Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

“There you are, Tungdil Goldhand! King Bruron is looking for you everywhere. The monster has stolen the final diamond,” gasped the man. “It happened during the performance. It surprised us all. We had no chance to stop it. We need you there so they can decide what to do next.”

“Damn! The froggy had the stone. And we’ve let it escape,” groaned Ireheart. “Oh Vraccas! How did that happen?”

Tungdil exhaled sharply and looked at Sirka. “The dwarves and the undergroundlings have one thing in common at least.” He wanted to clap her on the shoulder in acknowledgment, but put his hand on her back instead and to his own surprise left it there. She held a strong attraction for him. He watched her face, thought about that kiss and would have gladly repeated it. Now, right now.

“Courage?” she said, laughing.

“Exactly,” he agreed swiftly, because he had left far too long a pause and had been staring at her. His behavior had been noted by Ireheart and Goda. He swiftly took his hand away from Sirka’s back. First he had to talk to Balyndis.

They hurried through Porista’s lanes and narrow streets, now full of guards.

“One more thing, Tungdil Goldhand,” the messenger addressed him. “We found a dead body in your room. It looks as if he had been stabbed and died as a result of his injuries.”

“That can’t be so,” Tungdil replied at once, as they approached the assembly marquee. “He was an intruder I confronted. I wounded him on the leg and on his side. The injuries weren’t dangerous.”

“Very strange. I saw the dead man myself and I assure you, the body had been carefully slit right up the middle.”

“The froggy! The monster got to him as well!” Ireheart exclaimed, looking at Dergard and the dwarf-guards who surrounded him. “Don’t leave him for a second, even if he needs to have a shit, right?”

Tungdil and Sirka exchanged glances and he could read her thoughts: The monster might have ripped the man to pieces, chucked him off a roof, torn his throat out, but it would never have sliced him through with a clean sharp blade. He would know more when he had seen the body.

The undergroundling came to his side, her hand this time on his back. She put her face down to his ear. “I think you have a traitor in your midst, Tungdil,” she whispered.

He shared her assumption. The thirdlings had a long arm and it reached all the way to Porista.

Girdlegard,

Kingdom of Gauragar,

Porista,

Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

U nder the circumstances I don’t think it would be advisable to split our forces,” said Ortger. “Tungdil Goldhand must protect the magus with Keenfire until he is able to defend himself against the attacks from the unslayables and the monsters.” He regarded the men and women in the assembly. “Besieging Toboribor seems pointless now. Soldiers cannot combat these powers. Not now the enemy holds the genuine diamond.” He indicated Dergard, who was sitting between Gandogar and Tungdil. “Let us send him and the dwarves to Weyurn to seek out the island.”

Tungdil rose. “Indeed. The sooner we take Dergard and Lot-Ionan to the source, the better.” He moved over to the map of Girdlegard. “The unslayables will need to find a way to use the stone. The eoil stole it from evil but transformed it into a power for good. I don’t think the alfar will immediately work out how to use it.” He circled Toboribor with his finger on the map. “And we should keep the siege going. We ought to send raiding parties into the caves to harass the unslayables. Have you considered why they never set out themselves to find the diamonds?” Tungdil paused. “I think they are too weak and so they sent out their creatures instead. We must not give them a moment’s rest. Even if it means risking the lives of more of our troops. If they acquire the stone’s power before we revive Lot-Ionan and before Dergard can cast any spells, we are lost.” He sat down.

“Are any better suited to combat in caves than the children of the Smith?” Rejalin’s question was friendly. “It would be madness to send such experienced fighters out to storm an island when they’re invaluable underground, because they can see in the dark better than a human or an elf.” She looked at Gandogar. “I trust the dwarves, Your Majesty. You should send your warriors to Toboribor, every man you can spare from duty on the gates.”

Tungdil grew hot under the collar. He cursed the fact there had been no opportunity to give the high king Sundalon’s report about the broka. He sensed a trap in the elf princess’s suggestion. He could not pin it down; her words had seemed eminently sensible. Dwarves were indeed excellent at fighting in tunnels.

Sirka, standing behind Tungdil, now leaned forward. “That broka is up to something,” she warned, reinforcing his unease.

Gandogar, however, was flattered by Rejalin’s words and was ready to accept the proposal. “You are right, Your Highness. But I must insist it should be our people who take the thirdlings’ island. If the other sovereigns are in agreement I shall send our warriors to Toboribor.” Pain was audible in his voice; the sedative herbs were only a slight help in stilling the agony from his injured shoulder and mutilated arm. All those present in the assembly admired his stamina.

“It will take too long,” Tungdil objected. “At least sixty orbits. We would be wasting precious time. The cave attacks must start much sooner than that.”

Queen Isika had not yet-luckily for Tungdil-accepted Rejalin’s idea. “We mustn’t forget that there may still be traitors in the dwarf tribes looking to make common cause with our enemies.”

“And if this were so, Queen Isika, we should be the ones exposed to them in the tunnels of Toboribor-not your people,” Gandogar interjected. “Let that be our concern. If there are ten traitors among my five thousand warriors, what harm can they do?”

“I agree with Rejalin,” said Ortger, smiling at the elf princess. “The dwarves know what they’re doing and we can keep this area safe. My soldiers are used to moving in the mountains and can secure the peaks.”

While the rulers gave their assent one by one, Tungdil hurried to Gandogar’s side. “The elves are not to be trusted,” he whispered. He gave a quick summary of Sundalon’s story.

“If you ask me it looks as if the same thing is happening here as the undergroundlings suffered.”

Gandogar had listened carefully, his eyes closed. Then he looked at Sirka. “How long have you known these undergroundlings?” he asked Tungdil.

“You know how long.”

“And you think you can trust what they say?”

“Your Majesty, I…”

He raised his hand. “No, Tungdil. Our peoples have been living in harmony for many cycles now. Now they have sent envoys to impart their knowledge to us.” His eyes sought Tungdil’s. “Apart from the word of the undergroundling dwarves, whose origins are questionable, have you…?”

“Gandogar, you…”

“Enough,” came the unusually sharp command. Sweat was collecting on the king’s brow; the effort of controlling the pain was too much. “Everyone knows their origins are in doubt. And until I’ve seen one of these supposedly harmless orcs they call ubariu and been given proof of their good intentions I shall stick to my opinion.” His brown eyes were resolute. “Even if I believed you, the others here would not. Not without evidence.” He lowered his head. “Do you have evidence?”

Tungdil clamped his jaws so tightly shut that they hurt.

“Do you have this proof, Tungdil Goldhand?” repeated Gandogar.

“No, I don’t,” he admitted reluctantly. He was near to despair. If only the injured elf back at the inn would regain consciousness and could speak! “No.”