Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

“The diamond!” came a shout from the audience.

“No, not a diamond,” Rodario picked up the cue. “Not a diamond-I shall give you my heart!”

Gandogar leaped onto the stage, his right hand closing over the pendant. “Lights!” he shouted.

“Your Royal Highness, Noble Majesty, high king of all the dwarf realms, sire. I know your people are awfully keen on gems and jewelry and that you get really passionate about them, but you are ruining my play!” said Rodario, politely but with impatience. He grabbed the necklace. “Go and sit down again, Your Majesty, and watch the final act. I rule here on this stage. You will be good enough to recognize my status.”

Gandogar pulled the jewel out of his hands again. “This is one of the diamonds, you idiot thespian!” insisted the king. “Can’t you understand?”

Rodario laughed. “Your connoisseur’s eye has been deceived here, Your Noble Majesty.” Faster than the dwarf could react, Rodario had taken possession of the necklace. “The pendant is made of polished rock crystal, not diamond.” He swung it from his hands. “It is paste, Your Majesty. I would never use a genuine precious gem as a stage prop.”

“I am the king of the fourthlings; my tribe is descended from the best gemstone cutters amongst the children of the Smith and if anyone knows about jewels then it’s going to be me, not some actor!” he retorted so angrily that his beard quivered. “Give me the diamond! At once!”

Tassia tried to mediate. But just then a huge creature mounted the stage. It was taller than dwarf or human and thick strings of twisting muscle showed under its gray-green skin. Apart from a leather loin cloth and boots it was naked. Round its forearms white chains hung.

Its contorted alfar gaze was focused on the pendant, the eyes glowing green. “Give me the necklace!”

Everyone in the auditorium stared in surprise.

King Bruron was the first to applaud. “What a magnificent performance!” he called. “The creature looks just like the one Tungdil and the soldiers described.”

“Totally lacking in taste,” complained Isika.

Rodario and Tassia stepped back; the actor held up his sword. “Run, Gandogar!” he said hoarsely, horror compressing his larynx. Hastily he thrust the jewel at him. “Save the last of the stones from Tion’s creatures.”

Then mayhem broke out in the theater marquee.

Girdlegard,

Kingdom of Gauragar,

Porista,

Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

Risava stopped outside an anonymous-looking house wedged in between properties that reflected the status of wealthier owners. “Here it is.” She opened the door and went in.

Tungdil, Sirka, Boindil, Goda and two dozen dwarves followed her in, prepared for action; the wagon lined with straw was ready in the street outside.

They saw at once that the building had not been occupied for some time. There was a layer of dust on the furniture. Only the tables and chairs showed frequent use. It all smelled of cold smoke.

“We come here because of the cellar,” said Risava, who had come to a halt in the entrance. She touched a special place on the wall and steps appeared, leading down, when a stone slab moved aside. From the vaulted basement Tungdil caught the familiar smell of paper and parchment. “Is this Nudin’s library?”

“No, it’s mine,” said the woman, lighting a lamp and leading the way.

Soon they were all crowded into the small cellar room with walls full of shelves and books. In the middle stood Lot-Ionan’s petrified statue inside a circle drawn with magic symbols; several runes had been sketched on the surface of the statue itself.

“We’ve got everything ready,” she explained. “All we need to revive him is the magic.”

“How did you get him here?”

Risava indicated the steps. “Carried him down. It took nearly all night.”

Ireheart walked round the statue. “There are a few bad scratches,” he said, running his fingers over the grooves.

Tungdil examined the damage. It was a strange feeling. Was he looking at a statue or a person? Perhaps Lot-Ionan would soon be emerging from the stone, the magus he had lived with for many cycles, his own foster-father. They could not afford to make any mistakes. “Should we fill the marks in with mortar before trying to bring him to life? We can’t have him bleeding.” He saw a hole in the stone robe near the spine. “Or he might fall down dead.”

“What do you think?” he passed his query to the famuli.

Dergard shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that.” He studied the hole, a finger’s width. He seemed surprised. “I didn’t see that before. Could have been rats or something else like that.”

“I agree.” Tungdil ordered the dwarves to get the carrying belts from the wagon. “It would be like a foreign body to introduce mortar into his flesh. If it wasn’t part of him when he was turned to stone then it won’t be changed back when he is restored to life.”

Ireheart bent down, picking up some of the powder he saw on the floor. “Stone dust.” He scratched around the opening. “It all fits. This hole has been drilled on purpose.” He turned to Risava and Dergard. “I don’t know of any animal outside of the mountains that eats stone.”

The two humans looked at each other helplessly. “I swear by Samusin it wasn’t us,” said Risava.

“Perhaps a fourth famulus, still loyal to Nod’onn and who wants to see Lot-Ionan dead?” suggested Goda. “The hole was concealed. It was probably to serve as a fallback in case we managed to bring him back to life.”

“Then they would have knocked his head off, apprentice,” Ireheart said, looking at her crossly. “That should cost you fifty push-ups, but I’ll be generous.”

Tungdil tore an empty page out of a book, rolled the paper into a spill and pushed it into the hole to see how deep it went. “As deep as my little finger. A person should be able to survive that.” He ran his hands over the statue. “And anyway, he’d be able to heal himself at once. We must just risk it.”

The dwarves came back with the leather harness. With a combined effort they managed to load the stone figure of the magus onto the wagon, bedding it down on the straw.

T he diamond!” The monster’s dark eyes shone green as it shook the chains free from its forearms. The alfar symbols glowed and transferred their light to the iron links. Then it swung the chains at Rodario and Gandogar; both were caught within the coils.

At the next moment and before any of the spectators could move, the creature launched itself into the air, catapulting straight through the stage scenery, dragging its captives after it as if they weighed nothing at all. Pieces of the stage flats broke off and fell down, one of them hitting Tassia and trapping her while dwarves and soldiers rushed off in pursuit. “Help!” she sobbed. Planks collapsed, bringing down sections of canvas from the tent. Smoke started to rise. Tassia could hear people stampeding past her to escape from the monster. There was no time to come to the aid of some actress.

At last Furgas came over to free her from her distress. She wept and threw herself at him, grabbing hold of his shoulder. He froze. Finally he put his arms hesitatingly around her and consoled her.

“Come along, let’s get you out of here.” He yelled orders to the theater group, most of whom were standing rooted to the spot in terror: they must put out the fires. He carried Tassia out and sat her on a makeshift bed. “You’ll be safe here,” he said. “I must go and save Rodario.”

She nodded and calmed down but the pain, coupled with the shock of the monster’s appearance, had hit her hard.

Furgas ran off, following the sounds of commotion. He could see from Porista’s lighted windows that the townspeople had been aroused. It wasn’t long before he found a crowd of soldiers and dwarves surrounding Rodario and Gandogar.