The Revenge of the Dwarves

by Markus Heitz

  She cast the pages of the letter one by one onto the glowing coals, observing how they curled in the heat and caught, then turned to ash. The featherlight black flakes flew up the chimney and off, far over the peaks of the Gray Mountains and beyond.

  Balyndis watched them go; she threw a shovelful of coal into the furnace and set the bellows to work. Soon white flames were dancing, sending out tremendous heat. She did not want these lines anywhere near her if they spoke of Tungdil’s death. She needed nothing to remind her of him or of his heroic deeds.

  The finest remembrance he could have left her with she carried beneath her heart. All the fifthlings presumed the child was Glaïmbar’s.

  They should continue to think so.

  Girdlegard,

  Queendom of Weyurn,

  Near the Tunnel,

  Winter, 6241st Solar Cycle

  It was early afternoon but it looked as if night had fallen. A winter storm covered the western part of Weyurn, bringing icy rain and the first flakes of snow.

  Algin saw the foresail belly out dangerously with the storm wind which was chasing the little fishing boat over the crests of the waves. They were traveling so fast that the man was afraid the hull would lift clean out of the water. “Take it down,” he yelled to his friend Retar the helmsman, pointing at the threatened wind-filled canvas.

  “No—if we do that the lake will get us,” he shouted back against the roar of the storm.

  “If that sail rips we’re done for.” Algin staggered across the rearing deck and with cold wet fingers tried to undo the knots to drop the topsail. That would be simpler than furling the canvas. “We must head back to harbor.”

  “One more buoy,” Retar called, holding fast to the tiller. “The net at the old sandbank must be full to bursting. This storm will have fair driven the fish in for us.”

  Algin hesitated. Their catch so far had been poor for a whole orbit’s fishing. Elria must have guided the shoals out to the very depths of the lake. “All right, then,” he agreed, taking his hand from the rope. Retar grinned and set the course.

  That was when the fisherman noticed the cavernous hole in the cliff, opening like the circular gullet of a huge worm. It measured a good ten paces in diameter and was one third under water.

  He jabbed Retar with his elbow to show him. “Take a look at that!” he yelled. “Now I know why the lake water is disappearing out from under our keel. That tunnel must lead straight to the Red Mountains.”

  Retar stared at it. “What do the dwarves want with all our water?” He was furious. “I don’t get it. Why are they digging…?”

  Both of them saw a monstrous shape fill the entrance. An extended neck with an elongated skull was slowly emerging and the nostrils flared at the front of the slim muzzle. The creature was testing the air for scents. Its dark green skin was covered in shimmering damp scales.

  “Elria!” ejaculated Algin. “What on earth…?”

  The monster looked their way, drew in a huge breath and raised its head, its eyes blazing red. Steam shot from its nose.

  Retar swore and swung the helm around. The buoy he’d been so keen to reach was bobbing on the surface by the creature’s feet. He abandoned all thoughts of it.

  “It’s… a dragon,” stammered Algin. “By Elria! It’s exactly like the ones in the stories.” Fascinated, he watched the creature launch itself gracefully into the water.

  Its broad shadowy shape was approaching them now, just under the surface, and moving fast, faster than any fish they’d ever seen. The nearer it got, the better able they were to judge its size: from head to tail-tip fifty paces at least, they thought, and ten wide.

  “Hard to port! By all the gods, hard to port!” he screamed at Retar, the fear of death in him. “Quick! It’s going to ram us.”

  The dragon ducked down under their boat and disappeared.

  “It’s dived! It’s spared us.”

  “Who’s going to believe that?” croaked Retar.

  “There’s been so much happening in Girdlegard, they’ll have to take our word for it.” Algin looked at the gaping hole in the cliff. “We must let Queen Wey know about the tunnel and the dragon right away.” He was not certain whether dwarves or dragons were responsible for digging the tunnel. “To think that one of these creatures has come back after so long. The sagas speak of dragons as being cruel and clever. What does it want here?”

  “I don’t care. I’ll be offering ten of my best fish to the goddess for saving me and my boat,” a pale-faced Retar muttered. “For her protection…”

  Algin observed the waters beneath their craft filling with light. Their boat was suddenly enveloped in a curtain of blood-red fire. Flames shot around the gunwales three paces high; the heat was intolerable. Algin and Retar screamed in helpless panic. To jump overboard was certain death.

  All at once flames burst up through the hull, enrobing mast, sails and men, and incinerating flesh, skin and bone. Not a smudge of ash remained.

  The boat broke apart. The blackened pieces of the wreck tossed on the waves and were driven off by the current.

  Nothing would be found.

  No trace of Algin, of Retar, of their boat…

  Nor of any dragon.

  Dramatis Personae

  DWARVES

  Firstling Kingdom

  Borengar’s folk

  Xamtys Stubbornstreak of the clan of the Stubbornstreaks, queen of Borengar’s folk, Queen Xamtys II of the firstlings.

  Balyndis Steelfinger, of the clan of the Steel Fingers, smith.

