by Markus Heitz
“Together we defeated the monstrous issue of Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty’s alliance with a demon from the north. Nôd’onn is dead, the Perished Land has been banished from Girdlegard, and nature is returning to her ancient ways. Together we achieved all this, and our kingdoms were saved, saved because we buried old grudges, overcame our mutual distrust, and joined forces in Girdlegard’s hour of need.” He raised his arms. “We prevailed! Is this not reason enough to forget our past quarrels?”
He waited for a moment, allowing his words to take effect.
“You, Prince Mallen of Ido, rallied the human warriors after their defeat at Porista and led the united army to the Black-saddle in a courageous stand against Nôd’onn.” He smiled solemnly at Idoslane’s ruler, then turned to face the elven leader. “And you, Lord Liútasil of landur, welcomed us into your kingdom when we asked for your help. Your heart must have counseled you against it, but you came to our aid.” He looked at Balendilín and Xamtys. “And you, worthy children of the Smith, you reforged the bonds between our kingdoms and honored the duty entrusted to us by Vraccas.” He raised his voice triumphantly. “Friends, together we rescued Girdlegard!”
The warriors of the assembled races thumped their shields and banged their weapons together.
“We must rid our hearts of hatred. Our past battles are just that: They belong in the past and are best forgotten. This orbit marks the start of a new age: one of peace, cooperation, and friendship.” He held his ax aloft, and the other monarchs rose to their feet to pledge a new era of friendship.
This time his speech was met with deafening cheers. Swept away by the excitement, Balyndis planted another kiss on Tungdil’s lips. Even in the last moments of the battle she hadn’t known whether or not they would succeed, and now she was overcome with gladness and relief. “You must be really proud,” she said.
“Proud of what? Being a thirdling?” he retorted, only half joking. His voice was edged with resentment.
“Proud of being the only thirdling to save the dwarven folks instead of trying to destroy them.” She smiled. “Come on, Tungdil, we’re lucky to have made it alive.”
He thought of Narmora and Furgas lying side by side in the stronghold. They would have shared a different fate if Andôkai hadn’t summoned the last of her strength to invoke a healing charm. Dwarven physicians were still tending to their wounds. Then there were those who had been gathered to Vraccas’s smithy: I haven’t forgotten you, Bavragor and Goïmgar.
He looked up to see Gandogar pointing straight at him.
“But above all we owe our thanks to Tungdil Goldhand,” announced the dwarven king. “Step forward, Tungdil.”
Nervously, he obeyed.
“Take a good look at him, for without Tungdil, without his stubbornness, his ingenuity, and most important, his unshakable faith in our mission, none of us would be standing here today. Without Tungdil Goldhand, Nôd’onn would have killed or enslaved us all.”
Suddenly it seemed to Tungdil that every dwarf, elf, and man on the Blacksaddle was staring at him. He blushed and felt terribly embarrassed. He reached down and rested a hand on Keenfire, which made him feel slightly less shy.
“We will never be in a position to repay our debt,” said Gandogar gravely. “But know this: For as long as you live, Tungdil Goldhand, I will do everything in my power to satisfy your every wish.”
Liútasil turned his slender, graceful face toward him. “We have never numbered among the dwarves’ closest friends, but we are beholden to you, Tungdil Goldhand. We too will grant you whatever you desire.”
The human sovereigns swore similar oaths of gratitude while Tungdil squirmed in embarrassment.
“Prithee, stop, Your Majesties,” he interrupted.
Boïndil rolled his eyes. “Here he goes again. Wake me up when he’s finished.”
Tungdil took a deep breath. “You don’t owe me anything. My only wish has been granted already: All I want is for dwarves, elves, and men to come together in friendship, not war. You pledged an end to our quarreling, and what more could I desire? Gold and riches count for nothing without peace. I can’t accept your gifts, but I shall gladly accept your thanks, especially on behalf of my companions, Bavragor Hammerfist of the clan of the Hammer Fists and Goïmgar Shimmerbeard of the clan of the Shimmer Beards. Bavragor and Goïmgar risked everything for Girdlegard, and they paid the highest price. Keenfire would never have been forged without them.”
