The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,90

unbound under her sparkling steel helmet and her scaled armor, of the same material, was so bright that the visitors were forced to narrow their eyelids.

“Unthinkable what the effect would be if she were standing in full sunshine,” Slîn observed. “She’d dazzle anyone within ten paces.”

Balyndis got to her feet and stepped down from her throne. “Enter and be seated at the fifthlings’ table,” she bade them. “I am glad you have come and was pleased to learn all the good news from your messenger. It seems Girdlegard will soon be freed from evil’s oppression. Vraccas will surely be with us.”

Ireheart did his best to watch Tungdil’s face while the dwarf-queen approached them, hand outstretched. She had previously been Tungdil’s companion for many cycles. They had lived together and she had borne him a son, lost in a terrible accident. This reunion should provide enough tension to set sparks flying. But search as he did for emotion in his friend’s face, he noted none.

There was plenty of emotion, however, to be seen in the queen’s features. “By Vraccas,” Balyndis said with feeling, halting her steps as she came closer to the one-eyed dwarf. “It is true! Really true! You are alive and have come back from the dark!” Tears appeared in the corners of her eyes and trickled down her soft cheeks. The fluff on her face was more pronounced than on the younger females of her race. She stopped in front of Tungdil, visibly moved, her hand still held out toward him.

“Indeed. I have returned from the darkness. But I have brought the shadows with me,” he answered. “I know who you are, Balyndis Steelfinger, queen of the fifthlings, but I do not remember anything of what once bound us together.” In explanation he pointed to the scar on his forehead. “A blow to the head robbed me of much that was precious to me.” Balyndis swallowed and looked at him intently, as if thinking she could wreak a change in him and release those hidden memories. But when she saw that the expression in his brown eye did not alter, she let her arm drop, and knelt before him. “I greet you, High King Tungdil Goldhand,” she said sadly, bowing her head. “May Vraccas bless you and all who follow you in your quest to save Girdlegard.”

“I thank you, Queen Balyndis.” He indicated to her by a touch on the shoulder that she should stand, and then made his way over to the laden table.

Many delicacies had been prepared and were displayed in dishes and on plates; the smell made Ireheart’s mouth water as he realized how hungry he was.

“About time too,” muttered Slîn at his side. “I was ready to start licking the furniture, my stomach was rumbling so.”

They took their seats round the table. Dwarves served the food and ensured that neither plates nor jugs were ever empty. During the course of the meal Tungdil elucidated his mission again. Balyndis made no response apart from the occasional nod.

Ireheart got the impression that she was trying to read Tungdil’s mind to fathom his feelings. I wonder if she’ll have any more luck than I’ve had.

“Enough from me,” his friend said eventually. “Tell me, the fever that broke out here: How long have you and the fifthlings been troubled by it?”

“Over a hundred cycles. It started slowly, so our healers didn’t notice it at first,” she explained, raising her tankard of black beer in a toast to the company. “But soon the incidence of illness increased and it reminded us of the plagues that struck the original fifthlings. We abandoned the tunnels and caves and had them sealed up. I could show you on the map which regions were affected.”

“Did the outbreaks come randomly or is there a pattern to it?” asked Tungdil. He had hardly touched his food and Ireheart was sure he seemed much paler than usual. He studied the map they showed him, concentrating hard.

“We couldn’t find any pattern to it,” answered Balyndis. “We got the freelings to search the places where the highest mortality had occurred, to see if maybe the älfar were targeting us, but no traces were found. And those who were part of the freelings’ expedition all fell ill a few orbits later. They died.”

“How?” asked the one-eyed dwarf.

“They suffocated in their own blood. First they grew feverish and then their lungs filled with blood until they could not breathe.” She shuddered. “An appalling death, Tungdil.”

He pushed the map away and