The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,39

lovely face. On her brow a dark diadem made of tionium, silver and gold bore two large sparkling diamonds.

Hindrek felt a red-hot surge of jealousy that even the gentle song could not soften. It should be him there at her feet, not his son! Her delicate fingers should be stroking his head. What did the boy know of love and emotions?

His ill-will grew. When Cobert laid his cheek on the woman’s hand and planted a kiss, Hindrek launched himself at his son’s back with a roar and drove his hunting knife in through the ribs to the heart.

The singing stopped.

“Get away from her!” he screamed, hurling the corpse aside as if it were a sack of grain. “She is mine,” he continued, his voice turning to a whisper. “I heard her first,” and he sank onto his knees in the blood-soaked snow. He dropped his arms and gazed longingly at the silent, smiling woman. He waited for her to touch him as she had touched Cobert. He raised his head and closed his eyes in anticipation. “Please, goddess, sing for me,” he begged.

“What will you do for me, Hindrek?” she asked, reaching out to touch his cheek. “If I am to sing for you there is a price to pay.”

“Anything,” he answered at once through quivering lips. His body was racked with the pain of intense longing to hear those tones again, to hear them constantly until the end of his days. The voice must never stop. She must sing for him alone.

“Go back to your cabin and bring me the heads of your wife and child,” said the beauty seductively. “Then I shall sing for you again.” He opened his eyes and saw her bending over him. Her lips so nearly touched his own. “I shall sing you the song of lust.”

Hindrek jumped up and ran off. He ran back the way he had come, hearing her voice, the sounds of her song, urging him ever faster, giving him untold energy; he raced home like the wind.

It had grown dark. Lamps were burning inside the cabin and smoke rose from the chimney. The horses had been unharnessed and there was a small pile of firewood by the chopping block.

The woodsman marched up to the house gasping for breath; with both hands he pulled the chopper out of the block. It would serve well to sever heads from shoulders. He did not want to make the singer, whose voice he heard in his head, wait any longer. The song of lust—he shivered in anticipation.

The door was pulled open and Ortram, on the threshold, called out in relief, “Mother, he’s back. But where is Cobert?” The boy’s eyes grew wide as he noted the blood on his father’s coat. “What’s happened?”

Qelda appeared in the doorway, looking at her husband in concern. “Hindrek? What’s wrong? Where is the boy?”

The familiar sound of her voice ruined the memory of the woman’s song and the man stood there, his ax half raised. He blinked and saw the faces of his wife and son before him.

“I…” Try as he might he could not explain what had happened. “I was on the sledge…” Hindrek turned to the barn. “There was a voice, a song…” He attempted to hum the melody but in his mouth it sounded awful. “I followed her…”

Horror on her face, Qelda came up to him and gripped the handle of the ax. “Hindrek, where is Cobert? And whose is the blood on your coat?”

Her voice sounded discordant and shrill to his ears, so ugly in comparison with the enchanting singer’s tones. It hurt. His face brightened. “The woman! In the forest… she sang for me.”

“Mama,” wept Ortram, running up and clasping his mother’s waist. “What’s wrong with father?”

Then they heard the strange melody again.

Silkily, it drifted out from the edges of the forest to their ears, taking their minds in thrall.

“Mama, there it is again!” the boy whispered.

“Be quiet!” shouted Hindrek, glaring at the boy in fury. “You sound like a rat squealing!”

His wife retreated in horror, pulling the boy with her. “Get back in the house,” she said quickly, giving her husband a wide berth. There was only one explanation: “Your father is possessed by the forest spirits.”

Hindrek’s features darkened in distaste. “Silence! Stop that terrible screeching!” He lifted the ax, remembering the beauty’s words to him. The promise of the song of lust. The price he had to pay.

Before Qelda could speak, he struck out.

The blade went through her neck; Hindrek