The Fate of the Dwarves

by Markus Heitz

  “I didn’t get the impression that Rodario finds you attractive. Not enough to stay with you for long, anyway,” she said, puzzled to hear this sharpness in her own voice. Jealousy.

  Mallenia, who had been amiable up to now, made a face. “I get it. You want to put it to the test and see which of us he’s more strongly attracted to.”

  Coïra sighed. “What do we do if he doesn’t fancy either of us?”

  “The man does not exist who would turn down the offer of a princess and a queen for his mistress. And it’s us that are sharing him. We made the agreement first. We’ll continue to let him think he’s managing to wind us round his little finger.” Mallenia looked at Rodario, who was talking to Slîn. “So, is it all right if I kiss him again and see how things develop? It might turn out in your favor.”

  “And if he tells you he only loves me, will you stop pursuing him?”

  “If he tells me that of his own free will and is prepared to swear it, then I’ll leave you both to it.” The Ido girl nodded and held out her right hand. “Is it a deal?”

  The maga hesitated. “Won’t there be a strained feeling between the two of us, if one has to leave the field, defeated?”

  “No.”

  “And we won’t fall out?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” said Mallenia, smiling. “We’ll complete our mission successfully and then relationships between our two realms will be more amicable than ever. I swear it on the soul of my ancestor, Prince Mallen of Ido.” She proffered her hand once more.

  “And Rodario shan’t learn of our bargain?”

  The Ido princess laughed. “Of course not. May the gods forbid! He’d feel his manhood was being impugned.”

  At last Coïra felt able to seal the deal by shaking hands. “So be it.” The two women embraced and wished each other a good night.

  Rodario cast a glance their way. “What’s happening over there?” he wondered.

  Slîn cranked the crossbow mechanism and leaned the weapon up against the wall, close at hand if needed. All he would have to do was insert a bolt ready to fire. “Women, eh? They’re always scheming. And it’s us men on the receiving end.” He grinned and offered Rodario a flask of brandy.

  “It’s a very wise dwarf you are, Slîn,” said the actor, taking a drink.

  XXIV

  The Outer Lands,

  The Black Abyss,

  Fortress Evildam,

  Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

  Goda prayed to Vraccas longer than was her wont.

  As soon as the sun rose she was on her knees by her little shrine, begging her creator to come to the aid of her daughter Sanda, who she presumed was now in the beasts’ lair, in the clutches of the terrible dwarf.

  “Annihilate him,” she whispered, tears flowing through the down on her cheeks. “Smash him to pieces, Vraccas, with your great hammer, cast him into the forge and incinerate his soul. He has turned his back on you and has the worst of all evil plans in store.” She stood up. “You know that Ireheart and I have been defending the humans and all the other peoples in your name. Do not allow us to be repaid in this way.” She bowed before the tiny Vraccas figurine, crafted from pure vraccasium, then left her chamber.

  Out in the corridor a messenger hurried to meet her. “My lady, they have sent a negotiator,” he announced. “He’s at the southern gate.”

  Her heart began to race. Hastening after the messenger, she soon reached the half-open gate and stepped through, right up to the edge of the red screen.

  On the other side stood a monster with features similar to a human but it was considerably taller and very muscular. It had three arms—one on each side and one in the middle of the chest—and held two long shields and a huge pike. The beast had not been equipped with armor, but the body had several layers of leather clothing; the odor coming through the barrier was revolting.

  “The one who bears many names and who is our master,” it said in a rough voice, showing sharp teeth as broad as a dwarf’s finger, “sends his instructions to you, sorceress; you are to surrender the fortress immediately. Otherwise the one who bears many names and who is our master will kill your own flesh and blood. After he has violated her many times, and then sent you, orbit by orbit, a further slice of her body: The fingers first, then the forearms, and so on. With his magic powers he will ensure that she continues to live right up until the end and experiences pain fully…”

  Goda raised her hand. “Enough. Go back to him and tell him that I cannot do that. There is more at stake than my own daughter. But I shall kill him with my own hands if he harms her. And tell him that my magic power is also great. I am not afraid of him.” She nearly choked, but controlled herself, determined not to show fear.

