The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,209

you travel with us. It doesn’t mean I like you. And I won’t be spoken to like that.”

Ireheart was about to tear his eyes away from the newfound ax when it picked itself up and whirled past their noses; an unseen power dragged his crow’s beak from his grasp and Balyndar lost his morning star. “What…?”

At last they turned round and saw their enemy. An enemy they now faced unarmed.

The creature had formed a massive hand composed of knives; it was holding Keenfire up and the handle of the crow’s beak pointing down. The being clattered its way over toward the dwarf-trio.

Ireheart realized now where the marks on the flagstones at the jewelers’ market had come from, and he knew also who had stripped the meat off the bones of the corpses they’d found. He grabbed Balyndar by the sleeve, pulled him up and they walked backwards, very slowly.

“Why didn’t you warn us, fourthling?” the fifthling growled.

Slîn laughed mirthlessly. “Good joke. You were both immersed in ax-worship.” He pointed with his crossbow at the creature. “It’s over there if you still want it.”

“I certainly do!” Ireheart nodded, frowning and lowering his head between his shoulders aggressively. “I don’t mind the blades. No one is going to threaten me with my own weapon!” He lifted up a wooden strut from a broken cabinet and whacked the enemy with it.

There was a click and the arm made of spears and lances whirred, rotating like a drill, crashing into the wood.

Ireheart was showered with sawdust and found his hands were empty. “Confounded…” He turned in dismay. “Let’s get out of here.” He ran off, with Slîn and Balyndar at his heels. They charged down the street side by side.

“Which way?” asked the fifthling, glancing round at the artificial monster, which was just emerging, doubled-up, from the shop doorway. The weapons that had been lying in a heap in front of the shop rushed up to fuse with all the others.

That was not all.

Clicking and scraping, the steel-and-magic creature changed shape, giving itself three extra pairs of legs and thinning down its core so that it turned into a spider, setting off after them.

“We’ve got to lure Keenfire back to Tungdil. He’ll be able to take it for himself,” panted Ireheart as he ran. “I’m incensed that I’m having to run away from my own weapon.”

They rounded the corner into an alleyway too narrow for the spider creature to fit through.

But when they heard the rattling and clattering come closer nobody had to turn and look in order to know the thing pursuing them had transformed itself again. It was chasing them through the streets as if it were herding stampeding guguls.

Rodario was sitting in front of the house in the shade with a few sheets of paper, noting down his thoughts with a quill pen. He had composed some lines on liberty and adventure.

Mallenia brought him out a glass of water. As she passed it to him her fingers touched his hand. As if by accident. They looked at each other.

“How is Coïra?” he asked, his eyes returning to the page.

“Quite weak now from the long march. If you grow up in a land where water is the dominant element you have a tough time in the desert.” Mallenia dropped her voice. “You know she’s hardly got any magic left.”

He looked at her in surprise. “How do you…?”

“She told me. She says she’s only got about a third of the magic energy she would normally have. The amount grows smaller orbit by orbit. We must get her to the source as quickly as possible.” She drank some water. “We can only hope the gods preserve us from any magic attacks.”

Rodario went on writing and asked, “What else did she tell you?”

“What else?” Mallenia’s tone of voice indicated sharp attention. “Is there something else?”

“No.” He tried to change the subject. “I mean, I don’t know. You women seem to like having secrets. So I thought I might learn something new. Who else knows about her difficulties?”

“Tungdil and Boïndil. That’s all. That’s the way it has to stay.” She glanced at his notes. “What are you doing there?”

“I’m writing. For what’s about to happen.”

“Not the fight against Lot-Ionan?”

“No. For after that. It’s just ideas. The descendants of the Incredible Rodario will take them to the people of Girdlegard as soon as the battle for the future has been won. The unknown poet has done his duty as a freedom-fighter, but our work as actors and