The Revenge of the Dwarves (51 page)

Then the creature leaped on to the street to face Tungdil, bared its teeth triumphantly and let the chains sway and dance.

“I shall kill you all,” it promised in a clear voice. A jerk with one arm was sufficient and the chain killed one of the undergroundlings as the tip smashed the dwarf’s head.

Sirka appeared at Tungdil’s side. “Let’s get going. I’ll distract it and you strike,” she said earnestly, attacking the monster without waiting for Tungdil’s reply.

While she was moving in on the creature the second chain came whipping out and wrapped itself around her weapon, making the iron glow red hot.

With a scream the undergroundling released her hold but she was not giving up. She drew a dagger and stabbed at the monster.

Tungdil swung Keenfire, swiveled on his heel and slashed at the thigh of his huge opponent. The ax flamed up, diamonds blazing out a cold light and the weapon-head drawing a fiery circle after itself.

The creature saw the danger and swerved to the side, taking the relatively harmless dagger-blow to its belly and avoiding the swipe from Keenfire. The ax had missed by a hair’s breadth.

But the long spur of a crow’s beak smote it on the kneecap. “Ha, how do you like my brother’s ax, froggy?” came Ireheart’s malicious laugh, as he jerked the haft of his weapon to bring the monster down. “You didn’t think that I would hold back when I can kill this beast, did you, Scholar?”

The creature yelled out. In the high elf-like tones the animal sounds of an orc-voice could be heard. Then it thrust its hand out and grabbed Ireheart by the shoulder. The älfar runes on its forearms started to glow.

The dwarf cried out, held stubbornly fast to the handle of his crow’s beak and kept pulling.

“Mind out!” Tungdil swung Keenfire again. This time the blade bit home and the monster’s forearm sheared off, together with the wrist guards and the chains.

The enemy stared at the severed arm and at its own gushing black blood, staggered backwards and launched itself howling from the floor. In spite of its injury and the crow’s beak in its knee it managed to jump onto the next roof. Thatch and shingles tumbled down to the street. The monster had gone.

Goda ran off after it.

“Stop! Come back!” Ireheart crouched on the floor. A cloud of steam rose from his shoulder and there was a smell of burnt flesh, hot iron and scorched leather. “Look at that! Froggy’s got me!” he spoke through clenched teeth. “We nearly did for it, though?”

Tungdil saved his remonstrations; the pain was punishment enough for his friend. The mail tunic had heated up with the effect of the magic and had burnt through all the layers of clothing, stencilling a black pattern. “You are mad, Boïndil,” he said, helping him to his feet. “Let’s find Goda.”

The dwarf-girl was back already. In her hands she bore the bloodied crow’s beak, its spur missing. “I heard it break and went off to see,” she explained, handing the weapon to her master.

“That fine spur,” he grumbled, examining the damage and running his hands over the jagged edge. “I’ll have to get it repaired.”

Goda slipped under his arm to support him and he used the remains of the crow’s beak as a stick. “You must rest now and get that wound looked at.”

“Oh that’s nothing,” he said, playing it down. “I’ve had worse than that, great gaping wounds with blood and guts spilling out. A bit of burnt skin is not tragic.”

Tungdil looked at the group of dwarves round Dergard, then at Risava’s body, already starting to grow cold. “So now we have only two magi,” he murmured. “We’ll have to protect them well. This won’t be the last attack.” He gave the signal to return to their quarters and was just about to send a messenger to call in the assembly when a soldier came running up.

“There you are, Tungdil Goldhand! King Bruron is looking for you everywhere. The monster has stolen the final diamond,” gasped the man. “It happened during the performance. It surprised us all. We had no chance to stop it. We need you there so they can decide what to do next.”

“Damn! The froggy had the stone. And we’ve let it escape,” groaned Ireheart. “Oh Vraccas! How did that happen?”

Tungdil exhaled sharply and looked at Sirka. “The dwarves and the undergroundlings have one thing in common at least.” He wanted to clap her on the shoulder in acknowledgment, but put his hand on her back instead and to his own surprise left it there. She held a strong attraction for him. He watched her face, thought about that kiss and would have gladly repeated it. Now, right now.

