The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,147

dwarves could see right down through it as it raced across the lakebed. Ireheart thought he could feel a slight tingling when it went under their boat. The runes on Tungdil’s armor shone out.

Immediately afterwards there was a sound like a volcanic eruption. The lake surface started to shake. Waves swept against the keels of the boats, making them bob erratically.

A third detonation shattered the walls of the shaft as if they had been made of brittle glass and not the toughest of steel.

The lake waters streamed in, creating an undertow that dragged the fishing boats toward the island. The hole filled up, bubbling and raging, and then a column of water shot up as high as the palace itself before sinking again.

“Hold tight,” was all that Tungdil said, as a powerful wave hurtled their way. He grabbed hold of the mast and hunched down, bracing himself.

“I hate Elria,” growled Ireheart, finding a rope to cling to. “She always finds a way to ruin things for me when I go on a journey.”

The rump of the boat rose up, surrounded by spray, and a huge breaker covered the dwarves with ice-cold lake water. Then they pitched down again. Their vessel shook and shuddered, but did not overturn.

Slîn looked back over his shoulder. Not all of their party had fared so well. Two of the boats had foundered. “May Vraccas preserve them from Elria’s wrath,” he prayed briefly, then set his gaze ahead.

Steam still rose where the steel walls had been. A loud rumbling filled the air. The pillar on which the island rested was starting to crumble at one side. The basalt stone was breaking apart and the island’s equilibrium was lost.

As the island toppled slowly to the left-hand side, the supporting column of rock snapped completely and Lakepride hit the water. A second massive wave rolled toward the boats. The fishermen were beside themselves with terror. Their little ship surged upwards once more on the crest of the wave.

Tungdil stood at the mast, a picture of calm, as he scanned the tormented surface of the lake.

“Well, Scholar?” called Ireheart. He steadied himself on the planks and leaned forward to counteract the movement of the boat. “Do you think there’s any hope of survivors?”

This second wave was much stronger than the first, Ireheart noted from the angle the boat took and the length of time it seemed suspended. I’ll never, ever go on a lake again. Never ever! He was dreading the pitching crash when the wave finally sent them plunging down again.

They were briefly horizontal before the bows pitched forward and they hurtled down the back of the wave. They were not far from where the shaft, until very recently, had been, and where the island had stood.

“Dwarf overboard!” came a shout behind him. Balyndar stood at the low railing and pointed to starboard. “Slîn’s been hit by the breaker and dragged under!”

Tungdil did not even turn round. “We have to look for the maga,” he answered. “We’ve enough dwarves. There’s only one maga.”

Ireheart stared at his friend, baffled by this cold-hearted attitude. He’s reverting to the Tungdil who came back to us from the Outer Lands with a reputation for horrific deeds of cruelty. He saw some buoys on deck that the fishermen used to mark the location of their nets. They were made of pigs’ bladders filled with air, cork tree branches or glass balls encased in string.

Ireheart grabbed four of them and ran over to Balyndar. “Where is he?”

Together they stared out at the waves until the fifthling located the missing dwarf. “There! Cast it now!”

Ireheart hurled the floats out, putting all his strength behind the throw so that they carried all the way to him.

A spluttering, paddling Slîn grabbed hold of the rope tied to one of the floats and pulled it over, but he continued to sink due to the weight of his armor. He was fighting for his life, they could see. It was only when he managed to pull the other three floats over that he was able to keep his head above water. It was enough to enable him to breathe.

Ireheart was relieved and went back to join Tungdil in the bows. “We’ve saved him. One of the other boats will pick him up.”

“Good.” He stretched up to see more distinctly something he had caught sight of through the spray.

“You might just as well have said ‘I couldn’t care less,’ Scholar,” Ireheart said reproachfully. “That’s what your tone of voice was