The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,118

sipping his hot tea. “Now they’ll think we’re with the dishonorable ones.”

“That won’t go down well in songs about us,” sighed Slîn, nodding toward the courtyard where the servants were bringing out stands bearing black armor. “Those’ll be for us.”

“Well, I’m not going to put that stuff on in full view.” Ireheart desperately looked around for somewhere to withdraw to. There was no way though that he would step inside Vraccas-Spite.

They used their cloaks as curtains to help each other robe up and put on armor and weapons.

Ireheart thought Balyndar looked more and more like his father now. It was obvious whose son he really was.

Slîn, on the other hand, did not look right in his borrowed get-up. Several of the pieces were too loose for the cross-bowman. He fiddled with his armor unhappily and the metal squeaked. “You two at least have the air of warriors,” he said to Ireheart and Balyndar.

“You look a bit like a gnome in disguise,” teased Boïndil.

The Black Squadron were assembling in the courtyard, with Tungdil, Hargorin and Barskalín in cavalry armor riding in front. It was an impressive and worrying picture. Stable hands hurried over with ponies for the three dwarves waiting outside.

“Good morning,” Tungdil greeted them. “We missed you.”

“Was there a reason you didn’t let us know where you spent the night?” Hargorin’s query sounded harmless but Ireheart thought he was suspicious.

“Didn’t ask their names,” he said quickly, before Slîn could answer.

The fortress commander was not satisfied with that. “Which house was it, then?”

I shan’t betray them. Ireheart swung himself up into the saddle and moved up to be next to Tungdil. Hargorin had to move aside. “No idea. Some house where all the furniture was too big for me.” He gave an innocent grin.

Slîn laughed out loud and Balyndar joined in. They mounted up and the band of riders set off.

Ireheart looked around: They were now a group of over a hundred and fifty. “I assume the Zhadár and the Black Squadron have mingled?”

“Indeed, Ireheart.” Tungdil’s response was not ironic. “The Dsôn Aklán are to think they are still busy trying to steal kordrion eggs.”

“What about the strategy meeting, Scholar?” asked Ireheart, pushing down his visor. “Where are we holding that?”

“We’ve already had it. We brought it forward.” Tungdil looked at him amicably and reprovingly at one and the same time. “We didn’t know where to send the messenger to tell you.”

Ireheart saw the sense in that. “Then tell me what’s been decided.” The one-eyed dwarf turned to the front and raised his arm in a signal to the company. Behind him a standard was hoisted high, displaying the unfamiliar rune that seemed a mixture of dwarf and älfar script. “There’s time enough to tell you on the way.” He lowered his head slightly. “What do you say to my coat of arms, Ireheart? Isn’t it fine?”

Boïndil nodded. But it wasn’t fine. Not fine at all.

XIV

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Weyurn,

Lakepride,

Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles

Wey’s mouth moved, her hands jerked into the air, forming signs to avert approaching doom—but the spell her daughter had invoked came too fast. She closed her eyes and held her breath.

“Mother!” Coïra exclaimed at the sight of the flames.

Sisaroth had provoked her into using her magic without thinking and now a disaster had occurred. The magic fire burned like glowing coals.

Coïra had attempted a counter-spell but could only watch the flames imprison her mother. The young woman shook and her lips went numb.

The älf had not left. He had ducked away under the ball of magic and was crouching on the floor. From there he could attack with his two-hander; the blade tip was close to Coïra’s throat.

“Watch out!” Mallenia saw the maga was paralyzed with horror, and pulled her out of the way. The knife blade missed her narrowly.

Sisaroth followed through but was held back by the swords of the Ido warrior maid. The two-hander clanged as it crashed into her blades. “Aha! Our rebel!” He gave an evil laugh and kicked sharply in her direction. “This time you won’t get away.”

Mallenia dodged the flying boot and dropped back onto the bed. “Coïra! Do something!” The älf leaped toward her. She had to admire the incredible elegance of his movements, but she was poised either to parry or to dodge his next attack. “Coïra! For goodness’ sake!”

The flickering light in the corridor died and there was the sound of a body falling to the floor.

Mallenia glanced past Sisaroth. Queen Wey the Eleventh lay on the marble floor