The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,131

led them this time and the messenger stayed to supervise the dwarves. They were transported to an upper storey in a lift that was operated by means of a lever.

Kordrion dung! But it’s a bit like our own constructions, thought Ireheart.

At the end of the ascent they stepped out into a hallway of columns that were maybe ten paces high. The walls were painted in matt white and decorated with black shapes reminiscent of silhouette figures, depicting battles, cityscapes or erotic scenes.

However much Ireheart looked around him as they approached the throne he noted none of the morbid aesthetic that held sway among the northern älfar.

Aiphatòn was seated on the throne.

He hasn’t grown any older! Ireheart recognized the child of the Unslayables at once. His appearance was unique: Chest, abdomen, lower body, shoulders and upper arms were all covered in armor directly fused to his shimmering white flesh. The head was shaved, emphasizing the shape of the long, sharp ears; his hands lay in heavy gauntlets. He had draped his lower body in a kind of wraparound skirt revealing his naked toes beneath the hem. In his right hand Aiphatòn gripped a spear with a slender blade sporting greenish glowing runes.

“Tungdil Goldhand is high king of the dwarf-tribes,” Aiphatòn called across the hall, staring at them. At least, Ireheart suspected he was staring at them; you could not see what he was looking at because the black eye sockets were unfathomable. “So both of us have risen to supreme power over our two peoples.” He waited until the dwarves were standing before him, then bowed his head. “Welcome to Phôseon.”

“My thanks, emperor.” Tungdil sketched a bow.

“I often think of our talk onboard ship. I told you why I had chosen my name.”

“The life-star of the elves, you said,” Tungdil responded. “It has disappeared now from the night sky.”

“Yes. On their return the Dsôn Aklán were extremely thorough.”

“That does not surprise me.” The one-eyed dwarf met the emperor’s gaze steadily. “But when I heard what path you took, I was surprised indeed. You had intended to join the elves. Then, on the ship, you told me that you had no wish to be an älf like your parents.” He raised his hands, indicating the walls. “Now I find you here within these walls, emperor of the älfar and ruler over a mighty realm!”

“And you advised me to hide away from humans, dwarves and elves. Because none would be able to look on me without fear or hatred.” Aiphatòn smiled. “And then you said I should avoid Girdlegard. Your exact words were: Look for your own kind.” He ran his left hand over the metal plates. “I thought about it for a long time but did not know where I would find anything like myself. But I followed your words of advice and left Girdlegard for the south. I hoped that I would meet other älfar whose nature was more similar to that of the elves. I was a creature with no home and who had only enemies in this world.” His voice grew lower and lower.

Ireheart was astonished. So it was the Scholar’s advice that sent Aiphatòn back to the älfar!

“When you said goodbye you told me you would find a place for yourself.” Tungdil tilted his head. “Was this what you planned? Conquering Girdlegard by force?”

To Ireheart’s eyes Aiphatòn appeared tired. Tired and depressed, as if a great burden rested on his soul. It was impossible to gauge his state of mind from his dark eye sockets, but the lines on his countenance betrayed him. It was the way the Scholar had looked on his return from the Black Abyss.

“What brings you to me, Tungdil Goldhand?” he asked, a jolt running through his body. He sat upright and proud upon his throne. There was no trace now of low spirits. “What could the high king of the children of the Smith have to propose to me? Do you come with threats, or requests, or to suggest an alliance?”

Tungdil frowned, puzzled. “We came to Phôseon at your invitation.”

Aiphatòn shook his head. “No. I’ve only just heard that you had returned to Girdlegard. They told me you wanted to negotiate with me.” “Your messenger brought us here,” insisted Tungdil.

Aiphatòn’s face again showed surprise. “As I did not send a messenger, let us ask him to whom I owe the pleasure of your visit.” He called the guard over and gave instructions. “Where did you meet the älf?”

“He came to Dsôn Bhará, when