Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

Girdlegard,

Kingdom of Gauragar,

Porista,

Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

T ungdil woke with a start. He must have dropped off over his notes and in the meantime night had fallen in Porista.

Standing up and stretching his aching back, he heard the vertebrae click back into place.

Sleep had brought no brilliant ideas about how to catch the elves out and expose their malice. He had no evidence-only the undergroundlings’ warnings and his own observations back in Alandur. The elf they had found in the forest was still lying unconscious in the guesthouse on the edge of town, where they had left him guarded by ten soldiers. They had managed to keep his presence quiet.

“If only he’d come round.” Tungdil shook his head. He picked up the tankard of beer. This particular temptation must be removed before he went to bed. He opened the window and chucked the contents out. It splashed onto the cobbles. The danger was past. “Why isn’t everything that simple?”

A shadow swung down from the roof and in through the window, striking him on the chest.

Tungdil crashed back and hit his head on the edge of the table. He saw stars.

Three black-garbed figures leapt in. Their faces were masked and they carried short swords. One secured the door, and the other two pinioned Tungdil’s arms. A blade was pressed against his throat.

“Where is it?” whispered a female voice.

“Where’s what?”

“Keenfire!” she hissed.

“Hey, thickheads,” said the man at the door, pointing to where the ax hung in its case from a protruding beam against the wall.

“Samusin is with us. It’s going to be easier than I thought,” she laughed. “I was afraid we’d have to deal with that mad fighting dwarf and his apprentice as well.” The man next to her stood up and reached for the ax.

This galvanized Tungdil into action. He jerked his head to one side and thrust the blade away, forcing it into the woman’s unprotected thigh. He reaped a small cut on his hand but she received a deep slash on her leg.

“It’s mine,” he yelled, drawing his knife. He had soon realized that these intruders were not trained assassins or experienced thieves. They were mere beginners and he was eager to find out why they had set their sights on the most important weapon in Girdlegard.

The woman yelped with pain and he whacked her on the forehead with the handle of his dagger so that she collapsed on the floor. He set after the man who had just grabbed the ax, stabbing him from behind in the leg.

The man roared and spun round, swinging Keenfire to attack him. Tungdil ducked and the tip of the ax buried itself in a wooden post.

“Let go,” growled Tungdil threateningly, leaping forward knife in hand to force his adversary to retreat.

The man crashed against a chest of drawers and the blade struck him in the side; he broke off cursing and pressed his hands over the spurting wound.

Tungdil wrenched the ax out of the wooden beam and whirled it in his hands. Watchfully he approached the last of the three masked intruders. “Now tell me who you are and how you got the crazy idea to steal Keenfire from me.”

The man brandished his short sword, the blade quivering. “Get back!”

“On the contrary.” Tungdil feigned an ax-blow, and while the other was trying to dodge it, he kicked him in the groin so he sank groaning to his knees. Tungdil placed the heavy blade at his neck to let him feel its deadly pressure. “Well?”

“Kill us and you will never see Lot-Ionan again,” the woman spoke, pulling herself upright on the post. She let herself fall, groaning, onto a chair and examined the wound in her thigh.

“So you’re the ones who stole him?”

“I said right at the start that it was a stupid idea to steal the dwarf’s ax,” moaned the man who had been stabbed in the side. “Get a medicus. I’m bleeding to death here.”

“No one leaves this room till I know who you are.” Tungdil stood threateningly at the door.

The woman pulled off her face-mask and used the cloth to bind her wound. She was no older than eighteen cycles. A hank of light brown hair had escaped from her headscarf. “I’m Risava of Panok. That’s Dergard, and he’s Lomostin. We were Nod’onn’s famuli and ever since his death when the force fields were lost we’ve been trying to find a way to bring magic back to Girdlegard,” she revealed to the astonished dwarf. She stood up and limped over to where the injured man lay.

“What do you want with Lot-Ionan’s statue if you were followers of Nod’onn?”

Risava looked at the men, who both took off their masks. “We were going to try to free him from the spell. He can help us. Our land needs the skills of magic so that we can stop the creatures who are hunting down the diamond.” Her face darkened. “If you had only listened to Nod’onn this would never have happened.”

Tungdil thought she must be joking. “Andokai said the petrification spell was irreversible.”

“Perhaps for Andokai it was,” Risava spoke with disdain.

“Have a care,” warned Lomostin. “Don’t tell him too much.”

“Wrong.” Tungdil stroked his ax. “Tell him everything. It is better for your health. You can still cast spells if need be without your foot.”

Risava moved back and spoke to her companions. Tungdil did not take his eyes off them and readied himself to prevent them escaping.

At last she turned back to him. “Right, I’ll explain. Andokai did not have the knowledge that we have. We have spent the last few cycles studying Nudin’s secret library and learning magic spells. In theory. But we do not have the magic energy to give life to the formulae.” Risava indicated the ax. “We thought we’d be able to get enough magic force from Keenfire to free Lot-Ionan. He would know what to do.”

“He would never teach you.” Tungdil did not dare to believe what she was saying. He could not tell whether she was speaking the truth or not.

“Nod’onn or Nudin, no matter now. He is dead,” said Dergard, still holding his privates in agony. “We mourned him for long enough to know his views had been corrupted by the daemon within. He had no free will anymore.” He looked at Risava. “She’ll understand. In our hearts we renounced Nod’onn long ago. As she said: we have Nudin’s knowledge and want to continue his works- his works, not Nod’onn the traitor’s. Lot-Ionan would have taken us on, I’m sure of it.”

“Stealing the statue wasn’t a good start.” Tungdil took the ax away from the neck of the famulus. “You should have told me and King Bruron.”

“He’d not have believed us any more than the people of Girdlegard, or you.” Risava stood up carefully leaning on a chair. “We want to bring Lot-Ionan back to life. The humans, the elves, the dwarves-they all have faith in him. He would have found a way to present us as his new initiate pupils without our reputation going before us.”

Tungdil stepped past her to check the injured man’s wounds.

“The wound in the leg isn’t bad and the left side will heal quickly,” he said after a swift inspection. “We’ll clean it up and get you stitched up. Then you should have bed-rest for a few orbits until it has all healed over.” He looked at Risava. “You will take me and my friends to the statue. You may have Keenfire and you can try to revive Lot-Ionan with it.” His eyes took on a threatening glint. “But if you try any treachery, you and your friends will be killed. At the moment you are no use to Girdlegard, so it makes no difference whether you’re around or not.”

“It’s a waste of time,” said Lomostin through clenched teeth. “I was holding the ax in my hands and there’s not enough magic in it. It won’t be any use for our plan. The magic source…”