The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,222

knew nothing of this.

Franek was still laughing at Bumina. “If you really had any magic power you would have cast a spell at us.”

“You haven’t used magic either, so I can only assume your reservoir is as empty as mine.”

Ireheart looked over his shoulder. Coïra was being heaved up out of the shaft by Mallenia. The queen thanked her, gasping for air, and then stood up. She no longer looked as drained as she had done and there was a new spark in her eyes. “But now we have a maga strong enough to magic the two of you into the ground.”

Tungdil turned quickly round and nodded at Franek, who could hardly wait to get down into the source. “Your turn now.” Without warning he plunged Bloodthirster twice into the stomach of the famulus. “Go to Samusin or to whichever god you want.”

Franek collapsed onto the stone flags, gurgling horribly, still moving his lips inaudibly. His fingernails scratched at his killer’s tionium shin protectors. By the time his head hit the floor he was dead.

Ireheart was not distressed but he was surprised. Another deed the old Tungdil would not have carried out.

“He told us about your secret path,” Tungdil said to Bumina. “That’s how we got in.” He lifted Bloodthirster, red and dripping. “Where is Lot-Ionan? Don’t even think about running away.”

The famula recoiled. She turned and started to run, but Tungdil hurled his weapon at her with a furious roar. It hit her on the back, exactly where the arrow had struck. Screaming, she fell to the ground, felled by the impact.

With one bound Tungdil was by her side, brutally tearing Bloodthirster out of her flesh; he used his boot to turn her over, then placed the weapon’s sharp tip at her throat. “I’ll count to three and if I don’t get told where to find him you will die,” he snarled. The deep voice sent shivers up Ireheart’s spine. “One…!”

“Die and lose your soul!” Bumina whimpered.

“It’s no good trying to protect your master. You’ll be harming yourself, not him. Two!” He increased the pressure he was exerting, and the blade penetrated her flesh.

“Gone! He’s gone!!”

“Three!” Without showing any emotion Tungdil pushed Bloodthirster through her throat. The famula attempted to gasp for air, coughing and spluttering, her hands grasping the deadly weapon instinctively, but the arm of the dwarf was like steel. Bumina fought death—and lost. Her eyes went dull and her life left her.

“We’ll look for him ourselves,” Tungdil announced. “He can’t be far away.”

“Nor can the black-eyes,” said Ireheart, unable to take in what his friend had just done. These humans had deserved to die. But the way he had done it: That was extraordinary. Thorough.

“Help!” they heard Mallenia’s voice. “I need your strong arms!”

Ireheart was about to turn round and help the Ido girl but at that moment he saw älfar charging round the corner. He reckoned there must be about seventeen of them, all wearing black leather armor, with iron plates over the breast. Their weapons were of various kinds, but similar to swords. His battle-lust flared up on the spot. “I’ll be with you in a tick,” he called. “I’ve just got a few black-eyes to flatten!” He raised up his crow’s beak and hurled himself at the enemy with a mighty war cry to Vraccas.

A black shadow overtook him.

“Oh no! Scholar, don’t spoil my fun,” he complained. “You go and help Mallenia! Leave them…”

To me is what he had intended to say, but Bloodthirster crashed horizontally into the side of the first älf, slicing into him as easily as if he had been made of wax. While that enemy was still falling to the ground, Tungdil was already striking the next one, making a hole in his chest before yanking out the dripping steel spike to plunge it into the neck of a third älf. Blood was everywhere.

Ireheart stared at his friend in astonishment. He had never seen him fighting so brutally.

The swiftness of his movements was such that he was faster than the black-eyes he was fighting; the älfar did not know what had hit them. They had never fought dwarves before and had certainly never met an adversary like this. Black blood was raining all around, severed limbs fell, weapons and armor shattered at each of Bloodthirster’s strikes.

Tungdil was screaming like a mad dog on each attack he launched. He mowed his way through the ranks of the älfar, cutting a path. The fallen were blocking Ireheart’s view. When the last