The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,81

awful thought. The warrior screwed up his eyes. The boy’s age would be about right.

“You will want to refresh yourselves…” Frandibar began.

But Tungdil shook his head. “We need to get down to business first,” he interrupted, looking at the clan delegates. “You may find yourselves amazed by what I say but don’t laugh at my words or interrupt me. What I’m going to put to you is the only way to free Girdlegard from the repeated plagues and assaults it now suffers. From what our whole race now suffers.” He walked round the table and reached the place where the table edge had been hacked away. “I am a thirdling and so I shall sit here,” he announced. He held himself very upright, with neither fear nor awe in his expression. It was clear to all that he was accustomed to commanding and being instantly obeyed.

Boïndil was surprised to note that there was no resistance among the clans to what Tungdil had said. The hero was indeed an impressive presence. Or does his appearance make them afraid, and that is why they are submitting?

Gemholder got a servant to bring a chair for Tungdil and the dwarf took his place as if he were the king. As if he were still ruler over a realm and commander-in-chief of an army. “What about the office of high king?” he asked.

“After Ginsgar died and all the things that happened in Girdlegard there was no time to elect a high king to govern all the tribes,” replied Balyndar. “We were all too busy fighting the attackers. And it’s been like that right up until the present orbit, Tungdil.”

“The secondlings have been wiped out, the thirdlings don’t count. What about the firstlings? Have they crawled so deep into their tunnels for fear of the Dragon that they can’t find the way out?” Tungdil looked first at Balyndar, then at Frandibar. “What’s the last you heard from them?”

“There was a letter sent to my mother,” said the fifthling. “A certain Xamtor Boldface was asking for support against the Dragon, but we had to tell him that we don’t have enough soldiers to man an expedition. They would have had to fight their way past the kordrion and across Dragon-land to get to the Red Mountains.” Balyndar’s face went dark. “The Lohasbranders, it is said, kill any dwarf they set eyes on. Our deputation would never have reached the west alive.”

“We thought the same,” agreed the king of the fourthlings. “Queen Balyndis passed on the request to us, but we are having to defend ourselves against the thirdlings and the älfar. We need every weapon and warrior available.”

Tungdil glanced over at the second unoccupied place at the table. “Where are the freelings?” Shoulders were shrugged. “Well, you’ve still got to put a coalition force together to fight for Girdlegard.” Tungdil ran his gauntleted fingers over the broken edge of the table. “A fighting group composed of the best of the fourthlings and fifthlings. Like in the past when we were looking to forge Keenfire.” He stopped. “Did Keenfire ever turn up again?” The dwarves shook their heads. Tungdil reached for his tankard and downed the contents in one; then he slammed it down and appeared to stare into the void.

Ireheart felt the unrest that was spreading through the gathering. The clan chiefs had been expecting more than this.

“Lot-Ionan,” said Tungdil suddenly, and a jolt ran through the assembled company. His voice was deeper now and the sound of it struck fear in their hearts. “He is the last magus, and so, for our race, he is undefeatable. The tribes are in no position to be able to deal with our other adversaries; or, if they could, then only one at a time and with terrible losses. That would only give an advantage to remaining foes.” He banged the table. “If you are mad enough to attack first. But if you let someone else do the spadework and wait with your attack until the enemy has been weakened, then victory is a possibility.”

“What do you mean?” Balyndar wanted to know. He was drinking water, Ireheart noticed, and not touching any food that was heavy or greasy.

“We get the kordrion, the älfar, Lot-Ionan and the Dragon to wage war on each other,” he explained, smiling darkly. “Whoever emerges as the victor will be annihilated by the children of the Smith.”

Balyndar uttered a peculiar sound that turned into mocking laughter. “Simple as that? The four of them have split up