand to help him up.

“Scholar, they’re in league with the orcs,” Ireheart warned. “I don’t think we can trust them.”

The undergroundling pretended not to hear the objection, and stood up without taking the proffered hand. “I’ll take you where you can wait for Sundalon. That’s all.” He brushed the grass off his clothing.

“The three of us will come with you. You take the lead.” Tungdil gave orders for the other dwarves to wait back at camp. “Do you have a name?”

“Yes. I do.” He nodded and limped off. Boindil was pleased about the limp. It made up for the appalling pain in his arm.

Suddenly he felt Goda’s hand on his right shoulder. Her other hand grasped his arm, forcing it backwards. He gritted his teeth as the bone slotted back into its socket. For one moment their faces were very close. He could feel her breath on his skin.

“Forgive me, master. The less time you have to tense up, the easier it is to deal with the dislocation.”

“It’s fine,” he said and smiled at her. Not as her master, but as a dwarf. A dwarf in love. Then he cleared his throat, moved swiftly to the side and stepped past her. “Come on, let’s catch up. We don’t want to abandon the scholar.”

Goda had noticed the difference in the smile. That would explain his over-reaction when she had gone on about Bramdal. “Oh, Vraccas.” She gave a deep sigh and followed.

Girdlegard,

Kingdom of Gauragar,

Thirty-eight Miles West of Porista,

Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

T he wagons hurtled through the landscape. The Curiosum had seldom been in such a tearing hurry to get to the next venue.

The reason was obvious. Furgas must inform the rulers what had happened on the thirdling island. But there was going to be a real problem with that.

“And he still hasn’t spoken a word?” Tassia asked again as she sat next to her lover on the driving seat of the first wagon, tossed about as the vehicle rattled along. “So he’s just sitting around mending props and his theater gadgets from the old days?”

“Yup. His mind is busy trying to forget what he’s gone through these past five cycles.” Rodario slowed the wagon; he had seen a place off the road where they could camp for the night. It was important none of the vehicles damaged an axle now when the end of the journey was practically in sight.

They made a circle with the caravans. Rodario helped Tassia down and tried-though not very hard-to avoid looking down her cleavage. “Oh, now I know what I’ve been missing.” He grinned and then kissed her.

She laughed and tapped him with a pile of papers she had been sitting on. “And how many women did you gladden in Mifurdania while I was busy taking my troupe north?”

“Your troupe, eh?” he said with emphasis, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m back now, my girl, and I’ll have you know that I am in charge of the Curiosum again. Or have you been inciting the troupe to revolution with your pretty eyes and your charming mouth?”

She placed a forefinger under his chin. “That is the way of it, my love. I’ve slept with every man in the theater company and made them all my slaves. The women never liked me in the first place. You may be the emperor of the acting fraternity, but there’s a new queen in the realm.” Tassia was only half speaking in jest.

Rodario had certainly noticed that his instructions were only carried out when Tassia gave the nod. He thought it was a joke at first. “No, you don’t mean it,” he said uncertainly.

“Have another look at your play. I’ve changed it a bit. It’s better now.” She spoke confidently and pressed the papers into his hand, grinning at him. She planted a passionate kiss on his lips, then hurried off to help Gesa with the meal.

Rodario watched her go and scratched his head. “That woman has a demon in her blood,” he muttered. “If I’d known that before, I’d never have agreed to the deal back in Storm Valley.” He went round to the back door of the caravan and let down the ladder to sit on, while the crew took the horses out of the shafts and led them off to be fed and watered.

In the light of the setting sun he skimmed through what Tassia had changed on his playscript.

He was annoyed to find himself laughing out loud at several of the new ideas she had added. She had certainly shown her talents here. Rodario had come across many works by experienced playwrights that were nowhere as good as this.

He surfaced eventually as thirst and concern for Furgas made themselves felt. He got up and went up the narrow steps. “Furgas?”

While he waited for an answer he turned his head to watch Tassia. She was laughing with Gesa. The women were having a potato-peeling race. Anyone in the troupe who was not busy with other work had gathered at the fireside to be near the warmth of this delightful girl. Rodario realized that she had been telling the truth. The Curiosum was now securely in Tassia’s strong and capable hands. He had trained her. She had been his muse.

“By Palandiell, I can’t have that!” murmured the dethroned emperor. “I must have a quiet word with the young lady.”

He was starting back down the steps when he heard a moan coming from the caravan.

“Furgas?” He opened the door without further ado. His friend was lying on the floor covered in blood. Furgas had slashed his own wrists with deep lengthwise cuts and had fainted from the blood loss.

“What the…?” Rodario rushed in, grabbed a sheet and tore it into strips to bind the gashes. “What were you thinking of?” he yelled at Furgas, pulling him upright. “I didn’t rescue you just so’s you could kill yourself.”

“It’s the guilt,” whispered Furgas. “I built machines designed to bring death to the dwarves.” He was struggling to regain control. He swayed again, but Rodario had him fast.

“Go easy on yourself, my friend. They forced you to do it…”

“I could have killed myself instead of doing what they demanded, but…” He looked the actor in the eyes. “First they sent drilling rigs through the old blocked mine galleries trying to get through. Then the death machines followed.” He wiped his eyes. “The machines…”

Rodario gave him a cup of water. “Take it easy.”

“I can’t take it easy. Have you heard what the people are saying? Those monsters of flesh and steel?” He swallowed, his hands gripping the cup convulsively. “They are all my work. The thirdlings are in league with the immortal siblings,” he said, trying to keep his voice level.

Rodario felt icy fingers up and down his spine. “No.” He saw Tassia’s face at the door, not moving lest she intrude. She stood in the doorway listening.

“Yes.” Furgas gave a bitter laugh. “Bandilor came to me and showed me some weird sketches of disgusting hybrid creatures to be made partly of iron. He had the formula for the alloy that can conduct magic, and had stolen some of the embers from the fifthlings’ dragon-forge. He used that to make the alloy and I made the machines from it following his instructions. I built them, not knowing what he wanted to do with them.” He turned pale.