  “If your powers were really great the barrier would have been destroyed and you would already have launched your attack,” the monster replied. “As the one who bears many names and who is our master thought you might respond like that, he has a proposal that he thinks you will find you can accept in exchange for the life of your daughter.”

  “I am not prepared to bargain.” Goda turned away. “No matter what the stakes.”

  “Her life in exchange for that of Balodil,” it called after her.

  “I know of no Balodil.” She stopped, a cold shiver running down her spine.

  “The one who bears many names and who is our master says you know the one about whom I speak.” It made several strange noises, a cross between a belch and a growl. “He has taken your daughter to a place you will never find. Even if it came to a battle and you penetrated the ravine, your daughter would not be there. You will only get her back if the one who bears many names and who is our master receives Balodil’s corpse and the armor he stole.”

  Goda turned to the messenger, who was holding his two shields closer now, in order to be able to hide behind them if necessary. “I am a dwarf and would never betray one of my own kind,” she said, her voice quivering. “Tell your master he may expect nothing of me. Apart from a painful death if he touches my daughter.” She strode off abruptly and gave the sentries a sign to close the gate.

  “He who bears many names and who is our master accords you three orbits in which to make up your mind. After that time has elapsed you will receive the fingers of your daughter’s right hand,” Goda heard the creature say before the gates thudded shut.

  Much as the dwarf-woman tried not to waste further thought on the offer, she could not forget it. “What harm if I were to kill the deceiver?” she said to herself once she had returned to her own chamber. She knelt again at the shrine and prayed to Vraccas. “You know he is not really Tungdil. To exchange his life for Sanda’s would not be a crime, but a doubly good deed.” She shut her eyes and saw her daughter’s countenance before her. She wept.

  Girdlegard,

  Former Queendom of Rân Ribastur,

  In the Southeast,

  Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

  Tungdil had decided not to take the most direct route, which would have involved a long march through the Sangpur deserts, and so their company had set off for the southern part of Rân Ribastur; they would head east later on, to make straight for the Blue Mountains.

  They had seen very few humans. Tungdil, using the maps carefully, had led them through the forests, which grew so thick in places that they had to walk in single file, with the head of the column slashing at the undergrowth to carve out a path. They had abandoned the ponies.

  They purchased provisions from the smallholdings they passed on the way. Rodario and Mallenia were in charge of buying stores; that way, no one got to see the dwarves.

  And things were astonishingly quiet.

  There were no wild animal attacks and the legendary enchanted creatures and magic plants left them in peace as well. But they were given dire warnings about not leaving the path and not traveling through the forest by night.

  Making a final stop on the territory of the former queendom, they rested one late afternoon in the shadow of towering trees, w
hose foliage let through hardly any light; the canopy of leaves would give them protection from the heat waiting to hit them a few miles further to the east when they emerged from the forest.

  Slîn used his telescope to scan the dunes about four miles away. “The light is shimmering as if it were water.”

  “And I’m very glad to know that it’s not,” said Ireheart, who was sitting on the ground, his back against a tree trunk. “I can’t wait to get away from all these creepy creepers but I’m not too keen on burning hot sand, either.”

  “Or the icy nights of the desert.” Balyndar filled his drinking pouch with water from the little stream. “Dwarves are mountain people. I don’t mind the cold if I’m where I belong.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, fifthling.” Slîn nodded and swung his telescope. “Nothing for miles. No long-uns, no trees, no shade.” He lowered the glass. “It’ll be the first time for me, going into the desert.”

  “It’s said to be very beautiful,” said Rodario, trying to see the bright side of what was probably going to be the toughest part of their journey. “A desert isn’t only sand. There’ll be rocks aplenty. That’ll cheer you up, friend Slîn.” He altered his voice and took on the persona of a storyteller. “In the old days the queendom was a mountain region, one peak higher than the next. People say the wind in Sangpur is so fierce that it eroded the mountains into sand inside of seven times seven cycles. Now, this is all that remains.”

