The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,142

coughing and spluttering. “That took more than a few hours to learn,” he mumbled. Three teeth lay on the floor.

Rodario made a bow. “Thank you for your kind words. You should see me fence. I’m a real master with the rapier.” He laughed. “Another time, perhaps. When you feel like a duel again and have recovered from your injuries.” He thought for a moment. “Now what was it that you were wanting to ask me?”

Loytan reached under his coat and threw a lump of cotton wool to the floor. “I found this in your room.”

“Ah yes, my stage props. What a discovery.”

“You have your face padded out all the time, don’t you? And that beard and mustache are only stuck on,” Loytan went on, wiping the blood off his mouth. “Who are you really? Why do you keep up this masquerade from dawn to dusk?”

The expression in Rodario’s eyes altered and became deadly serious. “Curiosity has killed more than just a cat, my friend.” He took a sudden step forward, grabbing the count by belt and collar. “So you’ll be in good company.” He lifted the thin man and pushed him over the wall.

There was no scream.

Maybe I didn’t push him far enough out? Rodario leaned over the balustrade and saw Loytan four paces down hanging by one hand from a drain pipe. “Your excellent reflexes won’t get you very far, except downwards.” He ran to a nearby brazier, the coals in it cold now, and started to drag it over to the wall.

The count was still attempting to climb up the pipe.

“Wait! I’ll throw you something to hold on to.” Grinning, he rolled the wrought iron container over the side. “Here! Catch! It’ll take you quickly and safely to the bottom.”

Rodario saw how the brazier smashed the pipe, plunging Loytan down toward the water. The iron basket followed at speed. No splash was audible from up here. “Give my regards to the älf woman,” he called down.

Then he made sure that his actions had not been observed. The windows on that side were dark and the chambers un occupied. Rodario allowed himself a broader grin as he picked up the cotton wool and stowed it under his coat. He preferred people to go on underestimating him.

He was about to turn on his heel and continue on his way when he saw a vague outline against the evening sky. It looked at first sight like a bird.

The nearer the shape came, the larger it grew and the closer it came to the magic source, the surer Rodario became that this was no bird, but…

“Lohasbrand,” he yelled and ran off. “To arms! To arms! The Dragon is coming!”

XVII

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Weyurn,

Eight Miles from Lakepride,

Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles

The kordrion’s assault had cost Tungdil twenty-one Black Squadron dwarves and three Zhadár. They burned the bodies of the dead warriors and took their ashes to be buried back in the Red Mountains with all ceremony. Dwarf-remains belonged in the mountains, not in a desert and certainly not in an älfar realm.

But they had also lost the majority of the ponies. There was nothing for it but to cover the initial miles to the northwest border of Phôseon Dwhamant on foot before buying in more stock bit by bit from the farmers of the former kingdom of Tabaîn.

It was inevitable that a marching column such as theirs would attract attention. Tungdil urged them on. Orbit for orbit they marched on through the dried-up lakebed, now covered with ice and frozen fog which crackled underfoot.

They passed islands towering high on stalks, reminding Ireheart of huge stone mushrooms. There were also many small islands that had collapsed without the buoyancy provided by surrounding water. They had toppled over and broken apart.

It looks unreal. As if the gods were planning to make a new country. Particularly fascinating were the places where reefs had been. They soared up like sharpened mountains, sometimes a good hundred paces high. The travelers came upon stranded wrecks of ships and the remains of mighty fish. The dwarves guided their ponies through the arched bones, which they could ride through without banging their heads, such was the size of the skeletons.

I know now why I have always avoided deep water like the plague. Ireheart looked at the fish and at the thick skulls with their incisor-lined jaws. No prey would escape those sharp teeth.

“You’d think our high king was trying to avoid any conflict with the Lohasbranders and the orc contingents,” Slîn remarked