by Markus Heitz
“Is that all?” She sought his eyes.
“That’s all. You are far too beautiful and kind and sweet-natured for anyone to say anything unpleasant about. I think you know what feelings I have for you.” Rodario smiled at her and took her hand in his. “Will you tell me about it now?”
A muffled cry rang out and a chimera came flying through the hayloft hatch; he landed directly at the feet of two Zhadár, with blood spurting from the many injuries to his chest. For a split second Ireheart was visible in the opening, long enough for a wave and for them to know he was unharmed. Then he raised his weapon and leaped off to the right with a war cry.
“He lives only to fight,” was Coïra’s comment.
“It’s battle-frenzy. Hot blood. They always used to say that about him—and rightly so,” the actor said with a grin. Crashes and thumps echoed down from the hayloft. “He’s having the time of his life, egging them on.”
The maga slipped her hand under his arm. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for keeping silent, and for not despising me on account of my arm.” It seemed to be difficult for her to speak about the disfiguring blemish. “It happened while I was doing magic once. A spell exploded in my hand and damaged it badly. You would not understand the technicalities because you are not a magus, but take my word for it: Some parts of the magic spell remain lodged in my flesh. That’s why I can’t heal the wound permanently; it can only be hidden if I’ve enough magic power in me to suppress it. The less power I’m left with, the more the injury opens up and festers. A long-lasting spell contains the sensitive area inside a kind of glass covering. That’s what you saw. No one notices; I always wear gloves.”
Rodario felt enormous sympathy for the young woman. “And what happens when your magic runs out completely?”
“My arm will be destroyed.” Coïra gave a brave smile. “I shall lose it.”
“From the state of your arm I can guess you have very little magic left. Am I right?” He checked how close the dwarves were standing, to see if they would have been able to overhear.
A second chimera came flying through the loft opening, landing next to the first. Its skull had been smashed and there was a gash on the right-hand side of its head.
“One more to go!” they heard Ireheart crowing. “One more, then I’m done! Huzzah! They’re a whole lot tougher than orcs!”
The Zhadár laughed.
Coïra took a deep breath. “It’s true. That’s why I had set my hopes on the source that was supposed to be in the Red Mountains.”
Rodario felt he must have turned pale. “So are you in any way capable of facing Lot-Ionan?”
“Now I’ve done it!” They all heard Boïndil’s voice, as a third defeated chimera plunged to the ground from the hayloft. The victorious dwarf appeared, supporting Slîn and wearing a grin wider than his own face. “That was just my type of battle,” he exulted. “Decisive victory, killing marauding beasts, saving a comrade’s life—what more could I want?” He nudged Slîn, who moaned in response. “Ho fourthling, show your teeth and smile for us! You’re still alive! These beasts aren’t!” he said, indicating the three slaughtered tentacle-creatures. He brought the dwarf over to the fire and set him down next to Balyndar and Franek. “I could murder a whole barrel of dwarf-beer.” He gave a deep sigh.
Rodario applauded and put on a cheerful face. Then he turned back to Coïra. “Tell me, honestly: Can you defeat Lot-Ionan? Or not?”
XXIII
The Outer Lands,
The Black Abyss,
Fortress Evildam,
Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle
Goda leaped up, awakened from deepest sleep. Alarm trumpets?
The door burst open and Boëndalin called her to come out onto the battlements. “The barrier! It’s gone! The beasts are trying to get through the North Gate!”
The maga sprang out of bed, throwing her robe over her night attire; she slipped her boots on and followed her son. It must still be the middle of the night—it felt, at least, as though she had only just dropped off. She grabbed her coat and the reticule that contained the last four splinters of diamond.
She had not vouchsafed to a soul the current state of the magic defenses—not even to her children.
Their recent sortie was deemed a victory despite the heavy losses and they had celebrated in order to honor the sacrifice of the fallen warriors. The monsters of the Black Abyss were beginning to rebuild their war machinery, it was true, but they were working more slowly this time. They seemed exhausted. And that had been enough to give the defenders a ray of hope.
