The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,141

change her mind. “It has been a difficult day and we are all over-excited. Let’s get some sleep. We can discuss this tomorrow.”

“Who are you to talk to Her Majesty like that?” raged Loytan. “You’ll not be discussing anything with anyone.” Then he glanced at Mallenia, fearing a reproof.

“Rodario is right.” Coïra dried her tears. “I am exhausted and need to rest. Let us meet in the morning to talk about what the future holds. All of us,” she repeated emphatically, passing close by the actor as she left the room.

He heard her whispered “thank you” and then she was gone, followed by Loytan.

Rodario stared out of the window for some time before setting off for his own chamber, taking a detour via the open arcaded walk. He loved the freshness that came from the lake waters.

He would never have believed himself capable of driving the älf away with his fire-seeds trick. He thought it more likely that the black-eye had retreated in private sorrow over the sister’s death. Sisaroth had killed eighteen grown men before making off. May Firûsha rot at the bottom of the lake, he wished.

Lost in thought, he had not noticed someone stepping out of the shadows. Only when the new arrival coughed did Rodario pay any attention. “Loytan. I didn’t expect to find you here,” he lied, brightly. “Is it time for that beating now?”

Count Loytan came nearer. “When I chucked you into the lake I should have shackled you first, stage scum!” He pointed down at the water. “This time that won’t be necessary. A fall of eighty paces should be sufficient to break your neck. Then there’s an end to your play-acting! You will not be missed.”

“You took me by surprise last time, count. Do you think you could do the same thing now?”

Loytan laughed in his face. “Without your theater tricks you’re nothing. Nothing at all,” he taunted, fitting knuckledusters over his hands.

Rodario grinned. “But you don’t seem to be relying on hitting me unaided. Do you think my chin is that hard?”

“I don’t want to have to touch vermin like you more than once, that’s all,” the count retorted.

“And how have I made you so jealous? I was only comforting Coïra. Does your lady countess know about your private passion for Weyurn’s new queen?” Rodario was enjoying pouring oil onto the fire. It was always easier to fight an adversary who was beside himself with anger. “I’d be happy to inform her.”

“There’ll be nothing left of you able to utter a single word.” Loytan moved swiftly, but the actor stepped backwards.

“Stay where you are!” ordered the count.

“If you insist.” Rodario sighed. “But I warn you: If you attack me now no one will ever see you again. Not even your lady wife.”

“Dream on, idiot! And anyway, she already hates me.” Loytan launched a blow—and his fist met thin air!

“On stage you have to be agile and move quickly.” Rodario had simply done a forward roll between his attacker’s legs and had sprung upright. He kicked the count on the behind, making him stagger. “What’s the matter? Was that all you had in mind?”

Loytan struck out again.

“Saw that coming a mile off.” Rodario blocked the charging fist and his arm did not even quiver as he pushed his elbow into his attacker’s face. Grabbing the man’s hair, he dragged him down; at the same time he propelled his knee at Loytan’s nose; there was a crunch as the bone broke. Then he released his hold on Loytan and kicked him in the belly.

The count fell groaning to his knees. “I’ll kill you for that,” he croaked.

“Weren’t you going to do that anyway?” Rodario put on a look of surprise. “And anyway, it’s my turn to have a crack at murder now, not yours. For what you did out there at the shaft.” He watched Loytan toss away the knuckledusters and draw a knife.

Rodario dodged two attacks, ducked under a third before showering a concerted hail of blows on his opponent, so that blood started pouring out of the cuts on his face. Loytan collapsed, fighting for breath. “You know,” Rodario explained to his injured rival, “when you’re an actor you need many talents. In order to portray a valiant warrior, for example, it’s not enough simply to put on some armor; I have to actually be like a warrior. To fight like him, do you understand? I won’t deny that it sometimes comes in very useful.”

Loytan dragged himself up on the wall,