The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,237

collapse and breathe your last before my very eyes I shall watch carefully and store up the moment in my memory. I can use it in a picture? Or a drawing?”

“You’re only slashing at me because you are not fast enough to catch me properly, black-eyes!” Ireheart had detected a pattern to the attacks. I know what you are going to do next. “And anyway,” he taunted, dodging the dagger thrust and plunging the spike of his crow’s beak directly into the älf’s belly. “You won’t be doing any more painting.” He tossed the paralyzed Tirîgon onto his back and tore the weapon downwards in his flesh to widen the entry wound. “Except in the dirt here, clawing with your fingers!” He levered the weapon out of the body cavity, tearing the guts. He studied the bloodied tip with satisfaction. “You guys really aren’t anything special. You’re just big, that’s all.” Ireheart kicked him viciously in the face, heard the bones crack, then spat at him. “That’s for breaking my nose.” Then he turned round.

He stared at Slîn in horror. He was sitting up and aiming his crossbow at him. He had only pretended to be wounded! “What…!”

“I should have done this a long time ago,” snarled the fourthling. And fired.

Keenfire and Bloodthirster clashed, sparks flying in all directions, fizzling against the dwarves and on the floor.

Tungdil’s weapon could not deny its origins as the sword of an Unslayable. Any other blade would have shattered under the impact of Keenfire, but Bloodthirster stood up to the onslaught defiantly.

The diamonds on the ax head increased their brilliance, infuriated not to be able to destroy Bloodthirster.

Balyndar felt that Tungdil surpassed him in physical strength several times over. He was being forced backwards against a pillar. “You traitor!” he screamed at the one-eyed dwarf, attempting to knee him in the groin. “I always suspected you were closer to your foster-father than you were to your own folk!”

Tungdil kicked his knee away and head-butted him, sending his skull crashing back into the pillar.

Balyndar saw nothing but stars; the pressure on Keenfire lessened. Tungdil had moved away. Now his sight was clearing.

The one-eyed dwarf stood in front of Lot-Ionan as if wanting to protect him. “Calm down,” he said. “He has agreed to help us.”

The fifthling shook his head to clear it. “Help?” He looked from Tungdil to the wizard and back again incredulously. “Lot-Ionan, who has oppressed the south of Girdlegard for many cycles, and whose apprentices have wiped out the population in great swathes of the land, is going to help us? And of his own free will?”

“He knows he can’t defeat both of us.” Tungdil lowered Bloodthirster. “To save himself pain and humiliation he is prepared to accept my offer.”

Balyndar gulped. “You sound like his spokesman, not his enemy.” It was hard to believe what he was hearing. Behind Lot-Ionan he suddenly made out a vague slim shape moving. “No, don’t!” he shouted.

Tungdil and the magus both turned.

Coïra stood behind them, her arms half raised as she prepared a spell. Over her breast her clothing hung in blood-soaked tatters and the naked skin revealed below the garments was lighter in some places than in others.

Even if nothing remained of the terrible wound, Balyndar could see by looking at Coïra’s widened eyes that she had not recovered from the shock. She seemed determined Lot-Ionan should pay for the injury inflicted on her. Could she have forgotten that their mission needed him alive?

Do we really need him? The thought came flying into his mind from somewhere and it started to take root. He looked at his magic ax which had served so well against magi and monsters of all kinds. Why would it not work against Tungdil Goldhand’s master?

Tungdil looked at the young woman. “Maga, stop whatever it is you are doing! No force is needed. He will come with us to the Black Abyss.”

Coïra’s lips were moving. Her palms glowed red and a beam three fingers wide was released, hissing, toward Lot-Ionan, who held out an arm, the hand turned upwards, pointing at the ceiling. The beam collided with the palm of his hand and dissipated, with smaller rays diverted in all directions. And so the duel ended.

And that was how she was planning to vanquish him? Given this pitiful performance on the part of the maga Balyndar was glad that they had settled the matter without her help.

Tungdil changed position and came to stand between Coïra and Lot-Ionan.

Balyndar went up to her.