The elven lord inclined his head toward him. “You speak with the wisdom of a true leader, Tungdil Goldhand. If ever we are in danger of resuming our old rivalries, you must remind us of the oaths of friendship sworn today. You will always be welcome in landur.”
There was thunderous applause from the warriors, who hammered on their shields, sounded their bugles, and cheered tirelessly. Tungdil scurried back to Balyndis’s side.
Boïndil pretended to scowl at him. “Show us your tongue,” he demanded. “I bet you’ve talked it into knots.”
Tungdil just grinned. He was happy that his lessons in rhetoric had been put to proper use.
After a while the assembly dissolved and the allied armies retired to the stronghold to celebrate their victory and negotiate their newfound friendship.
Balendilín and Gandogar joined the others. “What an orbit this has been!” the secondling king said happily. “Who would have thought it would turn out so well?” He thumped Tungdil on the shoulder. “Vraccas sent us the dwarf of all dwarves, and if anyone cares to dispute it, I’ll set up another contest with five new tasks.” He laughed and the others joined in.
Gandogar noticed that Tungdil’s jollity seemed a little forced. “Is something the matter?”
“It’s nothing.”
“No, something’s wrong. Is it because you think you’re a thirdling?”
“I am a thirdling! How else could I have awoken Keenfire’s power?”
“Then be proud to be a thirdling, Tungdil,” Balendilín exhorted him solemnly. “Show your kinsfolk, show every dwarf in Girdlegard, that Lorimbur’s descendants aren’t all as dastardly and conniving as Bislipur and Glamdolin. Incidentally,” he added with a mischievous smile, “were you planning to return to Ogre’s Death or is there somewhere else you’d rather be?”
“Balyndis and I won’t be going to the firstling kingdom, if that’s what you mean,” he said, grinning bashfully. “We’re both smiths at heart, and our interests and experiences have soldered us together. We’ve decided to go to the Gray Range. Boïndil’s coming with us and we’ll pick up Boëndal on the way. I promised Giselbert Ironeye that I wouldn’t abandon his kingdom and I intend to keep my word.”
The rising winds carried a foul smell to their nostrils. It came from the plains around the Blacksaddle, where the corpses of ogres, orcs, bögnilim, and älfar were strewn. The combined army of elves, dwarves, and men had laid waste to the enemy battalions. A few undead troopers had survived the massacre, only to lose their lives forever with the defeat of the Perished Land. Their corpses were rotting in the winter sunshine, but the carnage would soon be frozen overnight.
“It will take time to bury all the bodies,” Gandogar said grimly. “I hope the earth can suffer so much death.”
Rodario joined them, quill and notebook in hand. “A magnificent finale for a play, don’t you think? Too many corpses for practical purposes — we’d never fit them on stage.” He stopped making notes and extended his hand toward Tungdil. “It was a privilege to accompany you. If you find yourself in Mifurdania, be sure to visit the Curiosum. We’ll be celebrating our grand reopening.” He winked at Tungdil. “As the star of the show, you’ll qualify for free admission — and Balyndis as well.”
“When are you off?”
“As soon as my prop master and my leading lady are fit to ride. A fortnight or so, I expect. In the meantime, they’ve found room for us here.”
Andôkai strode toward them. “Djerůn and I are leaving. I need to get back to my realm and find some new famuli.”
The maga refused to be drawn. “I don’t want to spoil the mood.”
“Impossible!” he declared with overblown enthusiasm. “Nothing could spoil a victory like this!”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Her lips were unsmiling. “What if Nôd’onn wasn’t lying after all?”
“About the western peril?” The impresario laughed incredulously. “My dear lady, you shouldn’t be fooled by a cheap trick like that. You disappoint me!”
“Say what you like, but I intend to be vigilant.” She laid her hand on Tungdil’s arm. “At least I’ll know where to find Keenfire and its valiant bearer, should Nudin prove right.” At last her stern face relaxed. “You’re stubborn enough to take on any kind of peril single-handed,” she told him.
