The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,66

her uninjured arm to protect her head. Every blow cut into her skin. There were thorns plaited into the birch twigs that worked like the teeth of a saw. When she reached for her sword she was kicked in the head, landing backwards in the lake.

“Watch out, Firûsha, or she’ll drown,” said her brother in reproach. “We have so much planned for her. Tie up the wound in her arm or she’ll bleed to death. The nightmare was obviously hungry.”

Mallenia saw the älf leaning over her, then the gloved hands grabbed her by the collar, dragging her back to land. “She must not have a death as gentle as that.” She punched the young woman on the chin to knock her out. When the girl’s body went limp, the älf took Mallenia’s belt and applied it tightly above the bite wound. The bleeding stopped at once. “What now, Sisaroth?”

The älf brother looked at the captive. “Get her back to Idoslane alive. The rebels’ saint, their hope and inspiration, must be broken,” he said. “We shall execute her in front of all of them. Then the uprising will be destroyed. The rebels will lose their cause. There is no one to take her place.”

Firûsha looked up at her brother, still mounted on his nightmare. “Isn’t there a big danger that a public execution will increase the risk of rebellion?”

Sisaroth smiled cruelly. “I certainly hope so. We’ll put down the rebellion, killing all those involved in the resistance. They’ll come, to try and free Mallenia, and they’ll be met by death.”

“A good plan.” But Firûsha was still looking unconvinced.

“I see you have second thoughts,” he enquired. “You think not?”

“No. I’m thinking what Aiphatòn will say.”

The älf laughed out loud, throwing his head back. “Our ruler, the Unextinguishable Emperor, is much too busy keeping up the morale of his followers in the south.” He dismounted and came up to her. “A weak fool, despite the power he has. He is afraid of a coup. What has become of him? In the past I would have died for him; now I would stand back and let him die first.” The pebbles made no sound when he trod. “I had such great hopes of him, the descendant of the Unslayables, after he had defeated Lot-Ionan! He spoke as if he wanted to bring back the glorious reign of the first generation of älfar. Instead, he dragged a collection of second-rate älfar here to Girdlegard and he behaves like their servant! We never needed them in the first place. But this will all change. And soon.”

Firûsha frowned. “You’re keeping something from me, brother! Tell me what you know.”

Sisaroth grinned. “I learned that they’ve made the Unextinguishable Emperor promise to march against the magus this very cycle.”

Firûsha’s eyes grew big. “That will be a hard war and will cost thousands of lives! Why would they do that?”

“To ensure access to the south is opened up again. Several of the inferior packs in the Outer Lands are waiting to be admitted. Aiphatòn doesn’t realize that he’s about to lose his power to foreign hands.” Sisaroth stood by Mallenia and studied her face. “That’s why it’s important to calm the situation in Urgon, Idoslane and Gauragar. Before the war starts. Let them march south.” He lowered his voice. “We agree, you and I, that we shan’t let them into Dsôn Balsur, sister?”

“Agreed, as ever,” came the instant answer. “Not into any of the three former elf realms. They belong to us, the Dsôn Aklán, not the foreigners.” She emitted a high tone to summon the nightmare Mallenia had ridden. It trotted up, its head lowered, and came to a halt, snorting, in front of the älf woman. The girl’s blood could be seen round its nostrils and mouth.

Firûsha drew her sword at lightning speed and cut off the creature’s head with one mighty swipe. The nightmare and its severed head fell to the ground, blood drenching the captive girl from head to foot.

“Eat the traitor,” Firûsha commanded the other nightmares. Greedily they began to gorge themselves on the creature’s warm flesh. The long chase had made them hungry.

“What are two älfar doing here in Weyurn?” asked a woman’s voice diagonally above them; their hands flew to the hilts of their swords as they whirled round simultaneously. “The Dragon won’t like that.”

Sisaroth and Firûsha saw a black-haired woman in fine raiment standing on the crest of the dunes; she carried no weapons. Her eyes shone brighter than those of a