But appearances have been deceptive, Goda thought, as she and Boëndalin traveled up in the lift to reach the tower. They’ve tricked us and lulled us into being negligent.
The battlement walkways and tower over the gateway were starkly illuminated, with all the torches lit. Streams of boiling pitch were being tipped out of the special gullies and glowing coals hurled down onto the beasts laying siege to the fortress; arrows and spears shot out from the catapults. Burning sacks of petroleum were dropped over the edge to burst on landing, turning monsters into living torches. Fire arrows whizzed to and fro between the defenders and besiegers, piercing the black clouds. It was an impressive picture.
But the monsters were not dismayed by the strength of the bombardment.
Small mobile battering rams were at hand and already being used, as Goda could hear from the repeated thuds. The screams of monsters in the distance sounded only as a monotonous low murmur, like the babbling of a brook.
The magic screen had disappeared, and none of the smaller beasts were on the plain anymore. They were all heading for the North Gate, taking their half-completed siege towers with them.
“I don’t get it,” Goda said to herself. Why on earth the North Gate? Are they trying to draw our attention away from the South Gate? She leaned over and looked down.
“We thought it was a trick at first, too,” Boëndalin said. “But the other towers report no activity. The beasts are attacking in the north in a mad frenzy and the gate guards are in trouble. I’ve given orders for all the soldiers and ammunition to be sent over.”
“I want to see for myself.” Goda watched the Black Abyss closely as she ran with her son, past the western gate and on to the northern defenses. It was a very long way.
The ravine was in darkness and the paths leading out of it were empty and abandoned. Every single one of the monsters had assembled at the northern gateway.
“Either their reinforcements are hiding, waiting to see what the outcome will be, or else they haven’t got any extra forces,” Boëndalin told her when he saw her enquiring glance. “So the northern gate is not a bad choice for them. It’s the last place we would have expected them to attack.”
“But they must know we can move in extra troops fast along the battlements and through the inside corridors,” she objected. “It’s a false attack, I’m convinced. They’re trying to distract us.” She watched the fighting, which was growing more violent now. “Where is their magus?”
“No sign of him,” replied Boëndalin. “Do you think…?”
“They are carrying out the attack for him,” said Goda. “He’s planning something. He wants to tie up all our efforts on that one side.” She looked over at the south tower and stopped. “I’m going to hurry back. You get to the north tower and take command. As soon as you spot the magus, send me a message.” She embraced him swiftly and departed at speed.
Boëndalin charged off in the opposite direction.
Bandaál tied his boots, threw on his chain-mail shirt, grabbed his ax and hurried into the corridor. Even if no one had given them the call to arms, the young famulus wanted to be part of this. The fortress might be in need of every bit of available help.
“Wait!” The door to Sanda’s chamber was open and his sister came out. She was also wearing armor and carrying an ax. They were both gifted in magic but this did not prevent them using conventional weapons sometimes. Not being the same
standard as their mother, they could not rely solely on their magic.
“Didn’t they wake you, either?” Bandaál adjusted her helmet.
She thanked him by correcting the lacing on his chain-mail tunic. “No. Mother wanted to let us sleep.”
He looked at her. “Or do you think it’s because of the failure of the mission?”
“It wasn’t a failure,” she retorted. “We killed lots of the beasts and destroyed masses of their equipment.”
He sighed. “You know what I mean.” He ran off, his sister at his heels.
“You reckon they think more highly of our warlike siblings and brother Boëndalin? That may be so.” Sanda held her ax in her hand; it got in the way in her belt. “That’s why it’s important we are seen.”
They hurried along the corridor that housed their family’s rooms. This was where the dwarves rested, and where they shared their community life. Evildam was nothing but an artificial symmetrical mountain with a system of tunnels and chambers.
