Markus Heitz - The Dwarves

No wood in the world, not even sigurdaisy wood, could have withstood such a blow. The giant's sword sliced through the spear and sped on. A wide sweeping blow parted the disbelieving дlf's head from his shoulders, and Sinthoras's headless body slumped to the ground, never to rise again.

Grunting in terror, the orcs shrank back from the king of the beasts as he straightened up, howling, and opened his visor. His face was invisible in the blinding light, but the orcs were rooted with fear, allowing the company to regroup.

Tungdil, still clutching Keenfire, limped toward the maga. "I've got the weapon." He pointed to Djerun. "Is he an enemy of the dwarves?" he asked, panting for breath.

"I don't know. Are you prepared to give him Keenfire?"

"We don't have a choice." He tossed the weapon to the giant.

Without hesitating, Djerun discarded his sword by ramming it through two orcs and reached out to catch the ax.

Let's get this over with. Tungdil raised his horn and sounded a long, powerful call. The dwarves of Beroпn, Borengar, and Goпmdil answered with cheers and blaring bugles. "For Vraccas and Girdlegard!" he shouted, leading the charge against the magus. Balyndis and Gandogar were already at his side; the others stormed after them.

They hewed down the orcs and bцgnilim in their way, cutting a path of gory destruction that brought Djerun within striking distance of their foe. Andфkai conjured a bolt of lightning, whose purpose was to dazzle the magus, then gave the command for Djerun to strike.

Before Nфd'onn had time to compose himself, the mailed giant brought down the ax. It hit the magus's unprotected back, sliced through his body, and sped out of his chest. Stinking black fluid spurted everywhere, showering the transfixed onlookers.

Nфd'onn let out a terrible howl. The hall was still echoing with his screams when the wound began to heal.

"No," whispered Tungdil in horror. "It's not possible. Keenfire was supposed to…"

Nфd'onn hurled bolts of black lightning at the giant, who fell backward and lay still among the orcs. "I told you that nothing can hurt me," thundered the magus. He bore no sign of injury, save for the gash in his robes.

We can't let it end this way! Filled with desperate fury, Tungdil went on the offensive. While his friends tried to preoccupy the magus by engaging him in an increasingly hopeless battle, he set off a second time in search of the ax.

He found Keenfire in Djerun's stiff metal grasp. Prizing away the giant's fingers, he picked up the ax and felt a strange sensation in his hand. What…?

Light pulsed through the intarsia, and the diamonds came to life, shining and sparkling like a thousand miniature suns. At first he thought Nфd'onn had worked a spell on it, but then he saw that the ax itself had wrought the change. Keenfire was readying itself to fight the demon.

By Vraccas, Bislipur was right: I'm a thirdling. No sooner had he grasped the significance of what was happening than he decided to turn his heritage to the good.

He tightened his grip on Keenfire, squared his shoulders, and charged. Orcs tried to block his path but perished in a blaze of white fire as he swung the shimmering ax. A trail of smoke followed the swinging Keenfire, and Tungdil could feel the heat from its blade. It burned with the fierce ardor of the fifthlings' furnace.

Nфd'onn recognized the danger before it was upon him. His self-assurance vanished, replaced by pure terror. His magic could do nothing against the charging dwarf; Tungdil was protected from harm by Keenfire's runes.

"Kill me, and Girdlegard will be doomed," the magus prophesied. "Terrible forces are gathering in the west and you won't be able to stop them." He thrust his staff at Tungdil, who deflected the blow and lunged closer. "You'll be to blame for Girdlegard's destruction. You must let me live!"

Tungdil slashed at the magus's onyx-tipped staff. The black jewel shattered in a shower of dark crystals.

"No, Nфd'onn, evil will never triumph over Girdlegard. We'll protect our kingdoms, just as we protected them from you." Tungdil swung his ax again. For Lot-Ionan, Frala, and her daughters.

The corpulent magus tried in vain to sidestep the blow. Even his final incantation failed to halt the blade, his hastily conjured runes flickering briefly as Keenfire smashed through them. The diamond-studded ax head buried itself in Nфd'onn's waist.

Like an overripe fruit, the magus burst, spilling a foul mess of flesh, blood, and entrails. A finger-length splinter of malachite shot out and was swept away in the reeking cascade.

Slowly, a shimmering wisp of mist detached itself from the wreckage. It expanded rapidly, coursing with black, silver, and crimson flashes and looming five paces in the air. Fist-sized orbs burned red within its cavernous eyes as it stared with hatred and malice at Tungdil. Then it shifted its gaze to the maga.

It needs a new victim.

The swirling mist reached out toward Andфkai, who took a step backward. She raised her sword, but the blade slid straight through it. The mist shrank, sprouting thin transparent arms and imprisoning the maga in its grasp.

Groaning, Andфkai staggered and fell to her knees as fingers of mist prized themselves experimentally between her jaws. The being was determined to find a new home, with or without her permission.

Tungdil leaped toward her, bringing down his ax just as the flickering column of mist readied itself to glide down her throat.

Keenfire's runes sparkled as it hewed the mist in two. There was a loud hiss as the mist drew back like a wounded beast. Tungdil closed in, swinging his ax and slashing at the mist. Thin wisps floated through the hall and dispersed into nothingness, but the demon was still alive and seemed intent on escaping to the ceiling.

In that case I'll have to try another tactic. Tungdil climbed onto an upturned pillar. Pain shot through his wounded arm and leg as he sprinted forward, casting himself into the air and brandishing Keenfire. "For Vraccas!"

He had timed the leap well. Soaring into the middle of the mist, his blade found its target. Runes blazing, the ax head left a cometlike trail of light. The diamonds sparkled fiercely.

For the span of a heartbeat Tungdil hovered at the heart of the demon. At first it seemed as if the mist had stopped his fall; then there was a tearing noise and a terrible groan.

Tungdil plunged through the mist, skidded across the floor, and was saved by his chain mail from serious cuts and grazes. Looking round, he saw he had punched a hole through the flickering demon. Slowly the being sank to the ground, turning first gray, then black, then disappearing altogether. In the end there was nothing left.

No one moved. Dwarves and beasts alike had witnessed the death of the magus and the destruction of the demon. It was deathly still.

One of the дlf, who moments earlier had been spurring the hordes against the dwarves, reached to his neck, screaming with pain. Suddenly his amulet burst apart, tearing him to pieces. Soon the other дlfar and a number of orcish chieftains were dead or dying, slain by the magus's gifts.

A bugle sounded the attack, and the dwarves of the three kingdoms fell upon their foes.

The bцgnilim were the first to flee, followed by the orcs, but the children of the Smith showed no pity or mercy, funneling them into the narrow passageways where the battle continued. In the vast halls, the ceilings echoed with the clatter and ringing of furious axes.

Slowly Tungdil picked himself up from the floor. Balyndis was beside him, helping him to his feet. "You did it!" She leaned forward and gave him a lingering kiss on the lips.

It was a moment he had dreamed of, but the truth about his lineage spoiled it. "Only because I'm a thirdling," he said bitterly. A dwarf killer, he added silently.