The Revenge of the Dwarves

by Markus Heitz

  “Mmm. The thirdlings stick together,” repeated Tungdil to himself, and he cast an eye on the bottle of mead that stood next to the desk, calling to him with its sweet dark contents.

  But alcohol didn’t attract him. Not tonight. Tonight he needed a clear head.

  A symbol on the wrist protectors worn by the creature had caught Tungdil’s eye. To be sure he’d understood carefully, he looked for the small book he had in the past spent long evenings poring over, so as not to have to spend time near Balyndis. He turned the pages. It turned out he was not mistaken. It was the sign for the elf word meaning to have.

  He closed the small volume and replaced it on the shelf. So what did that signify? He would have to ask Mallen and Ortger whether the other monsters had borne elf runes on their armor.

  He got up and went back into the bed chamber. Dressed as he was he lay down next to Balyndis as she rested on the sheet. He laid his head on his hand and watched her face, examining the feelings that were going through him.

  He stayed like that until dawn.

  When Goda knocked to tell him a messenger had arrived with a letter from Gandogar, he was still debating with himself, and wrestling with his emotions. The night had made him no wiser.

  Girdlegard,

  Queendom of Weyurn,

  Early Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

  The Curiosum had struck camp overnight. The brightly colored wagons had left Mifurdania at dawn without having put on a single performance. Now they were making their way westwards.

  A ragged hunchbacked beggar in a big floppy hat on his greasy hair was searching for something to eat amongst the remains of the cooking fire and the rubbish left behind.

  Not finding anything to his taste, he headed toward the town and the fish market. He sat himself on a barrel with a good view of the newly laid-out port and stretched out a hopeful hand whenever anyone passed by. “Please can you spare a coin for a starving man,” he coughed plaintively.

  Nobody knowing Rodario would have suspected that the impresario’s refined features were concealed under the filth covering the beggar’s face. The actor had delved deep into his stage make-up box for the wherewithal of disfigurement. This included putting an ugly scar on the left cheek, applying stains to his teeth and giving himself a full shave. His beard had gone, much admired though it had always been: a painful sacrifice for the sake of his mission.

  Tassia and the others had been taken aback when he summoned them in the middle of the night to tell them what he intended to do: there was a sensitive and dangerous task to be carried out, investigating the recent occurrences in Mifurdania. He placed the running of the Curiosum into the hands of his blond muse, not knowing how long he would need to fathom out the Furgas mystery. Tassia had accepted the promotion with a charming smile and had gone on in the intervening hours to make it almost impossible for him to leave.

  “Give me a little something,” Rodario begged a rich merchant, who spat at him and went on his way. “No, that’s not what I meant. Your snot will buy me nothing. Give me a coin,” he called out after the man, earning a few laughs in the process.

  The morning passed by. The sun rose high overhead and then sank toward the horizon.

  Rodario stuck it out bravely in his chosen place of duty. He warded off importunate flies, annoying urchins and a tradesman who disputed his right to the barrel. Altogether his modest takings for the day were enough to get him a piece of bread and a cup of plonk. You could put up with poverty better like that.

  The waiting continued.

  Twilight arrived. Then he noticed the barge the archer-woman had used. The load line on its hull was now well above the surface of the water. So it was traveling to town empty.

  Rodario made for the port and lay down between a couple of heaps of coiled rope opposite the freight quay. He looked like a beggar who had found a corner for the night. Nobody would be suspicious.

  It wasn’t until darkness fell that the brown-haired woman appeared, wearing a black mantle over her shoulders. Beneath it Rodario espied a dark, tight-laced dress and a dagger as long as a man’s forearm hanging from her belt She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

  She walked over the deck, jumped elegantly onto the quayside, put finger and thumb into her mouth and issued a deafeningly shrill whistle.

  Near to where Rodario lay a warehouse gate opened; light cascaded onto the cobblestones and a man dressed in a brownish robe came out. He wore a hat, and the chain around his neck marked him out as a member of the merchant’s guild. “Kea! Back so soon?” He was about to go over to her when he caught sight of the apparently sleeping form of the beggar. “Oi! Scum!”

