The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,243

of worry and couldn’t let the others see.” She looked at Tungdil, still on his horse, and saw Lot-Ionan beside him. “You’ve done it!”

“It was easier than we’d thought,” he told her, freeing himself from the embrace. “Let’s talk about it inside. There is a great deal to tell.”

“Here, too.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “Sadly, none of it good, my husband.”

Anxiously, Ireheart hurried to reach the conference hall. The dwarves, Coïra and Lot-Ionan followed and Goda gave the order to fetch their guests.

On all sides dwarves knelt in homage to Tungdil, proffering their weapons to him as a mark of respect and unconditional obedience. Ireheart could tell Goda did not appreciate this gesture. Well, there’s a surprise.

The rejoicing in Evildam was unstinting. From the other three gates came bugle calls and the clatter of axes on shields. A storm of euphoria broke over them, with everyone involved in the celebration: Dwarves, humans, undergroundlings and ubariu alike.

Ireheart walked tall and proud as never before. Back straight, crow’s beak shouldered, legs splayed, he waved at the crowds, a smile on his face. It was the same for Slîn and Balyndar. They relished being treated as heroes. And rightly so.

Only his wife’s stony expression troubled the warrior’s mood. But only slightly.

The double doors leading to the conference chamber were opened for them by the ubariu sentries.

Ireheart’s jaw dropped: Dwarves were seated at the table! Dozens of dwarves, all of them clan leaders, and the flags that hung on the walls behind them denoted which delegates had come.

“By Vraccas!” he exclaimed, his heart racing with joy. “Scholar, do you see that?” He wanted to grab him by the shoulder and shake him wildly in his excitement, but he thought better of it.

“Stay near me, all of you,” Tungdil told his friends quietly. “I want them to remember the faces of their greatest heroes forever.” He walked in, slow and dignified.

A clanking and clattering sounded out as the dwarves knelt before their high king, holding up their swords in the age-old oath of allegiance. All the tribes were represented; even the thirdlings and freelings had come to pledge fealty and to follow Tungdil’s command.

Nobody spoke. It was a weighty moment, the greatest event in the history of the children of the Smith.

The impressive sight brought tears to Ireheart’s eyes. His Scholar had achieved what no high king before him had ever accomplished. He was not ashamed of the salty drops on his cheeks and he could see the same emotion on the faces of many gathered there.

“Long live High King Tungdil Goldhand!” he shouted, raising his crow’s beak before falling on one knee. Affected by the spectacle, Slîn and Balyndar followed suit. Goda was the last to bow the knee to the one-eyed dwarf.

“You have responded to my call.” Tungdil raised his deep voice, covering the audience with the essence of his royal authority. “For this I thank you. The definitive battle for Girdlegard will be fought in the Black Abyss, because the war that started two hundred and fifty cycles ago has not yet ended.” He let his gaze wander over the assembled dwarves. “This is why I have returned: To help my people.”

“That’s a lie,” hissed Goda, but only Ireheart heard her.

He flashed his eyes in warning and she bit her lip.

“You can see that I have changed, but in my heart I am still a child of the Smith. Without my friends,” and he gestured toward the dwarves behind him, “my first task would never have succeeded. It is clearer than ever now that we will meet the second challenge triumphantly.” He indicated to the assembly that all should rise. “I bear the title of high king because the fourthlings and fifthlings elected me. Many may see it as a fault that I was not chosen by all the tribes.” Tungdil raised his arms. “I ask you, each and every one of you, every clan leader and every king, for this very reason, once more: Do you wish me to lead you?”

The thunder of agreement made the room rock, and Ireheart felt a jolt to his spine. Such unity!

Tungdil bowed to the dwarves. “I swear that I shall serve my folk and that you shall never regret your choice.” Then he turned his brown eye to the thirdlings. “Step forward, king of the thirdlings, and announce what we have agreed.”

To Ireheart’s surprise Rognor Mortalblow stepped back and gave way to a familiar figure. “Hargorin Deathbringer!” he exclaimed. He had