Markus Heitz - The Dwarves

Not having reckoned with enemy troops, Nфd'onn's soldiers took a while to realize that they were under attack. A moment later, the sky darkened and a hailstorm of arrows ripped through the air. The iron-tipped missiles glittered in the light as they sped toward the beasts. The magus's warriors forgot about the humans and tried to locate their other mysterious foes. Firebombs were already whining toward them, crashing down and engulfing them in flames. Panic broke out.

"Bravo for the elves!" cheered Rodario, relaying the news to his friends.

Gandogar grinned. "So the pointy-ears have found their courage, have they?"

"What are we waiting for?" demanded Ireheart, fired up by the prospect of orc blood. "Do you want to kill Nфd'onn or not?"

They charged into the tunnel, their confidence buoyed.

As it turned out, they had nothing to fear from the orcs. Not expecting to be attacked from the rear, the runts put up almost no resistance, and the first forty died without knowing what had hit them. The company found themselves at a junction with no sign of beasts or dwarves.

"That was brilliant fun! Where to now?" Ireheart panted eagerly. "You know your way around here. Which direction will Nфd'onn have taken?"

"He's probably helping his troops at a spot where he can't get any farther by brute force alone," Tungdil said, wishing fervently that the walls of the stronghold would speak to him as they had once before. Nothing happened. "The trouble is, I can't think where." There was a hint of desperation in his voice. "It's…"

A dull rumble shook the ground beneath their feet, and a fierce red light radiated from the passageway to their left. Flames licked the walls in the distance; then the glow faded and was gone.

Tungdil didn't need to give the order: He and the others were already sprinting toward the blaze. The smell of charred flesh hung thick in the air, the black fatty smoke stinging their eyes and burning their lungs.

They stormed out of the passageway and entered the first of three halls. The chambers were divided by roughly fashioned walls, but vast archways, each nine paces or more in height, allowed them to see through to the final hall.

A fierce battle was raging between the dwarves and the beasts. They seemed to be fighting for control of a wide door at the far end of the third hall, where the clatter of blades was at its most deafening. Bright pennants fluttered above the warriors of Borengar, Beroпn, and Goпmdil.

Poorly fashioned pillars supported the ceiling, fifty paces above. Crumbling staircases without kerb or rail wound up the columns, which were connected by bridges that ran the length of the halls. The fighting had spread to the walkways too.

"Come on, we're bound to find him here," Tungdil said firmly.

At first the company passed undetected through the turmoil, but their fortunes changed in the final hall when they spotted Nфd'onn pacing along a bridge. He was watching the dwarven warriors struggling to defend the door against his troops.

"Look! I bet he's going to help them with his wizardry." Boпndil ran ahead, speeding toward the staircase that would take them to the magus's walkway. The rest of the company made to follow, but fate had ordained that they should fight a different battle.

A dark arrow sang toward them from the right. Tungdil felt a searing pain in his leg and looked down to see an arrow embedded in his thigh.

"Sinthoras will be your death," hissed the дlf. He was leading a band of fifty orcs and a second arrow was notched on his bow. "I will take your life and the land will take your soul."

Not mine, you won't, Tungdil thought stubbornly. He saw Sinthoras release the bowstring and managed to raise his shield to ward off the feathered shaft of death.

Cursing, the дlf bounded toward them and ordered the orcs to attack.

"Quick, Narmora and Boпndil, you take the steps," instructed Tungdil. "Kill Nфd'onn before he sees us. We'll watch your backs." With a muffled groan he reached down and snapped the arrow shaft in two. Stand by us, Vraccas. Bracing himself, he raised his ax to strike an orcish knee.

The stone staircase crumbled as they ran. The thirdlings had chosen their material badly and over the course of time it had chipped and fractured. Narmora and Boпndil were risking their lives with every step.

They swept up the spiral stairs, winding their way to the top and never once glancing at the fighting below. All their thoughts were focused on the bloated man in malachite robes who was standing on the walkway. With every turn of the staircase he flashed in and out of sight. The air was getting warmer, and there was an overpowering stench of blood and orc guts.

Only a few steps remained. Narmora rounded the final corner, only to be confronted by a famulus who was standing guard behind the pillar.

"Who said you could come up here?" he asked rudely, mistaking her for one of Nфd'onn's дlfar. "You're supposed to be commanding the orcs, not-"

Boпndil charged past Narmora and rammed his left ax into the famulus's crotch. The next ax sliced into the man's right shoulder, and he staggered against the pillar and collapsed.

"Ha, I guess wizards aren't always in favor of surprises." The dwarf grinned. He peered round the corner. "There's no one else in sight. I'll wait here, or Nфd'onn will get suspicious. Just call if you need me." He looked at her keenly. In the darkness of the underground hall, Narmora's eyes looked like hollows once more. "Are you sure you can do this?"

Narmora tossed the rags to the floor and practiced reaching for Keenfire. "You're worried that my dark side will make a traitor of me."

He nodded. "Yes."

"Well, Boпndil Doubleblade, at least you're honest." She bent down and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't you think it's a little too late to doubt my loyalty?" Her expression was as hard and cruel as an дlf's and she looked more terrifying than ever.

He tapped his axes together nervously. Her words and gestures were making him jumpy. "Just do something so I know what's what," he said grumpily.

She smiled and left the shelter of the pillar. "Very well. I'll do something." Her face remained an inscrutable mask.

Nфd'onn was standing halfway along the walkway. He raised his right arm and traced a symbol in the air, conjuring the first runes of a devastating spell that would put pay to the defenders' determined resistance. In his bloated left hand he held his onyx-tipped staff of white maple. The black jewel was glimmering malevolently.

Narmora could tell that it was no use sneaking up on him and that an all-out assault would be equally doomed. She would have to rely on cunning and dissimulation to get within striking distance of Girdlegard's most dangerous and powerful wizard.

She held her hand to her bloodied neck, pressing on her wound. All her efforts were focused on appearing injured, and she made her performance as authentic as possible, swaying and stumbling along the bridge.

"Master," she groaned, "they've destroyed the tower… It was Andфkai…"

He froze and turned sharply. His waxy skin wobbled as if it were filled with rippling water. "Andфkai?" he rasped. "Where is she?"

"Outside, Master. She's using her magic against our troops." She took a few faltering steps toward him. Only ten paces remained, an impossibly long distance. "How can we stop her?"

Nфd'onn shuffled round to face her. She saw his huge girth, the puffed-up face that bore no resemblance to Nudin's, the blood seeping from his pores and running in red trickles across his skin and soaking his robes. Dark patches, some still glistening moistly, stained the green cloth that was caked with blood and grime. The smell was enough to make anyone retch.

"She's too powerful for you," he said, his voice cracking as if two people were speaking at once. "You won't be able to stop her. Show me where you last saw her and I'll take care of her myself. Lead the way."