The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,108

Follow me!” He pushed off and sailed down the slope.

The Zhadár followed him one by one, racing downhill; Slîn and Ireheart prepared to do likewise.

But Balyndar was standing next to his sledge staring at the others. “I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing here, Boïndil Doubleblade,” he said broodingly.

“The stories they write about us will show whether it was right or not, Balyndar,” Ireheart said in consolation. “I don’t know the answer, and I’m sure the Scholar doesn’t know either yet. Our plan is up the spout and we’ve got to make the best of things. With the help of Vraccas perhaps we will achieve more than we think.” He patted him on the shoulder. “Trust your father.” The words had already left his lips before Ireheart realized what he had said.

Balyndar slowly turned to face him. “What idiocy are you babbling?”

Boïndil gave a forced laugh. “A joke, to cheer you up a bit.”

“Then it didn’t work. Not with that joke.” To Ireheart’s great relief the fifthling went off to his sledge and started to push it. “Don’t you know a better one?” “What about the one where an orc asks a dwarf the way?”

Balyndar made a dismissive gesture. “Boring. Every dwarf knows that one.”

“But not my version,” Ireheart replied proudly and took a deep breath. “An orc comes along and sees a dwarf and he wants to know…”

“Horsemen!” Slîn called excitedly. “Down there, to the right of the sledges in the little valley. They’re heading straight for the Zhadár!”

Why does he always see the danger before I do? Ireheart looked where Slîn had pointed.

Balyndar tried to calculate how many riders there were. “The Black Squadron,” he exclaimed in consternation, launching himself onto his sledge on his stomach. “Quick, we’ve got to catch the others up and warn them!” He raced off.

Slîn did not wait to be told twice. He zoomed down the slope in the same daring pose.

“Hey! Hey! Wait for me!” Ireheart pushed his sledge off, ran alongside it a few paces and then jumped on. “By Vraccas! How am I ever supposed to tell a joke properly?”

XIII

Girdlegard,

Black Abyss,

Fortress Evildam,

Late Winter, 6491st/ 6492nd Solar Cycles

Goda contemplated the pulsating edges of the flickering red dome close to the walls of Evildam. The sight reminded her of waves lapping and she knew that, as with the sea, terrible monsters were lying in wait under the surface. She knew why the dwarf-race feared deep water.

Troubled, the maga pulled her cloak tighter round her shoulders. The energy sphere now reached all the way to their stone walls—but she was powerless to affect its growth.

Kiras, in breastplate and limb protectors over thick clothing, was at her side. Using a telescope she watched the enemy’s newly erected protective barrier. “The walls haven’t been damaged. I can’t see any cracks or bulges. The red glow doesn’t seem to be harming the stone. The warriors feared the force might bring down Evildam, but that’s not happening.”

“But the monsters can come directly up to our fortress walls. That is bad. I’ll need something to shrink the sphere down again.” Goda’s right hand played with the diamond splinters in her pocket. But what?

“He killed them,” said Kiras firmly, addressing the maga.

Goda knew exactly what the undergroundling was referring to. “I know. Ireheart saw the injuries on the ubariu, too,” she replied after a while. When the two women stood side by side it was obvious how different their respective dwarf-races were. Kiras, taller and slimmer in stature, was almost like a small human; Goda, in contrast, was one of Girdlegard’s archetypal thickset dwarves. Kiras did not have the darkish fluff on the cheeks that was noticeable on Goda’s round face.

“But Boïndil said nothing.” Kiras could discern monsters behind the red screen running across the plain round the Black Abyss and marking certain places out with flags.

“And he never will. Unless the dwarf pretending to be Tungdil Goldhand finally admits that he is an impostor.” Their attempt to force his hand had failed. Goda looked both ways along the battlements. They were manned at all times, the catapult teams at their stations, ready to take immediate action if the fiends attacked.

“That’ll never happen. Those dead soldiers we found are evidence that he’s pursuing his own ends with every conceivable means.” Kiras lowered the telescope to look at Goda. A flash caught her eye and when she turned in its direction she saw that it came from the eastern battlements. One of the guards had polished his shield