Markus Heitz - The Dwarves

The high king raised a wizened hand. "No." He waved toward the engraved stelae. "We will follow the law as it was given to us by our forefathers. What they ordained will be fulfilled."

The silence that descended on the vast hall was by no means uniform in quality. For the most part it was born of astonishment, but in a number of cases it was prompted by helplessness and rage. There was no choice but to wait for the audacious stranger to appear.

Gandogar sat down heavily and pulled his ax across the table toward him. The blade left a deep white gouge in the polished stone, scarring the surface over which the masons had toiled so long.

"So be it," he said coolly. He dared not risk a longer speech for fear that he would say something he might regret. Turning, he cast an abject glance at Bislipur, who seemed a model of composure, but whose unruffled expression Gandogar could read. His adviser was already turning over the situation in his mind, searching for a solution. Bislipur could be relied on to be resourceful.

"The journey from Ionandar will take weeks. How are we supposed to occupy ourselves until the dwarf arrives?" asked Gandogar, eyes fixed on the sparkling diamonds on his armor. "What makes you think that our aspiring high king will find us?" "Or that he'll make it here alive," added Bislipur.

"We'll have plenty to discuss in the meantime," said Balendilнn. "The assembly will turn to matters of imminent importance for our clans." He smiled. "But your concern is touching. Rest assured that the dwarf will get here safely. We've sent an escort."

"In that case we should send one too," Bislipur insisted with forced benevolence. "The fourthlings are always happy to look after their own. Where should we send our warriors?"

"Your offer is most generous, but unnecessary. The dwarf will be a guest of the high king, so the high king has sent warriors of his own," Balendilнn said diplomatically. "Given the stormy start to the proceedings, I suggest we take a break and cool our tempers with a keg of dark ale." He raised his ax and rapped the poll twice against the table. The clear ring of metal on stone sang through the air and echoed through the corridors.

At once barrels of dark roasted barley malt were rolled into the hall, and in no time the delegates were raising their drinking horns to the reigning high king and his successor, who most assumed would be Gandogar.

Bislipur laid his hand on his monarch's shoulder. "Patience, Your Majesty. Let us honor our forefathers by satisfying every requirement they name. It's important we don't give anyone the opportunity to question the legitimacy of your reign." They clinked tankards and he took a lengthy draft. The beer was thick and malty, almost sweet. "Ale like this can be brewed only by dwarves." He smiled, wiping the foam from his beard.

At length the atmosphere in the great hall became jollier and more boisterous and Bislipur could slip away unnoticed. Safely ensconced in a lonely passageway, he summoned Sverd and entrusted the gnome with a mission of great importance. Enchanted Realm of Ionandar, Girdlegard, Spring, 6234th Solar Cycle Whistling, Tungdil knelt by his cupboard and packed his large leather knapsack for the trip. He took a tinderbox, a flint, and a blanket, in case he had to spend a night in the open, as well as his fishing hook, a plate, and some cutlery. His cloak he rolled into a bundle and fastened to the outside of the knapsack with a leather strap. Lastly, he pulled on his chain mail and tweaked it with practiced movements until it lay flat against his skin.

He felt instantly better. There was something safe and incredibly homely about his shirt of steel rings. His attachment to his chain mail was a matter of instinct, not something he could explain.

He had the same feeling when he was working at the anvil. Routine jobs-forging horseshoes, nails, and iron brackets for doors, honing blades, or sharpening tools-came naturally to him. It was his dwarven blood, he supposed.

Hoisting his bulging knapsack to his shoulders, he picked up the ax that had been given to him by Lot-Ionan, hooked it through his belt, and set off for the magus's study. He knew the vaults like the back of his hand. The dim light posed no problem for his sharp dwarven eyes and his sense of direction never abandoned him underground. No two tunnels looked the same to him, owing to his ability to remember the slightest irregularity in the rock. It was a different story on the surface, where he was unable to find his way anywhere without a map.

He knocked briskly and opened the door. Lot-Ionan was sitting at his desk, dressed in the old beige robes to which he was so attached. He held up a sheet of parchment accusingly as the dwarf came into the room.

"Do you see this, Tungdil?" he said, throwing the paper disgustedly back onto the pile. "This is your doing! Orbits of study destroyed in the blink of an eye."

"I had no idea," the dwarf said with genuine contrition but determined not to concede any guilt. Stubbornness was another of his inherited characteristics.

"I know, Tungdil. I know." The magus's expression softened. "Go on, then. What really happened?"

"It was another of Jolosin's pranks. He played a trick on me, so I threw a bucket of water at him…" He bowed his head and his voice fell to an indistinct mumble. "He turned the droplets into ice and the shards hit some of the phials. He tried to lay the blame on me by locking me in the laboratory." He looked up and focused his brown eyes on his patron.

The magus sighed. "Six of one and half a dozen of the other, just as I thought. Still, I shouldn't have shouted at you like that." He motioned to the parchment. "Of course, it doesn't change the fact that I'll be spending the next few orbits reinscribing these runes. You had no business to be in the laboratory, Tungdil. No good comes of a dwarf meddling in magic or mixing potions. I thought you knew that by now."

"But it wasn't my-"

"What possessed you to take matters into your own hands? You had only to come to me and Jolosin would have been punished. I'm sending you on a journey, a long journey-which isn't to say I won't be pleased to have you back. On the contrary." He paused. "Rest assured that Jolosin has fared much worse; he'll be peeling potatoes until you're home. And should you decide to take a more circuitous route…" With a mischievous grin he left the rest up to Tungdil. "Well, are you ready?"

"Yes, Estimable Magus," Tungdil answered, relieved that his patron no longer held him solely to blame. "What would you have me do?"

After the frayed tempers of the laboratory, the atmosphere in the study, where they were surrounded by the clutter of Lot-Ionan's cabinets, gadgetry, and books, seemed all the more relaxed. Flames crackled softly in the fireplace and the magus's owl was napping in a corner.

"We'll discuss your errand later. All in good time." Lot-Ionan rose and retired with his steaming mug to the wing chair by the hearth. He stretched his slippered feet toward the flames. "There's no rush. Jolosin will be busy in the laboratory for a good while longer… Besides, there's something I'd like you to consider while you're away." His hand patted the chair beside him.

Tungdil set down his knapsack and took a seat. It sounded as though the magus had something important to say.

"I've been thinking." Lot-Ionan cleared his throat. "The two of us have known each other for sixty-two of your sixty-three cycles."

The dwarf knew what was coming. At times like this, when the mood was sentimental and the magus was feeling relaxed, he would pour himself a draft of beer, warm his feet by the fire, and journey into the distant past, recalling events that had happened over a human lifetime ago. Tungdil loved these conversations.

"It was winter and the winds were howling when there was a knock on the door and a band of kobolds deposited a bundle." He looked his ward in the eye and laughed softly. "It was you! Back then, without your beard, you could almost have been mistaken for a human bairn. They threatened to drown you in the nearest river if I didn't pay your bond. What could I do? I gave them their money and raised you myself."