The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,22

deserve death. You’ve no right to a single coin!”

It seemed Hargorin wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. He looked at the man with the saber, then dropped his voice. “Whatever you do, think first of your own family,” he whispered to her suddenly.

A shudder of fear went through Mallenia. His words had not sounded icy or arrogant, but like an honest warning. Probably a thirdling trick to intimidate and confuse her. She laughed out loud to show she did not believe him.

He frowned. “So when you were inside that sack you won’t have seen Councilor Cooperstone die?”

She shook her head, her fingers gripping the crossbow.

“I had to kill her on the orders of the älfar, and she won’t be the only victim in your family. The älfar are out looking for them.”

“The älfar?”

“And not just any älfar. The Dsôn Aklán came to Hangtower to wipe them out. Three siblings: Threefold viciousness and threefold cruelty.” Hargorin’s brown eyes were staring intently at her. “I’m not allowed to say, but they’re out to kill anybody connected with Prince Mallen’s line. It doesn’t matter how far they have to travel to do it or where they have to go. But they claim it’s your deeds, your insurgency, that is the cause for this persecution and slaughter. They want you to lose your support base among the people of Idoslane, Urgon and Gauragar. Your mission will fail and the land’ll never be free. Not as long as the älfar are around.”

Horrified, Mallenia stared at Hargorin’s face in front of her. In her hiding place she had been unable to hear anything when her relative was killed other than dull murmurs, and she had likewise seen nothing through the slits in the sacking. She gulped. “I don’t believe you,” she said waveringly and aimed a kick at the shoulder where her crossbow bolt had struck him. “You thirdlings are all liars!”

Hargorin gritted his teeth to bite back a moan, then cursed out loud. “To Tion with you, you bitch! Don’t believe me, then! I don’t care.”

“Watch him,” she told the man with the saber while she went up to the front. “How far is it now?”

“We’ll be out of the woods soon. Our people are waiting over there,” he explained, pointing to the light area ahead that marked the way out of the dark trees; figures could be seen moving around.

“Excellent,” she murmured, clapping him on the shoulder. But she was not able to enjoy her triumph over the Desirers, for Hargorin’s words to her had fallen on fertile ground. Mallenia did not know what to do. Ride back to her family? Or go on ahead with the men?

The wagon soon left the shelter of the wood and the driver brought it to a halt near a group of two dozen riders.

They cheered Mallenia and started to unload the treasure. The Desirers would have to follow twenty-four different trails to retrieve the coins and gold bars. They would have no chance at all on their short-legged ponies, in spite of their riding prowess.

The tall woman was handed her padded armor with its engraved coat of arms of the family of Prince Mallen of Ido. As she put it on, her thoughts were on the heroic deeds of her ancestor, who had taken arms against Nôd’onn and the eoîl, risking his life more than once for the sake of Girdlegard. He had been a true and high-minded champion of justice, and she would continue his work until their people were free of the älfar and their cronies. She attached her short swords to her weapons belt, threw a hooded cloak around her shoulders and mounted her white steed.

Mallenia rode next to the cart on which the thirdling was being guarded. There was a pool of blood by his shoulder wound, dripping through the boards onto the snow.

“What shall we do with him?” the guard asked.

She considered the dwarf at length. “Kill him. Anyone who works with the älfar deserves to die,” she said after careful thought. Then she spurred her horse to take her back to Hangtower. She wanted to help her family and prayed to the gods she might arrive in time. “We’ll meet in four orbits’ time in the usual place,” she called, and disappeared behind a clump of trees at the edge of the forest.

The tribute money had been distributed and most of the messengers had left. Four of them were stowing the last of the sacks behind their