The Triumph of the Dwarves

by Markus Heitz

  Ocâstia’s system has worked as an effective deterrent without bloodshed. Rognor watched her and she waved at him like Chynêa had done. She is clever.

  Ocâstia approached the fortress, surrounded by other sorânïons in white mantles and white armour, with fur caps on their heads. They all congratulated each other on a successful orbit: they had carried out testing on sixty individuals. At a distance and with an expression usually reserved for terrifying an enemy on the field of battle, Phenîlas followed them, a hand cramping on the hilt of his sword.

  Samusin was being kind to Rognor: the wind turned so that he could overhear what the elves were saying. The mountains made a kind of funnel, bringing the conversations up to him.

  “Ocâstia!” Phenîlas called.

  The group round her halted and dispersed but did not go to his side as they might have done a few orbits ago. Phenîlas still was regarded as the commander of all of the sorânïons, but Rognor, as an experienced fighter, was able to read the scene.

  “What can I do for you?” she enquired.

  “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

  “The sorânïons can hear what you have to say, if it’s about the interrogations. Or was it something else you had in mind?”

  “Both.” Phenîlas signalled for the others to withdraw. But only when Ocâstia nodded to them did they leave the open square in front of the gate.

  Rognor kept listening.

  “I know what game you’re playing,” Phenîlas said, his tone aggressive.

  “I’m not playing any kind of game. I’m keeping a hold on what you have kicked away,” Ocâstia responded calmly.

  “You are under my command even if we both have the same rank. You should be supporting me, not undermining me, Ocâstia!” Phenîlas took a step towards her. “How dare you?”

  “You are too slow and you are inconsiderate to others,” she retorted, with no trace of fear in her voice. “The other sorânïons have been unhappy with your command for some time. They don’t like the way you do things. If it weren’t for me, the new arrivals would have chucked you off the cliff, just like you’ve done with so many innocent victims. The sorânïons are aware of this. And so are the dwarves. And the new arrivals can work it out for themselves.”

  Phenîlas drew himself up to his full height. “I am not going to argue with you.”

  “Indeed. We are not arguing. You are talking at me.”

  “Listen. These are my orders: you are to cease working against me!”

  “You are working against yourself, Phenîlas.” Ocâstia turned away. “And you’ve just done it again.”

  He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back. “How dare you turn your back on me when I’m giving you orders?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.” She nodded to the tents. “Everything we do outside the fortress is being watched. What you’ve just done, for example. How do you think your actions are being interpreted at the moment?”

  Rognor saw the elf’s sword hand grip the hilt and pull the weapon half out of the scabbard. Don’t do anything stupid.

  “I shall request that the Naishïon recall you and send me a different sorânïon,” he said, quivering with anger, his words as cold as winter ice.

  “I have already sent a similar request. Ten orbits ago,” she replied, smiling serenely. “You should be given other duties. In my view you would be best employed in battle, using your cruel nature against our enemies rather than against our own race. If you are lucky, the Naishïon will find another position for you.”

  “You scheming, treacherous …” The sword emerged more fully.

  “I am a sorânïan. I am trying to protect my people by inflicting only the minimum necessary pain,” she countered.

  Rognor noticed she was speaking deliberately loudly, keen that the people in the tents should hear.

  “You, on the other hand, enjoy causing pain.” She pulled herself free and strode to the gate, her black hair flying in the wind. “The supreme ruler will already know about you, I’m sure. The newcomers won’t be singing your praises.” She paid no attention to his angry shouts.

  So that makes it clear whose orders she’s under here. Rognor did not know if it had been wise of Ocâstia to bring things to the open directly in front of the tents. This was a humiliating insult to Phenîlas and robbed him of his authority. Anyone challenging him now faced severe consequences. He will be making the examinations even more cruel as a result.

  The chancellor moved to the other side of the walkway and waved down to where Ocâstia was crossing the yard and looking round. She waved back, smiling.