  Rodario did not move, hoping to be left in peace, but he was kicked in the side, and cowered in a heap, groaning.

  “Up with you, you tramp. Sleep it off somewhere else.” The man leaned down and punched him on the back of the neck. “Can’t you hear? I’ll get a knife to help you.”

  Rodario could hardly not react to that threat. He struggled up, drunkenly protesting and slouched off along the warehouse wall to turn into the narrow space between this building and its neighbor. He had to force himself into the gap.

  “You may have driven me off but you haven’t got rid of me,” he murmured. Making use of the slits between the wooden boards he climbed up onto the roof, hoping to overhear their exchange from above.

  He worked his way forward to a ventilation cover, which he managed to open and then slip quietly inside.

  He landed in the dark on something soft that gave a bit under his weight. The smell and slight crunch told him it must be sacks of corn. The store was stuffed up to the roof with it, as if Mifurdania were planning for a famine or a siege.

  Rodario wormed his way across and stopped where he could see a shimmer of light, pressing his face to the slight gap to see what was happening. He had missed the beginning of their conversation.

  “And how much would that be, Deifrich?” the woman called Kea was asking, as she leaned against one of the roof posts.

  The man pointed round the warehouse, which was bare except for a few loose grains of corn and some dirt. “One hundred sacks? Look around you, Kea. There’s hardly any grain in the whole town.”

  She gave a false smile—gain Rodario felt he knew her from somewhere. “Only because you have bought it all up, Deifrich. To force the price up.”

  “Me?” he said indignantly. Even a fool would have seen through the exaggeration.

  Kea looked up, taking out her dagger and holding it point upwards. “Suppose I were to go up there, what do you think I would find?”

  “Not much,” Deifrich lied with a grin, not attempting to look particularly convincing. “Let’s say ten Weyurn coins. For each sack.”

  Kea gave an ugly laugh. “You despicable cut-throat,” she said with a threatening undertone, lifting her index finger. “I’ll give you one coin.”

  Deifrich wiped his chin with his sleeve. “No, Kea. I know you have enough. So you will pay.” To be on the safe side he put his hand on the handle of the short sword that he carried at his back on a belt.

  Perhaps this was an agreed signal. Rodario heard footsteps. Two men approached Deifrich from left and right wearing leather armor and carrying long swords. They had the air of mercenaries or at least former soldiers. Kea did not even look at them.

  “All right. Let’s say nine coins per sack,” said Deifrich haughtily. “I can get you the grain by daybreak.” He held his hand out. “But only if I get the gold now. And I won’t mention the other things you buy from me.”

  Kea put down her finger. “You have become greedy,” she said quietly. “You are abusing my trust.”

  Deifrich shrugged his shoulders. “I am a trader. Where there is a business opportunity I take advantage of it. Nobody gives me anything for free.”

  “I understand you all too well. You would never get anything from me, either, without paying for it.” She gave a cautious movement, so as not to give the soldiers cause to step
in, fetching a small bag out from under her mantle. She opened the cord tie, put her hand in, fished around and pulled out a coin to give to Deifrich. “One of fifty gold pieces. I do not have any more on me.”

  He took the bag, then the proffered coin. “So you will receive five… let’s say six sacks,” he said, biting on the gold to test its worth. A splintering noise was audible. Deifrich yelled out in surprise, spat and collapsed to the ground. He lay convulsed, throwing himself from one side to the other, then finally remained still.

  One of his hired soldiers bent over him. “Nothing to be done,” he said calmly and regarded the imitation coin. It had a thin center of lead, surrounded by glass and covered in gold leaf. A clear liquid dripped out of the remains. At first glance it was no different from any real coin. “What sort of poison is that?”

  She lifted the bag. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she answered, pointing her dagger at the soldier. “The same poison is on the blade of this knife. Be off with you and keep quiet about what you’ve seen. You’ve been paid by Deifrich and didn’t have to work for it. Be content with that.”

