The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,137

king.”

“Apart from the bath,” murmured Ireheart. “I had to get rid of most of the water before I got in. It was nearly up to my knees!”

“You mean because of Elria and her water curse?” Slîn’s face bore a broad grin. “I’ve never heard of a dwarf drowning in a bath.”

“And I didn’t want to be the first!” He lifted his hand to show the amount of water for a proper bath. “From my fingertips to my wrist, that’s all it needs.”

Slîn burst out laughing. “That’s only about enough to wet your manliness.”

“I understand the fourthlings are smaller in all areas than the other tribes,” Balyndar threw in.

“My bolt always reaches the target. I can always hear it hit home,” said Slîn, pointing to the morning star. “But you will be built like your weapons: Too much force in the balls and only a little spike.”

Ireheart roared with laughter.

Aiphatòn’s entrance put a swift end to the dwarves’ banter. He shook everyone’s hands—except for those of the Zhadár—then took his seat at the head of the table. Two älfar came up to pour out a variety of wines.

The emperor studied his visitors closely, his eye sockets black as night.

So he does not wish to put aside the blemish—or perhaps he can’t? Ireheart wondered.

“You and your friends have amply demonstrated that you are not among Phôseon’s enemies.” Aiphatòn’s voice was calm and steady as he raised his cup in salute. “For this and your support in our hour of need I thank you.” He drank a toast to them.

“The kordrion young we found on the packhorse had been smuggled into our train,” replied Tungdil. “In my view Tirîgon is the only one who could have done this. And that means that at least one of the Dsôn Aklán is against you.” He looked at the emperor expectantly.

Aiphatòn slowly replaced his goblet. “Your tone suggests to me that you know more, Tungdil.” He gestured to his älfar to leave the chamber, then ran his eyes over the dwarf-faces. “Before we go on, I should like to ask that only those permitted to hear all the truth remain in the room with us.”

Tungdil nodded, but continued, “As some of them still do not trust me because I returned after two hundred and fifty cycles of forced exile and they doubt my integrity, I shall not ask anyone to leave the room. I want all of them to hear what the emperor of the älfar and the high king of the dwarf-tribes have to say to each other.”

Ireheart breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared that only he would be allowed to stay. That would have meant yet more bad blood.

“Our original plan was different,” Tungdil began, after taking a swig of wine. He explained to the älf leader what they had first intended to do with the kordrion’s young. He described what was waiting in the Black Abyss and told him they needed Lot-Ionan and what they planned to do with the Dragon and his treasure: To get the Dragon to the magus and provoke a war between them.

Aiphatòn listened with no sign of emotion.

“Things have happened differently,” Tungdil summed up. “And a good thing too, because I think the southern älfar will be better as our allies than as our foes when we march against Lot-Ionan. That was what you were planning, yourselves.”

“To march against a magus is pure suicide,” answered Aiphatòn soberly. “That is why I gave in to what my subjects from the south have been urging.” He poured himself more wine and smiled. “I see you are surprised?”

Ireheart looked around. Nobody spoke, so he said, “I thought you meant to go to your own death?”

Aiphatòn leaned slightly forward, chin on his hand. “I never wished to be like my father. I always said that. And yet I have become like him. It would be too easy to find excuses for what I have done to Girdlegard, but I admit it all. That is why I shall lead them to the south to ensure their eradication in battle with Lot-Ionan.”

“Hurrah! That’s the right attitude!” Ireheart applauded in spite of himself, and then coughed to cover his embarrassment.

“I have been dazzled for too many cycles, inebriated by my own power. I have made conquests, taken lives and broken the will of the people. Not because I had to but because I could. Because I was stronger,” the emperor explained. “That terrible intoxication has passed now, but the memory of my guilt