The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,246

Coïra, who had still not recovered from her near-death experience at Sisaroth’s hands. For this reason he had put the two of them together, hoping they would share confidences and help each other.

Balyndar was another problem. Ireheart feared the fifthling might do something reckless with Keenfire, endangering the outcome for the dwarves. The looks that Balyndar and Goda had exchanged were almost conspiratorial. It would be no use trying to talk sense to his spouse. She had made up her mind and was not going to change it. All Tungdil’s achievements meant nothing to her.

“Vraccas, why did you make us so stubborn?” he complained under his breath before going down the corridor that led to the conference chamber. Coïra was also on her way there.

He lifted his arm in greeting and she slowed her pace. She was wearing a dark-blue robe with long sleeves, and a black cap on her head. Ireheart recognized Weyurn’s coat of arms in the embroidery on the sleeves. “How are you, Majesty?”

“Well, thank you.” She smiled. “You’ll be wanting to know if I’ve spoken to your daughter?”

Ireheart tilted his head and his braid fell forward. “I’m so worried about her… she’s so low and seems very confused. So different.”

Coïra frowned. “Have your wife’s suspicions taken hold of you, too?”

“What suspicions?”

“That it is not really your daughter.”

Ireheart threw up his hands. “Is she saying that? First it was the Scholar she had doubts about and now she thinks her own daughter has been replaced! It’s persecution mania!”

“Yes, yes,” said Coïra mildly, to calm the dwarf down. “It obviously is your daughter. She has told me many personal details.” She stopped at the door. “She has endured the most terrible thing that a woman can ever go through. The dwarf that abducted her announced his intentions and put the blame squarely on Goda for not accepting his conditions. Her spirit has been damaged by the thought of this betrayal.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I can do nothing for her, Boïndil Doubleblade. My fate was harmless in comparison.”

Ireheart could find no reply, so great was the hatred raging in his soul. Hatred for the enemy in the vraccasium armor, against whom all his fighting prowess would be useless in battle. I shall desecrate his corpse.

In a fury he stepped into the hall with Coïra—but stopped dead in his tracks: As well as Tungdil, Slîn, Balyndar and Balodil there were two white-clad elves in the room, wearing light palandium armor under their robes.

They carried swords and shields on their backs and long daggers hung from their belts. The male was dark, while the female’s hair was almost white; both looked too tall for Ireheart’s taste, too thin and too pretty. As with the älfar; they don’t come in the fat and ugly format at all. If only one of them would just fart like a pony so they weren’t always so damn perfect.

Tungdil asked the maga and Ireheart to come in, and introduced the elves. “These are the last two heroes to whom you owe the annihilation of the Girdlegard älfar. They were as much a part of it as I was myself.” He said their names, then indicated the elves. “This is Ilahín and his wife Fiëa. When the rebellion started in the älfar regions they left their hiding place and led the humans to where the black-eyes were.”

“But we would never have been able to do that without your preparatory work,” Fiëa said sweetly in typical singsong elf tones. Dwarves had never liked the way the elves spoke. Nor the way they admired the humans.

“So you’ve heard?” said Ireheart, baring his teeth and looking at the tips of their ears.

Ilahín laughed. “I’ve missed all those dwarf-jokes.”

Ireheart stopped. “You like being made fun of?”

“He’s an exception,” Fiëa said, not sounding quite so friendly now. “I’m not fond of it at all.”

“Stop right now, old friend,” said Tungdil, motioning to him and Coïra to sit down. “They have come to thank us and to bring news from Girdlegard.”

Ilahín waited until everyone was seated. “Aiphatòn’s action and your own involvement have meant that it is safe for us to appear once more and for us elves to take some part in the liberation of our homeland. As we are not able or willing to give our thanks to the Unslayables’ offspring, because of who he is descended from, this makes it all the more important for us to thank you.” He lifted a chest from the floor