The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,100

a chance to escape. I’m going to need you on this mission.” Tungdil was serious and honestly concerned for his friend’s safety. “It is only the first of many. But all of our plans must work if we are to free Girdlegard and save it from the army gathering in the Black Abyss.”

Ireheart swallowed hard. The inner chorus of doubting voices that had previously troubled him fell silent, not a single one able to protest now against his conviction that his friend could be trusted. He nodded to Tungdil and followed him to the other side of the eyrie, where a broad set of tracks led to the steep slope.

Tungdil surveyed the path the thieves must have taken. “What do you make of that?” he asked.

“I don’t see the marks of any runners. So, have they used their shields to slide the cocoon down the mountain?” Ireheart raised his eyebrows. “Madness. They haven’t abseiled, they’ve just slipped and slithered down!” He thought of the dwarf-hater they had seen careering down the mountainside in the Outer Lands. Could the thirdling skirt-wearers be behind this?

Tungdil looked at the other dwarves, who were catching up with them now: Bearded faces with crystals of ice around noses and mouths, eyes sparkling with determination. “Do you lot think we’re brave enough to do what those thieves have done?” His manner indicated, once more, that his questions were not questions, but commands. He took one of the sledges, pushing it off and jumping on board. Speeding over the edge, it was more a fall than a ride across the snow as he shot down toward the valley. “How many usually die on his little missions?” muttered Slîn, taking the leather band of his crossbow firmly in his hand. He shoved his own sledge downhill.

Ireheart was ahead of him, launching himself into the wild ride with a triumphant cry, “Vraccas!”

After a few paces, picking up speed all the time and with the strong icy wind bringing tears to his eyes, every bone in his body juddering and jarring, he knew one thing for certain: A lightning journey by tunnel car through the depths of the mountains was a princesses’ tea-party compared to this.

XII

Girdlegard,

Dwarf Realm of the Fifthlings,

In the North of the Gray Range of Mountains,

Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles

Tungdil stood at the edge of a snowy stretch of ground between two mountain slopes, completely at a loss. The tracks made by the cocoon-thieves ended abruptly at the tips of his own boots. The prints disappeared at the edge of a precipice. “They’ve climbed straight down the cliff.” He bent forward to spy into the depths. It was impossible to see the foot of the cliff. “Must be at least three hundred paces to the bottom. Can’t make head or tail of it.”

Balyndar and Ireheart were waiting at his side. “Or perhaps they can fly, after all,” said the fifthling, checking overhead. “I can’t make anything out on the rocks above us, either.”

Ireheart searched around in the snow until he found solid rock. “And there’s no secret passage. I’d be able to hear it.” He noticed the funny looks the others were giving him. “So? I just wanted to make sure.”

Tungdil went a couple of paces to one side on the virgin snow of the plain. “Not a bad idea.” He bent down and carefully brushed off the thin top layer of freshly fallen snow. In the older ice crystals underneath there were clear marks of something being dragged. “Clever of them,” he acknowledged. “They’ve put a load of snow on one of the sledges and they’re using it to conceal their tracks. To make us think they’ve abseiled down the cliff. But in reality they’ve gone this way.” With a grin he gave the signal for them to march on.

“It’s a good thing I’m here,” joked Ireheart. “If I hadn’t checked for underground passages we’d all have had to shin down that precipice on a bit of string. I’m a brainy dwarf, of course.”

“If you say so. They’re heading east,” stated Balyndar. A thin layer of ice had formed on his mantle; every time he moved there was a rustling sound. “If they keep on in this direction they’ll come to the Red Mountains. The path dates from old times, when the fast tunnels had been forgotten. The track hasn’t been maintained properly by the tribes and it’s sure to be hard going. More a climb than a walk.”

Ireheart had another new idea. “If they’re planning to