She took her leave of the company, giving everyone except Rodario a long embrace. He pouted and stalked away, only to turn after a few paces and wave. “Farewell, enchanting maga. I shall take your advice and devote my attentions to women who know how to appreciate me — and believe me, they do!”
Andôkai hurried away, followed, as always, by Djerůn. The others watched in silence as the strange pair passed from sight. Balendilín called the group to attention by clearing his throat.
“I must take my leave as well, dear friends. The assembly will soon be meeting to decide the succession, and I need to make sure that everything’s in place.” He inclined his head toward Gandogar. “I don’t doubt that the delegates will vote in your favor. You have proven yourself a worthy heir since stepping out of Bislipur’s shadow; I know you will make an excellent high king.”
“I’d even vote for him myself,” said Tungdil with a grin. He held out his hand to Gandogar, who shook it firmly and seemed moved. “Don’t forget to send a hundred of your best warriors and artisans to the fifthling kingdom. That goes for all the folks — Balyndis and I will appreciate the company, and we won’t be able to defend the Stone Gateway on our own. I want to rebuild Giselbert’s kingdom.” He paused for a moment, remembering the promise he had made. “The Gray Range will belong to the children of Vraccas. Who knows, perhaps our mysterious rescuers will join us? They might be glad to leave the drafty tunnels for a more comfortable home.”
“You should certainly ask them,” Gandogar concurred.
“Vraccas will be proud to see us forging a folk of our own. But what should we do about the thirdlings?” Balendilín asked.
Tungdil turned to the east and gazed in the direction of the Black Range, where Lorimbur’s descendants had made their home.
“I can’t be the only thirdling who wasn’t born to hate his fellow dwarves,” he said softly. “Once things are settled in the fifthling kingdom, I’ll pay them a visit and see what they have to say.” He looked into the eyes of the three dwarven rulers. “I meant what I said when I asked for peace. The thirdlings are no exception.”
Balyndis smiled and took his hand. He gave it a little squeeze.
Gradually the others made their way down from the mountain. Balyndis and Tungdil lingered on the summit until the sun dropped below the horizon and stars filled the sky. There was a crisp chill in the air, reminding them that Girdlegard was still in the grip of winter.
Tungdil had wrapped his fingers around Balyndis’s hand and had no intention of letting go.
Just then a shooting star left a glittering trail from east to west, the white light turning red as it shot across the sky. There was a brief red flare; then the light dispersed into myriad crimson dots that reminded Tungdil of scattered blood. At last they were swallowed by the darkness of the sky.
“Was that a good or a bad omen, do you think?” Balyndis asked uncertainly.
He gave a shrug, then stepped back and hugged her from behind. “A good omen,” he said after a short silence, running his hand over her downy cheeks.
“How do you know?”
He studied the night sky and spotted the distant lights of settlements. He was glad of the stillness that peace had brought with it. The prospect of spring, when trees and plants would blossom throughout Girdlegard, was exciting. All Girdlegard will be covered in greenery for the first time in a thousand cycles.
“After everything we’ve been through, it has to be a good omen,” he whispered in her ear. “It was red, the color of love, so it must mean something good. Come on, let’s find the others. We’ve got something to celebrate.”
Hand in hand they made their way down from the Black-saddle, whose looming presence had lost its terror for the dwarven folks.
They were halfway down the steps that led into the stronghold when a second streak of light flashed above them.
Unseen and unnoticed, the comet sped toward the west. Still shining brightly, it dipped toward the earth, sailing through the clouds and leaving a deep red trail in the sky. At last it disappeared on the horizon beyond the firstling kingdom. It hit the ground with a muffled thud, sending a shudder through Girdlegard. Even the Blacksaddle trembled.
Then everything was quiet…
Dramatis Personae
DWARVES
Firstling Kingdom
Xamtys Stubbornstreak II of the clan of the Stubborn Streaks, queen of Borengar’s folk.
Balyndis Steelfinger of the clan of the Steel Fingers, blacksmith and custodian of the gates.
Secondling Kingdom
Gundrabur Whitecrown of the clan of the Hard Rocks, high king and leader of Beroïn’s folk.
Balendilín Onearm of the clan of the Firm Fingers, counselor to the high king.
