The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,154

wound its way to a dark-red mountain.

Older memories rose up in Ireheart’s mind as they approached the entrance.

There were five bends in the valley and in the old days the firstlings had erected strongholds here, thick defensive ramparts with gates secured by dwarf-runes to keep their enemies out. The two of them had once fled here to escape from the älfar Sinthoras and Caphalor when they were looking for a firstling smith, and had found one in the shape of a dwarf-woman: Balyndis Steelfinger, now the fifthlings’ queen.

The old buildings had gone. Today there were wooden palisades instead of walls. Behind the pointed stakes he could see the glint of helmets and spears; judging by their size, these would be orcs.

“Up there,” Tungdil pointed at the Red Mountains, “is where the entrance used to be.”

“Not anymore. It disappeared when the stronghold went. The Dragon demolished everything that smacked of the firstlings.” Rodario pointed to one side. “Behind that heap of stones there’s said to be a huge cavern. It’s a passage the Scaly One made for himself and the Lohasbranders use it to get into the dwarves’ cave system.”

“That will be the old emergency exit gate,” Ireheart supposed. He was occupied in trying to count the helmets he could see. “I think they’ve only got about twenty guards. Pig-faces.”

“Why would they put any more here?” said Slîn, his eyes glued on the sky. “Who would want to enter the lair of a dragon?”

“Dwarves,” replied Ireheart briskly. “Our ancestors drove off the dragons and we’ll be doing it again.” He looked at Tungdil. “You want us to ride into the valley in broad daylight?”

“No. The Zhadár can show us what they’ve learned from the älfar,” he said, looking at Barskalín. “You take on the gates one after another. Don’t open them until all the guards are dead. Find out how we can get inside without the Dragon knowing.”

“If we want to empty his treasure hoard wouldn’t it be better if we slipped in without killing the guards? It will only draw attention to ourselves if we attack them,” Rodario pointed out. “Lohasbrand will act more swiftly then than we would like.”

“The orcs will die silently. It will be some time before their deaths are noticed.” Tungdil pointed to Hargorin. “We’ve been discussing the matter en route and feel that we should split up as soon as we’ve plundered the hoard. The Zhadár will go with us and Hargorin will lead the Black Squadron. They’ll take a different route to the south and some of them will go off to the dwarf realms as messengers to request they send their armies so that we can proceed against Lot-Ionan. Others will ride to Aiphatòn.” He indicated Rodario. “And they’ll take his letters to the descendants of the fabulous Rodario the Incredible.”

It’s a good thing we met up. We wouldn’t have been able to scrape that many messengers together from our original numbers. I suppose they’ll be reliable. Ireheart was not upset to learn they would be losing the Desirers. “We’ll rendezvous by the Blue Mountains, I suppose,” he said.

“Preparations should be finished by the middle of spring. Ours and the emperor’s. We can start then.” Tungdil glanced up at the imposing mountain glowing red in the light.

“I still don’t understand how we get away from Lohasbrand if, as they say, he can smell you from miles away.” Rodario was not satisfied yet. “And don’t tell me I’m just an actor with no idea about warfare.” Mallenia and Coïra gave him silent support on this.

“But that’s what you are,” said Hargorin contemptuously.

“The Dragon won’t know at first what’s happening. He’ll think it’s rebels and he’ll leave it to the orcs to put the insurgency down—that is, until he notices what’s missing,” explained Tungdil. “By that time we’ll be halfway to Lot-Ionan. At least! We’ll have to ride all day and change horses when they tire. Without that head start we’ll never make it. If he catches us, then…” he glanced over at Coïra “… we’ll have to kill Lohasbrand. But if that happens we lose a vital element in our strategy to weaken Lot-Ionan. If he gets too close, we’ll attempt to drive him off.”

“You’re putting a whole lot of responsibility my way,” said the queen, looking doubtful.

“I am. Because I have to. It’s in battle we get our warrior hearts, not when we sit listening to tales about war.” He fixed his eye on her. “Come right out and say if you’re too