The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,98

fourthling saw no sign of the beast. “Maybe Lohasbrand has made a deal with the kordrion?”

“No,” contradicted Tungdil at the head of the column. “A kordrion wants total dominance; it’s just like a dragon, though with less mental capacity. Its size doesn’t give it any advantage over a dragon because the scaled beasts are cleverer. The kordrion has ordered its realm and feels at ease, otherwise it wouldn’t be nesting. It’s content to eat without having to hunt. Lohasbrand, on the other hand, functions precisely like a typical dragon: Reigns like a king, exacting tribute from his subjects, and so on.”

“Nice. Charming,” said Slîn peevishly. “But it’s not right that all the monsters should end up coming to us from all over the shop, just to enjoy an easy life.”

Ireheart laughed. “I would love to see them all killed, and to celebrate I’d sing an old song the drunkard Bavragor taught me.”

“Bavragor?” asked Balyndar. “The name rings a bell…”

“He was one of those who accompanied me and never came back,” said Tungdil darkly, speaking over his shoulder. “Is that enough of an answer?”

The fifthling, caught out, nodded.

Tungdil’s grim expression was enough to spur the group on. He rarely said a word and when he did it was a command.

Under cover of the mist they began their ascent to the kordrion’s cave and by nightfall they had reached it. A hole in the cliff, ten paces wide, yawned at them, an overwhelming smell of fresh, damp moss emanating from within.

Ireheart held his crow’s beak in his right hand and stared at the entrance. “You’re sure it’s not at home, Scholar?”

“I wouldn’t have urged you to hurry if it was. Whatever Balyndar thinks of me, I wouldn’t throw us all to the beast as a sacrifice.” The stars were faintly reflected in the gold of his eye patch.

“Hang on! I’ve seen you fighting a kordrion! And if you’d kept on you’d have had him down!” Ireheart butted in.

Tungdil took another deep breath. “This one’s different; I could tell from the way he’s built his eyrie. Sometimes they just drop their eggs and leave the young to their fate. It’s unusual to have an eyrie and a nest. And as for my little victory over a kordrion: I can’t surprise this one, it doesn’t trust me. And it’s been out of captivity for too long, living in the wild. We’d need a dozen or so of me if we wanted to beat this foe.”

“A dozen Scholars? No wonder Balyndis has had no luck.” Ireheart lowered his weapon and helped the others to haul their equipment up onto the narrow ledge. The sledges, cords, cables and hooks, together with their provisions, were suspended on ropes they had anchored to the rock every few paces of their climb.

“We won’t find a better opponent for Lot-Ionan,” Tungdil agreed. He waited until the other dwarves had heaved up and secured their gear, then he spoke. “Eat now, then sleep till I wake you. After that, prepare to be on the run for orbits at a time. You’ll get no more sleep until we’ve got a long way away from the monster. An enraged kordrion can fly very fast.” He drew Bloodthirster. “I’ll take first watch.”

The dwarves looked at one another and went off to the sledges to shut their eyes for a while; with warm rugs of cat fur over them and bearded faces wrapped in scarves, they lay down to rest. They trusted their high king.

Ireheart was unsure what to do. His legs were painful and as heavy as ten sacks of lead shot, but on the other hand he did not want to leave his friend—who had made the same exhausting climb in his peculiar armor—alone on watch.

His eyes were tired and smarting and he could hear his stomach rumbling. “I need something to eat first, Vraccas, or my insides will be louder than a thunderstorm.” He went over to the sledge that held their food supplies. “Then, perhaps, a little smoke, to aid digestion, and the world will look a whole lot better,” he muttered to himself. When he opened the first layer of leather to get at the bread something caught his eye on the edge of the rock they had pulled themselves up over. He was surprised to see a metal retaining hook, shiny and without rust. There was a dusting of snow on it… Hoar frost would have made sense, but snow?

“What does it mean?” He leaned over and brushed the