The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,220

stream and drunk fresh courage with every gulp of water. Now they were on their way to a second, vital, source. Franek did not seem to have trouble recalling which tunnel to take.

Ireheart was being more cautious than usual. As soon as the little wizard shows the slightest indication of trying to trick us, I’ll split his skull with my crow’s beak spike and give his brain some fresh air.

“The älfar attack should already be underway,” Rodario told Mallenia. They had taken Coïra between them and were helping her along. To be on the safe side. “Nobody will be in our way.”

“Apart from Lot-Ionan,” interjected Mallenia.

Rodario dismissed the idea. “What are the chances of encountering the magus in this enormous underground realm?”

“He could be at the magic source, guarding it. Then things would be difficult for us.” She spoke quietly, not wanting the dwarves or Zhadár to overhear.

“There it is,” said Franek, indicating an oval door inside a palandium arch that had runes chiseled into the lintel. “The source is behind that door.”

“What do the symbols mean?” asked Tungdil as he headed for the entrance.

“It’s a formula. It has to be pronounced to make the door open. That way Lot-Ionan knows somebody’s going in. He’s got a bracelet that starts to glow when the incantation is spoken,” the famulus explained.

Tungdil considered the entrance. “How did you get in? You knew about the security arrangements.”

“I tried a counter-incantation I thought was foolproof.” Franek looked down, humiliated. “It cost me my position.”

“We could just break the door down, Scholar.” Ireheart looked at Balyndar. “Keenfire can make a nice little hole in it and overcome any magic device.”

“But Lot-Ionan would still know,” warned Franek. “He can turn up very quickly, before the queen and I have had a chance to refresh our own stores of magic. He won’t be weakened yet.”

“So we’re practically at our destination but we can’t go in,” said Balyndar impatiently. “If the magus finds us now we’ve got no chance.”

“You and Tungdil will survive,” Ireheart ventured. “You’re both immune to magic.”

Tungdil pursed his lips and lifted Bloodthirster. “Balyndar is right. We’ll go in and let Queen Coïra bathe in the pool; Balyndar and I will stand guard and make sure Lot-Ionan can’t surprise us.” He turned to the maga. “How long would you need?”

“It depends on the strength of the source,” she said, uncertainly.

“It’s enormously powerful,” Franek said. “It never took me longer than a few moments.”

“We can hold him off that long,” said the fifthling determinedly, nodding at Tungdil. The one-eyed dwarf barged the door.

A loud hissing sound ensued as the runes above the entrance flared, showering Tungdil with sparks, but his tionium armor absorbed the spell as if it had been harmless rays of light. The wood splintered and the door burst open.

Tungdil stood on the threshold with his weapon raised above his head, checking in all directions to see if it was safe. “There’s no one here,” he called back.

The others hurried over and Balyndar remained at the doorway, facing out, Keenfire in his hands.

It was a small chamber, really more like a sauna. Steps led to a vertical shaft protected with a grille; the walls were decorated with a mosaic portrait of Lot-Ionan’s face.

The magus has changed a lot, thought Ireheart. Compared with how he used to look he had gone bald, and he had three reddish-silver tufts of hair on his chin. The eyebrows were bushier, too. His features had become crueler and more demonic, as if the bones had been rearranged. But it was unmistakably the face of the Scholar’s one-time foster-father.

“Coïra needs to stand over the shaft,” said Franek. “Her weight will cause the grating to sink five paces down, bringing her directly to the magic force field. She’ll need to use a spell to bring herself up again.”

Slîn and Balyndar were at the door. “Why don’t the steps go right down into the source?”

“Lot-Ionan wanted it like this. I don’t know what his motives were.” He saw Ireheart’s suspicious expression. “Well, let me go first if you think it’s a trap.”

“Oh, I can see you’d like that,” Ireheart laughed. “Scholar, what do we do here?”

Tungdil gestured to Coïra to come over to the shaft. “If anything happens to her, kill Franek,” was the only instruction he gave.

“That’s easy. I can do that,” Boïndil replied.

The queen was taken down the steps by Rodario and Mallenia and, as they withdrew, she sank down, the grating lowering itself with a click.

“I shan’t bother to