The Revenge of the Dwarves

by Markus Heitz

You’ll have to inspect it properly, or your report won’t be accurate. There was a big chance they’d call you a liar if your description wasn’t specific enough. Liars got treated the same way as the ones who stepped out of line. A very good reason for not racing off to the Strongest’s abyss, quite apart from the rich-pickings possibility.

  Carefully, one step at a time. Here’s the edge of the rocks now, and you’re out in the sunshine.

  Any hope of a bit of secret pillaging died a death. You’d never be able to scale those fortress walls. You’d need the Strongest’s help there. The Kordrion’s, too. Tough… Without the shimmering those square towers were making the dreams of rich pickings and fresh meat fade. The stonemason’s art up there—you wouldn’t get that type of thing back home.

  But the creature’s approach had been noted. Vast numbers of weapons were heard rattling. Shouts came from the battlements. Then the dread sound of alarm horns.

  This was scary. Duck down!

  Trying to get a good look at all the colors and the patterns on the banners, the creature turned tail and made for the rocks—but a hefty blow back hurled it to the ground. The sword slipped out of its grasp.

  It could scarcely breathe. It spat and saw its own green blood! But then the pain flooded through from the wound on its back.

  Yowling and whimpering by turns, it reached behind, clutching at a thin wooden shaft.

  From the right hand side something came hissing, striking the creature in the face and destroying the upper jaw and adding to the torture. The howls grew louder and stopped, suddenly, when a dozen arrows whirred in from all directions.

  One arm had been pierced and anchored to the flank, but the creature dragged itself steadfastly on, groaning and spluttering. The Strongest One must get the report and avenge the death. Let the storm break!

  Once back in the shadow of the rocks, past the place where the air normally shimmered, everything felt better. Now the report would be made!

  All at once the smell in the air changed.

  In spite of all the blood and the mashed nose, you could sense it clearly: it was the smell you got just before a thunderstorm. Invisible energy was gathering, crackling all around.

  Shrieking in terror, the creature clutched at the floor of dust and ground-up bones, trying to get a hold to drag itself forward…

  The magic sphere flared into being once more, cutting the creature in half at the hips.

  One last ghastly scream escaped its throat before it died; the legs convulsed for a time before falling still.

  Praise and thanks to Vraccas! The shield is up again!” Boïndil Doubleblade, known by friends and enemies alike as Ireheart on account of the rage that overwhelmed him in combat, had observed the fate of the thin-armed creature. Putting the telescope down on the stone parapet, he watched the glittering shield that enclosed the Black Abyss. “The artifact seems to be running out of power.” He turned a quizzical gaze on Goda. “Can you tell me anything about that?”

  He was standing with his beloved consort on the north tower of Evildam, which had defended these parts for the past two hundred and twenty-one cycles.

  Built by dwarves, undergroundlings, ubariu and humans, the four walls of the fortress formed a square thirty paces high and at the widest points over fifteen paces thick, round the Black Abyss. The structure was simple in form but masterful in execution. The cooperation of the various participators had ensured the creation of something unique, even if the dwarf contribution had been the greatest part. Ireheart was proud of it and the runes on the towers praised Vraccas, Ubar and Palandiell.

  Catapults installed on the broad walkways, on the towers and on the levels beneath the roofed platforms could launch stones, arrows and spears when needed; there were enough missiles in store to contend even with an attack outnumbering them by many hundreds to one. Two thousand warriors manned the defenses of Evildam, ready to take up arms and fight back dark armies.

  But for two hundred and twenty-one cycles this had never been necessary.

  The creature that lay bleeding was the first ever to leave the prison: a dark cleft half a mile long and a hundred paces wide was a blemish on the surrounding landscape and marked where evil would emerge if the magic barrier and the fortress allowed it.

  Goda turned to her warrior husband—a sturdy secondling dwarf with such a reputation and so much combat experience behind him that he had been appointed commander of the fortress. She tilted her head to one side; dark blond hair poked out from under her cap.