  The men looked at each other. Rodario thought they might try to jump Kea and take the rest of the gold.

  The woman’s cold-blooded attitude warned them off taking any such rash action. Hesitatingly and being careful not to turn their backs on her they inched out of the warehouse.

  She laughed quietly and gave a second whistle. Five men hurried up to her. “Get up there and see how much corn the bastard was hiding. Get the sacks onto the barge as quickly as you can. And then let’s get out of Mifurdania.” She prodded the dead body with her foot. “Find something heavy to weigh him down with, then chuck him in the water.”

  Her people nodded and swarmed out while Kea disappeared to the left out of Rodario’s line of sight. The noise of boots on the steps announced the arrival upstairs of at least two of the men.

  Now things were getting uncomfortable for Rodario.

  He was just crawling in deeper between the sacks when there was a crackling and a rattling in the dark above him with a winch being set to work. The floor he was lying on descended rapidly. Somehow he’d got himself onto the loading base, while the mechanism was activated, taking himself and ten sacks down to the ground floor.

  Though he tried to hide between the sacks it was a lost cause. At the other end of the building he saw four long boxes. Kea was standing in front of one of them. She had opened the lid and was looking at some blocks of iron. To Rodario’s eyes it looked like a mass of casting molds.

  “Hey, watch it. There’s a tramp,” yelled one of the men up at the hoist.

  “I’m on my way, don’t worry. Just needed a place to sleep.” Rodario coughed and crawled over toward the door. He didn’t want to give up his disguise. Perhaps he would need the element of surprise more urgently.

  Kea closed the boxes and stood herself calmly in his path, keeping the dead body of the tradesman from his view. “Not so fast, old man,” she addressed him, not harshly.

  Rodario read it as a good sign that she wasn’t brandishing her dagger and that no one was manhandling him. His masquerade seemed to be holding up. “Oh mistress, forgive me. Don’t call the Watch, please don’t,” he begged, dribbling and slobbering to make himself even more unsavory. He didn’t want her to expend any time on him. “They hate me.”

  She measured him with a glance. “You know Deifrich?”

  Rodario gave it some thought. “No. Does he belong to the Watch?”

  One of Kea’s people came over and grabbed him by the arm. “Kea, you know what has to be done! He’s seen us now.”

  “I see a lot of people in Mifurdania,” said Rodario in an old man’s falsetto. He laid his hand on the man’s arm. “It’s not a crime, young man,” he announced argumentatively.

  “No.” Kea fingered the handle of her dagger. “Seeing us, old fellow, is certainly not a crime. But it is bad luck.” She drew her weapon and stabbed quick as lightning.

  Rodario had been expecting the blow, so moved quickly to the side, grabbing the other man and using him as a shield. He hadn’t counted on the old tramp being so strong. He it was that received the stab in his ribs. The dagger did not go through to the internal organs—it did not need to. The poison brought the man down. “Surprised, huh?” Rodario walloped Kea on the nose and she fell back with a scream. He ran off to the nearby door, pursued by shouts from the men and curses from the woman.

  Even if it had been a long time since he had been in Mifurdania, he still knew his way about. He shook off his two pursuers in the confusion of the port. But then he made a bee-line for the warehouse again, after first making a wide circle to throw them off the scent. He wanted to see what had been happening following his bold escape. He watched from behind a fishing boat on the other side of the quay.

  Swiftly the men loaded the sacks onto the barge, even Kea helping with the task. They must have needed the corn so badly they could not leave it behind despite the incidents with the tradesman and the mercenaries.

  One hundred sacks was a lot of corn. You could feed a small army with that. But where could an army be encamped in a land like Weyurn that was mostly water? And what would be the point? Soldiers who had deserted and were trying their hand at piracy and making sure of provisions before setting off? Where did they get so much gold? What was Furgas up to with them?

  Questions on top of questions and nobody to give him any answers, of course.

  Once the boxes with the iron molds were loaded the barge pushed off, not using any lights. Rodario decided to carry on following them. Water; the goddess Elria’s element, was not going to deter him.

