The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,45

troops a view of the Black Abyss. Goda had a defense spell at the ready.

They were all astonished to find there was a new energy sphere in place over the abyss. It had an uneven reddish shimmer, seeming thicker here and there. But this time the edges reached nearly up to the four gates and the walls.

“Was that you?” Ireheart stared at Goda.

“No,” she replied in surprise. She could still feel the fragment of diamond between her fingers. “It must be the enemy’s magus.”

Tungdil came up to them. He was accompanied by frenetic cheers and shouts and the thundering of weapons on shields. He was not remotely out of breath after his exertions.

Goda did not look at him, pretending instead that she had to keep her eyes on the Black Abyss. Ireheart stretched out his hand in welcome. “Excellent stuff, Scholar! Excellent! Like old times! Vraccas can be proud of you, just as I am!”

“Very flattering. In the old days I wasn’t anything like as good,” he responded with a curt smile, before turning to watch the pulsing red shield, his face draining of all color.

“Goda reckoned you’d gone straight off to Girdlegard and left us high and dry,” Ireheart continued, moving to his friend’s side. “Praise be to Vraccas that you stayed. Who knows how the orbit would have ended otherwise.”

“The orbit isn’t over yet. Let’s see how useful I can be to Evildam.” Tungdil ignored Goda totally and stepped forward to the parapet to observe the energy dome, turning to his friend. “It’s worse than I thought,” he confided. “We must travel to Girdlegard at once.”

“I’m glad you’ve changed your mind about helping…” began Boïndil; then he paused, rubbing his silvery black beard. He didn’t understand quite what Tungdil had meant. “Why do we have to go there? Here’s where the threat is! And, by Vraccas, a threat indeed!”

“A threat you can do nothing about,” replied Tungdil quietly. “Not you, not Goda and not me.”

“But…” began Ireheart helplessly.

Tungdil beckoned him over and pointed to the ravine. “They will gather under the protection of the barrier, right up to its edges; no one will be able to stop them,” he predicted. “They’ll build towers and ladders at their leisure; they’ll make battering rams and put them in position. The whole of the plain at all four points of the compass will be swarming with those cruel beasts. Then the dome will go and they’ll attack.” He placed his hand on Ireheart’s shoulder. “You took immense trouble constructing Evildam, Boïndil, and it is a proud fortress, but it will fall.” He stretched out the hand that held Bloodthirster. “They have someone on their side I thought was long dead. We need a magus to combat him. And, from what I hear, only Lot-Ionan could do that.”

“But Lot-Ionan is evil,” retorted Goda. “He no longer serves the cause of good.”

“Exactly. That’s why we need him,” said Tungdil gently, looking at her; she dropped her gaze to hide her guilty conscience.

Ireheart had not noticed. “That won’t work. He’ll destroy us if we get close!! He has vowed to become the sole ruler of Girdlegard. He’ll never help us voluntarily.”

Tungdil replaced Bloodthirster in its sheath. “Then we will have to defeat him and force him to serve us.” His smile was colder than frost.

“You’ve gone mad, Scholar!” the dwarf-twin exclaimed. “By Vraccas, you’re talking about Lot-Ionan, the magus! Your foster-father! Do you remember what power he possessed when you left us? Can you imagine what he is capable of now?”

“We’ll get a nice little army ready for him. An army of his enemies.” Tungdil remained calm. “That would be, if I’ve understood you correctly: A dragon, a kordrion and Aiphatòn with his älfar,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Perhaps we can get the thirdlings to join in as well. If they can dig up a magus or maga in Girdlegard that hates Lot-Ionan as much as your Goda does, then we’re well away.”

Boïndil gave a hollow laugh, fell silent, then he laughed again a couple of times, raising his arms in a gesture of mock despair. “We are lost. I have a madman here who believes in all seriousness that his ridiculous project will succeed,” he cried, grabbing hold of his crow’s beak. “Vraccas, you are cruel!”

“Stop complaining, Ireheart,” Tungdil laughed at him. “Perhaps I’ll have another idea, a better one. And anyway, it was you who always liked a challenge.” He nodded to the dwarf-woman. “Goda and your children will stay