  Glaïmbar Sharpax of the clan of the Iron Beaters, warrior, and king of the Fifthlings.

  Beldobin Anvilstand of the clan of the Steely Nails, messenger.

  Ginsgar Unforce of the clan of the Nail Smiths.

  Bilandal Lighthammer of the clan of the Hammer Heads.

  Bendelbar Ironglow of the clan of the Glowing Irons.

  Gondagar Bitterfist of the clan of the Bitter Fists.

  Secondling Kingdom

  Beroïn’s folk

  Balendilín Onearm of the clan of the Firm Fingers, king of the secondlings.

  Boïndil Doubleblade, also known as Ireheart, of the clan of the Swinging Axes, warrior.

  Fidelgar Strikefast

  Baigar Fourhand

  Gremdulin Ironbite of the clan of the Iron Biters.

  Saphira Ironbite of the clan of the Iron Biters.

  Bilba Chiselstrike of the clan of the Stone Teasers.

  Thirdling Kingdom

  Tungdil Goldhand, warrior and scholar.

  Balodil, his son.

  Goda Flameheart, warrior maiden.

  Manon Hardfoot of the clan of the Death Ax.

  Malbalor White-Eye of the clan of the Bone Breakers, king of the thirdlings.

  Diemo Deathblade of the clan of the Death Blades, commander of the guard.

  Veltaga and Bandilor, dwarf-haters.

  Fourthling Kingdom

  Goïmdil’s folk

  Gandogar Silverbeard of the clan of the Silver Beards, king of the fourthlings and high king of all the dwarves.

  Bylanta Slimfinger of the clan of the Silver Beards, sister to Gandogar.

  Ingbar Onyx-Eye of the clan of the Stone Turners, lift master.

  Glaïmbli Sparkeye of the clan of the Spark Eyes.

  Tandibur Pitpride of the clan of the Pit Prides.

  Sigdal Rubiniam of the clan of the Gem Stones.

  Feldolin Whetstone of the clan of the Thyst Finders.

  Freelings

  Bramdal Masterstroke, executioner.

  Gordislan Hammerfist, king of Trovegold.

  HUMANS

  The fabulous Rodario, actor and impresario.

  Furgas, theater technician and prop-master.

  Nolik, rich man.

  Tassia, his wife.

  Gesa, comely matron.

  Reimar, worker.

  Lambus, a smith from Mifurdania.

  Gilspan, innkeeper.

  Ilgar, worker.

  Li
a, treasure seeker.

  Franek, treasure seeker.

  Deifrich, merchant.

  Kartev, merchant.

  Kea, female assistant.

  Tamás, building master.

  Ove, building master.

  Meinart, captain of the Urgon guard.

  Hakulana, spear leader, female lieutenant.

  Torant, scout and equerry.

  Alvaro, commander of bodyguard to Prince Mallen.

  Kordin, captain of the Waveskimmer.

  Retar and Algin, fishermen of Weyurn.

  Flira and Ormardin, children of fisher family.

  Talena, fisherman’s wife.

  Mendar, sloop captain.

  Risava, famula.

  Dergard, famulus.

  Lomostin, famulus.

  Prince Mallen of Ido, sovereign of Idoslane.

  Ortger, King of Urgon.

  Bruron, King of Gauragar.

  Umilante, Queen of Sangpûr.

  Wey IV, Queen of Weyurn.

  Isika, Queen of Rân Ribastur.

  Nate, King of Tabaîn.

  OTHERS

  Liútasil, Lord of the elves of landur.

  Rejalin, envoy from landur.

  Eldrur, envoy from landur.

  Irdosíl, envoy from landur.

  Antamar, envoy from landur.

  Vilanoîl and Tiwalún, elves from landur.

  Esdalân, Baron of Jilsbon from landur.

  Limasar, elf warrior.

  Itemara, elf warrior maiden.

  Hui, dog.

  Gronsha, orc.

  Kamdra, ubari warrior.

  Flagur, ubari prince.

  Acknowledgments

  Who would have thought it? A third volume with Tungdil and his companions!

  I am happy for the dwarves in their success and am particularly glad that my diminutive friends have enjoyed and still enjoy such popularity. With this they have achieved my dream: they made it possible for me to earn my bread exclusively as an author. Small creatures, great effect.

  Apparently, the thing to do when it is all going really well is—stop. In this case it is time to do just that.

  Why?

  I should like to allow Girdlegard some privacy to order affairs between its various peoples.

  Let us see what emerges in a few years’ time. Perhaps one day I shall open the gates to Girdlegard once more, and who knows how it may look then and what fates awaited the heroes? In the meantime I am traveling in Ulldart, my fantasy continent, forging peace and causing mayhem.