  “Are you afraid the shield won’t hold, or are you hoping it won’t?” In contrast to Ireheart, who was sporting a chain mail shirt reinforced with iron plates, she wore a long light gray dress, simple and unadorned apart from the gold thread embroidering the belt. Goda wasn’t even carrying a dagger, showing plainly that she had laid aside conventional fighting. Her arsenal was a magic one.

  “Oh, I’m not afraid of what’s out there in the Black Abyss! It can’t be any worse than what’s abroad in Girdlegard,” he growled, pretending to be offended as he stroked the thick black beard which had its share of silvergray. It was a sign of his advanced age. But really he was in the prime of life. Ireheart gave his wife a sad little smile. “And I’ve never given up hope since the day he went to the other side.” He turned his head back to gaze at the entrance to the Black Abyss, over behind the shield. “That’s why I’m waiting here. By Vraccas, if I could only glimpse him behind that shield, I’d be off like a shot to help! With all the strength at my disposal.” He slammed both fists down on the top of the wall.

  Goda looked over at the artifact with its impenetrable sphere enclosing the abyss. The artifact stood at the entrance to the Black Abyss and was composed of four interlocking vertical iron rings which formed a kind of cone with a diameter of twenty paces. The metal circles showed runes, signs, notches and marks; horizontal reinforcements connected to the central point where there was a fixture decorated with symbols. And it was there that its power was to be found: it drew its strength from a diamond in which enormous amounts of magic energy were stored.

  But the stone was growing more and more defects; each year there would be yet another fissure. When that happened you could hear the cracking sound echo from the fortress walls. All the soldiers were aware of it.

  “I can’t say how much more it can take,” Goda told him quietly, her brows knitted in concern. “It could give any moment or it could last for many cycles yet.”

  Ireheart sighed and nodded to the guards passing on their rounds. “How do you mean?” he growled, rubbing the shaved sides of his head. Then he adjusted the plait of dark hair that hung down the length of his back. It was showing just as much silver now as the beard. “Can’t you be more specific?”

  “I can only repeat what I always say when you ask that, husband: I don’t know.” She didn’t take his unfriendly tone amiss because she knew it stemmed from worrying. Over two hundred and fifty cycles of worrying. “Perhaps Lot-Ionan could have given you a better answer.”

  Ireheart’s laugh was short, humorless and harsh. “I know what he’d give me if we met now. I expect it would be an extermination spell right between the eyes.” He picked up and shouldered his crow’s beak, the one his twin brother Boe¯ndal Hookhand had once carried into battle. He made his way along the walkway. He used his twin’s long-handled weapon in honor of his memory: it had a heavy flat hammer head on the one side and a curved spike on the other, the length of your arm. No armor could withstand a crow’s beak wielded by a dwarf.

  Goda followed him. Time to do the rounds.

  “Did you ever think we would spend so long here in the Outer Lands?” he asked her pensively.

  “No more than I thought things in Girdlegard could change like they have,” she replied. Goda was surprised by her companion’s thoughtful mood. The two of them had forged the iron band together many cycles before.

  Their love had provided them with seven children, two girls and five sons. The artifact had not objected to its k
eeper no longer being a virgin, as long as her soul was still pure. Goda had retained this innocence of spirit. Nothing dark had entered her mind. She had remained free of deceit, trickery and power lust.

  The fact that she had abandoned Lot-Ionan made this very clear. Many others had followed him. She had gained a powerful enemy by leaving his influence. “Don’t you think it’s time to go back and support them? You know they’ve been waiting for you. Waiting for the last great dwarf hero from the glorious cycles.”

  “Go back and leave you alone, when the artifact may burst at any moment? Give up command of the fortress?” Ireheart shook his head violently. “Never! If monsters and fiends come pouring out of the Black Abyss I’ve got to be here to hold them back, together with you and our children and my warriors.” He put his arm round her shoulder. “If this evil were to flood over into Girdlegard there would be no hope at all anymore. For no one, whatever race they belong to.”

