The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,187

slid out of the creature’s flesh and the creature stumbled into the fire. “Mmm, that smells good! A little bit of mayonnaise on the crab and supper is ready!” He laughed out loud.

Rodario saw the Zhadár attacking the monsters from the rear. The chimerae had no idea what was happening to them. They didn’t have a chance. Only Ireheart had been too proud to be one of a crowd. He had stormed all the way to the front of the throng to get first choice of the enemy. It had been the saving of Rodario.

“Slîn’s up there!” he called, pointing to the loft. “He’s not alone.”

“He’ll be all right,” said Ireheart, hurrying to get to one of the last of the hybrids before a Zhadár did.

“They are huge beasts up there fighting him. Bigger than all these,” Rodario shouted.

Boïndil turned and looked toward the hayloft above the gate. “Then I’ll go and check. Fourthlings aren’t known for their stamina in battle.” He grinned and made his way over, felling a lynx-chimera as he went which Barskalín had had his eye on. “Ha! I got there first!”

Rodario was impressed by the speed and precision with which the Invisibles had moved in. The battle in the courtyard was over before he knew it. Surrounded by the dead bodies of that intimidating horde of rampaging monsters, he was struck also by how quiet everything suddenly was.

Tungdil had taken no part in the general slaughter. He was talking to Mallenia, who was still supporting Coïra. Balyndar stood guard over Franek.

“My queen!” Rodario hurried over to the young woman. She looked exhausted.

Lifting her eyes hesitantly, she instinctively hugged her right arm closer to her body. “I’m all right. The famulus tried but he couldn’t kill me.”

“Franek didn’t warn us until it was too late. Maybe he forgot on purpose.” He looked at the famulus, then at Tungdil. “I’d advise you to have a word or two with him. He seemed more eager to talk when you were being persuasive. Maybe his memory has improved a bit.”

A loud dwarf-laugh rang out from up in the hayloft, then came the sound of steel on flesh. And then a scream.

“What’s happening?” Tungdil looked at the hatch.

“I sent Boïndil to do some tidying up,” Rodario explained. “I think Slîn was having trouble and it seems to be giving your friend a great deal of pleasure to help him out.”

They heard Ireheart laughing again, and then angry voices, curses and noise of the crow’s beak smashing home.

Balyndar gave a command to the Zhadár, but Tungdil interrupted with a gesture. “No, let him do it on his own. Why shouldn’t he have a bit of fun?” He stomped over to Lot-Ionan’s former pupil.

Rodario asked Mallenia to leave him and the maga alone for a few moments. After a swift exchange of glances with the queen, the Ido girl followed Tungdil.

Coïra looked up shyly, “Did you…?”

“No, I haven’t told anyone what I saw. And I shan’t.” Rodario took her left hand. “Back there at the pond you misunderstood me.”

“What was there to misunderstand?” she flashed, hurt. “You said, How ghastly!” Her anger vanished and her shoulders drooped. “But you were right. Let me explain what you saw.”

“But first I want you to know what I was really trying to say: ‘What a ghastly injury, Coïra.’ That’s what I was saying.”

“Is that all?” She sought his eyes.

“That’s all. You are far too beautiful and kind and sweet-natured for anyone to say anything unpleasant about. I think you know what feelings I have for you.” Rodario smiled at her and took her hand in his. “Will you tell me about it now?”

A muffled cry rang out and a chimera came flying through the hayloft hatch; he landed directly at the feet of two Zhadár, with blood spurting from the many injuries to his chest. For a split second Ireheart was visible in the opening, long enough for a wave and for them to know he was unharmed. Then he raised his weapon and leaped off to the right with a war cry.

“He lives only to fight,” was Coïra’s comment.

“It’s battle-frenzy. Hot blood. They always used to say that about him—and rightly so,” the actor said with a grin. Crashes and thumps echoed down from the hayloft. “He’s having the time of his life, egging them on.”

The maga slipped her hand under his arm. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for keeping silent, and for not despising me on account of my arm.” It seemed