by Markus Heitz
“I’m glad you like it. We used to wage war for it in the old days.”
“Entirely reasonable,” said Rodario. “And what agreement was reached?”
“We eradicated the other side.” Flagur handed him the little bag. “It’s made from a particular stone, milled and ground, rinsed three times in salt water and then rubbed to a fine powder.”
“You killed off a whole people for the spice?” He could not believe it.
“They were only phottòr. They have no brains. Not worth worrying about,” the ubari reassured him. “But they were sitting on the biggest natural source of the spice, so we killed two birds with one stone: We had the meat and the spice.”
Rodario lowered his fish. “You don’t mean to say you ate the orcs?”
“Of course. They taste delicious, but the ones you had in Girdlegard were even better. I tried one who got lost and came over to our realm. It was the best ever taste.” He closed his eyes. “Mmm; it’s coming back to me now.”
Suddenly the conversation was taking a frightening turn. There were not many occasions when orcs had managed to get out of Girdlegard through to the Outer Lands. “When was that? Where did you come across him?” Rodario enquired.
“It was ages ago. On the other side of the mountain you call the Gray Range. He was trying to persuade us to take arms against the ubariu… I mean, you dwarves.” He laughed. “He was a stubborn fellow. He kept going on about immortality—something he’d drunk out of a little bottle.”
Rodario put two and two together. It must have been one of the creatures subject to Ushnotz, the orc lord; part of a unit that had got cut off from the others and got through to the empty realm of the fifthlings at the stone gateway. In the early days it had not been guarded.
By Palandiell! The black water, he thought. Worried now, he watched Flagur and measured him up. Ushnotz’s warriors had partaken of the black water and were immortal. What would happen if you ate the orc flesh? If the flesh was evil, would it pull you that way too? Was Flagur only pretending to be a friend? Perhaps he really wanted the diamond for his own rune master. Was he perhaps planning to take over Girdlegard with his hundred-thousand-strong army as soon as he had the stone?
The ubari watched him. “What’s is the matter, Rodario? Why’ve you gone quiet?”
“I’m… tired.” He avoided the question. “I’m sorry if I’m not good company. It always happens when… I eat fish.” Quickly he wolfed down his meal and said goodnight. As if purely by chance he lay down next to Tungdil and tried to wake him gently.
“What is it, Fabuloso?” the dwarf asked, drunk with sleep.
“You’ll never believe this but—”
“Then don’t tell me,” he interrupted, turning over. “I’m in pain.”
“Our friend and ally has a secret. He’s eaten an orc that had drunk from the black water,” he whispered emphatically.
Now Tungdil was fully awake. “What are you talking about? Why would he do that?”
“Because they taste good. Apparently.” Rodario shuddered.
Tungdil digested the news and considered the possibilities. “Even if it were true, Ushnotz and his orc folk are long dead.”
“But before that Flagur ate one of them. He was from the Gray Range, he said.” The actor was insistent and agitated.
Tungdil could just about work out what might have happened. Back then he and Ireheart had attacked a few orc scouts at the Stone Gateway and pursued three of them into the Outer Lands. One of these had escaped and must have run straight into Flagur’s arms. “They eat orcs?”
It was not too far-fetched. He remembered that Djern met his nutritional needs from all sorts of Tion’s creatures. The acronta and ubariu had a few characteristics in common.
He cast a look at Sirka’s sleeping countenance and wondered whether the undergroundlings enjoyed certain dishes that might be based on less than conventional meat sources. If they worshipped the same god…
He found the idea revolting. Admittedly his own folk enjoyed eating insect larvae—something the humans found hard to understand. But there was still a difference between eating maggots and eating orcs. And the difference was not merely to do with the taste.
Rodario sighed. “What shall we do, Tungdil? Can we afford to trust Flagur or does he carry the seed of evil in him? Perhaps without being aware of it?”