  “Why forbid Bo

  ndalin to go back to our people? He could go in your place,” she urged him gently. “At least it would give the Children of the Smith a signal…”

  “Bondalin is too good a fighter to spare,” he interrupted her. “I need him to train the troops.” Ireheart’s eyes grew hard. “None of my sons and daughters shall leave my side until we’ve closed up the Black Abyss for all time and filled it up with molten steel.”

  Goda sighed. “Not one of your best circuits, Ireheart.”

  He stopped, placed his crow’s beak on the ground and took her hands in his. “Forgive me, wife. But seeing the shield collapse like that, and then seeing how long it took to repair itself, it’s really got me worried. I can easily be unfair when I’m troubled.” He gave a faint smile to ask for forgiveness. She smiled in her turn.

  They marched to the tower and went down in the lift that worked with a system of counterweights and winches.

  One hundred heavily armed ubariu warriors were waiting for them at the fortress gates.

  Ireheart scanned the faces. Even after all those cycles they were still foreign to him. It had never felt right to forge friendships with a people who looked for all the world like orcs. Only bigger.

  Their eyes shone bright red like little suns. In contrast to Tion’s creatures, the ubariu kept themselves very clean and their character was different, too, because they had turned their back on evil and on random cruelty to others—at least that was what the undergroundlings claimed. The undergroundlings were the dwarves of the Outer Lands…

  And even if there had never been cause for doubt, Ireheart’s nature would never allow him to lay aside his scruples and accept them as equals, as friends. For himself, in contrast to how his wife and children felt, they would never be more than allies.

  Goda gave him a little push and he pulled himself together. He knew his reservations were unjustified, but he couldn’t help it. Vraccas had hammered a hatred of orcs and all of Tion’s creatures into the Girdlegard dwarves. The ubariu had the misfortune to look like Evil—and yet there was no way out of working together to guard the Black Abyss.

  Ireheart gave the gate keeper a signal.

  Shouts were heard, strong arms moved chains and pulley ropes, setting the heavy cogs in motion to open the main door. With a screech of iron the massive gate, eleven paces by seven, rose up to make a gap through which the column could march out toward the artifact.

  “We’ll check the edges of the shield today,” Ireheart told Pfalgur, the ubari standing next to him. “I wouldn’t put it past these beasts to have a dug an escape tunnel. You go one way, we’ll take the other. I’ll start at the artifact. You get along.”

  “Understood, general,” the ubari’s deep voice responded, passing on the orders.

  They traversed the basin which held the Back Abyss. The sides were smooth and black as colored glass, and steep paths led off to the right and to the left, ending at the protective sphere.

  Ireheart turned right toward the artifact; the ubari led his troops in the other direction.

  While Goda used her telescope to inspect in minute detail both the diamond and the structure, which was enclosed in the same kind of energy dome as the abyss itself, Ireheart went over to the corpse of the abyss creature. On his side of the barrier lay the ugly thin legs that didn’t look capable of ever having moved along properly in those heavy boots. On the other side Ireheart could vaguely make out its upper body, pierced with arrows. Greenish blood had formed puddles and little rivulets.

  “Freak,” he said under his breath, kicking the creature’s left leg. “Your moment of freedom only brought you death.” Ireheart looked up and stared into the chasm. “Did you come on your own when you saw the shield was failing?” he asked quietly, as if the creature could hear him.

  “Boïndil!” he heard Goda call, her voice excited.

  Something wrong with the diamond? He was just about to turn round to speak to her when he thought he noticed a movement in the darkness.

  Ireheart stopped and stared without blinking.

  The strength of the magic barrier was making his moustache hairs stand on end. Or was it a feeling of unease?

  “Boïndil, come on!” his wife attempted to get his attention again. “I’ve got something to…”

  Ireheart raised his right hand to show he had heard her but that he needed quiet. His brown eyes searched the twilight for vague figures.

  Once more he noticed a slight scurrying movement—something going from one rock to the next. There it came again. And yet another!

  There was no doubt in his mind that more monsters were creeping up. Had they sensed the poor state of the barrier? Did they have the advantage here with their animal instincts?