  I think she knows I was listening. Rognor followed her with his eyes. I shan’t play along with her scheme. Being a Child of the Smith, he was not susceptible to the elf-woman’s carnelian-coloured eyes and graceful demeanour.

  But the elf officers were.

  Rognor left the walkway and crossed the yard to his quarters. Islands of melting snow dotted the granite at his feet, remnants of the harsh winter that was now receding. At night the puddles of melt water froze over again and sand and salt were spread to remove the ice. It was vital that soldiers did not slip if the alarm were sounded.

  The chancellor was used to hearing the ice crackle beneath his feet—but the crunch he heard now caught his attention. He stopped and lifted his foot to reveal a small phial that had shattered when he trod on it.

  Rognor bent down. He immediately recognised the älfar lettering. Elf eyes. He turned to the gate that a group of the tested elves had just marched through. Could there have been an älf amongst them who had managed to fool the sorânïons? Which one of them dropped this?

  Suddenly the recriminations Phenîlas had directed at Ocâstia did not seem so far-fetched. An oversight like this would have serious consequences.

  He picked up the fragments, questions whizzing through his brain. How would an älf from the Outer Lands get his hands on this eye-whitener? He called a messenger over and ordered the most recent group of elves to be apprehended. The sorânïons must subject all of them to a new set of tests.

  Then he hurried to the quarters where Phenîlas and his troops were at table. He saw at once that the officers were clustered around Ocâstia, leaving their commander sitting on his own.

  Hesitating for a heartbeat, Rognor decided he must let them all know what he had found. “May I have a word?” He told them quickly where he had found the broken bottle.

  “You’ll have to test that whole group again,” he said in conclusion.

  Phenîlas had already sprung to his feet and was buckling his weapons belt. “Exactly what I’ve been saying all along,” he snapped, with a sharp look at the officers and Ocâstia. “Vigilance! Extreme vigilance is needed. Or the black-eyes will make fools of us all.” He took the remains of the phial from Rognor’s hand and put the fragments in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

  The sorânïons followed him in silence.

  Ocâstia brought up the rear and stayed back with Rognor, as if she wanted to admit her negligent attitude had allowed this infiltration to occur. “That group had plenty of elves he tested. They weren’t all mine, you know,” she said as they left together. “We’ll see who’s at fault.”

  “Who would ever be able to stand up to his interrogations?” he replied, his voice doubtful. “As far as I know, he’s the more thorough of the two of you with the tests.”

  “It’s just that he inflicts more pain.” Ocâstia’s expression had darkened. “I don’t know what to make of all this.”

  Rognor was unsure what she was getting at. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  They raced through into the realm of the Thirdling dwarves. The passages were laid out in such a way as to confuse any attackers who had managed to get through the fortifications. Certain segments could be sealed off with heavy steel gates.

  The group of sixty elves was run to ground in just such a passage and they were being held waiting until the sorânïons arrived.

  Rognor, with fifty g
uards who had joined them en route, reached the group of tested elves at the same time as Phenîlas’ unit. The elves displayed fear, concern, outrage and helplessness. They had assumed themselves to be safe now, and under the protection of the Naishïon here in Girdlegard. A large cart with two horses spanned in front of it was loaded with heavy chests and boxes. The elves were carrying the rest of their baggage themselves.

  Watchful eyes appeared in the arrow slits above their heads. Rognor knew there were enough of his troops concealed up there, with their catapults hidden behind metal flaps, to shoot at all sixty of the elves if they offered any resistance.

  Phenîlas took a stance in front of the group of sixty. “I am sorry we have had to stop you. But there has come to light a suspicion that there is an älf among you who has tricked us by means of this treatment”—he held up the broken phial for all to see—“that stops the eyes going dark.”

  “So what does that mean, Sorânïon?” an ash-blonde elf-woman asked tersely, swinging her rucksack from her back and plonking it down at her feet. The fur robe and the costly adornments she wore indicated that she was not one of the poorest elves.

