The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,194

him at the time, however,” Tungdil explained. “We dealt with the other ones: Risava, Dergard and Lomostin.”

Ireheart was amazed at Tungdil’s precise memory of the names. How was it that he was able to remember such insignificant details? He knew the story, himself, of course, but though he remembered how the statue had been hunted down, and could also recall the long-legged frog-figure that had turned up to steal it back, for the life of him and for all the gold in Girdlegard he would not have been able to come up with the names of the statue’s abductors.

Tungdil stared at the tips of his fingers. “I asked him if he could give us some explanation of the change in Lot-Ionan. When he told me how the magus dresses, how he conducts himself and speaks, I was forced to think of Nôd’onn.”

“Not him again! We did away with that evil. The daemon cannot have returned.” Ireheart pretended to be swinging an ax. “You took Keenfire and split the fog down the middle… you know, that cloud-creature.”

“Do you remember how we all wondered who had drilled a hole in Lot-Ionan’s statue?”

“Someone trying… to kill him? To gain access to his magic powers?” Ireheart’s eyes grew huge. “No, someone was inserting something into him. By Vraccas! They put the seed of evil into him when he was defenseless and when we woke him up again the seed started to sprout!”

Tungdil nodded. “Franek says that Risava nearly killed him when he objected to her plan. It was her who wanted Lot-Ionan to turn evil after his release.”

Boïndil’s face became thoughtful. “I’m trying to imagine what you stick into someone to make them evil. It sounds so… simple? But I’m sure it’s not.”

Coïra nodded. “I can’t imagine it, either.”

“Don’t trouble your heads. You’d never work it out.” Tungdil picked up a stone. “Risava had picked up a splinter of the malachite crystal that used to belong to Nôd’onn. She kept it. When Franek brought her the petrified statue of Lot-Ionan, she knew how she could try to use it. She drilled a hole and put the last fragment of evil into him. Lot-Ionan never had a chance to protect himself.”

Ireheart scraped his foot along the ash-strewn ground. “That would mean that Lot-Ionan is actually innocent. He can’t help what he has done. Because he… is possessed.” How infuriating. So we can’t just do away with him.

“I suppose we could have expected no less from Nudin, when the demon changed him into Nôd’onn,” Mallenia interjected. “It doesn’t free us from the duty of pursuing him.”

“We have to. At all costs. We need him to defeat Vraccas,” Tungdil said emphatically.

“To defeat your master, Scholar, not Vraccas. The god Vraccas is my creator, but the dwarf we want to kill is no divinity.” Ireheart studied his friend. “I’ve been thinking: Can’t we take the splinter out of Lot-Ionan? And make him good?”

“We need an evil magus to help us against my former master,” Tungdil argued. “I would also have preferred to free him from the evil curse first.”

Coïra wiped her nose with a handkerchief. “I hope we manage it. To free him from the malachite splinter.”

“I know exactly where it lies. It will be painful for Lot-Ionan but he will survive. With Goda and yourself, Your Majesty, we have two magae who can apply healing remedies to ensure his recovery after the operation.” Tungdil looked round. “Not a word of our plan to Franek. He has to think that we want to kill Lot-Ionan in order to liberate Girdlegard. If we deprive him of this goal, he may decide he doesn’t want to help us.”

Ireheart frowned. “All well and good, but we won’t let Franek enter the magic source, will we, Scholar? Who knows what deceitful tricks he has up his sleeve? He could easily have been the one who shoved that malachite into Lot-Ionan’s body. You can’t trust the word of a traitor.”

“I’m against it, too,” said Rodario, and Mallenia agreed with him. “We should overpower him and tie him up as soon as we arrive. Then the secondlings can decide his fate. He was involved in the destruction of their homeland and has that guilt to bear.” He looked at Ireheart. “I don’t suppose you want to let him get off scot-free.”

“Ho! I certainly do not!” Ireheart tapped his crow’s beak. “An eye for an eye.”

Tungdil studied his friend. “You watch him, Ireheart. Franek trusts us as little as we trust him. I’m sure he’ll