The dwarf lifted his head a little to look at the ubari. He was sitting with his back to them in front of the flames of the campfire, his silhouette broad and impressive. “To be honest with you, I don’t know,” he answered the actor. “Keep an eye on him and tell me immediately if you get the idea he’s not behaving like an ally.” He cradled his head back on his arm. “But I shall trust him until we have evidence to the contrary.” He smiled. “Leave a few things in the hands of the gods, Fabuloso. Give them something to do and don’t leave it all to the mortals.”
“If you say so, Hero of Girdlegard,” sighed Rodario, closing his eyes. “Let us hope the gods see everything.” Then he had a thought. “No, they don’t have to see absolutely everything. Otherwise my soul is never going to get to the garden of the Creator Goddess.”
“Why? Did she forbid humans to behave the way you do?” asked Tungdil, his one eye firmly shut.
Rodario laughed softly. “It depends how you interpret it. But she doesn’t agree with making love to women who really belong in the arms of another.”
And there it was yet again: the thought of Balyndis.
Now he was free of her Tungdil found himself thinking of her more often than when they had been a couple. Guilty feelings nagged. He knew she would feel she had been deceived. He knew how cowardly his conduct had been. One letter. No more than that.
There he was, brave enough to vanquish Girdlegard’s most fiendish foes but unable to find the courage to face his partner and admit that he no longer wanted to be with her. No longer could be with her.
He opened his remaining eye and turned to Sirka, contemplating her features, black in the starlight. He listened to her even breathing, took in the smell of her and felt her warmth.
At least Sirka would not suffer when one day he left her. The undergroundling people seemed to be as restless as his own wandering spirit when it came to emotional attachments. Perhaps she would be the one to leave first.
That thought made his heart lighter.
XVI
Girdlegard,
Queendom of Weyurn,
Southeastern Border, Port of Shale,
Late Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle
The befúns had proved their hardiness and stamina. In just a few orbits Tuagdil and his company had covered the distance to Weyurn—one that would have taken a rider on a horse three times as long.
They had increased their speed after meeting people on the road who spoke of having seen strange creatures ahead of them—or rather, stranger creatures than the ones in their own troop.
But nature was not on their side. Shortly before they reached the port of Shale night fell, bringing a shroud of thick fog. The befúns resolutely settled for their rest as usual, forcing Tungdil and his companions to cover the last four miles at a run. Flagur carried Lot-Ionan, who could not manage the pace.
By the time they reached the town gates of Shale, Tungdil and Rodario were bathed in perspiration and gasping for breath. They were admitted on the authority of Queen Wey, but the guards kept their weapons raised, not trusting the dangerous-looking orcs. How were they to know that the ubariu did not share the orcish appetite for human flesh?
The captain gave them an escort and ensured they were provided with everything they needed for their mission.
“This way to the port,” called Tungdil, hurrying through one of the narrow alleyways that led down to the quayside. A wide range of boats and ships lay at anchor, emerging like ghosts from the mist.
“Take this one,” said the seafarer Sirka, indicating a small anonymous-looking sailing boat. “It’s quite light, with a keel built for speed and a ta
ll mast. We can hoist a lot of canvas and get to the island very quickly.”
“Right. Off we go.” Tungdil sent one of the guards on board the Waveskimmer to rouse the crew. The man ran up the gangway and jumped on deck, then disappeared from view.
They heard him call out and soon a second voice, rough and bad-tempered, answered. A short sharp argument ended with the guard unceremoniously flying over the railings into the harbor. Two fellow sentries helped haul him out.
“Let me guess. The captain said no?” An amused Rodario interpreted the situation.
“And said we could lick his arse,” nodded the watchman, cursing and reaching for his sword. “I’ll show the idiot.”
Flagur made a face. “Let me speak to the captain,” he said and stomped off up the gangway; the ramp creaked under his heavy steps.
“Someone’s going to wish they had cooperated the first time,” grinned Rodario.