  He found a little dinghy tied up at the quayside. Borrowing it, he hopped in and found to his delight it obeyed even his landlubber efforts. Luckily the barge was not moving fast, so it was easy to keep up.

  It was heading for the center of the huge body of water that now made up Weyurn. The waves glittered in the light of the stars as if enchanted. Rodario kept his distance and tried to hoist the sail on the small mast. It was difficult but he managed it. Not having a seaman’s training, he was not doing very well about holding to a course.

  The barge disappeared behind the cliffs of an island and it took him some time to get his borrowed boat to go in the same direction.

  Before rounding the rocks he heard a splashing, hissing, gurgling noise, as if a red-hot shooting-star had fallen from heaven into the waters. The surface of the lake was very rough; small waves rolled over the bow of the boat, threatening to swamp the dinghy.

  Rodario rounded the cliffs. He did not have long to wait.

  “For heaven’s sake! What in the name of all the bad actors in Girdlegard… where the hell is it?” Rodario stood up, his hands on his hips and stared at the lake before him. Stared at the empty lake.

  There was nothing to see and nothing to pursue. The barge had disappeared from one moment to the next.

  “How can that be, Palandiell?” he said, trying to keep his balance in the rocking boat. The moonlight showed him that there was nothing but the islands, and they lay over a mile away to his left. “Has Elria drawn them down to the depths because of their dreadful deeds?”

  A new shuddering movement disturbed the surface and a mighty wave rolled toward him in the form of a foaming black wall, blotting out the moon and stars.

  “O merciful Elria! What have I done to enrage you?” he murmured, motionless with terror, clinging to the mast of his small boat before the craft was seized by several tons of water and he was dragged under.

  Girdlegard,

  Red Mountain Range,

  Kingdom of the Firstlings,

  Early Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

  In these times, when the children of the Smith had to be more watchful than ever as they stood guard at the entrances to Girdlegard, it was harder for wanderers and merchants alike to overcome the suspicion that met them at any of the five gates. That was if anyone dared to turn up at the gates at all. It was not
always going to be the evil that wished to come in.

  And so it was in the Red Range.

  The nine imposing towers and the two mighty ramparts of West Ironhald presented an almost insuperable obstacle even for peaceful visitors. In the area between the defending walls in the chasm that led to the Ironhald gateway and thus to the kingdom of the firstlings, around two hundred people were encamped, waiting for the dwarves to admit them.

  For the most part they were traders, but there were also refugees from regions that had been devastated five cycles beforehand by the so-called avatars and their army. Their homelands were still not habitable.

  Queen Xamtys had instructed the guards to let the groups progress forward one section at a time every two orbits. In the whole ten orbits they were waiting, the guards had them under observation and could examine the people, their baggage and wagons and animals, in minute detail, watching out for unusual behavior. Only the ones who conducted themselves well and passed the final interrogation examination at West Ironhald were allowed to enter. They were let into the halls and allowed over the pass.

  The guards became increasingly restless. Sometimes there would be the faintest trace of orc in the air, as if maybe a small band of them were in hiding away off in the distance, waiting for the chance to storm the fortress. Maybe one of their spies was inspecting the fortifications.

  Amongst the applicants who had got as far as the first gate was a strapping, rough-hewn tradesman who made a great thing of secrecy about his cargo. On his big four-spanned cart he had square blocks, it seemed, that were covered in leather and canvas to shield them from prying eyes and to protect them from the weather.

  The wagon jolted its way toward the sentry post, and the man, dressed in light leather from head to foot, halted his oxen. He came over to Bendelbar Ironglow of the clan of the Glowing Irons, superintendent of the guards, and bowed. “My greetings. My name is Kartev and I’ve come all the way from Ajula to speak to your ruler.”

  “Why would Queen Xamtys want you to?” responded Bendelbar, a sturdy dwarf sporting long blond hair, a colorful plaited beard and a military abruptness of manner that combined unfriendliness with surprise. Some self-important merchant. That was all they needed.