The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,160

Red Range. Except for the maga.”

Coïra looked at Mallenia and implored her silently not to think of mentioning her present weakened state. “That’s all right,” she said, feigning indifference. “I’ve got enough magic to kill ten dragons. But I shall use a spell to check whether or not he’s telling the truth; if his next answer is a lie, his head will burst open.” She moved her fingers, closed her eyes and touched his brow with her left index finger. “Is there a magic source?”

“No!” Wielgar cried out, beside himself with terror. “No, by all…”

“And the treasure?” Tungdil reminded the Lohasbrander and took aim for a further blow.

“Miles away, seventy miles to the west,” he said straightaway. “He had everything moved there, all the tribute collected in his name.”

Ireheart could not restrain himself anymore. “How many pig-faces does he have under his command?”

Wielgar shrugged. “Thousands. We counted them.”

“Right, right. Thousands, then.” Tungdil slammed the weapon down and shattered the little finger completely. “Try again. Or do you want the maga to do another spell, to make your head…”

“Not more than seven thousand,” Wielgar shouted. “They live in the caves and we call them up when we need them. Then there’s another thousand traveling around with the governors in Weyurn.” He stared at the dwarf in rage. “They’ll be here any time now and they’ll wipe you out. A report has gone out about this attack.”

“It has certainly not,” Barskalín contradicted. “Apart from him no one was left alive, Tungdil. Nobody escaped.”

“You missed one.” Wielgar gave a sly grin. “A second lookout position, in the rocks above the entrance. The guards will be on their way.”

“We should get out of here,” said Coïra uneasily.

“Without nicking a single thing from the treasure hoard? Why should Lohasbrand bother coming after us?”

“We need something to make the Dragon follow us,” Tungdil said.

“How about this guy?” suggested Rodario, pointing at Wielgar. “If he’s really as important as he claims to be, Lohasbrand is sure to want to have him back.”

Wielgar laughed again. “Another of those stupid Rodarios. They get absolutely everywhere. But he’s just right for this farce.”

A loud hissing roar echoed around the cave; excited shouts came through from outside, and steps approached the barracks.

“Lohasbrand!” Mallenia looked at everyone. “He’s found us!”

“He can’t get in through the passages. We’re safe from him.” Ireheart looked at the doorway, where one of the Black Squadron came rushing through. “But he’s not safe from us!”

“The Dragon is coming, sir,” the squadron soldier reported to Tungdil. “We heard his roar through the second passageway. Hargorin wants to know what your instructions are.”

Wielgar laughed triumphantly. “If you ask me, you should run for your lives. Perhaps you’ll find a little hole outside—somewhere to hide in.”

Tungdil studied the Lohasbrander at length, making his confident merriment ebb quickly away. “We attack,” he announced. “Then I’ll come back and cut your head off.” He ran out.

“Huzzah! We’re off to get the Dragon!” Ireheart raised his crow’s beak. “I still need to cross him off my list of monsters.” He followed his friend.

Slîn sighed as he looked at his crossbow. “I’ve got the wrong weapon again. What use am I against dragon scales?”

“Shoot him in the eye?” came Rodario’s helpful suggestion. “If I were a dragon I’m sure that would annoy me terribly.” He looked at the women. “It’ll be a tough battle, but we have an excellent maga on our side. I’ll cover you but you’ll have to kill Lohasbrand for me.”

Coïra attempted a smile, and failed. Mallenia put her hand on the queen’s shoulder to encourage her. Together they ran off after the dwarves, who had raced out like a black cloud toward the second passageway.

Again came the Dragon’s deafening roar, and hot stinking steam entered the corridor. Surely a prelude to worse to come.

Ireheart did not move from Tungdil’s side; they reached a further cave.

Without warning, a burst of flame shot down on them!

The Zhadár and the Black Squadron raised their shields to defend themselves against the fire.

Ireheart could feel the heat swarming over them, but the shields had protected them from severe burns. Isn’t that a bit on the harmless side? We should have been incinerated! There’s nothing hotter than a dragon’s breath! “Overhead,” he called. “He must have climbed up on the ceiling, the coward!”

But, however hard he looked, there was no dragon to be seen clinging to the ceiling. When he looked at his shield he noticed there was only a little soot on it. The fifthlings’