There was no discussion. This time the captain was the one sent flying. He missed the corner of the pier, landed on the hard cobbles and lay there, befuddled.
“It’s your own fault, Kordin,” the guard told him, drenching the mariner with a bucket of water.
The cold water woke him out of his daze. With a bloody nose and a few abrasions Kordin stood up and looked out to his ship, where Flagur stood on deck, his stout arms on the rail. “What sort of a creature is that to let loose on an honest sailor? Why didn’t you kill it? That would have been the decent thing to do.”
“A friend,” said Tungdil baldly. “Get the crew up. You have a vital mission for your queen.”
“If she pays, no problem. Otherwise be off with you.” Kordin was not in the least bit impressed, but that was about to change very quickly.
With a loud metallic clanking sound a spherical object comprised of two iron bands came rolling at high speed toward them and swept right through their midst.
The rune master and three of the watch, unable to step out of the way, were run down by the vehicle, crushed between iron and pier.
“That’s the monster that robbed King Nate!” cried Rodario from behind the pillar where he had taken shelter. “At least we know we’ve caught up with them.”
The ubariu drew their swords but quickly realized they were useless against such an attack.
The sphere had stopped rolling; then it changed course, heading for them again.
On the narrow pier there was little room to get out of the way; this time the victims were the captain, one of the ubariu and two guards. The harbor air was rent by their screams.
“Flagur!” Tungdil shouted up to the ubariu leader. “Use the hook on the freight crane, quickly!”
Flagur understood. He swiveled the crane so that it was suspended over the pier, then released the winding mechanism just as the sphere launched its third attack. The rope unrolled with a whirr.
The hook clanged against the metal and the curved end caught in a gap between the iron bands. Creaking, the thick rope brought the huge ball to a standstill.
“Hoist it up!” Tungdil ordered and started for the ramp to help Flagur reel it in. Suddenly there was a loud click.
Some hidden fastenings in the sphere opened and the metal bands, broad as two fingers, slid closer to each other. The hook shot out, losing its grip. Now, instead of disappearing into the rucksack on the creature’s body as they’d done back in Goldensheaf, they transformed themselves into a shield, protecting the monster.
It was the fourth of the bastards, a crossbred mixture of älfar and orc.
Its dark skin shimmered in the starlight, showing black wavy lines; the graceful but repellent features were mostly concealed behind locks of black hair. Opening its muzzle to show sharp teeth it growled aggressively. “I will kill you all,” it vowed, drawing what appeared to be a multi-segmented sword. Abruptly it went into the attack, turning on the ubari standing nearest.
As the weapon swept in a wide curve the sword segments slipped apart. Inside, the weapon was hollow and contained a slender chain connecting the individual parts of the blade, giving the sword twice the normal range.
It struck the ubari unexpectedly and lethally, the flexible blade colliding with his sword, lifted in defense, and the sharp tip coiling round it like a snake and cutting him deep in the face. He fell dying to the ground.
The guards held their halberds ready but lacked the courage to advance on this terrifying enemy, whose lower body seemed to consist entirely of iron. Metal plates decorated with runes were sewn into its flesh to protect the upper body.
The monster moved forward, the iron foot grating against the stone. It was clearly extremely heavy. Again it brandished its cunning weapon and struck again, this time at Tungdil.
He managed to duck under the green-glowing blade, nearly falling off the wet slippery gangway as he did so.
The strange sword swung through the air and sliced through the ramp; the dwarf plunged into the water as the broken gang-plank fell. The waves met over his head and he sank like a stone.
He was overwhelmed with fear. This was Elria’s element and suddenly he was reliving the terrible moment when he had fallen into the torrent that had drowned his young son. A thousand bubbles disorientated him; he could not see which way was up. He paddled around in a panic, splashing out wildly. Then he forced himself to be calm. It was panic that had robbed him of Balodil.
He abandoned trying to swim to the surface; his armor was probably too heavy for that anyway. Instead he felt his way along the wall to get to the quayside where, if his memory served, there were steps he should be able to climb up.
