Markus Heitz - The Dwarves

Tungdil recognized the дlf at once: It was the face he had seen at the window of the tavern. Please, Vraccas, he begged silently, may Friedegard and Vrabor be alive.

The fair-haired дlf took charge of the proceedings, speaking in the common tongue. It was clearly below his race's dignity to communicate in the primitive grunts of the orcs.

"I am Sinthoras of Dsфn Balsur, here at the command of my master, Nфd'onn the Doublefold, commander of the Perished Land, to present the three princes of Toboribor with an offer of an alliance." His voice was cold, barely courteous. He was there to present a deal and his tone told them they could take it or leave it. "Prince Bashkugg, Prince Kragnarr, Prince Ushnotz, you have been chosen by Nфd'onn to conduct a campaign of subjugation and destruction the like of which has never been seen. You, the strong arm of the south, shall lead the orcs to victory and sunder the skull of mankind."

"And who shall be the commander?" demanded Kragnarr, who stood as tall as the дlf but with twice his girth. The other princes were of smaller stature.

Bashkugg gave him an angry shove. "You think you're better than us, do you?" he shouted belligerently.

Kragnarr responded to the insult by lumbering round to face his challenger. He leaned across until their broad foreheads were touching. Neither moved as they stared at each other, clawed fingers clutching the pommels of their massive swords. Ushnotz proved altogether wilier and took a step backward, waiting to see how the squabble would unfold.

"My master intends to make you equal in rank," announced Sinthoras, straining to make himself heard above the snarling.

"No," growled Kragnarr quickly, promptly followed by Bashkugg.

The дlf cast them a disgusted glance. Even from a distance Tungdil could tell that he would rather kill the princes than negotiate with them, but Nфd'onn had given his orders. It was the first time that Tungdil had heard mention of any name at the source of the evil.

"In that case, my master will grant the office of commander to whosoever conquers the most land." The дlf held his spear loosely, but his taut stance betrayed his distrust of the beasts. His dark-haired companion seemed equally wary.

"Land?" grunted Ushnotz scornfully. "It should be corpses, not land! Whoever gets the most bodies will be commander!" He stroked his belly and the other two princes hastened to agree.

"No," the дlf said firmly. "This is about territory, not corpses."

"Why?" thundered Bashkugg. "Why not corpses? My soldiers have to eat!"

"Content yourselves with killing the armies that are raised against you," the дlf advised him coldly. "You know my master's will."

"Exactly," Ushnotz said slyly. " Your master. We've no obligation to obey him. He doesn't rule the south; we do!"

Sinthoras directed a pitying smile at him. "Not for much longer. My master is advancing from the north with an army of orcs who will seize the south faster than you can fashion cudgels from the trees." He looked each of the princes in the eye. "Give him your allegiance now and he will reward you with land of your own. Toboribor is nothing compared with what will follow. Each one of you will have your own kingdom with humans for slaves. But defy him, and you will cross swords with others of your race."

The threat of a green-hided army from the north with designs on their territory achieved its intended effect. A hush descended as the three princes digested the information, all memory of their quarrel forgotten.

From his post among the branches Tungdil listened and watched in disbelief. Nфd'onn, if that was the name of the Perished Land's lord, was forging all kinds of unholy alliances in order to subjugate the southern lands. The coming cycles would bring untold suffering for men and elves.

"Fine," Ushnotz said finally, although clearly unhappy with the solution. "I shall do as your master proposes – and he shall make me commander in chief."

Kragnarr glowered at him murderously. "Count me in as well," he snarled. "The tribe of the Kragnarr-Shorrs will conquer more land than the two of you put together." He jabbed a clawed finger derisively at the others. "I'll be commander, you'll see!"

"I wouldn't bet on it," Bashkugg retorted angrily. "My troopers will overrun the fleshlings' cities before you've even started!"

"You'll all have a chance to prove yourselves," said Sinthoras, reaching into his belt pouch and producing three plain amulets of blue crystal. He tossed them to the princes. "Leave here and go your separate ways. These are gifts from my master; they offer protection against the magic of our foes. You are to carry them always."

The meeting had almost reached its conclusion when a foolhardy orc sidled up to the дlfar's steeds and sniffed the air hungrily.

Without warning, one of the horses whipped round, jaws opening as it pounced. Sharp teeth closed around the ore's shoulders and ripped out a sizable clump of flesh.

Green blood spurted from the wound as the orc retreated, shrieking. A second orcish trooper drew his sword and made to fell the rabid horse.

Before he could strike, the steed's hind leg lifted and sped into the orc's broad chest. There was a flash of blinding light and the orc was thrown backward, traveling several paces before crashing to the ground.

The trooper had no time to right himself before the second horse was upon him. Its forelegs stove in his chest, hollowing his breastplate. His stomach burst with a sickening bang. In an instant the creature's black jaws were at the orc's unprotected throat. There was a sound of crunching bone and the orc's anguished screaming broke off abruptly.

Tungdil watched in stunned horror as the steed swallowed the mouthful of flesh. The second creature let out a whinny of savage enjoyment.

The fair-haired дlf issued an order in an unintelligible language and the steeds, horses in nothing save appearance, settled down at once, trotting obediently to their masters. The дlfar swung themselves gracefully onto their backs.

"You know what my master expects of you. Make haste and keep to the terms of our agreement," Sinthoras said grimly, turning his steed to leave.

A wide corridor opened before him as the crowd parted hastily, drawing back from the animals' lethal jaws. At length the silence was broken.

The orc with the wounded shoulder shoved his way to the front. "Look what they did to me!" he shouted furiously, waving his gore-encrusted claws in Bashkugg's face. "The pointy-ears killed Rugnarr; the pointy-ears deserve to die!"

The powerfully built chieftain wiped the trooper's blood from his eyes. "Hold your tongue, you cretin!" he thundered, adding a string of foul-mouthed epithets. "They're with us."

"In us, I reckon! We'll eat 'em like we'll eat the fleshlings!" The threat brought grunts of approval from three of his tribe. Emboldened by their support, he nocked an arrow to his bow and took aim at the vanishing riders. "Mmm, what's tastier-дlfar or horse?"

Tungdil knew better than to mistake the mounts for horses. He had read about shadow mares in Lot-Ionan's books. They were creatures of the night, unicorns who had been possessed by evil and stripped of their purity, their white coats, and their horns. They ate flesh and were ferocious hunters, driven by an all-consuming hatred of goodness in any form.

Bashkugg was tired of the trooper's posturing. Drawing his clumsily forged sword, he struck at the wounded orc's throat. The blade sliced halfway through the neck, withdrawing with a vicious jerk. The prince grabbed the second orc and hewed his head from its shoulders, holding it aloft for the others to see. With a terrible warning cry, he bared his fangs and dropped the dripping skull, grinding it into the ground until dark gray brains oozed through splintered bone. The other two orcs who had joined in the rebellion were put to the sword as well. The matter had been resolved in the traditional orcish way.