  “It means we will have to examine each of you again.” Phenîlas pointed at Ocâstia. “We will divide you into two groups. I will take the ones originally tested by her and she will re-examine mine.” The elves exchanged glances, many of them now extremely frightened. “Let’s start …”

  “No,” the elf-woman insisted, pushing up her sleeve to show Sitalia’s seal on her forearm. “Look. I have already been examined. There is no way I am going to submit to that procedure a second time. I suffered to acquire this sign. That should be enough.” The people behind her muttered their agreement. “The fault does not lie with me.”

  “Silence!” Phenîlas had not lowered the hand with the phial. “There is an älf in the group and we are going to …”

  “And who’s to say it was one of our group that dropped the phial?” the ash-blonde elf-woman argued. “Where was it found?”

  “That’s of no consequence.” He looked at her sceptically, one hand on the hilt of his sword. “And if you are so vehemently opposed to a new examination, I must say I find it suspicious. What is your name?”

  She drew herself up, her features dignified in the extreme. “I am Vilêana, the daughter of Vilêonos, and mother of eighteen children. I am returning to where Sitalia created us. Where I come from, I was a princess, ruling over elves and humans alike. I have reigned over thousands; everyone knew my name and my ancestry.” She looked at Phenîlas with disdain. “And you have the nerve to call me untrustworthy?” she snapped.

  “I have the nerve to have you shot or beheaded.” Phenîlas had not been impressed by her pedigree. “You have no status here. For me you are nothing but an elf I am examining at the request of the Naishïon. Who you have been in the past and what you may become in the future is of no interest to me.” He lowered his arm with the bottle. “Step forward.”

  “Or what?” Vilêana stuck her chin out defiantly, her ash-blonde hair spreading out over her fur robe.

  “Or die.” Phenîlas swiftly drew his sword, the blade flashing. “This is the task allotted to me. And as I was the one who interrogated you initially, you must now go to Ocâstia and answer to her.”

  “No.” Vilêana did not shift her imperious gaze. “I refuse to be subjected to a second round of torture. You will have to think of something else.”

  Rognor was holding his breath as he followed the exchange. Ocâstia was keeping in the background, allowing Phenîlas to get himself into a situation that might end in a bloodbath. Three or four of the new arrivals had placed their hands on their weapons—either because they had previously served Vilêana or because they shared her point of view.

  “There is bound to be another way of enticing the älf to throw off his masquerade.”

  “Tell me what.” Phenîlas did not turn round, but kept staring at the princess as if he were determined to take her head off at any moment.

  “The so-called eye whitener leaves traces on the eyelids, as I am sure you will know,” said Ocâstia, stepping forward. “We realised that when we discovered the others.”

  Rognor raised his eyebrows. She’s making that up. For the life of him he could not remember having heard this story before.

  “It’s quite sufficient to scrutinise the eyes closely from very near to,” she went on. “It won’t be easy but it can be done, I am convinced. That way we can spare the innocent any further pain.” She gestured to the other sorânïons to come over. “Shall we make a start?”

  Phenîlas studied her face to see what her intentions were. He seemed fearful that she would challenge him further.

  “I will get my soldiers to stand by,” said Rognor, who saw what the elf-woman was doing. Her idea was brilliant—any älf who believed her would lose his nerve and betray himself. If that were to happen, the ranks of dwarf marksmen were in place to bring him down. “We are ready.” He reinforced this by bringing out his bladed morningstar and removing the protective covers for the sharp edges.

  “Then let’s start.” Phenîlas seemed willing to go along with the ruse in order to prevent any kind of uprising. This time, Rognor felt, Phenîlas was showing good judgement.

  They had the new arrivals step up in two groups, one of which was to be retested by Ocâstia, the other by the sorânïon commander.

  The staring began. The rims of the eyelids were studied closely. The officers were murmuring and examining the eyes, touching the lids and then smelling their fingers.

  Did we make a mistake? As Vilêana had implied: the phial found in the yard might have been dropped several orbits previously by a different group.

