The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,205

a bit of growth. If you were a few hands taller you’d be able to breathe the same air as I do.”

“I could easily bring you down to size, long-un! I’ve got an iron-clad winner of a spell. I’d only have to let it circle.” Ireheart lifted the crow’s beak, but lowered it when he caught Tungdil’s disapproving eye. “Just wait,” he grumbled.

“Did you have any luck?” the one-eyed dwarf enquired.

“The experiments with plants worked all right. Same thing with simple animal life. Insects were good, as well.”

“Hey! How about a giant gugul!” bellowed Ireheart. “First a wonderful fight with the beast and then a magnificent feast.” He gave Franek a playful shove. “See? Tell us, how much did you get things to grow?”

“The body of the giant scorpion that I magicked must have measured seven paces from tail to tip,” Franek said, putting on a self-important face. “My experiments consisted of getting grasshoppers to grow large enough for us to ride on. They would be splendid mounts for the desert. But there was a high turnover rate. They kept dying on us.”

“Are we far enough away from the place you practiced your spells? I don’t like scorpions, and I certainly don’t like them when they’re that big.” Ireheart was remembering a particular example they had met the night before. The pincers of a giant scorpion would surely grab a warrior and slice him in two, complete with his armor, and the huge sting would stab right through instead of poisoning him. No, he really did not want to meet one of those.

“This is exactly where I conducted my experiments.” Franek laughed. “But there’s nothing left of them now. I didn’t want them to take over and destroy the town. Of course, I may have overlooked some of their young.”

“Charming,” said Slîn, taking his crossbow in his hands.

The Zhadár, watching their progress from on high as he leaped like a rock-ape from one stone to the next, reported that he could see a settlement at the end of the ravine they were marching through. He came back down to join them. The company followed his instructions and took one more turn in this confusing maze of intersecting clefts.

There was no question: In front of them lay a town.

But part of it was under a huge sand dune and stood empty and abandoned. The low, flat-roofed buildings, painted white against the sun, all looked intact but there was no sign of life in the streets.

Franek turned to Tungdil, flabbergasted. “Less than forty cycles ago there were forty thousand people living here! I swear!”

“Lot-Ionan is not just out to get you but plans death for everyone connected to you, I expect,” said Ireheart. “Vicious old man—he’s working out his grievance.”

“What a fool!” Franek’s display of anger did not seem simulated. “They weren’t to blame!”

“Does the town have a well?” Tungdil asked, indifferent to Franek’s fury.

“Yes…”

“Then let’s get there.” Tungdil set off, the group in his wake. “Be prepared for absolutely anything. Lot-Ionan, or whoever has done this, will be expecting Franek to turn up sooner or later.” As he walked he drew his weapon, Bloodthirster, and his lips moved in silent prayer.

Ireheart felt the familiar, enjoyable tension creeping up his spine. With his crow’s beak in his left hand he kept constant watch on their surroundings. Please, no giant scorpions. Together with the humans he kept to the edge of the road, while the watchful Zhadár whooshed past, using the house roofs and side streets, on the lookout for any ambush or trap.

Franek led them through the alleyways to a small square measuring ten paces by ten; the houses roundabouts were tiny. The remnants of old market stalls lay tumbled on the flagstones, many of which were cracked or broken. Others showed deep ruts. Ireheart observed the scene. Something massive crashed down here.

Slîn bent down and picked up a golden bracelet. “Will you look at that?” he said, showing it to the others. “It was just lying there!” He examined the piece with expert eyes. “This is a splendid example of a goldsmith’s craft. I would say it’s worth about four hundred gold coins.”

“This used to be the jewelers’ market,” said Franek, going over to the fountain in the middle of the square. He tasted the water that came splashing out of a stone pillar to collect in a basin. “It’s safe. The source of this water can’t be got at to poison it. At least, it would be terribly difficult. It