The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,162

the fray with passion. “Hey there, Lohasbranders! Let’s have your shields out of the way!” he bellowed enthusiastically, smashing the first one with a crow’s beak broadside. He ducked under a darting spear tip, took a step to the left and hacked his metal spike into the opponent’s ribcage; there was a gratifying scream.

Ireheart sprang through into the gap, pushing away the Zhadár trying to follow him. “Get off! This is my place!” he snarled, yanking the metal spur out of the dead body to thrust it into the living body of the next foe careless enough to leave himself undefended.

The iron hook tore the lamellar garb apart and sliced through the flesh beneath it. The Lohasbrander fell groaning to the floor.

“One less!” cheered the dwarf, delivering a sharp kick to another’s shield, making the holder fall backwards. Ireheart jumped onto the shield, crushing the man underneath. “It’s always going to be dark for you now, dragon friend,” he growled, whacking the flat side of the crow’s beak into the man’s face.

Behind his stone the Dragon was roaring and raging—but he wasn’t coming out.

Ireheart had fought his way through the ranks of men, clearing a path the Zhadár were making use of. They, Tungdil and he sneaked round behind the boulder to launch themselves on Lohasbrand with loud oaths.

What they saw made them stop in mid-attack.

A dozen men and women were operating the dragonhead and neck on long poles, which they were raising and lowering to give the impression the creature was moving. Others were making the snout open and close; directly adjacent five more of them were banging away on boxes and drums and metal sheets to create the dragon’s roaring voice. They had constructed a sort of funnel arrangement to increase the volume of noise.

“Puppeteers! Will you look at that! Just what I thought!” Ireheart grinned. “You can’t trick a dwarf that easily, you idiot play actors!” He sprang into their midst, whirling his crow’s beak in circles; the Zhadár and the squadron followed suit.

The wooden poles that were wielded against them soon fell, smashed by powerful blows; Ireheart’s battle-fury kicked in, sending a red mask of rage over his face.

Yelling and cheering he dealt out shattering blows with his weapon, feeling blood spurting, and hearing the cries and groans of the wounded and dying—until his friend’s voice reached him. With immense difficulty he forced back the tide of fever, the fire in his veins, the bloodlust that had taken him over. He rubbed his eyes and surveyed the carnage.

Human remains lay scattered around.

They had not put up much of a fight and Ireheart had been disappointed at the lack of resistance. Catching his breath, he aimed a kick at the stuffed dragonhead. Sweat was pouring off him. “Ha! Dead!” He cleaned off his weapon in a foul temper. “What a let-down. I still can’t cross off killing a dragon on my list.”

Hargorin came round the rock with a troop of his men expecting to help Ireheart fight the Dragon. He halted the soldiers and came over to inspect what was left of the enemy soldiers and the monster. “Wielgar has a lot of explaining to do,” was his only comment. Coïra, Mallenia and Rodario also arrived and stared in astonishment at the bloodbath and the dragon cadaver.

“I don’t need Wielgar.” Boïndil looked at Tungdil. “The Dragon must have died some time back and the Lohasbranders kept quiet about it so that the people would carry on obeying them. And the pig-faces, too, I suppose.” The one-eyed dwarf nodded.

The maga clenched her fists. “To Tion with the lot of the bastards! They deserve their deaths three times over. How long have they been pulling the wool over our eyes?” She almost did not want to know the answer so that she would not have to reproach herself with anything. Had they not been terrified of reprisals from the Dragon they would surely have driven out the occupying forces from their island realm and her mother would have been able to free herself much sooner from her shackles. Then she would never have been slain in battle with the älfar…

Hatred flamed up in her heart on a scale she had never experienced before. She wanted every last one of the enemy to know her feelings.

Coïra whirled round on her heel and hurried back to the barracks to confront Wielgar.

“Follow her.” Tungdil ran after her and left it up to Hargorin and Barskalín to finish off the wounded and guard