The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,130

was riding up at the front with Tungdil. “There are about ten thousand living here. The southern älfar like this kind of community.”

Tungdil looked at the block. “What’s it like inside?”

“Difficult to describe. I only know it from people’s reports because I’ve never been allowed in.” There was no regret in the älf’s voice. “There will be vertical ravines, long shafts and hanging gardens reached by bridges. Apparently they sway in the wind that blows through the artificial canyons.”

“It sounds a little like a dwarf realm,” Slîn remarked quietly to Ireheart.

“Is your brain tangled round your own bowstrings?” he retorted. “There’s absolutely nothing dwarflike about all that!”

“Hanging gardens?” asked the warrior in surprise. “Our vegetables grow in the earth and that’s just the way it should be.”

They were still a mile away from the city when the gates opened and mounted troops poured out.

The messenger exchanged a few swift words with Ùtsintas and rode off toward the älfar. They met up halfway and entered into a discussion; then the messenger gave a hand signal.

Ùtsintas turned to Tungdil. “You should ride on alone now. My mission ends here.” He gave his escort a command and turned the firebull around. The älfar thundered off back to Dsôn Bhará.

Tungdil scanned the façade. “Looks like it’s going to be an interesting visit that we’ll be paying the emperor,” he told Ireheart, then ordered: “We’ll ride in as a group. No use of weapons—neither by the Zhadár nor by the Desirers. Here, we are the guests of the Emperor Aiphatòn and shall behave accordingly.” He spurred his pony on and the company followed him.

Ireheart tried to look for distinguishing characteristics in the Phôseon älfar on their night-mares. I should have known. They look like all the others.

They had the familiar black tionium armor, although the runes were a little different this time. But he was no scholar, so he might have been mistaken.

The messenger was talking to Tungdil. “We may enter. The emperor is expecting us, I’m told,” the Scholar said, interpreting for the dwarves. “Remember my orders.” Then he cantered off after the älfar.

Ireheart could not deny that this building, city, fortress, or whatever the block was supposed to be, was absolutely fascinating. Not that he would have wanted to live in it, of course, but he was curious. His native dwarf blood made him eager to see more. Secondlings were expert masons and thus his spirit of enquiry was understandable. As the walls had been plastered he could not see what the building material had been, and he wondered how they had been able to make the foundations stable enough to carry the weight of the edifice.

The archway was seven paces high and only five wide. Ireheart noted the sharp ends of the metal grille suspended above their heads as they went through; this portcullis could be lowered at will for defense.

“They seem to set less store on pomp and decoration,” Slîn whispered. “It is… sober and unadorned. Apart from the chiseled reliefs in the walls.”

“They’ve been marked into the plasterwork,” he said. “But have a look at the great variety of patterns. You’d need a steady hand for that work.”

Arriving in a generous interior courtyard they surveyed the high galleries, windows and stonework. Inquisitive älfar were looking down at them or were talking to each other, or eating; the various levels were connected either by external stairways or lifts on cables. Way above their heads the clouds raced past.

“Well, when all’s said and done, I must admit the black-eyes have put up something really impressive.” Ireheart patted his pony’s neck. When he looked around he saw the metal grilles lowering one after the other as the main gate was shut. “I’ve never seen the like.”

“They’re not so keen on nature—unless they can control it, like in their gardens,” Slîn suggested. “Have you noticed? They’ve turned the entire elf realm into a desert. Nothing but flat, bare earth.”

“You can see your enemies all the sooner, you’re not leaving them any material to attack you with in a siege and you’re not giving them anywhere to hide from your spears and arrows,” said Balyndar. “It all makes sense… it looks as if they live well here.”

“The emperor awaits Tungdil Goldhand in the audience chamber,” said the messenger. “Only five guards may accompany you. The rest must remain in the courtyard.”

Tungdil chose Slîn, Ireheart, Balyndar and two Zhadár. “Whatever happens, you are not to kill a single älf,” he warned Hargorin and Barskalín.

A different älf