The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,193

6492nd Solar Cycle

Coïra cast her eyes down. “Not unless Aiphatòn and the älfar have managed to deplete Lot-Ionan’s strength significantly,” she whispered. “I have prayed to the gods to let me find an undiscovered source of magic somewhere on the way! Perhaps they will have pity on us and there will be a miracle.”

Rodario unobtrusively indicated Franek, who, surrounded by dwarves, was talking to Tungdil and Ireheart. He looked intimidated and was defending himself with upraised hands against harsh rebukes. “Perhaps he is our miracle.” The two of them sat down and he told her what the exiled famulus had reported.

“It was this Droman character that I met,” she said, leaning against Rodario’s shoulder, glad to have sorted out their difficulties and misunderstandings. “He chased me with a tranquillizer spell and dragged me off to a clearing when he saw I was not on my own. But they defeated him.”

“It didn’t go well for him, as I hear.” He put his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

Coïra nodded. “That’s right.” She was enjoying his presence but her eyes were wary, watching for Mallenia, who was over with the dwarves. She had a guilty conscience because Rodario was spending time looking after her, and she was aware of her friend’s feelings. He must be told the truth and made to understand how embarrassing the situation was for the two girls. “Rodario, there’s something I’ve got to tell you,” she began, but just then Tungdil turned round and waved them over.

“Keep it for later,” said Rodario. “Our leader wants us now.” He helped her up and they walked past the fire and over to the dwarves.

Tungdil made room for them at the campfire. “Franek regrets that he forgot to tell us about the famulus who had been chasing him.”

“He regrets it so much that he wants to lead the way,” Ireheart added merrily. “Not that we thoroughly trust the little wizardling. If he takes us into a trap he will die before any of us do.” He thumped Franek on the back. “Ho! I’m right there, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” the famulus coughed out his answer. “I will do everything I can to make Lot-Ionan pay for his betrayal and his ingratitude toward me.” He looked at them all. “I know nobody here will trust my words if I swear an oath, so I shan’t bother. Suffice it to say, hatred unites us. That is stronger than anything else.”

“Hatred?” Rodario was baffled. “Was our mission…?”

“Hatred of my foster-father for letting himself become such an evil person and for inflicting such damage on my native land,” said Tungdil. “I have sworn he shall die; remember, actor. Against your will.”

Rodario hit himself on the back of the head, noting the comedy that was being played out for the benefit of the famulus. “I keep forgetting that you insist on killing him,” he announced. “You have, of course, every justification for doing so.”

Franek appeared to swallow this, or else he was keeping his suspicions to himself. “And we’ve agreed I shall be allowed to bathe in the magic source?”

“Not before Coïra has used it, little wizard,” Ireheart stressed threateningly. “You will wait your turn nicely.”

“I don’t mind that. The source has enough energy for thousands of us.” Franek scratched his stubbly chin. “It will be a great feeling. After such a long time.”

“Get some sleep. We’ll be leaving first thing.” Tungdil assigned one of the Zhadár to guard duty, then moved off with Ireheart, Rodario, Barskalín, Mallenia and Coïra to find a place to sit at a suitable distance from the famulus.

“Providence has sent him to us.”

Mallenia folded her hands and found a stone to sit on; the whole group settled down to talk. “You don’t think it could just be a very clever trick on the part of the magus?”

“No. He’s got no idea we’re coming,” Tungdil insisted. “If he did, he’d have sent out all his magic apprentices, not just the one.”

“Droman. That was his name?” Coïra placed a hand on her back where the man’s magic had hit her. She thought she could still feel warmth on that spot. “He wasn’t a bad magus.”

“But he wasn’t good enough,” said Ireheart. “The Scholar took him apart.” He remembered that he had not actually seen how the famulus had died. Because his eyes had been dazzled.

“I talked to Franek and his story sounded credible. He was one of those young people who smuggled Lot-Ionan’s statue out of the former palace in Porista. We never met