The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,116

elf-girl whirled round. “Where?”

Upon which, her lover pushed her straight into the water!

“There’s a mermaid!” laughed Fanaríl, as she sank in the dark waters.

The water lilies bobbed up and down on the surface. Alysante did not reappear.

“I know what you’re up to,” grinned the elf. “But you can’t scare me.”

He stepped nearer and scanned the murky depths for sight of her.

He could just make out a pale oval. A face, coming closer.

“I can see you!”

Fanaríl got ready to grab her by the shoulders and push her under again. She burst up through the surface with a splash. Fanaríl greeted her with laughter so that she would know her attempt to frighten him had not worked.

But his hands did not meet her naked shoulders. They met hard leather!

For the space of one long breath he gazed into the beautiful but cold face of an unknown elf-woman, then a bolt of lightning shot through his stomach and warmth spread over him. Fanaríl saw the long sword she had rammed through his body. He collapsed, mortally wounded.

The elf-woman rose up out of the Moon Pond and with her left hand pushed a lock of black hair out of her face. She looked round her and disappeared silently into the nearby wood.

At the same moment Alysante jumped out of the water. Her pitiful attempt to emulate the roar of a beast turned into a gale of laughter. “It’s no good,” she spluttered, rubbing the water out of her eyes. “Did I make my darling boy die of fright?” she giggled when she saw Fanaríl lying there.

Only when she saw the red stain and cut on his robe did Alysante understand that he was not play-acting.

She sank down beside him on her knees and examined his wound, looking round to check for attackers. “Sitalia, save him! Fanaríl, open your eyes! You must stay awake…”

Drops splashing onto her back warned the girl before a broad shadow fell over her. A horse snorted.

Alysante looked over her shoulder and her hand flew to her dagger for the second time that evening. Two huge black stallions with dark saddles stood behind her with angry red eyes full of hate. In the middle of their foreheads she could see the sawn-off stump of a horn and, as the nightmares stepped up out of the water, their hooves sent out lightning flashes, lighting up the water.

Alysante knew what she was facing.

Black-haired twin älfar sat on the backs of the nightmares, each in elaborate dark armor, and one of them held a mighty sword in his right hand. He brought the weapon down so fast that she missed its movement. The long sword’s tip was planted on her back. Moisture ran off the blade onto her wet bodice; now she was cold with fear.

“Say who you are, elf-woman,” he demanded roughly. Trembling, she said her name. “Is your village far from here?” Now she stayed silent and promptly the blade dug into her ribs. Warm blood trickled out of the narrow wound, coloring her dress red. “Answer!”

Alysante turned away from the sword and ran off toward the trees. She must warn her friends!

Sobbing with desperation and fear she raced through the thicket. Her thoughts were in turmoil. In her mind’s eye she saw her dead lover and felt his lifeblood still sticky on her fingers. She couldn’t understand where the älfar had come from. Had they been asleep at the bottom of the Moon Pond? Had Tion hurled them in past the mountains of the dwarves?

She was panting hard, her mind in a whirl—then she realized she was leading them directly to the very last of her people! Alysante climbed up the nearest tree to continue her flight overhead from branch to branch, leaving no prints to follow.

At long last, fighting for breath and with aching arms, she reached the edge of the settlement. She saw the glow of lanterns illuminating the delicate houses and ancient Palandiell beech trees. They promised safety.

She climbed down the tree in relief and was about to go over to the buildings when a strong hand grabbed her from behind, hurling her to the ground. A boot was placed on the nape of her neck, pressing her into the forest floor without mercy.

“You were asked by Tirîgon whether your village was far from the pond,” whispered a female voice in her ear. “I shall take him your answer, elf-woman.” A knife scraped coming out of its scabbard. “Now I shall send you to your lover. Be sure