  “You can tell that to your grandmother,” growled Ireheart.

  Rodario beamed. “I did. She believed me.”

  “Well it’s nonsense! The only mountains in Girdlegard are our own. The only genuine mountains.”

  “Isn’t it amazing what they can find to quarrel about?” Coïra remarked to Mallenia, passing her the salami. “About mountains.”

  “I know men who’ll start a fight about the dimensions of their own little man,” replied the girl from Ido, and the other woman laughed.

  “You see? They’re laughing at us,” Slîn complained to Rodario. “There’s some kind of conspiracy going on. It started that night we were in the burned-out farmhouse.”

  The actor stroked his chin in thought. “Yes, you’re right. The fine ladies choose to make us the butt of their jokes.” He winked at Coïra, who smiled back before glancing quickly at Mallenia. The Ido girl nodded to her, which Rodario found surprising. He was pretty sure he had missed something.

  “What else do you know about the desert?” Balyndar urged. “I don’t want fairy tales. I want the truth.”

  “Then you’d better ask the Scholar,” said Ireheart. “He always used to know that kind of stuff.”

  “And we’ve got Franek.” Coïra waved the famulus over. “We were just talking about the desert; what can we expect, apart from heat and sandstorms?” she asked him. “You must have crossed the desert when you escaped from Lot-Ionan?”

  He sat down on the green moss and scooped up some water from the stream to drink and to cool his face. “May Samusin be by our sides…”

  “May Vraccas continue to stand by us,” Ireheart corrected sharply. “I want nothing to do with that other god. And I certainly don’t want to owe him any favors.” Slîn and Balyndar were of the same opinion. Ireheart filled his pipe indignantly. That’ll be the day…

  Franek started again. “Whoever is protecting us we’re going to need his help on the final miles through to the Blue Mountains. Bumina has gone to ground in the desert. She always planned to give eternal life to dead things.”

  “Hey, undeads! We know all about them, don’t we?” Ireheart called to Tungdil, who was sitting talking to Barskalín. “I’m not afraid of them. In the time of the Perished Land we cut them down, whole ranks of them, one, two, three, fast as you like!” He accompanied his words with appropriate arm movements, losing odd bits of tobacco.

  “That’s not what I meant…” replied Franek.

  “Then you weren’t expressing yourself clearly,” Slîn interjected, grinning. He enjoyed being able to play out his distrust of the famulus. “Why don’t you come to the point?” Humans and dwarves laughed in response.

  Franek didn’t rise to their bait. Rodario admired his cool. “Bumina found places in the desert where she released some magic and she sealed it in,” he explained slowly. “She wanted the magic to find itself something to embody, to incorporate itself. At first the experiments failed and the magic capacities dissipated. But, with time, she discovered the formula to enforce her will on the magic to do what she wanted by employing runes. She was assiduous and persevered until circumstances conspired…”

  Ireheart thumped his crow’s beak handle on the ground. “Tell it properly, wizardling. Say it so we can understand.” The audience laughed again.

  Now Franek grew impatient. “So it’s not just your stature that’s diminutive. Your brain must be the same,” he hissed venomously.

  “Ooh, a hit!” Rodario commented.

  Ireheart’s chest and arm muscles jerked dangerously. “Have a care, little wizardling. Or my hand will slip and I’m not sure my tiny brain will be able to hold me back.” He pointed to Coïra. “We already have a maga and we can find the way without you.”

  Franek made an obscene gesture—and in a flash Ireheart was beside him, grabbing his little finger and snapping the top joint; it cracked and the famulus shrieked with pain.

  “Sorry, it’s the fault of my tiny brain,” said the dwarf in a dangerously quiet voice. “If I were brighter, of course, I’m sure I wouldn’t have done that. And just think what else I might be stupid enough to do to you?” He played with the crow’s beak. “Having a hole in your foot is probably quite painful, my little sorcerer’s apprentice.”

