The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,250

reaching for his own.

The first of the deflected missiles started to strike the dwarves, who had quickly brought up their shields to protect their heads. They hid until the lethal hail of projectiles had ceased. The catapult crews on the battlements had reacted swiftly and stopped firing to prevent hitting their own ranks, but some of the missiles had been in mid-flight.

Ireheart felt a light blow and then a stronger one that tumbled him out of the saddle. He rolled over, keeping under his shield. This proved the saving of him when, a moment later, something soft thudded into the shield, causing a burst of flame. He flung his burning shield away and bounded away from the fire. Had the bag of petroleum touched his body he would have perished in the flames.

Ireheart saw Goda smiling happily at the sun, lifting her bugle to her lips to play a rapid succession of notes whose significance he did not understand.

All around the battlements of Evildam dazzling light flared out.

He could see the soldiers hefting vast burnished metal mirrors into place. The sun was reflected hundreds of times, dancing over the ground and focusing on the largest of the enemy siege towers where the beasts were getting ready to fire catapults. These beams of light pierced the magic barrier without hindrance.

Confused, the monsters shut their eyes. Ireheart saw them waving their arms about and then the first of them caught fire!

Ireheart was amazed. The mirrors are catching the power of the mighty orb and are relaying it a hundredfold in strength! Even damp wood was catching fire; then, suddenly, the petroleum for the beasts’ fire arrows ignited, sending up a burst of flame. The base of the siege tower was engulfed by the blaze.

Goda whooped with excitement and Kiras hugged her. Ireheart felt proud that his wife had come up with such a trick. She’s a little scholar herself. Not only a maga, he thought, hurrying to join Tungdil and Balyndar.

The mirrors were adjusted anew to attack the next tower with their dazzling rays. The force of the beam was enough to make all the beasts there quickly evacuate the construction. They could guess what would happen if they stood their ground when the first of the rays started to converge: The whole erection would turn into a blazing inferno, burying many of their number under the burning rubble as it collapsed.

Ireheart’s initial optimism that they might carry the day became a stout conviction. But not yet utter unshakeable certainty.

Lot-Ionan was at the barrier, forcing it to disintegrate once more, but this time the fortress catapult crews held back, fearing the shield might re-form further along, thus causing death and injury to their own soldiers when shots were deflected.

Ireheart attended to his wounded warriors and calculated how many casualties the dwarves had suffered. Some lay on the ground, bleeding, others, with dented helmets and body armor, stayed bravely on their feet.

Tungdil sprang off his pony. “Forward!” he yelled frenetically, brandishing Bloodthirster. “Mow them down!” Then he stormed off, ax gripped in both hands.

The dwarf-army followed him, taking courage from their war-cry chorus, which resounded off the walls of the fortress.

The beasts were rushing into battle formation, obviously in panic.

Reinforcements arriving from the ravine did nothing to calm the enemy’s frenzied endeavors. The recently arrived monsters were infected by their comrades’ nervousness, prompting their furious officers to lash out at their own troops with their long whips, almost as if they were fighting the foe.

The dwarves were now less than a hundred paces from the enemy front rank; suddenly the kordrion’s monstrous head showed itself above the edge of the ravine.

Ireheart immediately recognized it as the one that Tungdil had attacked on his re-emergence from the Black Abyss. The scars and missing eye were obvious.

Swiftly, he placed wax plugs in his ears, as did the others, the surrounding roar of battle immediately being muffled as if coming from a distance.

The kordrion opened its mouth to bellow, and came further up out of the cleft in the rocks.

Ireheart grinned. None of the dwarves had halted. The roar still sounded frightening but it was no longer able to paralyze them, a lack of reaction that clearly disturbed the monsters more than anything.

And their own riposte soon followed. Lot-Ionan fired two bright blue beams at the kordrion, striking him in the neck. Flames erupted, and the creature’s gray flesh blistered from the heat, burning black. The skin burst open and bluish black blood splattered down onto