by Markus Heitz
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.
Lia, 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 abou
t 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 nostrils 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?
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 abr
oad 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.