  My thanks are due to the many dwarf friends who laughed along with Tungdil and his companions when things were good and sighed for them when times were hard. I should like to thank the loyal team of test readers: Nicole Schuhmacher, Sonja and Jan Rüther, and Tanja

  Karmann. For their staunch support on previous volumes, thanks to Dr. Patrick Müller and Meike Sewering. Much praise and many thanks to my German editor Angela Kuepper, who has looked after the dwarves with me for the last three years.

  extras

  meet the author

  MARKUS HEITZ was born in 1971 in Germany. He studied history, German language, and literature and won the German Fantasy Award in 2003 for his debut novel, Shadows Over Ulldart. His Dwarves series is a bestseller in Europe. Markus Heitz lives in Zweibrücken.

  introducing

  If you enjoyed

  THE REVENGE OF THE DWARVES,

  look out for

  THE FATE OF THE DWARVES

  by Markus Heitz

  Prologue

  The Outer Lands,

  The Black Abyss,

  Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle

  Filling the air was the smell of bone dust, ice-cold stone and frosty damp. The thin-armed creature stepped cautiously out of the shadow of a rock and blinked. Ten paces ahead, the shimmering made everything on the far side appear vague. The same as always.

  The nameless creature sent a long green tongue over the skin of its doglike face, revealing needle-sharp teeth. With two of its sixteen fingers it explored the short dark fur under the dirty armor, scratched, and yawned. It adjusted the armor that was pressing uncomfortably on its balls.

  Relieved, it sighed and then gave another yawn.

  On the orders of the Strongest it had to keep watch from dawn to dusk and to report at once any changes to the shimmering vibrations in the air. It was a boring task. Thankless and boring.

  After a while it picked up and ate a yellow beetle which had emerged from under a moldering thigh bone on the ground. As it chewed the creature was reminded yet again that not one of the hundreds of its own kind could remember a time when the air had not shimmered.

  It grunted and kicked at the black rock wall, then strolled up to the edge, trailing an over-long sword. The metal blade, covered in a rusty brown layer, scraped against the rock floor, collecting yet more dents and notches.

  The creature sat down on the ground next to the shimmering. Yawning, it picked up a pebble and idly chucked it. The air hissed and flashed, for a second turning opaque like murky water and stopping the pebble’s flight. The little stone bounced back and landed at the tip of the creature’s boots. Another sigh. This was a ritual that had never ever changed. It could understand why it had to chuck the pebbles. They didn’t disappear when they hit the shimmer.

  There had been times when the invisible barrier had simply been an indestructible wall. It would hurt if you ran into it, but nothing else happened. Then, all of a sudden the wall started to destroy whatever touched it: there’d be a crackling flash and you’d be drenched in fire and burnt to a fine cinder ash that blew away in the wind. But for about seven world ages now, the wall took quite a long time to actually kill you if you touched it. If you were quick and tore yourself back off you’d get away with a burn.

  On the other side the creature could pick out a peculiar vertical structure composed of metal rings. When the sun stood high there’d be a bright light in the center. Every so often a few small chunky two-leggers could be seen going up to the rings, walking around and then disappearing again. You could see the strong high walls with colorful flags atop square towers, but the shimmering made everything indistinct. The towers were quite a way off.

  If it tried very hard, the creature could make out two-leggers walking to and fro on the battlements. They looked different from the ones that marched round inspecting the interlocking iron rings. Bet their job was just as boring—until, suddenly, the air was no longer making waves like on a hot summer day.

  This was the moment the Strongest One had been waiting, along with so many others, big and small, two-leggers and many-leggers, screech-phantoms and soulrippers alike—and the Kordrion, of course. Even the Strongest One was afraid of the Kordrion—the flying horror was obeyed by all.

  If the shimmering stopped, a new empire would open up, the Strongest One had told them. There’d be delicious fresh meat and rich pickings for all. The Strongest One before the Strongest One had promised that as well. And the one before that, the Strongest Ever, had said the same.

  The creature didn’t believe the words any longer, but it wasn’t going to let on. You died soon enough if you stepped out of line. A single life was nothing—the Strongest One had thousands of foot soldiers at his beck and call.

  Another pebble to chuck, half-heartedly. The large brown beetle crawling out of its rocky hiding place was really much more interesting.

  Moving swiftly, the creature grabbed the beetle, pulled off the poisonous mandibles and sucked out the entrails that tasted of rotten wanko berries. There was a lot of satisfied chewing. The empty beetle case was discarded and the creature bent down. Where had the pebble had fallen this time?

  Long fingers searching the ground found—nothing.

  Curiosity now aroused, it lifted its head and saw the small stone lying out in the sunshine.

  Snorting in disbelief, the creature got up and stared out: the shimmering had stopped.

  It hardly dared to move. Its whole body was tingling. Its no
strils widened to catch new scents. For the first time you could smell the land on the other side without the stupid filter: flesh, iron, dust, stone—the smells of excitingly different things in your nose. Freedom! Booty! Meat! And untold treasure!

  Looking back where the entrance to the underground empire of the Strongest One and the Kordrion lay, the creature knew it had to make its report as quickly as anything, but… It turned its narrow head again, its long pointed ears erect. Why not take another look before anyone else turned up? What was the world out there going to look like without that shimmer effect? Might there be some rich pickings to secure for personal use?