The bottom was soft and he sank into it. He was short of air already, but then his foot met the first step. Elria would not get him this time.
Above his head he heard the sound of metal striking metal; a flickering green light gave a ghostly glow to the stern of the ship. He could hear curses and shouts. This was no time to take a rest.
“There! There he is!” Rodario had leaned over the harbor wall and seen him. “Praise be to Palandiell—he’s not food for fishes yet.” He disappeared again, obviously keen to participate in the fighting.
Tungdil reached the pier; only eight ubariu were left standing now. The guards all lay dead or gravely injured. The creature had formed two small shields from its iron bands, and was using them to protect its flanks while it wielded its snake-sword, forcing the ubariu to keep their distance.
Tungdil lifted a halberd in both hands and ran straight for the creature’s back.
It sensed his approach and whirled round to attack, but Tungdil was too far away to fall victim to the segmented sword. One of the shields was raised to protect the monster’s face, but Tungdil thrust his halberd at the monster’s right foot. The sharp tip penetrated the armor plating, and black blood gushed out of the wound. It wasn’t a deadly wound but that hadn’t been Tungdil’s intention. He had something else in mind. A quick turn and a swift pulling movement and the long hook at the head of the weapon lodged between the armor plates.
“Take the halberds,” he called to the ubariu. “Keep stabbing at its legs, then we’ll have it over and into the water. Hold it fast so it doesn’t escape.”
The iron bands slammed down in an attempt to break off the halberd shaft, but it was sturdy enough to withstand the blow. Tungdil responded by shaking the weapon to and fro.
The ubariu picked up the weapons of the fallen guards and came to assist the dwarf, managing to force the monster ever closer to the edge of the pier. It hit out with the snake sword in fury, slicing through one halberd shaft after another. “I shall kill you,” its clear voice called.
“For Girdlegard!” came a rallying cry above their heads and Rodario swung down on the crane’s rope, feet outstretched, to crash into one of the monster’s shields.
The irreverent assault took it by surprise. Weight and momentum allowed the actor to sweep the monster over the pier edge and into the harbor. As it fell it aimed a final blow at Rodario, cutting the calf of one leg. Then it sank bel
ow the surface.
“Oh, ye gods,” groaned the actor, swinging back again, to be helped down by the ubariu. “Oh, that hurts like stink.” He sat down on the pier. “But I was incredibly incredible again, wasn’t I?” he joked, in spite of his injury.
“Yes, incredible,” Lot-Ionan confirmed. There was nothing more he could do for the rune master, so he was kneeling next to the actor to inspect the wound. “That will have to have stitches,” he said. “It will leave a fine scar.”
“It’s a good thing that accursed weapon didn’t get me in the face. My good looks would have gone forever.”
“Well done.” Tungdil was staring into the water, and the ubariu were standing to his right and left, halberds raised, ready to hurl them at the monster should it resurface.
Bubbles came up and there was a glow from the depths.
“Sirka,” called Tungdil, pointing at a heavy ship’s anchor hanging from a nearby vessel. “Drop it. Quick!”
She took a plank, leaned it up against the side of the ship, ran up and along the deck to the bows, and released the anchor. It shot into the water with an enormous splash, and the next bubbles that rose brought black liquid with them.
“Right,” said Tungdil to the waiting ubariu, “heave up the anchor and drop it again.”
They did what he asked, noticing bent strips of iron with scraps of flesh attached to them caught on the tip of the anchor as they hauled it up. When they dropped it a second time, the water quickly changed color as though there were a thunder cloud directly under the surface.
They repeated the procedure a few more times until they could be positive there was no life left in the monster. Even if the injuries had not killed it, it would certainly have drowned by now.
More guards had arrived on the scene; Lot-Ionan described to their leader what had occurred, but he struggled to grasp what had befallen his men. They looked as though a millstone had flattened them.
