Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

“Loud and clear.” Tungdil sat down on the moss and leaned back against a tree. It was high time they met up with the leader of the undergroundlings. His friend and Goda both sat down next to him.

“What do you reckon? Think they like jokes?” Ireheart considered the undergroundling. “Perhaps that will lighten the atmosphere a bit.”

“But not the asking-the-way joke,” Goda rolled her eyes. “If you must, then try the one about the elf and the dwarf and the forest.”

“Yes, you’re right. The asking-the-way they might not appreciate.” He placed his fingers round the handle of his weapon. “They’re so difficult.”

“Just because they won’t laugh at your jokes? Well, that’s certainly a good reason for mistrusting a whole people,” said Tungdil lightly. “That can be your new motto: Laugh, or I’ll thump you. You could get it engraved on the side of your crow’s beak.”

Goda laughed out loud.

“Forty push-ups for you, apprentice.” Boindil’s pride was hurt.

“No sense of humor, master?”

He pretended to be offended. “Not when the joke’s on me.” He pointed to the ground. “Forty, if you please. And right down. I want to see moss on your nose.”

Protesting, Goda stood up and did what he had ordered.

Tungdil shook his head in disapproval, but Ireheart showed his teeth.

“Get your face right down into the moss,” he reminded her after the first thirty push-ups. He was enjoying watching the play of her muscles in the upper arms. Nowadays this was a sight he was finding altogether more attractive.

The undergroundling had kindled a large fire and took no notice of the three dwarves. Flames shot up high into the night sky, sending out a clear signal.

As if from nowhere there they were: two dozen silent figures standing between the trees, in light brown and black leather armor, leather breeches and boots. Their heads were protected by helmets, none quite like the next. The faces were all hidden. Each shut visor bore a demon visage engraved on the surface. The effect was uncanny and intimidating.

In their hands or on their belts Tungdil caught sight of short blackened iron batons one pace in length. At the end of each baton flashed a slim blade and a hook. It seemed the undergroundlings did not share the dwarves’ preference for heavy weaponry.

“Show yourselves,” said the dwarf who had led them to the valley. They all opened their visors.

Tungdil watched the beardless serious faces and noted that some of them were women. This aroused his curiosity. They did not seem to have the plumpness of dwarf-women that he knew; their form was taller and slimmer-more like human females.

One of the undergroundlings, at first sight just the same as the others, stepped forward. “I am Sundalon. You want something from me?” He rammed his staff into the mossy woodland floor, lifted the helmet from off his short light blond hair and waited.

Tungdil and his companions stood up and he introduced them all. “We must talk about the diamond,” he said, speaking freely. “We know now that it belongs to you, but through broka magic it has become much more powerful. We can’t just simply hand it over.”

Sundalon reached to his belt and took out a pouch. He opened it and tipped the contents out: glittering fragments and scintillating dust spilled onto the moss. “That is all that is left of the stones that we and the ubariu have captured. They were all forgeries.”

This did not make Tungdil feel more at ease. Now it was even more likely the genuine stone would fall into the hands of the unslayable siblings. And what they might be capable of doing with its magic power did not bear thinking about.

“We demand the return of our property,” said Sundalon. “It was stolen from us by a broka. It has taken five star courses for us to complete our preparations and to have the opportunity to regain it at last.”

“Why don’t you just cut yourselves a new one and leave us in peace?” Ireheart suggested, holding his crow’s beak weapon lightly in his hands. Lightly, but ready for use. Goda held her night star ready as well.

“Because only that diamond has the quality we need,” was Sundalon’s sharp reply. “It would be like having a key that fits but won’t turn in its lock.” He looked at Tungdil. “If the news we’ve gathered is true there are still three in the hands of your people and one has disappeared? Give us those three and we swear we’ll protect them against all threats.”

“You didn’t manage to keep yours safe the first time,” Boindil rubbed it in.

“And you can’t do it at all,” Sundalon retorted. “You can’t protect them from us or from the ubariu or from these monsters.”

“If you could explain why it’s so important, perhaps we could be persuaded to let you have it.” Tungdil attempted enticement.

To his disappointment the undergroundling shook his head. “If we could explain it freely we wouldn’t have kept ourselves hidden in your homeland for so long. Our land and our town are helpless without the diamond. Our enemies are strong and would attack us at once if they were aware of our weakness.”

Tungdil took a careful step forward. “We are dwarves, as you are. We would never betray you to your foes.” He knew that his statement contained a trace of untruth. He suspected that some of the thirdlings were certainly capable of malice and deceit, but Sundalon did not have to know this. “And anyway, the kings and queens know that it’s the undergroundlings, together with the orcs, trying to get the diamonds. You might as well talk about it. Your raids are no secret, Sundalon.”

“He is right,” said the undergroundling who had brought them to the valley. “Tell him about the trouble we are in and then let’s talk to the kings and queens.”

“No,” said Sundalon harshly. “What happens in this land is not our concern.”

“But they don’t understand the danger they’re in. The broka have put up white stones,” continued the undergroundling. “It’s starting here like it did with us, Sundalon. We could help avert the worst if we warn the dwarves and the humans.”

Sundalon fell silent and thought hard.

“I don’t know how you feel about it but baldy-patch is starting to worry me,” whispered Boindil. “What’s all this about the white stones? Does he mean what we saw when we were with the pointy-ears?”

“Saw? You touched it, remember?” Tungdil said quietly. “Who knows what it’s done to you.”

Ireheart went pale.

The nameless undergroundling turned to them. “Don’t trust the broka now, neither their words, nor their deeds, nor their smiles. They have been staring too long at the sun and aspire to become like it. They have become blind to everything else.” His tone was insistent. “It will start with deaths and nobody will know by whose hand the victims died. Then towns and villages will burn and there will be no survivors. Your people will suffer losses and will lie dead in the tunnels because the water is poisoned…”

“By Vraccas!” Ireheart exclaimed, horrified. “Do you hear that? They’re describing what’s happening in Girdlegard…” He stopped, lifting up his crow’s beak. “Was it you that did that and now you’re all for peace because it’ll make it easier for you to get the diamond?” He lowered his head aggressively between his hunched shoulders. “I swear by the dwarves that have died that I shall take revenge on you if it was you that did this!”

“No, it was not us,” said Sundalon. “Agreed. You shall learn the history of the diamond. Perhaps then you will believe us.” He sat down and started to relate…

The stone originated in the deepest mine of Drestadon. The finder paid for it with his eyesight because it was so dazzlingly bright. It was only possible to view and to cut the diamond when it was covered with a thick black cloth.