The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,80

the other. There was a hexagonal table in the middle, made of a bluish-gray ogre-eye stone. Each of the tribes had a place accorded them, and the freelings had also been included. The bitter enmity of the thirdlings had led to someone shattering the part of the table originally intended for them. Between the secondlings and thirdlings was a gaping hole.

This was not the only thing that struck the eye; only the representatives of the fifthlings and fourthlings were sitting at their places; there was food and drink arrayed on the table in front of them. The delegates of the various clans sat some distance off on stone benches.

Ireheart saw at once how few were gathered there. His courage started to ebb.

As the two of them entered the room, dwarves stood up and bowed their heads.

“Welcome,” said one dwarf, wearing an ornamental silver cuirass with polished gold inlay. He made no secret of his wealth. It would have been difficult to conceal the brilliance of the dazzling jewels on his armor. He had long blond hair, his sideburns reached to his chest, while the beard on his chin curled down all the way to his belt; the remaining facial hair was smartly trimmed to a finger’s length. “I am Frandibar Gemholder of the clan of the Gold Beaters and I am king of the fourthlings. I bid you both welcome, Tungdil Goldhand and Boïndil Doubleblade, and am glad to be the first in Girdlegard to receive the heroes of our race. It is truly a great honor!” He approached them, stretching out his hand to Tungdil.

The one-eyed dwarf studied the king as if he were dealing with some leprous supplicant. He had to force himself to hold out his own hand, doing so slowly and reluctantly. Ireheart sighed, showing himself eager to greet the king in contrast, and giving a strong handshake.

Then a second dwarf came over from the table. His wavy dark-brown hair was worn in a plait, his beard was short and, in contrast to the ruler of the fourthlings, he wore combat dress that seemed to be a cross between chain mail and lamellar armor. On his weapons belt hung a two-headed morning star studded with spikes, and at his left side there was short-handled throwing ax.

His figure was impressively muscular. The fifthlings were a mixture of different dwarf-tribes and had accepted the heritage of the Gray Range. The original fifthlings, the defenders of the Stone Gate, had all died out, so Ireheart hazarded a guess that this dwarf’s ancestors had been firstlings or secondlings.

“I am Balyndar Steelfinger of the clan of the Steel Fingers, son of Balyndis Steelfinger the First, queen of the tribe of the fifthlings,” he said by way of introduction. “My mother sends her regrets, but she is needed at the Stone Gateway. We are not only dealing with Tion’s monsters but are also having to cope with the ravages of a mysterious fever that has struck down many of the tribe. Her own health is fragile and she is not up to making the long and dangerous journey to the Brown Mountains.” He bowed again. “I have come at her behest to find out what the hero of Girdlegard has to tell us. I must say straight off that my mother has her doubts: She does not believe Lot-Ionan can ever be defeated.”

Ireheart looked at Tungdil, struck by the resemblance between his old friend and this young dwarf. The chin, mouth and nose were almost identical and their voices were so similar in intonation. By Vraccas! If I didn’t know better I’d take them for father and son. A swift glance to Gemholder showed that the same thing had occurred to the king.

Tungdil watched the queen’s son, opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, sounding as if he had really intended to say something quite different. “We thought the sickness curse on the northern realm was banished for all time.”

“Tion’s power has grown. No surprise, considering what’s been going on in Girdlegard,” replied Balyndar. “But thank you for your sympathy.” He nodded to the older dwarf.

Ireheart’s eyes whizzed to and fro; he compared the dwarves as unobtrusively as possible and found his first impression confirmed.

Balyndis had been Tungdil’s companion, but he had rejected her and selected an undergroundling as his mate: Sirka. Balyndis had gone to the fifthlings and been welcomed again by the king; soon she shared his throne and bore a son.

What an