The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,260

deep green.

“I knew the dwarves would be able to manage without me,” he said, laughing. “I saved my magic for now.”

Balyndar was about to fall on the magus, but suddenly all the discarded weapons rose up out of the swamp and aimed themselves at him.

“Nobody comes near me unless I permit them to.” Lot-Ionan looked at the kordrion. “A useful animal. It is keeping the army occupied for me so I’ll have less killing to do before I go back to Girdlegard. My dream of reigning supreme is coming true.” He made a bow to Tungdil. “Thanks to you, foster-son. Without you I should never have achieved all this.”

“There you are,” Balyndar crowed. “He is a traitor!”

“No. Quite the opposite,” continued the magus. Lightning flashed out of the sphere, hitting Tungdil’s armor. Not a single rune shimmered in defensive warning. The energy struck his breast and hurled him backwards, where he fell next to the corpse of his former master. “He meant what he said. Only I don’t hold with making bargains and pacts with creatures who are not worthy of my discourse. However, he gave me the opportunity to concern myself more closely with the protective spells on the armor.” Lot-Ionan smirked. “Very helpfully.”

“I’m going to cut you right out of your stupid hood.” Ireheart took a threatening step forward.

“Take one more step and your wife will be blown into tiny pieces,” the magus warned him calmly.

Ireheart stopped short. “What are you waiting for then? Why don’t you go ahead and kill us both now?”

“I may need you again.” Lot-Ionan followed the kordrion’s movements as it rampaged through the undergroundlings’ ranks, killing its victims with swift bites. “On the other hand it should be sufficient if I just have you stuffed.”

The swords floating in front of Balyndar advanced. He managed to deflect three blades, but then the next ones dug into his flesh, stabbing him in the body, arms and legs. Only neck and head remained whole. He tipped over into the swamp, moaning, and lost consciousness.

“Enough!” thundered a clear voice. “I can stop you, Lot-Ionan. Your days as an insane magus are over at last!”

Ireheart was flabbergasted to see Rodario on the battlefield. In his right hand he was holding a smoke diamond… the very smoke diamond Ireheart had once handed back to Tungdil after it had been dropped in Evildam!

“This artifact will seal your destruction!” The actor spoke clearly, enunciating his words and projecting his voice as if this were the climax of a tragedy on stage. As he approached the small group he said, “I know its power and shall use it without a second thought, no matter how you may have served us in the past.” He held the stone out in front of himself as if it were a shield.

Lot-Ionan raised his eyebrows then laughed outright. “An actor, am I right? Looks like Rodario and talks like him. An excellent performance. But completely useless.” He sent a magic beam that focused precisely on the stone.

The smoke diamond flared up in Rodario’s fingers and crumbled instantly to black powder.

“By Samusin! I could have sworn it was going to be really important,” said a disappointed Rodario.

“No, it wasn’t,” gloated the magus. “Let us bring this to an end, before…”

Half a dozen red flashes shot out, crackling behind him. Lot-Ionan was forced forward and stumbled over Goda; she tore herself free and drew her dagger to stab the magus in the throat, but his sphere of energy halted her action by thrusting itself against her forehead. She collapsed without a word.

“Goda!” Ireheart raced forward, forgetting that his crow’s beak was still stuck in the enemy he had been fighting.

Covered in filth, Coïra was less than ten paces away from them waving her hands for another spell. Finally she had been able to overcome her paralyzing terror.

Lot-Ionan stayed on his knees, also working on a spell.

There was a humming sound and a crossbow bolt slammed through the magus’s back into his heart. Slîn had scored once more, but Lot-Ionan was still alive, the danger that he might loose a final violent magic strike still remaining.

Shrieking with fury, Ireheart raced over, snatching up Keenfire as he passed. Whirling it above his head he followed through with a horizontal blow to Lot-Ionan’s throat.

A sparkling trail appeared in the ax-head’s wake and a wave of heat wafted back to the dwarf—and then he hit home!

The sharply polished diamonds cleaved the wizard’s neck so that the head flew off in a wide