The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,180

the forest they were in now was not welcoming. There must have been a forest fire there about a quarter of a cycle ago, one that had left ruined tree trunks behind. Scorched and shriveled and dead, these hulks stood eerily on the black empty ground.

Men and dwarves ran through the ash, their feet disturbing it so that it rose in clouds to clog mouths and noses, and make eyes smart. Half-burned branches crumbled under their feet, and their boots and clothing turned gray.

Then they came to the ruins of an old building. The fire must have taken hold of a little forest hamlet. Ireheart could see skeletons. Why did the people not flee from the flames—perhaps they were not able to run? The thought of magic occurred to him at once…

“Over there!” called Tungdil, pointing to the right. “I can see someone running.”

Ireheart could not see a thing. “I think…”

“Yes,” agreed Barskalín. “It’s a human.”

Mallenia nodded to Rodario to put on a spurt of speed. “We’ll catch up with her,” the latter told the dwarves, as he followed Mallenia.

Strange emotions were swirling within him. On the one hand he was reproaching himself, but on the other he was not sure why: Coïra had taken flight because of his cry of horror, which she had misunderstood. But there was no time now to put things right. First of all they would have to catch up with her.

Mallenia had shot ahead, but he would not be shaken off. The group of dwarves were now some way behind.

The forest was changing again. The trunks now seemed to have been bent and twisted by the force of the fire, taking on the strangest of shapes. It was already growing darker here, so that the trees appeared terrifying, and the deathly hush that surrounded them made Rodario deeply uneasy. He was glad he had his sword at his side. And Mallenia, who was definitely a better warrior than he was.

“Coïra, stop!” he called out after her as she ran through the trees. She was extremely agile. “We are really worried about you!”

But the fugitive was not listening.

“Come on, call yourself a hero? Get a move on,” said Mallenia, increasing her speed. “I don’t like it. Everything here is dead. This forest is scary.”

He silently agreed with her. There was nothing here, however, that could harm them: The fire was long gone, having consumed everything living and turned it all to ash.

The queen had changed course and was heading off to the right.

Between the scorched tree trunks they spied the outline of a fortified house, a defended barn or similar. Judging from the marks left by the flames it seemed the fire must have broken out in this building and then spread to the forest.

The queen ran through the small gate and disappeared inside the ruin.

“What’s she doing?” panted Rodario. “Is she trying to hide from us?”

“That’s just stupid. Childish and stupid.” Mallenia left the forest and headed for the entrance. “Queen Coïra! Come out of there before you fall down some hole or get buried by falling masonry!” She went into the courtyard with Rodario at her heels.

They waited, listening out and watching the broken window panes, which stared back at them like empty eye sockets.

“Coïra?” Rodario called, very worried now. “You misunderstood me back there at the pool. If you come out I can explain.”

“So it is your fault.” Mallenia seized on this possibility. “I bet you said the wrong thing.”

Rodario had decided not to speak about the ghastly discovery he had made. He wanted to speak to Coïra first. “Something like that.” When he saw a face by one of the downstairs windows he raced off. “Coïra! Wait for me!” He grabbed hold of the crumbling wooden supports and peered into the dark room.

He was staring at a pair of light-colored eyes that were watching him fearfully—they were the eyes of a man!

XXII

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Rân Ribastur,

Northwest,

Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

Rodario sprang back and turned to Mallenia. “It’s a man in there!”

“Are you sure?”

He leaned further in over the wooden frame and surveyed the stranger’s face. “Absolutely sure. The stubble is a strong clue.”

“Indeed, then it won’t be the queen. Unless she has meta-morphosed.” Mallenia came over to the window to see for herself.

She guessed the man to be in his late thirties; once upon a time the garb he clutched about his body must have been a luxurious robe the color of malachite. Now it was a shabby tattered rag: Thorns had