  “I want…” he called over his shoulder. Surprise cut off his words. Wasn’t that a dwarf helmet?

  “This confounded distortion!” he called out, taking a step forward. “Tungdil!” he yelled, full of expectation, standing dangerously close to the sphere so that he could hear the humming sound it made, varying in pitch. “Vraccas, don’t let my eyes be deceiving me,” he prayed. He nearly laid his hand on the energy screen; Ireheart gulped in distress; his throat had never felt so constricted before.

  Then a huge blue claw as broad as three castle gates appeared out of the shadows, and gave a thundering blow to the sphere, producing a dull echo. The ground shook.

  Ireheart jumped back with a curse, hitting out with his weapon as a reflex. The steel head of the crow’s beak crashed against the barrier, but ineffectually. “The Kordrion is back!” he bellowed, noting with grim satisfaction that the alarm trumpets on the battlements immediately sounded a warning to the soldiers to man the catapults. All those drills he made them do were paying off.

  The pale claw curled, its long talons scraping along the inner side of the shield, creating bright yellow sparks. Then the Kordrion retreated and a wall of white fire rolled in, slapping up against the barrier like a wave and washing all around.

  Ireheart retreated, dazzled, stumbling backwards to the artifact. “It won’t hold for long,” he shouted to Goda. “The beasts know it and they’re gathering.”

  “The diamond!” she called back. “It’s crumbling!”

  “What? Not now, in Vraccas’ name!” At last he could see again: behind the force wall stood a range of monsters brandishing weapons! “Oh, you fiendish…”

  Most were like the creature that had been cut in half; but there were others, significantly broader in the beam, much stronger and of intimidating appearance. No terror dream could have come up with better.

  “By Vraccas,” Ireheart breathed, bereft. His friend had not come, after all. He issued brisk orders to the ubariu, telling them to spread out in front of the artifact to protect Goda. The warriors formed a wall of bodies, iron and shields, their lances pointing forward like so many defensive tentacles. Ireheart turned to Goda and saw that she was touching the shimmering sphere. “What’s happening?” he called.

  She was deathly pale. “A piece… of the diamond has come
away,” she stammered. “I can’t hold it…”

  There was a loud crack, like the noise of ice breaking. They all stared at the jewel. It had suddenly gone a darker color and there was a distinct fissure on its surface. The barrier fizzed and flickered. Layer upon layer was flaking off the edges of the diamond and falling to the ground. It was nearing the end.

  “Get back!” commanded Ireheart. “Get back to the fort! We stand no chance here.” He took Goda’s hand and ran with her. In recent cycles he had grown to know the difference between courage and the insanity that used to overtake him in battle. His sons, too, had needed to learn the same lesson. The madness wasn’t something he was proud of handing on to them.

  The large ubariu warriors kept pace, even though they could easily have covered the distance much more swiftly than the dwarves. Goda, who found it well nigh impossible to tear herself away from the artifact, was dragged along by her colleagues.

  With a brilliant flash and an ear-splitting detonation the diamond burst asunder; the strength of the explosion brought the whole structure down. Parts of the vertical iron circles broke off and flew through the air to bury themselves in the ground several paces off. Goda saw the ends were glowing. There must have been incredible heat involved.

  At the same time—the barrier at the Black Abyss fell.

  The maga could clearly see the army of beasts—there was no immovable power to hold them back now. The wind carried an unbelievable stink over to her, a mixture of excrement, stale blood and sour milk. Grayish white clouds of dust and bone meal flurried up like mist in front of the somber rockface. Figures appeared out of the fog.

  Behind the army the pale dragon-like head of the Kordrion reared up out of the chasm, horns and spikes erect. The four gray upper eyes were assessing the walls of the fortress as if to judge what force might be used against it and its followers. The two, lower, blue eyes beneath the long bony muzzle were fixed on the ubariu and the fleeing dwarves.

  “Vraccas!” exclaimed Goda, who was gathering her magic powers ready for defense. She had spotted a helmet among the first row of smaller monsters—a helmet as worn by children of the Smith.