The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,169

His pink eyes were full of reproach. “And there are over forty of these masts to be dealt with. We’ll never do it.” He pointed to the left, where a wall of beasts was advancing on them. These had shields for protection against arrows and crossbow fire; no comparison with the random rabble they had previously faced. They were still three hundred paces away. “We need to retreat, sir!”

Boëndalin exchanged glances with Sanda and Bandaál. “Keep that lot off our backs,” he told them. “We’ll bring down another dozen of the masts, and then,” he said, looking angrily at the ubari, “I’ll be the one to order the retreat. No one else.”

The dwarf-famuli took up position and raised their hands. Their fingers described runes in the air, and their diamond splinters shone out dazzlingly bright, surrendering the last of their magic to empower the formulae.

A dark-blue beam shot out from the palm of Sanda’s hand, forging a path through the attackers from the front of the wave right through to the last man. Everything the beam of light touched was immediately vaporized to a stinking black cloud, with only molten clumps of metal remaining of armor and weapons.

“What do you say to that, brother of mine?” she said, panting heavily, and flashing a challenge with her eyes.

Bandaál formed a half-globe with his hands, the open side directed toward the beasts. He blew gently through his fingers and his breath became a tornado to rout the enemy.

Half of them were swept off their feet, banners went flying and even creatures the size of an ubari were blown about like puppets of straw. Arrows that had been on their way toward the dwarves were forced back on the ranks of monsters.

Bandaál lowered his arms, grinning at his sister. “I think my spell was eminently superior.”

“It’s not a game!” Kiras had been watching them and waved them on to join the others who were charging off toward the next pole. “Come on! We’ve got to stick together!” She looked back at the southern gate, which now seemed a very long way off. The undergroundling was shocked to see the white shimmer they had come through now appeared rather pink. “I think Goda is having trouble holding open the gap!”

The famuli looked at the opening, and thus missed seeing the horde of monsters split in two to reveal a small-statured warrior striding to the front.

Kiras took her telescope off her belt to get a closer look.

A dwarf in glorious red-gold vraccassium armor with deep black tionium inlay was stomping toward the apprentice magicians; in his hands he carried two war hammers with silver and gold heads studded with jewels reflecting the light. He did not look anywhere near as dangerous as Tungdil Goldhand. Perhaps it was the color of his armor plates.

His visor was open—and she felt suddenly nauseous. The dwarf had no lower jaw!

Through the focused lenses she saw the long-healed injury in all its terrifying detail. A blow must have cost him jawbone and teeth. A healer had simply sewn up the loose flesh and tightened it so that the dwarf could take in food and continue to live, and had left him a narrow slit below the upper jaw through which presumably the food could be pushed in. But he would not be able to speak or chew, Kiras thought. Long black beard hair reached down from his cheeks to his chest. No hair at all grew where the scars were.

Some of the nose was missing, too. Cartilage had been cut away and the hole was protected by a silver plate. Two vertical slits allowed air to be taken in. The very appearance, like a skull, would be enough to root any enemy to the spot. The brown eyes burned with hatred and pain.

“By all the…” Kiras put her telescope down swiftly as an icy shudder ran through her body. This must be the master that had been spoken of. She told the famuli about this new danger, Boëndalin and the troops not having noticed, being busy with the attempt to demolish the next metal pole.

“Let me,” Bandaál said. “I’m older than you.” He prepared his magic spell, took out a further diamond splinter and clasped it determinedly in his hand to make use of its energy. He murmured a banning spell and a column of gray light the size of a human rose up before them. At the final word of the incantation if shot off in a straight line