“Courage?” she said, laughing.

“Exactly,” he agreed swiftly, because he had left far too long a pause and had been staring at her. His behavior had been noted by Ireheart and Goda. He swiftly took his hand away from Sirka’s back. First he had to talk to Balyndis.

They hurried through Porista’s lanes and narrow streets, now full of guards.

“One more thing, Tungdil Goldhand,” the messenger addressed him. “We found a dead body in your room. It looks as if he had been stabbed and died as a result of his injuries.”

“That can’t be so,” Tungdil replied at once, as they approached the assembly marquee. “He was an intruder I confronted. I wounded him on the leg and on his side. The injuries weren’t dangerous.”

“Very strange. I saw the dead man myself and I assure you, the body had been carefully slit right up the middle.”

“The froggy! The monster got to him as well!” Ireheart exclaimed, looking at Dergard and the dwarf-guards who surrounded him. “Don’t leave him for a second, even if he needs to have a shit, right?”

Tungdil and Sirka exchanged glances and he could read her thoughts: The monster might have ripped the man to pieces, chucked him off a roof, torn his throat out, but it would never have sliced him through with a clean sharp blade. He would know more when he had seen the body.

The undergroundling came to his side, her hand this time on his back. She put her face down to his ear. “I think you have a traitor in your midst, Tungdil,” she whispered.

He shared her assumption. The thirdlings had a long arm and it reached all the way to Porista.

Girdlegard
,

Kingdom of Gauragar
,

Porista
,

Summer, 6241st Solar Cycle

U
nder the circumstances I don’t think it would be advisable to split our forces,” said Ortger. “Tungdil Goldhand must protect the magus with Keenfire until he is able to defend himself against the attacks from the unslayables and the monsters.” He regarded the men and women in the assembly. “Besieging Toboribor seems pointless now. Soldiers cannot combat these powers. Not now the enemy
holds the genuine diamond.” He indicated Dergard, who was sitting between Gandogar and Tungdil. “Let us send him and the dwarves to Weyurn to seek out the island.”

Tungdil rose. “Indeed. The sooner we take Dergard and Lot-Ionan to the source, the better.” He moved over to the map of Girdlegard. “The unslayables will need to find a way to use the stone. The eoîl stole it from evil but transformed it into a power for good. I don’t think the älfar will immediately work out how to use it.” He circled Toboribor with his finger on the map. “And we should keep the siege going. We ought to send raiding parties into the caves to harass the unslayables. Have you considered why they never set out themselves to find the diamonds?” Tungdil paused. “I think they are too weak and so they sent out their creatures instead. We must not give them a moment’s rest. Even if it means risking the lives of more of our troops. If they acquire the stone’s power before we revive Lot-Ionan and before Dergard can cast any spells, we are lost.” He sat down.

“Are any better suited to combat in caves than the children of the Smith?” Rejalin’s question was friendly. “It would be madness to send such experienced fighters out to storm an island when they’re invaluable underground, because they can see in the dark better than a human or an elf.” She looked at Gandogar. “I trust the dwarves, Your Majesty. You should send your warriors to Toboribor, every man you can spare from duty on the gates.”

Tungdil grew hot under the collar. He cursed the fact there had been no opportunity to give the high king
Sûndalon’s report about the broka. He sensed a trap in the elf princess’s suggestion. He could not pin it down; her words had seemed eminently sensible. Dwarves were indeed excellent at fighting in tunnels.

Sirka, standing behind Tungdil, now leaned forward. “That broka is up to something,” she warned, reinforcing his unease.

Gandogar, however, was flattered by Rejalin’s words and was ready to accept the proposal. “You are right, Your Highness. But I must insist it should be our people who take the thirdlings’ island. If the other sovereigns are in agreement I shall send our warriors to Toboribor.” Pain was audible in his voice; the sedative herbs were only a slight help in stilling the agony from his injured shoulder and mutilated arm. All those present in the assembly admired his stamina.

