The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,97

gray rock walls were rough as a whetstone and contact with anything metal caused ridges and scratches. Ireheart made use of the chance to sharpen the tip of his spike. The others took care not to scrape along the abrasive walls by accident. It would do no favors to armor, clothing or skin.

Apart from Balyndar, Tungdil, Slîn and Boïndil, the expedition had the three warriors from the fourthling tribe with them. Balyndis had sent along five of her fifthlings, all of them excellent in combat; they pulled their equipment behind them on the sledges they intended to use for transporting the kordrion’s young.

Tungdil stopped in the middle of the path and lifted his head, breathing in the clear, icy air.

“The nest,” Balyndar went on, “will be on the southern side of the Dragon’s Tongue. It always lays its eggs in the south. The monster digs a hole into the rock; we’ll see it from quite a distance. It’s like a large cave, so huge the entrance can’t be concealed. After leaving the ravine it’ll take us another half-orbit to get to it. We’ll need another full orbit for the ascent.”

“What are you doing, Scholar?” Ireheart wanted to know.

“Smelling,” he said bluntly. “We need to hurry.” He speeded up, making for the end of the ravine.

Balyndar glanced at Ireheart, who shrugged in response. “Can you be a bit more specific?” Ireheart asked his friend. “I don’t object to running but I want to know why I’m having to.”

“The eggs are nearly ready to hatch!” Tungdil called back over his shoulder.

Ireheart’s own deliberately loud sniff echoed back from the walls. “Can’t smell a thing.” He trotted up to his friend.

“That’s because you don’t know what to expect. Did you notice the mossy odor?”

“Yes, of course…” Boïndil fell silent. Then, after a moment’s thought, he exclaimed, “By Vraccas! It didn’t mean anything to me. I should have noticed that everything green here is covered in snow and anything containing water frozen solid. The moss should be the same.”

“There you are, you see. If I give you a tiny clue you can work it out for yourself.”

Tungdil emerged out into the light. A veil of mist was slowly rising in the warmth of the sun. “Excellent cover for our climb!” he said, signaling to the group to move faster. “We could be up there by nightfall.”

“Hardly. It’s a difficult climb,” Balyndar contradicted him. “The next stretch is notorious for snowdrifts. And we’ll need to conserve energy. We’ve got an exhausting dash ahead of us with the kordrion breathing down our necks.”

Tungdil had not slackened his pace and was a considerable distance ahead. Ireheart assumed this was his way of showing that he did not intend to discuss his commands with anyone. This mission is definitely going to be loads of fun.

“He’s going to get us all killed,” Balyndar protested, starting to run. The rest followed suit.

“Ah, many’s the time we thought that in the past, but the Scholar always found a way out,” Boïndil reassured him. “And anyway, he’s the high king. He’s allowed to.” He showed his teeth in a smile to show it had been a joke.

“And how many never returned?” asked Slîn. But when he saw Boïndil’s face he did not persist. “Charming,” he murmured, panting a little from the weight of his crossbow. “Vraccas, let me be one of those who make it back home again,” muttered Slîn. “In one piece.” As he ran he grabbed a drink of water. “So what does the kordrion do all day in the Gray Mountains? It’s a pretty lonely, dead-end sort of place it rules over here.”

“It doesn’t rule over anywhere,” snarled Balyndar who felt this was addressed to him. “It’s a verminous pest infesting the area.” He pointed south toward Girdlegard. “From what we hear, it flies off to the long-uns. After it’s wiped out a few villages, the humans voluntarily put gifts of food out on the fields to keep it off their backs. The areas it’s been targeting are in the former Gauragar and in Urgon and Tabaîn. So it affects the Dragon Lohasbrand as much as the älfar and their vassals. But none of them dares brave the mountains to get to the eyrie.”

Slîn sniffed contemptuously. “Real heroes, then.”

“It’s easier for everyone to wait and see when the fifthlings will finish it off,” Ireheart added cynically. “I should be angrier, but since their cowardice may be a help to us, my fury has almost faded away. But only almost.”

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