by Markus Heitz
He reached the room with its high, vaulted ceiling supported on stone columns. The chamber sported an impressive selection of equipment: shelving, cupboards, tables, burners. Here he came across Furobil Sparkeater talking to one of the healers. They were looking at a glass vessel being heated over a flame.
The contents of the flask were bubbling, a greenish fluid reacting to the heat and giving off vapour, which condensed via a glass spiral to collect in a corked jar.
“You working on a solution?” Rognor burst out, not bothering with a greeting. He was too intent on getting an answer. He kept the phial close in his hand.
“Exactly, Chancellor,” replied Furobil, who was wearing a floor-length leather apron. Unusually for a dwarf, he was bald, but dealing with chemical fumes and fire had robbed him of his hair. His scarred nose was witness to failed experiments in the past. He picked up a crumb of the crystal powder with tiny pincers. “It looks like salt but it has to be something else. The envelope had traces of a colour that makes me think of a poison of some kind. That’s why I got Lorimgon to come and join me.”
The fair-haired healer with an elaborately sculpted beard bowed to the chancellor. He was wearing a cloak over his night attire and his feet were in slippers. He had rushed over to the laboratory as soon as he had been summoned.
“Can we find out what it is?”
“It’s definitely an artificial substance. A distillation of some kind.” Furobil opened a tube leading off the flask and dropped the crystal into the liquid, replacing the cork immediately. The green changed to blue and then, simmering, to yellow, all without the application of a heat source. Black vapour filled the glass spiral. The bald alchemist took a dried leaf and, loosening the cork on the tube, held it in the vapour for a time. Before their very eyes, the leaf crumbled away as if destroyed with acid.
“So inside the vial we’ve got …” Furobil attempted a description of the solution but Rognor interrupted him briskly. “What is it?”
The healer furrowed his brow. “It is mad-salt. In the past it could be found in certain circumstances in caves. If you scratched off the walls and ate it, you would die suffering from terrifying hallucinations. In minute doses, it could be used as a pain-reducing measure but too many died as a result. It is never used in treatment nowadays.”
“But this has been produced artificially,” the alchemist said. “And in an extremely high concentration, much stronger than anything ever found on a cave wall.”
Rognor clutched the empty phial tightly. Mad-salt and eye-white had been hidden next to where Ocâstia had had her bed. Phenîlas first, then the sorânïon at the Stone Gateway. Had she deliberately driven them mad? Perhaps it wasn’t the work they were involved in?
He remembered that Ocâstia’s eyes sometimes watered and were red-rimmed, but she always had an excuse ready. Icy wind, a draught, a cold, an infection and so on.
Did anyone interrogate and examine her when she arrived, I wonder? He recalled her showing the symbol on her forearm but did it have the rune that torchlight would have revealed? With her glamorous confidence, she had made clever use of Rognor’s readiness to trust her.
He remembered she had been responsible for vetting about three thousand elves once Phenîlas had been removed. She would have been more or less on her own during those tests. Rognor gulped.
How many älfar had Ocâstia allowed through to Girdlegard? How many had settled there with Sitalia’s mark on their skin? How many of them might have broken away from the new elf settlements to hide? Were they forming their own colony? A new empire? Ocâstia had left nothing to chance. She had ushered älfar in to Girdlegard, then she arranged her own spell of duty at the Stone Gateway, where she could weaken dwarves and elves alike and cause heavy casualties. Rognor imagined Ocâstia operating the heavy catapults, then locking herself in the prison cell so that the dwarves could eventually liberate her. Every word of her story had been believed without question, thanks to her title as sorânïan and thanks to her previous service.
The height of her treachery had been to accompany the dwarves on their outing to the maga’s tower. It’s a miracle she didn’t get to take over Girdlegard with Sha’taï’s help. And to think I gave her that talisman. Rognor was furious and thoroughly disgusted.
“What’s wrong, Chancellor?” Furobil was concerned.
Rognor came to with a start. “Don’t tell a soul about this stuff,” he instructed them. “Now go off and join the party.”
“What about you?” Lorimgon asked, confused.