“It will take too long,” Tungdil objected. “At least sixty orbits. We would be wasting precious time. The cave attacks must start much sooner than that.”

Queen Isika had not yet—luckily for Tungdil—accepted Rejalin’s idea. “We mustn’t forget that there may still be traitors in the dwarf tribes looking to make common cause with our enemies.”

“And if this were so, Queen Isika, we should be the ones exposed to them in the tunnels of Toboribor—not your people,” Gandogar interjected. “Let that be our concern. If there are ten traitors among my five thousand warriors, what harm can they do?”

“I agree with Rejalin,” said Ortger, smiling at the elf princess. “The dwarves know what they’re doing and we
can keep this area safe. My soldiers are used to moving in the mountains and can secure the peaks.”

While the rulers gave their assent one by one, Tungdil hurried to Gandogar’s side. “The elves are not to be trusted,” he whispered. He gave a quick summary of Sûndalon’s story.

“If you ask me it looks as if the same thing is happening here as the undergroundlings suffered.”

Gandogar had listened carefully, his eyes closed. Then he looked at Sirka. “How long have you known these undergroundlings?” he asked Tungdil.

“You know how long.”

“And you think you can trust what they say?”

“Your Majesty, I…”

He raised his hand. “No, Tungdil. Our peoples have been living in harmony for many cycles now. Now they have sent envoys to impart their knowledge to us.” His eyes sought Tungdil’s. “Apart from the word of the undergroundling dwarves, whose origins are questionable, have you…?”

“Gandogar, you…”

“Enough,” came the unusually sharp command. Sweat was collecting on the king’s brow; the effort of controlling the pain was too much. “Everyone knows their origins are in doubt. And until I’ve seen one of these supposedly harmless orcs they call ubariu and been given proof of their good intentions I shall stick to my opinion.” His brown eyes were resolute. “Even if I believed you, the others here would not. Not without evidence.” He lowered his head. “Do you have evidence?”

Tungdil clamped his jaws so tightly shut that they hurt.

“Do you have this proof, Tungdil Goldhand?” repeated Gandogar.

“No, I don’t,” he admitted reluctantly. He was near to despair. If only the injured elf back at the inn would regain consciousness and could speak! “No.”

“Then I must keep silent on this matter.”

“Promise me at least that you’ll warn our warriors about the elves,” begged Tungdil.

“I shall.” Gandogar turned his attention again to the assembly. The great and the good of Girdlegard were unanimous now; even Queen Isika had accepted Princess Rejalin’s suggestion. “It is decided. The united fighting force of dwarves will set off for Toboribor. The thirdlings and secondlings will form the vanguard,” he announced, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.

His words were greeted with applause.

Sûndalon could stand it no longer. His request had not been considered. He raised his hand and waited until the clapping ceased. “Do we get the stone back when you have defeated the unslayables?”

“No,” answered the elf princess at once.

“I think we should let Lot-Ionan decide,” said Tungdil, in an effort to avoid a dispute. “He will know best what the diamond’s power is.”

“In my opinion it would be too dangerous to give the diamond away before it has been minutely examined.” Rejalin gave the undergroundling a gracious smile. “Don’t misunderstand me. I trust you but I don’t trust the Outer Lands. And you tell us that these supposedly mild-natured orcs have a… was it a rune master?” Sûndalon nodded.
“… they have a rune master who is versed in magic. The last thing we want is an orc with limitless magic powers. Not even in the Outer Lands.”

“Then you are condemning our land to destruction, broka,” snarled Sûndalon. “And if creatures from the Black Abyss find their way to Girdlegard, then think on this day and on these words of the broka.”

“We have the children of the Smith guarding our gateways,” she replied calmly. “So far they have failed only the once to defend us. It will not happen again. Is there an alliance stronger than this?”

Sûndalon grabbed hold of his weapons with both hands, as if needing them for support. Or perhaps it was the princess’s throat he imagined in his grasp. “It is typical of your people to spread insults or poison. It is not for nothing we have eradicated them in our realm.”