The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,224

the cave walls and several of the high pillars to collapse. There were holes and burns in the battle scenes showing historical victories of the dwarves; upturned braziers and fallen lamps lay scattered on the ground.

The table for the use of the dwarf-kings and the carved stone dais for the clan leaders had been smashed; the impressive marble throne on which Gundrabur Whitecrown had once sat now lay shattered after some spell had been let loose. A symbol for the loss of dwarf-power.

Ireheart had been hoping to find Lot-Ionan hiding here.

“This isn’t working,” said Rodario, noting the dwarf’s drooping shoulders. “We could be wandering around in these mountains for ages without ever coming across the magus.”

“But what else can we do?” Slîn asked Coïra. “Didn’t you say you had a special spell?”

“To locate him?” She shook her head.

Mallenia sat down on a section of fallen pillar. She made no attempt to conceal her dissatisfaction. “We need a new plan. Who knows what’s happening back at the Black Abyss or in my country?”

“You don’t have to worry about the älfar. The poison must have worked by now. There won’t be more than a few of them still alive,” Tungdil reassured her. “Any survivors won’t be a danger to us and Aiphatòn will dispatch them all soon.”

“We should have stayed by the source,” complained Balyndar. “Sooner or later Lot-Ionan would have come along.”

“There’s nothing to say we can’t go back there.” Ireheart stretched and heard a crack as the vertebrae altered position. “I’m getting old,” he noted with astonishment. “Anyone would think my bones were made of wood.”

“Back to the source,” ordered Tungdil. “We’ll need to find provisions on the way. Our stomachs are rumbling so loudly that we don’t stand a chance of creeping up on the enemy.”

The group turned, about to leave the throne chamber, but then heard footsteps from the other side of the room.

A young man of not more than thirty cycles entered the hall and spotted the Zhadár, who brought up the rear of their party. He lifted his right arm and sent a dazzling lilac-colored magic beam shooting their way.

Troublemaker and Growler had the presence of mind to dodge behind a stone pillar.

“Thanks, Vraccas,” cheered Ireheart, wheeling around on his heel. “We’ve found Vot!”

“Charming! But actually, he found us,” said Slîn, going down on one knee and lifting his crossbow ready to fire, all in one smooth movement. Before anyone could stop him he had sent a bolt flying at the famulus. “And this is my magic!”

Vot had not seen what was coming and had his arms raised to conjure up a new spell. The missile went straight to his heart but a glowing light showed that he was already starting to heal himself with magic.

Tungdil raised Bloodthirster to attack him and Coïra sent out a shimmering chaining spell to tie his hands and bind up his eyes. Now he was as good as harmless, because he could no longer see his target and thus could not cast any spells.

“We want your master: Lot-Ionan,” said Tungdil. “We asked Bumina his whereabouts a few orbits ago but she didn’t want to tell us, so her corpse now rots at the entrance to the source. It’s up to you what fate you choose.”

Vot had not yet lost his arrogance. “Who do you think you are? How dare you…?”

The dark-clad dwarf cut along his throat with the tip of his blade so that the wound bled profusely without endangering his life. “The next strike will have more power behind it.”

“Lot-Ionan is not here,” said Vot through clenched teeth. He had understood that it was not his place to ask any of the questions.

Ireheart kicked his shin. “You are about to meet your death if you lie to us again, my lad.”

“I’m telling the truth,” said the terrified famulus. “The magus has left.”

Tungdil moved the tip of Bloodthirster and pressed it into the young man’s chest. “Where’s he gone? Tell me or let’s see how quickly you can heal yourself this time.”

Vot lay still, not daring to move. “He’s gone north,” came his quiet voice. “He’s going north to punish the älfar for their attack. He knew about their plans and left us in charge of guarding the source. On their return to their lands they were to find only ruins.”

“That’s a lie!” exclaimed Ireheart. “Franek told us he never lets his famuli use the pool without supervision.”

Vot sighed. “Circumstances forced him.”

“I don’t believe you.” Tungdil inserted his blade in