Not me. Rognor turned on his heel and ran back to his quarters to write a letter by candlelight. It was vital the dwarf leaders and the Naishïon read it.
They have to be told that Ocâstia was an älf-woman. His hand flew over the page, describing what he had found and what he suspected. He had more than one purpose in writing: the news would also help clear the reputation of the elves and heighten awareness. The jubilation at having rid the homeland of älfar apart from a few assassins had come too soon. Now it was clear than any number of them could be roaming freely amongst the elf and dwarf populations in disguise.
Rognor re-read his lines and made copies, sealing the letters and putting them in leather pouches sealed with wax. He arranged them on his desk and stared at them. Too many thoughts, worries and fears were surging through his head. He would send the messengers off first thing in the morning. There was no point in trying to get the letters delivered overnight. Everyone would be drunk.
How could I have been so blind? Rognor took out the phial with the eye-white, threw it on the floor and ground it with his heel.
Ocâstia had forced him to fight Phenîlas. He had killed the elf in single combat, but his opponent had not been of sound mind. He had been under the influence of the mad-salt. Ocâstia must have been chortling to herself seeing Rognor finish the sorânïon commander off with a crushing blow from a morningstar.
And they honoured me as their protector. Their defender. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. Phenîlas had been innocent.
The chancellor wished now that he had gone out to the tower with the others. He wanted to spit on the älf-woman’s corpse, defile and curse it. Her black soul should never find rest. I should have been the one to slit her open.
He could not imagine how the elves were going to react to the new information. He had obviously been the victim of a perfidious deception. But would the fact that he had himself been duped be enough to hold back others’ fury? He got up, blew out the candle and left the room.
People were still partying. The celebrations were in full swing and there was feasting, singing, and good humour and beer a-plenty. Rognor took a tankard, too, but not because he was in the mood for rejoicing. He needed to dull his senses. As he wandered through the stronghold, his mind gloomily preoccupied, he remembered that he still had Ocâstia’s memento in his possession.
He turned his collar and found the tiny brooch the false sorânïan had given him. It’s sure to be bathed in black-eye magic. It felt as if it were branding his skin and leaving the runes as a mark. He did not understand its meaning. Off with you! He hurried out, pulled the brooch off and hurled it from the battlements with all his strength. It disappeared in the abyss.
He immediately started to feel better. He rubbed his fingertips where he had felt some tingling.
Nothing must deter us. Girdlegard was in greater need of the cooperation of all its peoples than he could previously have imagined. More so now than ever. “We will win through,” he vowed to the mountains, before going back into the warmth.
The mountains gave his words back as an echo, in which the tinkling of the brooch dancing from rock to rock mingled as it shone in the starlight.
As if it were calling to someone to come and find it and pick it up.
Acknowledgements
I made the mistake before and I promise not to make it again. Otherwise this would be where I announce the definitive end of the älfar and dwarf series. I shan’t be doing that!
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br /> The älfar and the dwarves are now on an equal footing as far as the number of volumes is concerned. Some mysteries have been solved, such as Tungdil’s return and the origin of the acronta. Even the historian Carmondai has survived.
How many black-eyes have inveigled their way into Girdlegard is not known and must remain a matter of speculation. Two? Twenty? Two hundred? Or perhaps none at all?
Taking the focus from the älfar and putting it back on the dwarves made me smile with disbelief as I realised that the little folk had been out and about for nearly a dozen years and had their loyal fan base waiting for them. And new devotees are joining them all the time. Well, that’s about the most success any fiction writer can have.
And so I’d like to express my gratitude clearly: THANK YOU!
As always I have relied on the reactions of my test readers and here my thanks go to the following for their sharp eyes and astute examination of the text: Sonja Rüther, Yvonne Schöneck and our “token man,” Markus Michalek.
It was Hanka Jobke’s task as copyeditor to call the dwarves to order, as she had previously done in disciplining the älfar. Thank you for your honing and sharpening skills.
Carsten Polzin of Piper Verlag Publishers is due a special mention. He was as glad as I was to see the return of the dwarves. (No, that’s not the next title! Although … )
Further thanks go to Anke Koopmann and the Guterpunkt agency for their fantastic work for the book cover, giving a new twist to the familiar image.
