The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,241

mouth in a yell and vaulted forward, gripping the hilt of Sisaroth’s sword ready to use it and holding on to the parrying stick.

Sisaroth attempted to dodge but his own blade caught him in the groin. It pierced the armor with a grinding noise and he screamed out in agony.

Balyndar laughed and grabbed Keenfire by the haft. “That’s the sound for me!” He snatched the ax back while Sisaroth tried a final stab at his throat, but the dwarf cut his head clean off his shoulders. A fountain of blood shot up all the way to the vaulted ceiling and the decapitated älf fell back down the stairs.

Still gasping for air, Balyndar had to sit down. He felt dizzy and his limbs were like lead. He could hardly move. Keenfire weighed more than four full sacks of gold.

A shadow fell on him. It was Lot-Ionan, staring down at him, a malicious smile on his lips.

Balyndar thought there was no earthly chance of stopping the magus if he wanted to kill them all. He felt exhausted. Tungdil was nowhere to be seen and Coïra presented no danger to the man. “Don’t even think of it,” he threatened Lot-Ionan nevertheless.

The magus seemed to shake his fingers, and suddenly a blue flame shimmered over to Balyndar, creeping inside his mouth and nose.

A warmth overcame him; it felt like being granted shelter, love and joy. His body received new strength and his wounds tickled and fizzed. When these sensations ceased he saw that his skin where the injuries had been was now without blemish, as if he had never been touched by a sword.

Lot-Ionan passed him by without a further glance.

Meanwhile Coïra, groaning, struggled to sit up, holding her head. She saw the dead älf, then Balyndar, and followed the magus with her eyes until he had disappeared down the spiral staircase. “What happened?”

“A lot,” the dwarf replied crisply, getting to his feet. He felt as if he had slept through half an orbit and was awakening refreshed. Lot-Ionan had kept to his side of the bargain and healed him. “And a small miracle, too. Come on, let’s find Goldhand!”

Together they hurried down the tower steps.

Tungdil Goldhand lay in his rigid armor next to an exhausted Mallenia by the campfire a mile north of the crater.

Lot-Ionan had transported the paralyzed dwarf out of Dsôn and up onto the plateau by magic, while Coïra had ministered to the wounded of their party with her remaining powers. She was not able to restore the blood that Mallenia had lost and thus the freedom-fighter was as weak as a little child.

Rodario looked after her tenderly, but they knew Mallenia could not accompany them any longer. Speed was of the essence on their journey and she could not travel. They planned to leave her to be cared for at the nearest farmstead. She would follow on as soon as she was sufficiently recovered.

Ireheart pushed Tungdil’s visor up and rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “So this time it was the älf?”

“Yes. He recited a formula.” Tungdil tried to lift his arm. “Nothing.”

Balodil stood on the far side and uttered some strange dark words. Not a single rune shone out. He shrugged his shoulders regretfully and stomped back to the fire.

Ireheart grinned and raised his crow’s beak. “You know what that means?”

“Yes,” replied his friend roughly. “And I don’t like it.”

“Wait!” called Coïra. “Do we know what kind of phrase was used?”

Ireheart explained concisely what had happened the previous time, leaving out any details that the maga did not need to know.

Her face became thoughtful. “But if the Zhadár could not help this time it won’t have been the same phrase.” She leaned over Tungdil and asked, “Can you give us any hint?”

Ireheart suspected Tungdil had not told him the whole truth when relating the origins and peculiarities of the suit of armor. Perhaps on purpose, buzzed the lonely doubter inside his head. He didn’t want you to know where he is vulnerable. And look where that has got him.

“He’d be able to tell me now,” he told the doubting voice. Unfortunately he said it out loud, causing Coïra to look surprised. “Nothing important. I was talking to myself,” said Ireheart, motioning Coïra to step aside. “Right there! Mind out!” he bellowed for everyone’s benefit. “There’ll be lightning flashes, so shield your eyes or look the other way.”

He positioned himself, legs wide apart, over Tungdil, lifted his weapon and slammed it down using the flat side like he had done before,