The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,253

head of it.

“Why? Do you call it idiocy because it wasn’t you who thought it up?” Balyndar was proud that Goda had come up with the trick with the mirrors.

“She ought to have asked me,” snarled Tungdil, sounding as dangerous as a wild animal. “This is exactly what I didn’t want to have happen.” He pointed to the dwarf. “Now he will use all his energy to make us pay.”

“Your instruction was that no one should confront him,” Balyndar began, wanting to excuse Goda’s action.

The one brown eye flashed in fury and Balyndar could see it change color as Tungdil glared at him! Uncanny green clouds and spirals whirled and black spidery lines shot out across the skin under the golden eye patch. “Trying to kill him: Would you not call that confronting him? It certainly is in my book.”

Balyndar was still reeling from shock. He had never seen weird black lines like these except on an älf: Never on a dwarf before. “Proof, at last,” he murmured, watching Keenfire’s diamonds sparkle. “My conscience will be clear.”

The vraccasium-clad dwarf clashed his hammers one against the other, and hardly had the noise rung out than the burnished shields on the battlements disintegrated. The soldiers who had been holding them and directing the light were suddenly blasted with sharp fragments and fell in chaotic disarray. Loud cries of fear and agony rang out.

“That,” Tungdil told Balyndar darkly, “was only the beginning. An initial flash of lightning before the storm proper.” He nodded to Lot-Ionan and stepped forward.

As the two sections of the dwarf-army came together, the one-eyed dwarf and magus moved away, heading toward the enemy.

Balyndar followed, pulling Coïra along by the sleeve; from the other side he could see Goda and Ireheart approach. Of Slîn there was still no sign.

The monster warrior who had served the enemy dwarf as a mouthpiece raised his voice once more: “He who bears many names laughs at your pathetic attempt to harm him. For the present he will be lenient and not impose harsher punishment. He will spare the fortress and all the lands on this and the other side of the mountains. If the thief is surrendered…”

“Save your breath,” Tungdil retorted. “You will neither pardon nor be lenient. You are here to kill.” He held Bloodthirster out. “Once, this weapon spared your life. It will not happen a second time.”

Ireheart watched the ranks of enemy warriors. They must carry special powers or why else would they confront our vastly superior numbers? Or perhaps they were extremely stupid. “What do you know about these soldiers?” he said under his breath to Tungdil.

“No idea,” his friend replied, without turning his head. “But even in those relatively small numbers they’ll be dangerous. Or he wouldn’t have brought them out.”

“He who bears many names will make this offer only once. Everything that subsequently happens will be your own fault,” the spokesman called out, while his master stood motionless at his side, hammers held loosely in his hands.

The undergroundlings appeared at the army’s flank and saw that they had arrived too late for the first battle. Kiras, their leader, called them to a halt. A few thousand more adversaries to confront the fighters from the ravine.

Is that all there’s going to be? Ireheart kept expecting another wave of Tion’s monsters to surge up out of the Black Abyss, maybe another kordrion, a dragon or two, anything that would stand at the side of these pitiful two hundred creatures for the inevitable battle. He was getting ever more concerned that no extra troops were appearing on the other side. “When’s it going to start?” he whispered. “Scholar, how long do we wait?”

Tungdil took two paces forward. “Here stands a famulus to challenge his master!” he called. “Let us see who prevails. After that, the armies can meet in battle if they still care to.”

Thundering and clanking, the contingent of humans appeared and the ubariu army crested the wall of rock. They, too, took up their formations. Thus the pincer movement was complete and the last two hundred and one enemies were surrounded.

Ireheart found the tension unbearable. “How can he remain so calm?” he asked.

“Goldhand or the other one?” responded Balyndar.

“The other one.” Ireheart scanned the gathered forces of humans, ubariu, undergroundlings and dwarves. “Even I would be a bit nervous faced with this lot.”

“Not if you had a pact with your supposed enemy,” Balyndar remarked, glancing at Goda. “It could be that we are the victims of the most scurrilous,