I hereby pay my respects to Rainer Maria Rilke, from whose work Cornet I borrowed the phrase “iron black as … night.” It is a thrilling tale I came across again prompted by a performance by Mareike Greb and Thomas Streipert from WerkEnsembL. E. Merci!
My English readers and I send a very big “Thank you!” to Sheelagh Alabaster for her excellent translations.
My thanks to the German folk song that suits the dwarves so well—as long as you change the lyrics a bit. Artistic licence.
And if anyone wants to but doesn’t yet know about Aiphatòn’s adventures in the Outer Lands before he met the ghaist, try the fourth volume of the älfar series: Raging Storm. All will be revealed.
Oh yes. One more thing.
I am sensibly not going to tell you the publication dates for new älfar or dwarf books.
But I am sure the series will continue. It should not take seven years this time.
However, next in line are the scaly horrors and the heroes of Powers of the Fire and Emperor of the Dragons. The third volume of Silena adventures is calling and wants to be written. Absolutely insistent. The Twenties are waiting for me.
Markus Heitz, autumn 2014
Dramatis Personae
DWARVES
Firstling Kingdom
Xamtor Boldface of the clan of the Bold Faces, King of the Firstlings
Secondling Kingdom
Boïndil “Ireheart” Doubleblade, of the clan of the Axe Swingers, King of the Secondlings and High King of the Dwarf Tribes
Thirdling Kingdom
Tungdil Goldhand, warrior and scholar
Goda Flameheart, of the clan of the Steadfast, warrior maga, wife of Ireheart
Hargorin Deathbringer, of the clan of the Stone Crushers, leader of the Black Squadron and King of the Thirdlings
Rognor Mortalblow, of the clan of the Orc Slayers, Chancellor
Bolîngor Bladecatcher, of the clan of the Iron Fists, warrior dwarf
Furobil Sparkeater, of the clan of the Fire Swallowers, alchemist
Lorimgon Healthmaker, of the clan of the Bone Setters, healer
Fourthling Kingdom
Frandibar Gemholder, of the clan of the Gold Beaters, King of the Fourthlings
Aurogar Broadhand, of the clan of the Silver Seekers
Fifthling Kingdom
Balyndis Steelfinger, of the clean of the Steel Fingers, Queen of the Fifthlings
Balyndar Steelfinger, her son
Belogar Strifehammer, of the clan of the Boulder Heavers
Gosalyn Landslip, of the clan of the Tunnel Seekers
Girgandor Summitstormer, of the clan of the Iron Pressers
Goïmbar Gemfinder, of the clan of the Opal Eyes
Barborin Doughtyarm, of the clan of the Swift Blow
Freelings
Beligata Hardblow, a former Thirdling, now a free dwarf
Gordislan “The Younger” Starfist, King of Trovegold
Carâhnios, the last zhadár
HUMANS
Mallenia, Queen of Gauragar and Idoslane
Sha’taï, her young ward
Rodario the Incomparable, King of Urgon
Isikor, King of Rân Ribastur
Astirma, Queen of Sangpûr
Coïra Weytana, maga and Queen of Weyurn
Rodîr Bannerman, warrior
Lot-Ionan, magus and one-time foster father to Tungdil Goldhand
Natenian, King of Tabaîn
Raikan Fieldwood, nobleman, heir apparent to Tabaîn’s throne
Tenkil Hoge, nobleman, Tabaîn warrior accompanying Raikan
Lilia, female warrior from Tabaîn
Irtan, warrior from Tabaîn
Ketrin, female warrior from Tabaîn
Cledenia, noblewoman from Tabaîn
Dirisa, noblewoman from Tabaîn
Heidor, tavern worker from Gauragar
ELVES
Ilahín, Delegate of Ti Lesinteïl
Fiëa, his wife
Phenîlas, a sorânïon
Ocâstia, a sorânïan
Ataimînas, regent in Ti Lesinteïl and Naishïon of all elves
Nafinîas, elf-leader
Tehomín, Naishïon emissary
Menahîn, Naishïon emissary
Venîlahíl, a sorânïon
Chynêa, spokeswoman for the newcomers at the Eastern Gate
Semhîlas, elf-immigrant
Rahîlas, elf-immigrant
Inisëa, elf-immigrant
Vilêana, elf-immigrant, princess
ÄLFAR
Carmondai, Master of Word and Image
Aiphatòn, formerly emperor of the älfar in Girdlegard and offspring of the Inextinguishables
Nodûcor, älf, the Voice of the Wind
Irïanora, älf-woman
OTHERS
