The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,49

in the floor.

“Naked!” Rodario shook his head and sighed, going over to the hole and looking down. If he was not very much mistaken, the princess had already slipped out of her mantle and was unbuttoning her blouse. “I’d have been so glad to hold her clothes for her.”

“You’re not the only one, but there’s only one man she cares about: The unknown poet,” said Loytan crossly, helping himself to tea. “Do you want a cup? To warm you up?”

Rodario looked down again and thought he could catch sight of shimmering skin. One’s imagination could play such tricks… “Something to cool me down, rather,” he replied, and his rejoinder was met with laughter.

“Good one!” the count laughed. He handed over a cup of hot tea regardless. “I think the unknown poet’s days are numbered,” he continued. “Now that we know who he is.” Loytan’s expression became thoughtful, the stubble giving him an older, manly look. “The Lohasbranders will wipe out his family and village.”

“But they won’t be able to destroy the dreams of freedom,” Rodario replied as he sipped his tea, his eyes never shifting from the bottom of the shaft. “Impossible.”

In the depths there came an azure shimmer, illuminating the bottom third of the shaft walls like blue jewels in the sun. He could see the silhouette of the young woman, and in his mind’s eye he could imagine her naked. Unclothed and desirable.

He gave a deep sigh and turned away. “She will never love a man such as me,” he murmured, downcast.

Loytan raised his cup in salute. “That makes two of us, my actor friend!”

He glanced at the nobleman. “But you are married!”

“Of course,” he said awkwardly. “I just wanted you not to feel so alone.” Loytan drank his tea. “As for being alone, what about your own family? You’ve been seen at the side of a notorious rebel—is there someone that needs to be protected from the Lohasbranders?”

Rodario shook his head. “No. My parents are long dead and there’s no one else. Apart from the descendants of the Incredible One, and I don’t think the Dragon would go as far as to kill all of them.”

“You never know.” Loytan sat down. “You’ve been up for the contest eight times now and came last again. Why don’t you give up?”

Rodario smiled sadly and fiddled with his beard. “I promised someone I’d keep entering until I won.” He emptied his cup. “I know what you’re going to say: An impossible endeavor. But one day, I swear…”

Loytan raised his hand. “You said that before and I still don’t believe it. Especially now they’re looking for you. You won’t be able to return to Mifurdania and go on stage.”

“Except maybe for my own execution,” he joked. “And that would be a performance… Nobody could steal that show.” He tossed his hair back theatrically.

“Hear, hear! Another flash of wit. And coming from you! Respect, friend. You’re improving. I agree.” Loytan placed his feet on the table, folded his hands and prepared for a nap. “It may be a long time before the princess gets back up.” He closed his eyes. “Help yourself to more tea. And think up something appropriate to say in greeting to the rightful queen of Weyurn. Unlike her daughter, she’s a stickler for etiquette.”

Rodario drank his tea, placed the empty cup on the table and wandered over to the spy-hole again. The lighting effects in the shaft were still in full swing.

He looked over to Loytan, already snoring, then studied the ropes going down into the depths of the shaft. “You’re a descendant of the Incredible Rodario,” he told himself, screwing up his courage and pulling his gloves out of his belt and putting them on. He discarded the mantle; it would get in the way. “Here we go. Try something that would have impressed the Incredible One. You’ve made a fool of yourself often enough, even though it was in a good cause.”

With one bound he reached up and grabbed the wire cables. Then, with more agility than he’d ever shown on stage, he went down the rope, hand over hand, letting himself down toward the bluish light.

In some places gaps between the iron plates were allowing trickles of water through; elsewhere, regular mini-fountains shot between corroded elements in the structure. However, the walls were holding solidly, despite the rust that had formed in thick layers. The structure had presumably not been intended for long-term use.

Rodario could not assess whether the Weyurn folk had the necessary skills