Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

She had been a thirdling spy, a scholar like him, and Balyndis, under pressure from the elders of her clan, had been advised to leave him. It was no wonder that Myr and he had got together-until her treachery was revealed. Then it had been easier not to be troubled by conscience.

“For a magus in training, Dergard’s a bit on the vulnerable side, don’t you think?” Rodario had discovered the cake the farmer’s wife had left on the side. And then he spotted the daughter of the house running past the window in the rain to the barn to milk the cows. “What a delight,” he murmured dreamily, cutting himself a slice.

“What would Tassia say?” Furgas said crossly. “You’re the same as five cycles ago. It’s not clever, just selfish.”

“I’ve no idea what she’d say. She didn’t ask me my opinion when she slept with other men,” he retorted, taking a bite. “We’re both grown up and have a taste for life. So what’s the problem?” He would never admit to the jealousy he felt. “Don’t you have eyes for womenfolk anymore?”

“There aren’t any women in my life now. I swore to be faithful to Narmora. Just because her body no longer exists doesn’t mean I don’t stay true,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I dream of her each night and she gave me the strength to survive the time on the island. I would never betray her by desiring another.”

“An admirable attitude, Furgas. Keep away from women and you won’t get hurt.” He chewed the mouthful of cake, his eyes still on the farmer’s daughter. “Imagine if you had fallen for Tassia. Oh Palandiell, what a disaster! She’s my female equivalent.”

Tungdil noticed Furgas was getting jumpy.

“The girl certainly understands the art of seduction, I can tell you. She’s as faithful as a leaf in the breeze, blowing this way and that.” Rodario rattled on, stuffing his face with cake. “It has cost me dear, finding that out. I can only warn everyone about her.” He laughed quietly. “Little slut. But I can’t stay away.” Then he turned to face the dwarves. “Do you still need me? I’d like to help the farmer’s girl with her churns.”

“Leave her be,” said Tungdil. “I don’t want a row with her father. They’ve been so good to us.”

“Don’t you worry your head, hero. I’ll be as discreet as anything.” He winked at them and left the room.

T he barn where Goda and Boindil were working out was huge.

The farmer had put fleeces down in the old hay loft and new washed wool waiting to be spun. Two weaving looms behind had been clattering away the last couple of orbits.

Boindil took a couple of ropes from the wall and was snaking them in turn toward Goda. “Imagine these are lots of opponents attacking you.” The first one, with an iron ring at the end, was coming at her fast. She turned and avoided it.

“Excellent,” he said, aiming the second at her left thigh.

Goda managed to swerve out of the way several times but the fifth rope hit home. The iron ring hit her on the breast.

Ireheart tutted impatiently. “That’s you dead, Goda. That was a sword-thrust in the chest.” He pointed to the floor. “Forty!”

“I’m not doing press-ups,” she protested. “I would have warded off the blow.”

“You wouldn’t.” He looked her full in the eyes and regretted it at once. His warrior heart was working overtime. “Fifty.”

Goda picked up her flail. “Try it again, master. I’ll show you what the night star can do.”

“No, you won’t. You’re supposed to be taking avoiding action.” He was angry that she was questioning his authority. “Sixty.” Now he made a threatening move toward her.

She raised her weapon. “First you’ll have to get me on the floor.” She pulled in her head, and her eyes blazed. “I have had enough of being ordered about, master.”

Previously Boindil would have rejoiced at the prospect of being free of his young pupil. But now it was his worst nightmare. “You’re confusing persistence with bullying. It’s for your own good,” he said to cover his embarrassment. “You asked me to teach you how to fight.”

“Or else? Seventy?” she laughed with malice.

Ireheart grabbed the handle of the night star and rammed the top of it against her head. Goda started to topple and he placed his foot behind hers, pulling it from under her so that she fell. “One hundred,” he said, twirling her weapon in his hands. “You let go of the night star. You know only to do that if you have a second weapon on you.”

She propped herself up on her elbows, ignoring a trickle of blood from her forehead.

Boindil sighed and went over to crouch down beside her. “Goda, I’m trying to keep you safe and alive.”

“With push-ups? Is it to impress the orcs? Perhaps I can challenge an opponent to a contest?” she hissed, sitting up.

Again their faces were very close.

Ireheart swallowed hard and swung back as if a Vanga had bitten him. “No. It’s to motivate you to make more effort,” he muttered. “If you don’t make the mistakes you don’t have to do the press-ups.” He took a handful of the wool and tried to wipe the blood from her face.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Goda thrust his hand away roughly.

“I wanted…”

“I know what you wanted, master.” She flashed at him. “And I know what you want. Don’t forget you killed Sanda. I feel nothing for you. I’d rather have Bramdal than you. Make me a warrior and then let’s fight to see how good your teaching was. You can keep everything else. I don’t care.” Boindil was thunderstruck. Her harsh tone had hit him to the quick; she had known exactly what he was thinking. “It…” He swallowed, searching for words. His spark of hope was dying. Then he pulled himself together. “It’s not what you think. I am your instructor and I am concerned for you. That is all.”

“So I should hope.” Goda turned and pushed herself up from the floor. She began her press-ups. One hundred of them. Blood dripped from her forehead but that did not bother her.

Ireheart watched, vowing to himself that he would not give up.

W hen Rodario opened the door he found a soldier whose armor bore the insignia of King Bruron.

“A message for Tungdil Goldhand,” he announced, looking past Rodario. “That’ll be you?”

“Eyes as keen as an eagle’s,” joked the showman. “How many dwarves do you see sitting here?” The soldier went over to Tungdil, handing him several rolls and folded papers.

“I am to bring your answer straight back to His Majesty,” he said, retreating. “I’ll wait outside.”

“Get yourself something to eat and have a rest,” invited Tungdil. “It will take some time. Send Boindil and Sirka in.”

He waited silently until the messenger had left the room and the others had joined him, then he unrolled the parchment.

Goda came in as well. She seemed to have her mentor’s complete confidence. Tungdil noticed she had dried blood on her face. Weapons practice must have been rougher than usual today.

“It’s from Prince Mallen,” Tungdil read out. “The initial attacks on the caves at Toboribor have been successful. The monster whose arm I severed has been killed.” His face showed regret. “So far Mallen reports he has lost seven hundred and eleven men in the caves; most of them died through sorcery. There is no indication that the unslayables are using the diamond’s power. Furthermore, the first contingents of thirdlings and firstlings have arrived. They will be taking over from his soldiers.”

“May Vraccas keep them safe,” murmured Ireheart.

Tungdil started to read Gandogar’s missive. “In exchange the elves have sent warriors to the realms of the secondlings and thirdlings to undertake guard duties on the walls and gates. Everything is running smoothly, he writes.”