narshân beast, predatory beast found in Phondrasôn and the Outer Lands
Acïjn Rhârk, the Towers That Walk, huge creatures that hunt monsters. Called the acronta by the dwarves or Dorón Ashont in the älfar tongue
Tsatòn nar Draigònt, acront warrior
Djeru˚n, acront bodyguard of the maga Andôkai
Fin’Sao, shapeshifters that are only able to imitate beasts
goldfireworm, a snake-like creature related to a dragon
shintoìt, designation for offspring of the Inextinguishables
botoican, human with magic powers in the Outer Lands
Phondrasôn, subterranean place of banishment
Srai G’dàma, sacred emperor-mother, ruler over the Acïjn Rhârk
nrotai, the first wave in an Acïjn Rhârk attack; often young warriors who need to prove themselves
Kân Thalay, a mystical word describing a state of perfect inner peace
zhadár, älfar word for the Invisibles
Naishïon, supreme ruler of the elves
sorânïon (m) or sorânïan (f), investigator for the Naishïon
twentner, unit of weight, approximately two hundred pounds
Ido, a member of the ruling class from Idoslane
famulus/famula, human magician trainee
magus/maga: sorcerer/sorceress
The origin of the dwarves and älfar?
As a keen role-playing gamer, mainly as a game master, I’ve always maintained a strong interest in classical fantasy settings. In the late 1980s and early ’90s we tried our hand at pretty much every role-playing game out there: AD&D, D&D, Warhammer, Vampire, Twilight 2000, Justifiers, Star Wars, Traveller, Space 1889, HârnMaster, Rolemaster, Shadowrun and
anything of that ilk.
Those were the halcyon days of RPGs! And it was ultimately the best way to prepare myself for what I’m doing now. Through the various insights gained into all manner of fantasy worlds, I have been able to draw from a large amount of baseline knowledge about world-building, character development and narrative techniques (the last thanks to my having been a game master).
And, of course, one of my characters was a dwarf.
It’s the species I understand the most: they share my sense of humour, as well as my straightforwardness, steadfastness and love of beer. What more could you ask for? So I decided to make them the focus of my first trilogy, which was a great deal of fun. They had all the basic features of the dwarven race, onto which I then added my own ideas to make them stand out from the rest. Or, at least, that was the plan.
However, in the second volume it became apparent to me that the älfar were just as much fun.
I consider myself an old-school gothic type, and have a strong affinity to the Dark Side of the Force, still going to those sorts of festivals as and when I can. So it soon became obvious that my älfar, as a rather sophisticated group of villains, would have to have their own series to allow them to explain their side of the story. It was either that or I’d have had to fill the blind spots in the Dwarves series until both sides converged at a single point. The älfar, of course, had to differentiate themselves from the standard dark elves tropes I remembered from my role-playing days, hence their affinity for art and stylish élan. Fantasy already has its fair share of violent meatheads in the shape of orcs, ogres and trolls, I thought.
The point at which everything comes together is the fifth instalment of the Dwarves series: The Triumph of the Dwarves. That’s the provisional end of the series, with the emphasis firmly on “provisional.” Dwarves and the number seven go hand-in-hand, so it’s yet to be decided when I’ll get around to adding more volumes. There’s still plenty to tell, but I’ve got other ideas that take priority, so the rest will have to sit on the back-burner for now.
Who knows what is yet to come?
I know what the plan is, at least in Germany, up to 2019. My latest fantasy worlds have already been planned out and are in the process of being painstakingly put together.
