The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,84

the hero.

Ireheart came to Tungdil’s chamber. A single candle still burned; tiny flames flickered in the fireplace, casting a dark-red glow over the room.

His friend was sitting by the fireplace in full armor, his back to the door. Although his chair was large, he only just fitted. His right hand lay on the pommel of Bloodthirster, while the tip of the weapon rested on the floor. The golden eye patch shimmered blood-red in the firelight and the inlaid patterns on the black tionium armor glowed as if they had come alive, warmed by the flames.

Ireheart saw that food on a plate next to Tungdil was untouched, but the beer jug lay empty on its side. “You’re not happy with how the vote went, Scholar,” he stated.

Tungdil did not answer.

“Scholar?” Ireheart came around the armchair to look at his friend’s face. He was horrified. The remaining brown eye had changed its color, taken over by green whirling patterns. Then dark-yellow spots appeared from the depths and suppressed the green. The black pupil looked glassy and dead.

Ireheart bent forward. “What’s happening…?”

Tungdil’s gaze grew sharp again and once more his eye was brown. “I’m sorry, I was asleep,” he said in greeting, rubbing his face as if he wanted to make sure everything was back in place. “What can I do for you?”

Boïndil pulled his head back, fighting down his astonishment and shock. “I wanted to know how you were feeling. If you were satisfied with how the vote went.” He took a seat opposite Tungdil.

“Is that the real reason you came?” Tungdil was breathing heavily. “Or did you want to see what I get up to when I think no one is watching?”

“You’re surely immune to being taken by surprise in that armor of yours.” Ireheart attempted a light tone, his smile awry.

Tungdil looked at his friend and Ireheart was pleased to see the old familiar expression. He had no doubt about it; this was his true Scholar.

“I didn’t ever ask you what you thought of my suggestion,” Tungdil said. “About how we take on the enemy.”

“Bit late for that now, surely? The decision is made.”

“Yes, I should have taken you into my confidence earlier,” replied Tungdil. “You were a wonderful advocate for me.”

Boïndil smiled amiably. “I can’t leave you to face those obstinate stubborn-heads all by yourself. What kind of comrade would that make me?” He rubbed his brow and put his fingertips together. “It will certainly be dangerous, and undoubtedly there will be much loss of life. I have no illusions on that score. But it could work, because none of the enemies will be expecting a trick like we have planned. We’ll get them with their own weapons.” He muttered into his beard: “Well, at least the black-eyes.”

“You’re sure about this?”

Ireheart considered the matter. “There are many imponderables in your strategy that we can’t influence. What if the älfar kill the Dragon sooner than we intend them to? What if the kordrion doesn’t care about its brood like you assume it does? What if Lot-Ionan only has to snap his fingers to turn the beast to stone?” He folded his arms across his chest. “But I think that’s unlikely.”

“Is that because you are sufficiently desperate to believe anything or because it was me that suggested the plan?”

“I’m in favor because it’s a good plan. Audacious, but good,” replied Ireheart thoughtfully. “I’ve been through so much with you and we’ve made so many impossible things happen, so I don’t have doubts about this.”

Tungdil nodded in silence and stretched out his hand for the jug. Seeing it was empty he swept it from the table. “Do you think the title of high king will suit me?”

That was a question Ireheart would have preferred not to have to answer. “It was my idea, after all. If I hadn’t been convinced of that I wouldn’t have put it to the assembly,” he said, skirting around the difficulty.

“You think it was your idea. But what if my runes had put a spell on you?” Tungdil suggested wearily. “If it was me putting the idea into your head? So that I could get my hands on the title at last, after all those cycles of wanting it. Although I knew under normal circumstances it could never happen? It would never be allowed.” The eyelid fluttered and the eyeball rolled back. He was practically asleep.

“I don’t believe that, Scholar,” said Ireheart quietly as he stood up. “If I don’t want to do something I’m sure nobody