They crossed the communal living area where the Doubleblades often met up and sat together in the evenings to discuss the events of the orbit, on past the kitchen, and then they reached the lift shaft that went all the way from the foundations to the highest battlement tower. The lift was a tremendous boon.
Bandaál touched the lever to move the weights and call the lift cage down to their level. “I wonder what the monsters are up to?”
“It must be pretty bad if they sounded the alarm for the whole fortress,” said Sanda, thoughtfully.
“Apart from where we were.” Bandaál decided that, after the attack—or whatever it was—he would have a serious talk with his mother. Even if she did not want any of her famuli near her, he and his sister needed to be told of any danger. How did it look if the fortress commander’s own children slept on in comfort while the defenders on the walls were fighting for their lives?
The lift cabin turned up and they pushed the grille aside and got in.
To their surprise the lift traveled down, not up, as the young magician had directed the machine.
“Is it broken?” Bandaál moved the handle a few times and the cage’s descent slowed.
“Perhaps there’s someone else wanting to use it?” Sanda counted the marks on the shaft wall as they passed; they had reached the ground floor. The lift jerked to a halt—but there was no one standing waiting.
“Where are we?”
“By the entrance.” Sanda looked out. “Hey? Anybody there? Did someone want to come up top with us?”
Then the cabin was jolted. One of the transmission chains had broken, slamming onto the roof of the cage and unreeling noisily. The whole cage structure creaked and bent under the extra weight and the cabin started to crumple.
“Get out!” Bandaál ordered, giving his sister a push. Before he could follow her, the second chain broke and the lift shot down into the darkness.
Sanda stumbled forward into the corridor, heard the infernal crash behind her and whirled round. She saw the second chain flying past and heard the bang and clank of the impact; the chains were still unreeling and burying the lift and her brother with it. He was right down at the bottom of the fortress lift shaft.
“Bandaál!” she shrieked in alarm and went over to the shaft, where the ends of the chain were snaking past. One last clank and then quiet. Far below her she could make out the steel-gray shimmer of the broken cabin and the chain links. “Bandaál!”
The dwarf-girl turned and was about to head for the stairs—but someone called her name. The voice came from the shaft.
She turned quickly, leaned over and used her hands as a loud hailer. “Bandaál! Hang on!”
A beige shimmer of light coming from above made her lift her head. She froze with terror and could not turn away.
Five paces overhead the leader of the monsters hovered in mid-air. Countless fingers of light shot out from his vraccassium armor to meet the walls of the shaft, as he sank gently down. He had his hammers stuck in his belt; his right armored gauntlet was glowing and held a torn length of glowing chain links. The lift’s collapse had not been an accident.
Still held aloft by the beams, he gradually reached Sanda’s level and walked toward her. The soles of his boots met stone with a metallic clank. He crouched down by the dwarf-girl.
His left hand took hold of Sanda’s chin, forcing her head round so that she was staring her adversary directly in the disfigured face. She noticed a turquoise smoke diamond in the palm of the gauntlet. Horror was starkly obvious in her eyes but she was unable to make a sound.
The dwarf’s face moved, and folds developed around his eyes in semblance of a smile, although any real expression was impossible because of the mutilation. He tossed the length of chain down the shaft, then ran the back of his gauntleted hand through her hair, along her neck, across her breast, down to her waist. Then he stood up without letting go of her chin, pulling her upright.
Sanda could do nothing to defend herself. The very sight of him, the smell of stale sweat and festering wounds and the slight pulsating throbbing that went through her from his touch, all left her unable to move. His magic power, she registered subconsciously, was greater than anything she had ever felt before. Not even the artifact could outdo this.
The dwarf made a moaning sound, then looked down the shaft and stretched out his free hand. He released a rust-brown beam from the smoke diamond completely destroying what was left of the lift. The metal melted in the magic onslaught, bending and oozing to the ground in molten droplets.