  Rognor played with the tip of his blue beard. They would have reached Girdlegard a long time ago. He had deliberately ignored this possibility. It was an appalling thought that somehow an älf might have escaped notice and got through to Girdlegard. I would have failed in the same way.

  He noticed how a young elf at Ocâstia’s side was clenching his fists. He was four back in the queue to be retested by the female sorânïan. He was rubbing his eyes, yawning expansively and then rubbing his eyes again. This was followed by a sneezing fit. He was struggling to breathe and there were tears streaming down his face.

  I know what you are doing. “That one!” Rognor pointed to him. “He’s been sneezing and coughing on purpose to make his eyes water. He is trying to wash away the evidence.”

  “Rubbish!” the young elf called out, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

  Ocâstia came up to him, grasping his head with both hands and holding him fast. “Look at me,” she commanded. “And now show me Sitalia’s mark.”

  “His name is Rahîlas,” Phenîlas said, very sure of himself. “His father was one of the last group to leave the tents. But there’s some mistake, he …”

  Ocâstia turned her head in his direction. “You said I should be more thorough. Now I’m being more thorough and you don’t like it.” She stared at Rahîlas with her carnelian-coloured eyes. “Why is that?”

  Rognor noted how Rahîlas grew tense. He’s going to …“Watch out!”

  The elf on whom suspicion had now fallen kicked the sorânïan in the belly. She was taken by surprise. The young elf stabbed at the sorânïon next to him with his dagger. The blade failed to connect with the targeted armpit and slid ineffectively off the white breastplate.

  At that moment the first bolt hit Rahîlas, making him lurch backwards. As soon as the dwarf marksmen had a clear view, he was bombarded by arrow after arrow.

  Rahîlas collapsed, bringing up blood, then made to throw his dagger. Fury lines snaked across his face.

  You shan’t hurt anyone! Rognor leaped over and before the dagger could take flight, he hacked his hand off with his bladed morningstar. A fountain of blood spurted out, drenching the elves nearest to the dying victim. The catapults ceased their work.

  “Phenîlas!” Rahîlas shrieked in agony, his body convulsi
ng. Red blood sprayed over his darkened face and in his eyes there was a clear reproach aimed at the sorânïon commander. “Why? Why did you …?” The voice died away. As did the light in his eyes.

  Ocâstia glared down at the corpse in disgust. “There’s your black-eyes.” She spat at the body. “Throw him in the ravine where the others are.” She gave a signal to the unit at the gate. “The rest of you: on your way into Girdlegard.”

  “Halt!” ordered Phenîlas. “There could be more than one of them.”

  I think so too. Rognor nodded in agreement. “Carry on with your examinations until there is no more doubt left. The passageway won’t be opened up until then. And it will open on my order. Not on yours, Ocâstia.” The elf-woman sorânïan made a gesture of apology and went over to the line of previously tested immigrants. “Let’s continue the search.”

  Phenîlas followed suit.

  There were, however, no further anomalies. The would-be settlers showed obvious signs of relief. They picked up their luggage and made ready to march on. Vilêana swung her rucksack onto her back.

  Just the one. Rognor was left with the question: What did he want from the sorânïon commander as he was about to die? He cleaned the bloodied blades of his morningstar, replaced the sheath and stowed it away. It was all a mystery and gave the impression that Phenîlas and Rahîlas had known each other—or maybe that they had had an agreement. An älf on his way to endingness would have no reason to lie. Or did he do it to cause trouble?

  There were all sorts of possible explanations, some of them relatively harmless and some of them deeply worrying. The fact Rognor was mulling it over in his mind showed the effect.

  Phenîlas, who was staring at the arrows and bolts piercing the body, was equally mystified. “But I never tested him in the first place.”

  “What?” The chancellor thought he must have misheard. “He was standing in Ocâstia’s line.”

  “I know. But I didn’t test him. As I said, it was a mistake.”

  “He knew you and you knew him.” Rognor was at a loss.

  “We’d often come across each other in the camp, yes.” Phenîlas turned his gaze on Ocâstia. “You should have realised he was standing in the wrong group.”