The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,200

two stubborn, bad-tempered dwarves here,” said Rodario, bowing to Ireheart and Balyndar as an apology for the teasing.

After a considerable amount of fooling and joking they reached the rock, which rose twenty paces high and was eight paces by eight in ground area. Tungdil chose the eastern side for their camp and instructed the guards to wake them at first light.

They were too tired to prepare a meal and, one by one, they fell asleep. Even hunger would not keep them from the realm of dreams tonight.

Ireheart glanced at Tungdil, who was resting sitting upright, his back to the rock. In the starlight his bearded face appeared older than ever; his eye was open and fixed on the dark skies. His lips moved. Then the runes on his tionium armor began to glow. Only then did he shut his eye.

Ireheart dozed off.

The Outer Lands,

The Black Abyss,

Fortress Evildam,

Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

Goda stared at the parcel packed in waxed paper. It had been found at dawn by sentries at the western gate.

Even though she had been prewarned about what the monsters’ leader was going to do, she did not want to have to see her daughter’s severed fingers.

Her hands worked of their own accord, opening the knots in the string, unfolding the paper and lifting off the lid of the unadorned box.

Goda looked away as the smell of blood hit her nostrils. She bent slowly forward; her very eyes seemed afraid of what was in the container.

“Vraccas,” she groaned. Her fear grew stronger. The next parcel would contain Sanda’s forearm. And the orbit after that she would receive the upper arm. Then the fingers of the other hand. Bit by bit.

Her cruelly fertile imagination saw her mutilated daughter; soon there would be only a bloody torso and a head. Goda could hear her screams, her pleas, her sobs—because her mother was refusing to kill a dwarf she did not even believe to be the real Tungdil…

“I can’t,” she sobbed, throwing herself onto her knees before the shrine. “I can’t sacrifice my daughter like that, Vraccas. Not for the sake of some charlatan whose lies everyone else has fallen for.” She stared at the little statue. “I shall have to strike a deal with this enemy. I have no other choice…”

There was a loud knock at the door. “My lady! My lady! Come quick! A miracle!” came a soldier’s voice.

Goda wiped the tears from her face and opened the door.

“My lady, your daughter! She has come back and is waiting for you at the gate!” he enthused.

“My… daughter?” She looked at the table where the little box with the fingers lay. Then she hurried out, her head spinning, reeling from joy and shock. When she reached the southern gate at last, there was Sanda!

She was still wearing the chain-mail shirt, but it hung down on her limply and badly laced; her face showed severe bruising and the right sleeve was blood-soaked. Her dark hair hung lank and greasy. But Sanda was smiling.

“My daughter!” Goda took her in her arms and pressed her to her breast, her eyes shut. They remained in that tight embrace for several moments. “What has he done to you?” Goda stared anxiously into her daughter’s brown eyes.

Sanda avoided her gaze and her pupils flickered. “He beat me and humiliated me. It was a place just like Tungdil said the Black Abyss was,” she whispered and began to shake, hugging herself. “I never want to go there again,” she said out loud, looking at her mother. “I’d rather die.”

Goda was about to answer, when her eyes fell on the right arm. She was looking for the wound, but saw—a healthy arm with no fingers missing!

She forgot what she had been intending to say and snatched up the girl’s hand. “How is that possible, Sanda?” The digits were pink and tender as those of a newborn baby.

“He who bears many names cut them off,” she said in a faltering voice. “He grew me new ones in their place. It was dreadfully painful but not as painful as the other things he did to me.” She looked at her hand. “As the other things he did…” she repeated quietly, swaying on her feet.

Goda supported her. “Why did he let you go?”

“He didn’t let me go. I escaped,” said Sanda, her knees buckling under her. Goda sat her down on a bench and sent for water. “I escaped and I ran and ran, Mother. I ran and then I got lost but somehow