  “Stop it, Ireheart,” Tungdil ordered, looking up from his study of the maps. “Leave him be. He is on our side.”

  “But he insulted me!” the old warrior fumed, pointing with his pipe. “It was him that started it!”

  “Then that’s an end to it now. Sit down and let me get on with my work.” Tungdil pored over the map again.

  Franek clutched his damaged finger and showered his assailant with ferocious looks. Ireheart was sitting now next to Slîn. “Well at least he can’t do any magic now, even if he gets to bathe in the source,” he whispered to the fourthling, who burst out laughing.

  “I hope the sand creatures gobble you up,” the famulus spat out between clenched teeth.

  “Ah,” said Balyndar. “So that’s what the magic does. It makes creatures of sand.”

  “Sand creatures. Beings made of stone, made of… made of everything that is dead and that is in the magic places,” Franek summed up, staring at his hand. He did not dare straighten the fractured finger.

  “How can we best deal with them?” Rodario did not relish the idea of having to contend with a wall of stone or rubble.

  “Us? We can’t do anything.” Franek pointed to Coïra. “This is a test for her. Only counter-magic can destroy these fiends. Conventional weapons will be worse than useless.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Ireheart tested his crow’s beak for sharpness and puffed away furiously at his pipe until his head disappeared behind a cloud of smoke. Neither he, Balyndar, Slîn or Franek saw how pale Coïra had gone.

  Tungdil gave the order for them to set off. “The sun is low enough now. We can make a start. It’s better if we can adapt slowly to the changes in temperature.” He got the Zhadár to put white cloaks over their dark armor, to deflect the sun’s rays. This should help them avoid heatstroke; Tungdil and the others protected themselves in a similar way, putting on wide white tunics.

  “I look like an icicle,” joked Slîn.

  “An icicle with a beard?” Rodario grinned.

  Barskalín and Tungdil took the lead, then came several Zhadár, then the dwarves and the humans; the rest of the Invisibles brought up the rear.

  Even a march of four miles, after coming out of the shelter of the trees and heading toward the dunes, had them breaking out in a sweat,
in spite of the spring weather and the advanced hour. When they climbed up the soft sand, walking became much more onerous.

  Their heavy armor quickly caused the dwarves to get out of breath, however grateful they normally were for its reliable protection in a fight—Tungdil was the only one who seemed to have no difficulty in coping with the heat. He stomped off ahead as if he were a machine and not a creature made of flesh and blood.

  Neither Ireheart nor the other dwarves wanted to show they were struggling. Not until the night stars shone above their heads and it had grown extremely cold did Tungdil tell them to settle down, in sight of a rock formation. But he was not going to let them rest for long, it seemed. Slîn sank down onto the sand and took off his helmet; he was exhausted.

  “We have crossed the first belt of sand,” their leader announced. “We’ll camp over there by the rocks. They’ll afford enough shelter if a storm comes up.”

  “That’s another three miles,” Slîn said. It was obvious he was not willing to take one more step. “It’s just as good here.”

  Tungdil shot him a look. “We march. If you can’t take it, sit and wait for dawn. We’ll collect you when the horizon is pale blue.” Without giving the rebellious dwarf another thought, he set off.

  “Come on, fourthling.” Surprisingly, it was Balyndar who spoke. “Let’s show our high king what you are made of.”

  “The crossbow is so heavy,” he complained. “The weight is making my legs tired.”

  “Hand it to me. Let’s go.” Balyndar stretched out a hand to haul him up. “Three miles is nothing.”

  Slîn looked at the fifthling. “How did I get to earn your sympathy?”

  “We are all in this together, Slîn, whether we like it or not. We know you’re good with the crossbow. We need you.”

  Balyndar shouldered the weapon. “And it really is heavy.”

  “I don’t suppose he could have kept going for as long as you did, fourthling,” Ireheart added with a wink.

  Slîn looked from one to the other. “You’re taking the piss!”

  “No, we’re not. I swear by Vraccas.”