Bavragor Hammerfist of the clan of the Hammer Fists, mason.
Bo1ëndal Hookhand and Boïndil Doubleblade, known also as Ireheart, of the clan of the Swinging Axes, warriors and twins.
Thirdling Kingdom
—
Fourthling Kingdom
Gandogar Silverbeard of the clan of the Silver Beards, king of Goïmdil’s folk.
Bislipur Surestroke of the clan of the Brawny Fists, adviser to the fourthling king.
Tungdil Bolofar, later Goldhand, foundling and Lot-Ionan’s ward.
Goïmgar Shimmerbeard of the clan of the Shimmer Beards, gem cutter.
Fifthling Kingdom
Giselbert Ironeye, father of the fifthlings, king of Giselbert’s folk.
Glandallin Hammerstrike of the clan of the Striking Hammers, warrior.
HUMANS
Andôkai the Tempestuous, maga and ruler of the enchanted realm of Brandôkai.
Djerůn, bodyguard in the service of Andôkai.
Lot-Ionan the Forbearing, magus and ruler of the enchanted realm of Ionandar.
Maira the Life-Preserver, maga and ruler of the enchanted realm of Oremaira.
Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty, magus and ruler of the enchanted realm of Lios Nudin.
Sabora the Softly-Spoken, maga and ruler of the enchanted realm of Saborien.
Turgur the Fair-Faced, magus and ruler of the enchanted realm of Turguria.
Gorén, wizard formerly apprenticed to Lot-Ionan.
Frala, maid in the service of Lot-Ionan, mother of Sunja and Ikana.
Jolosin, famulus apprenticed to Lot-Ionan.
Eiden, groom in the service of Lot-Ionan.
Rantja, famula apprenticed to Nudin.
The fabulous Rodario, actor and impresario.
Furgas, theater technician and prop master.
Narmora, actress and companion to Furgas.
Hîl and Kerolus, peddlers.
Vrabor and Friedegard, envoys to the council of the magi.
Prince Mallen of Ido, exiled heir to the throne of Idoslane.
King Lothaire, sovereign of Urgon.
King Tilogorn, sovereign of Idoslane.
King Nate, sovereign of Tabaîn.
King Bruron, sovereign of Gauragar.
Queen Umilante, sovereign of Sangpûr.
Queen Wey IV, sovereign of Weyurn.
Queen Isika, sovereign of Rân Ribastur.
OTHERS
&
nbsp; Sinthoras and Caphalor, älfar from the kingdom of Dsôn Balsur.
Liútasil, lord of landur, kingdom of the elves.
Bashkugg, Kragnarr, and Ushnotz, orcish princes of Toboribor.
Sverd, gnome enslaved by Bislipur.
Acknowledgments
When I finished the final volume of my Ulldart series, I decided to tackle a new project: dwarves. It was a nerve-racking prospect. Most readers have fixed ideas about how they like their dwarves to look and act; I didn’t want to disappoint their expectations, but at the same time I needed to do something new.
And so I went ahead and created my dwarves. I invented clans and folks for them to belong to, and I gave them particular talents and traits. I was careful not to stray too far from the traditional dwarf, but I added bits here and there, and I gave my dwarves a chance to prove their mettle. I didn’t want them to be extras or sidekicks, so I made them into proper protagonists who outshine the humans and elves. My dwarves are the valiant defenders of Girdlegard, true heroes who fight — and sometimes die — in the line of duty.
I sent Tungdil and his companions on a perilous mission, and it had me on the edge of my seat. These pages are chock-full of dwarven dedication, passion, determination, exuberance, war, and death. Writing them was great fun, and with any luck, reading them will be entertaining as well.
My particular thanks go to those who made this a better and more interesting book. Among the first to see the manuscript were Nicole Schuhmacher, Sonja Rüther, Meike Sewering, and Dr. Patrick Müller. Their thoughtful comments and suggestions were immensely helpful, as always.
Many thanks to translator Sally-Ann Spencer, who taught the dwarves a new language.
I would also like to thank those who allowed me to send the dwarves on their very own adventure. It was time the little fellows had their big chance.
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.
