The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,223

of the enemies was slain, he saw Tungdil standing with his back to him at the far end of the corridor. He had blood all over him, dripping from his armor and helmet.

“Vraccas help us!” he heard Balyndar say.

Turning round he saw a very pale fifthling at his right hand. Balyndar had also followed the course of the combat. To be more exact, it had not been combat but slaughter. Faced with Tungdil those älfar were like drunken orcs. And yet Ireheart knew that he himself would never have been able to fight his way from one end of the passage to the other like that. Not nowadays and not without taking some injury.

Coïra had been too busy to watch. She was staring into the darkness of the shaft. In order to be able to get Rodario out with magic she first had to be able to see him.

She lifted her hand and a torch flew into her outstretched fingers. She trained its light down into the dark shaft until she could see the actor. He was clinging to the open grille with both hands, poised perilously above the abyss.

But the grille was moving again, coming up. This would mean Rodario’s fingers would be crushed and he would fall.

This time the maga had no problem finding the right magic formula. Now that she was outside the source she no longer felt confused and overcome with the ecstasy that had robbed her of the power of clear thought.

Invisible powers took hold of the actor and lifted him, pulling him through the narrow gap between wall and grille and floating him up out of the shaft to land between the two women.

Hardly was he back on his feet than Coïra rushed into his arms to embrace him. But she released him at once. “I must see what’s happening outside,” she said, excusing herself.

“A hero,” said Mallenia, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “But you did need a bit of help. I like that.” She grinned and followed the maga out to where the dwarves were.

Rodario rubbed his painful hands, checking the cuts on his palms. “Samusin, god of justice, I thank you,” he prayed. Then he noticed Franek’s dead body and the black blood coating the threshold. Next to him there was a loud click and the grille was back in place.

“Huzzah! May Vraccas be praised! More black-eyes!” Rodario could hear Ireheart’s happy voice. “Scholar, these ones are mine, got it? I can’t let you have all… Scholar! SCHOLAR!” There ensued loud shouts and the clash of weapons. “He’s only gone and done it again!”

Rodario put his hands on his hips, took a deep breath and drew his sword. It was sometimes nice not to be a hero. Unfortunately he considered himself to be one now and heroes had to fight.

He followed the Zhadár; Mallenia, Coïra and Slîn were ahead of him, with Balyndar and Ireheart racing in front. He could not see Tungdil anywhere but he could hear the continuous barrage of battle and screams coming from another passage.

“Why won’t anyone tell me what’s happening?” he complained in his best stage manner, hurrying so as not to miss the finale.

They trotted along through the tunnels of the dwarf realm, always on the lookout in case they encountered Lot-Ionan, the älfar or Vot, the last famulus. Ireheart reckoned they had been doing this for around three orbits now.

However, they had met nothing and nobody.

The älfar slaughtered by Tungdil in his solo assault had not been part of the main force; they seemed to have belonged to a scouting party who had entered the cave system by skirting Vot and Bumina. They were probably trying to kill Bumina before she got to the magic source to replenish her reserves, and they ran straight into our arms. Boïndil grinned. Nice one!

But Ireheart was still mad at Tungdil for having taken on and killed over twenty-five warriors at lightning speed. It had not seemed to cost the other dwarf any noticeable effort, nor had the missing eye limited his performance in any way. Ireheart found himself having to admit that Tungdil was superior to him in combat skills, flexibility and speed. In the old days they had been about equal but after this orbit he was painfully aware that he could no longer compete.

“Off to the right,” he instructed, leading the group into the former throne room.

The pomp and splendor of this hall had long passed, the famuli having conducted experiments that had caused