The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,165

of the älfar to let Coïra bathe in that magic source. Tungdil Goldhand must be told the truth, or, in spite of having the Zhadár with them, their whole company might be wiped out fast.

Rodario was sitting with his chin supported on his hands, staring at Mallenia’s face, trying to read her thoughts. “I have heard of one beast more terrible than all others. Do you want to know its name?”

Mallenia was not really listening, but she lifted her hand to indicate that she did want to know the name.

“Xolototh,” he said in a dread and somber tone. “It hunts down humans, especially pretty blonde females.”

“What does it do with them? Take them prisoner?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. It does this.” He leaned forward quick as a flash and gave her a swift kiss.

Or rather, he had intended to give her a quick kiss.

But when he pulled his head back he felt her hand at the nape of his neck, pulling his mouth toward hers again. She smiled at him and closed her eyes to sink into the embrace. Attack was the best form of defense in these circumstances. And certainly the sweetest.

XX

The Outer Lands,

The Black Abyss,

Fortress Evildam,

Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

Winter was gone and with it the ice and snow from round the fortress—the magic red barrier, on the other hand, was still in place.

Goda watched it at dawn, and at mid-orbit, and at orbit’s end, and late at night, as if her steady gaze could somehow make it dissolve so that the stronghold’s catapults might be put into action against their foe.

But this did not happen. The glowing red screen, not unlike a thin gauze curtain in appearance, was resistant to all Goda’s wishes, prayers and spells.

Kiras came up to bring her an early-morning cup of tea. Together they observed the plain around the ravine. It had been transformed into a vast military encampment.

“Have you any idea what it means?” The tall undergroundling was surveying the scene before her.

Goda understood what she was referring to. The monsters had been making strange marks on the rock; viewed from above they formed a pattern. She guessed that they represented magic preparations rather than indications of where the monsters should be deployed in battle. There were several hundred troops by the Black Abyss, but nothing pointed to any immediate plans for attack. They were waiting, with all their war equipment around them. Waiting, just waiting.

“No,” she said slowly. “It could be a series of runes, but I can’t read them.”

“Then that’s even more worrying.” Kiras leaned against the battlements. “I’ve been asking around and nobody has an explanation for these strange marks on the ground.”

“They’re from a foreign land. They’ll not be able to understand our language either.”

“The thing that calls itself Tungdil—I bet it’d be able to read them.” Kiras looked at Goda.

“But it’s not here. We must manage without it. And anyway, it’d tell us nothing but lies.” The dwarf took out a sheet of paper on which she had previously made an exact copy of the runes she had noted. Comparing the two patterns, she realized that changes had been made. She placed the paper on the parapet and took a quill and pot of ink out of her reticule. She entered the new marks and tried, again in vain, to make sense of the drawing.

“What are you getting the guards to do with those mirrors? Whenever the sun is out they’re out there, practicing.”

“It’s just a wild idea. I need to do more research.”

An ubari brought in some news and a dwarf in black armor. He waited two paces behind the ubari messenger, not seeming particularly anxious. Goda and Kiras quickly exchanged glances. “Lady, he says that he comes from Tungdil Goldhand.”

The dwarf bowed. “I am Jarkalín Blackfist, one of the Black Squadron riding south with the high king against Lot-Ionan.”

Kiras looked him up and down. “Are all of Goldhand’s troops dressing in black nowadays? He seems to attract evil.”

“Tell me how you met up with him,” Goda demanded, holding out her hand for the message. Jarkalín gave her two leather rolls, and to the ubari he handed a sealed piece of waxed cloth with a letter enclosed in it; the symbol on one of the leather rolls was unfamiliar.

Jarkalín bowed. “This is from Aiphatòn, emperor of the älfar.”

Kiras and Goda stared at him in disbelief as if he had turned into a sharp-fanged rabbit before their very eyes.

Jarkalín gave a concise report of events. “… then the