The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,214

Zhadár were in the vicinity. Or Tungdil, of course, added a little doubting voice. “Take good care of it,” was all he said.

Balyndar was touched and awed to have been given this weapon, as was obvious from the way he received it. “Vraccas, I vow I shall destroy your enemies and those of my own folk, whenever there is need,” he vowed simply. He discarded his own morning star, not dignifying Tungdil with a single glance or bestowing on him a word of thanks for the more-than-generous gesture.

The company proceeded swiftly toward the east, escaping from the town and its magic ambushes. Going east was the shortest way out. Dwarves, humans and Zhadár all kept their eyes peeled, wary for danger.

The ground beneath Coïra’s feet seemed to sway and rock. She held on to Rodario’s arm and was about to say something but her strength abandoned her. He carried her and marched on.

The desert loomed up ahead of them. It was less than forty paces to the gate of the settlement.

“We’re almost out of the town now,” Ireheart said happily. “Our maga can rest now. Ho, that…”

An old friend in new garb confronted them. Knives, shields, swords and lances had turned themselves into a form four paces high, on legs and with a squat little body. Stretched out toward them were four arms with rotating blades going so fast that they appeared as a metallic shimmer, whistling and humming as the wind blew up the dust on the road behind them.

“There’s no time to wake the maga,” ordered Tungdil, indicating the next alleyway. “Split up. We’ve got to get past this beast. As soon as we’re in the desert we’ll be safe.”

“Mind your weapons,” warned Ireheart, grasping the crow’s beak with all his might. “You’re not skipping away from me again,” he muttered to the weapon. “And if you do, then take me with you and we’ll have this magic monster in little pieces.”

Their flight began in earnest.

The group sprang apart, each finding their own way past their adversary. Ireheart, Slîn and Balyndar had decided to go with Rodario. In spite of all his heroic bravado they did not trust the actor to be able to get past the creature fast enough carrying the maga.

Ireheart looked at the enemy, which had selected itself an easier target. Its whirling blades had sliced two Zhadár to ribbons. Several of the blades broke off during this exercise, and some of the spears fell off as well, but new items from the arsenal replaced them; guts and odd bits of flesh from the victims flew through the air.

“Whatever happens, don’t let it get you,” Ireheart urged his companions.

Somehow they reached the safety of the desert, Rodario not stopping until he was twenty paces into the deep sand. He was exhausted. Sinking to his knees he let Coïra slip to the ground. Then he turned and looked back at the town.

He and the three dwarves looked on helplessly as the blade monster continually changed shape to insinuate itself into the narrowest of alleyways, taking out one Zhadár after another. The Invisibles seemed to be its favorite targets.

Eventually, Tungdil, Franek and Mallenia emerged to join them, but they waited in vain for Barskalín and his troops. As if the iron creature had not been danger enough, now a being the size of a house and composed entirely of sand was stomping through the streets.

“Our Troublemaker,” called Ireheart, seeing three Zhadár come running out of a courtyard and race toward them.

More did not survive.

The Outer Lands,

The Black Abyss,

Fortress Evildam,

Late Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

Goda sat in her chamber sorting through the latest messages from Girdlegard.

Had she been asked to summarize them, she would have said that everywhere else things were going better than they were in Evildam.

Rebellion against the Lohasbranders had broken out in Weyurn and Tabaîn, and it was clear that neither a dragon nor any additional orc reinforcements had turned up there to quash it. The freedom-storm let loose by Rodario’s descendants could not now be contained.

There had been deaths and injuries but the humans in the oppressed regions had driven the pig-faces back into the Red Mountains. The Lohasbranders and their vassals had been tried and then, mostly, executed. Goda was amazed that after two hundred cycles of despotic rule, the newly liberated humans were bothering to use the courts to apportion blame and decide punishment.

The Red Mountains were back in the hands of the children of the Smith. That was where the next message