The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,242

in the Outer Lands.

There was a dull thud and Tungdil groaned. Despite its hardness the tionium showed a dent in the breastplate.

“What is wrong, for Vraccas’s sake?” Ireheart swung the crow’s beak up again and tensed the muscles in his upper body to put all his strength into the next blow. “You’ll start next time I touch you!”

Another crash and the armor buckled and dented again. But no flash ensued and the armor lost none of its rigidity. Tungdil groaned and gasped.

“Charming! We’re in trouble here,” remarked Slîn superfluously.

“I can see that!” snarled Ireheart. “Does it hurt a lot, Scholar?” he asked kindly.

“Only when I laugh,” coughed the dwarf. “Don’t hit me again, Ireheart. Or if you do, aim somewhere else. Or I’ll suffocate.”

“I think… the älf has… turned off the magic. Except for the… safety cut-out.” Ireheart ran his fingers over the dents in the metal. “All this hammering is no help at all.”

“We must get a cart for him,” Rodario suggested. “And that way, since we’ll only be going slowly, we can take Mallenia along, too.”

“No,” protested Tungdil. “We’ll find a way to force the armor to wake up. And we’ll do it tonight.”

“Well, charming,” murmured Slîn. “Why doesn’t Balyndar have a go with Keenfire?”

“Has the sense of all your ancestors completely deserted you? You might as well shoot him in the eye,” said Ireheart. “It could kill him!”

“How so?” asked Balyndar. “He is not one of our enemies.” He got to his feet at the campfire, chucked away the rabbit bones he’d been gnawing at, and picked up his ax. As always, the inlay pattern and diamonds glowed, giving off a faint sheen. “Let’s see. Or has anybody got any objections?”

Slîn and Ireheart exchanged glances. Even Tungdil remained silent.

XXX

The Outer Lands,

The Black Abyss,

Early Summer, 6492nd Solar Cycle

As they rode up to the Evildam fortress they saw flags and banners wafting proudly in the wind. But the walls had suffered damage.

Ireheart turned to Tungdil, who, with Lot-Ionan’s help, was now able to move again in his armor, “What can have been happening?”

He recalled how the magus, recently, had maliciously let them all spend the whole night puzzling over the frozen armor before getting up at dawn, executing two swift gestures and throwing a dark purple veil over the tionium. After that the armor had worked perfectly, even repairing the dents to its own bodywork, whereas previously it had failed to respond even to Keenfire. The magus gave no explanation for what he had done. Not even to his foster-son.

Afterwards everything had moved fast.

They had left Mallenia and Rodario back at a farmstead and headed off in a breathless gallop toward the Brown Mountains, crossing directly through to the Outer Lands. They stopped for nothing and were answerable to no one—Tungdil was high king and did not have to justify his actions. His word was law.

Ireheart glanced at the magus. We’re going to have trouble with him.

Tungdil had also noted the cracks in the fortress walls. “As long as Evildam is still standing we have not lost,” he said, relief in his voice. “The most important thing is that we aren’t too late.”

Trumpets heralded their approach. A detachment of ubariu and dwarves marched out to accompany the high king’s troop as behoved their status, leading them to the tower, now newly equipped with additional supports, while the garrison cheered.

Ireheart saw many more children of the Smith on the battlements than expected. “Are my eyes deceiving me?” he asked Slîn, drawing his attention to the soldiers.

“No. There are some standards up there I don’t recognize.”

“Or perhaps these are banners you never wanted to see,” Balyndar added. “Those are the thirdling clans.”

“By Vraccas!” said Ireheart in astonishment. “So they’ve come to support us!” He turned to Tungdil. “Your own tribe has come to lend arms to the high king.” He laughed in relief.

“It was a good trick, choosing the one-eyed dwarf as high king,” Balyndar muttered.

“It wasn’t a trick,” protested Ireheart angrily. “It was…”

“There’s Goda,” Slîn interrupted. “Are you going to greet your wife, General, or shall I do it for you?”

Ireheart reined in his pony, jumped off and ran to his spouse, embracing her, even letting go of his crow’s beak for once to do so. “I’m holding all the happiness of the world in my arms,” he whispered in her ear, feeling his throat constrict. “I have missed you so, Goda!”

She hid her face in his shoulder and pressed him to her. “At last,” she murmured. “I nearly died