“No!” shouted Sanda, terrified for her brother.
The dwarf let go of her chin and hit her across the face so that she fell against the wall and slid to the ground. At the same time he raised the other arm without interrupting the ray of light. This blasted out great chunks of the shaft wall, until the entire edifice shook.
He grabbed Sanda by the nape of the neck and set her on her feet, pushing her along ahead of himself. As soon as she made any slight movement of defiance he gave her a shock that flooded every organ in her body with pain.
The famula sobbed as blood ran down from the cut on her head, dripping down to the floor. She did not know what the dwarf intended to do with her. Why didn’t he just kill her? Or did he… could he… surely not…?
When he pushed her into a side corridor and tugged at her robe, her worst fears proved true.
Goda had reached the south tower when the building shook under her feet—it was only a slight vibration and a human would not have noticed it at all, but dwarves are sensitive.
“I knew it!” She ran to the lift and found only an empty shaft. No matter how she turned the levers, nothing happened. When she looked over to the rollers round which the chains would normally be wound, there was only bare stone.
A dwarf came running up the stairs. “My lady, the lift has crashed!” he said, fighting for breath. “Both chains have broken.”
“Impossible! They can withstand a greater load than would ever fit in the cabin.” She took a jewel in her hand. “Call the guards. They must search the place floor by floor. “I’ll start down in the foundations.”
The soldier asked, “What are we searching for?”
“Intruders.”
“The gate is bolted and barred and no one…”
“Do what I say!” she snapped and flew down the stairs. It would take forever to get down to the basement like this.
To construct a fortress by simply building onto sand or earth would be criminally stupid, because its weight would make it subside, jeopardizing the whole edifice. For this reason Evildam’s foundations were made from huge blocks brought in by dwarf-muscle effort and complicated technology. The foundations were reinforced on the side nearest the Black Abyss in case of an incursion. Bottles of poison, acid and gas; false walls that would collapse; all this and more had been put in place to greet any subterranean invader. No one could undermine a dwarf-stronghold.
Despite falling down seven steps, Goda arrived at th
e bottom in one piece. She had not noticed the coating of blood on the floor. She stopped and listened attentively.
She heard someone whimpering. It was her daughter’s voice!
The maga slipped quietly through the corridor and the sounds grew louder, coming from one of the side passages.
She looked carefully round the corner and saw the opposing magus about to strip her daughter naked.
Goda pressed the diamond splinter in her hand so hard that she drew blood. She must not let her fear gain the upper hand. Too much was at stake. Vraccas, you hold in your hands your own fate and that of my daughter! She leaped round the corner and hurled a spell against the enemy dwarf.
He noticed too late to invoke a counter-spell. Instead, he threw Sanda into the corridor, pulled back his arms and offered his armored chest to the incoming beams of lava-red light.
The magic hit home and the dwarf’s armor glowed like fiery coals fanned by bellows. The vraccassium changed color to a flaming yellow, sucking the magic in, while the runes turned black as night.
“Kill him, Sanda!” yelled Goda. She had nothing but dust in her hand. She swiftly took out the next diamond splinter to add to her spell or to respond to an attack. But what she had just seen stole any last hope. She would never be able to overcome this dwarf with magic.
The glow vanished and Goda saw Sanda behind the enemy, ax raised. She thrust its blade down, hitting the dwarf in the tiny gap between the side of the neck and the edge of his helmet. But the blow was deflected by a protective layer of chain mail; the dwarf swayed slightly, making a frightful gurgling sound.
“Save Bandaál!” cried Sanda, “He’s at the bottom of the shaft…”
The dwarf hit out behind him and his gauntlet caught Sanda on the temple; she crumpled up.
Goda did not hesitate for a single eye-blink. Her daughter was not now in immediate danger and so she could risk using one of her strongest spells. It was the one she had originally employed to blast away the mountain above the Black Abyss, so it ought to suffice for this dwarf. It would have to!
