The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,252

of them. One hundred particularly large challenges.

They came to a halt behind the dwarf and, at a shouted command, rammed the points of their shields down into the earth so that it shook at the impact. Then a second unit came marching out of the abyss, similarly armored, taking up position behind the front line. These beasts were holding scythe-like weapons; the shafts were reinforced with iron bands and the top ends were equipped with spikes the length of a finger.

The dwarf in vraccasium armor waited until the clash and clank had ceased, then took his two hammers and slammed them into one another, creating a cacophonous metallic noise, loud and extraordinarily unpleasant. Ireheart shook his head to deal with it. Wax plugs were no help. He looked at Tungdil, who had also led his troops in the first phase of the battle to victory. Thus roughly eight thousand fighting-fit children of the Smith were confronting two hundred opponents. This should be pure slaughter. But the size of their adversaries was no clue to their skill in combat.

One of the giant soldiers stepped up next to his master. “He who bears many names demands to know,” his voice echoed over the battlefield, “where the thief is who stole his armor. Who betrayed him. Who tried to kill him as a coward kills.”

At that, Goda put her bugle to her lips and gave the guards on the battlements a new command. At once the mirrored rays focused on the unknown dwarf, aiming to cook him inside his own armor!

Balyndar had fought his way through the enemy ranks at Tungdil’s side. He would never have considered himself a clumsy or unwieldy fighter, but that was the way he came across next to the agility of the one-eyed dwarf. While the fifthling was still busy dealing with extricating Keenfire out of enemy flesh after one deadly strike, Tungdil had already sliced up two opponents and was hurling himself on the third. Bloodthirster was a frightening weapon and was giving all honor to its name.

Balyndar had tried his level best but was unable to keep up.

Coïra and Lot-Ionan, preserving their strength, were leaving all the vanquishing up to the dwarves. The fifthling thought this strategy eminently sensible.

Their victory had been shockingly easy and they had allowed themselves a few moments’ respite before marching onwards to the Black Abyss.

Balyndar tried to locate Slîn but could see no sign of him. The threat the fourthling had made against him was not going to stop him doing what he and Goda had planned. Girdlegard had to be made safe for the next thousand cycles and that would only happen if every source of danger were eradicated. Every single one!

He noted that it had grown quieter but then a painfully loud cry assaulted his ears, making him start. Balyndar turned and saw the dwarf in red-gold armor in front of new adversaries. Quickly he pushed through to reach Tungdil’s side. Lot-Ionan and Coïra joined them.

He could see the maga was frightened. This would be her first real experience of warfare, and that encounter with Sisaroth had left her with mental scars that had yet to heal. All the blood, the stink from steaming torn guts, the debris and the shouts were all hard to bear for the young woman.

Balyndar reckoned she would soon withdraw to seek safety in the fortress. So he touched her gently on the elbow and smiled at her encouragingly. It did not occur to him that he was no reassuring sight with his filthy smeared face and Keenfire dripping blood.

Coïra’s smile was more of a grimace, and he noticed that her leather armor bore traces of vomit.

There was movement on the other side of the battlefield. One of the gigantic warriors had stepped up next to the dwarf in vraccasium armor. “He who bears many names,” so echoed the voice, “demands to know where the thief is who stole his armor. Who betrayed him. Who tried to kill him as a coward kills.”

Tungdil lifted his visor and opened his mouth to reply, but a bugle sounded.

The mirrors focused the beams and targeted the unknown dwarf, whose armor glowed in response.

“Excellent!” cheered Balyndar. Magic would be no help here, as the monsters had recently found out behind their seemingly impregnable barrier. “He’ll be stewed like a rabbit in a pot.”

“What infernal idiocy,” Tungdil exclaimed, shouting out his orders. The dwarves were to gather into a single army, with himself, Lot-Ionan, Coïra and Balyndar at the