The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,109

so well that it was dazzling her. She thought she could even feel the heat of the reflection it sent. “Is it true they’ve made him high king?”

The maga nodded. “And I thank Vraccas that I’m here in Evildam! This way I’m not subject to his commands.”

The undergroundling leaned against the parapet. “I wonder what happened to the real Tungdil: Dead, captive or has he become something even worse than this thing, this fraud calling himself the hero?”

Goda sighed. “There’s no way of knowing.”

Kiras suddenly brightened up and looked across at the red sphere. “What if we captured one of the monsters for interrogation? Can’t you make a hole in the screen big enough for me and a few ubariu?”

Goda found the idea ridiculous at first but, on reflection… “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’ve got too much to think about. You have to command the fortress and be our maga, constantly on guard against sorcery.” Kiras offered this excuse with a smile, grasping Goda’s hands. “I don’t tell you this often enough: You are like a mother to me. I can never thank you enough for what you have done for me.”

“That’s why I shan’t find it easy to send you in there. Not only because of the monsters—there’s a magus over there as well. And who knows how long I’ll be able to hold the opening for you?” Goda shook her head. “No, we’ll drop that idea.”

A fanfare sounded, drawing their attention to the scene. The women picked up their telescopes.

A variety of creatures were running around, busy as ants, dragging stones to the places marked with pennants and building protective walls. Judging from the speed they were working at they had to be trying to get things completed by nightfall.

Elsewhere, large fat creatures with broad long-taloned paws were digging furiously. As soon as the holes had reached a certain depth they motioned over other workers to bring tubs of molten metal to tip in. Then long iron spikes were set at angles into the cooling substance.

“They’re making fixtures for siege machines.” Kiras surveyed the scene through her telescope.

“Catapults, I’d say. Like the one I destroyed that they were using down in the ravine.” Goda summoned one of the ubariu and asked his opinion; he agreed with her.

While they spoke, other beasts raced up behind the screen, dozens of them dragging huge long timbers. One of the fat monsters supervised their orderly construction and, bit by bit, the confused heap of wood became a siege tower.

“You were right,” said the maga to Kiras. “And over there they’re making an undercarriage for a battering ram.” She called for two of her children, Sanda and Bandaál, who she had been training up in magic skills. “We can’t wait any longer. The magic sphere must be held back before those machines can reach our walls.”

Kiras stared. “What are they doing?”

Goda looked down.

The monsters had half erected the first four siege towers, and then switched to the task of carrying stone blocks over and placing them on the wooden platforms; other workers brought long coils of rope, one end of which dangled back down into the ravine.

“Weights,” decided the undergroundling. “I don’t know what they’re for yet, but they look like counterweights.”

“They’ll be putting up a bigger catapult in the ravine itself, I suppose,” said the ubari soldier, screwing up his pink eyes to see better. “One of the beasts has got a white flag. He’s coming up to the gate.”

Goda assumed it was a herald come to negotiate. If it had not been for the barrier and the enemy magus she would have nailed the creature to the ground with a rain of arrows, then buried it under a rock the size of a house so that the brood of Tion could see what the dwarves had in store for all of them. But in the present situation this seemed unwise. Negotiations, even if Goda did not intend to put the results into practice, would take time. And treasure chests full of time were what she needed, waiting for Ireheart to return with enough allied soldiers to confront the enemy magus.

It would not be easy. Her husband and the one-eyed dwarf calling himself Tungdil had a daunting task; everyone knew that. Unlike the soldiers defending Evildam, Goda was not optimistic about being able to face down Lot-Ionan and force him to his knees.

The creature heading for the gate was walking more slowly now. It stopped three paces away and called