The Fate of the Dwarves

XI

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Weyurn,

Island of Lakepride,

Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles

Lakepride was easy to defend against attack, because the island rose high above the lake, meaning its soldiers needed no special equipment for hurling rocks. Simply rolling boulders over the edge would sink a ship. Structural improvements had been made to the shaft around the magic source, with men and materials carried on cables whizzing to and fro above the lake.

Mallenia and Rodario were observing the works from a vantage point on the watchtower battlements. Queen Wey and her daughter Coïra had ordered extensive preparations, anticipating an attack by the Dragon or his henchmen, the Lohasbranders.

“What you can see there is not the most powerful weapon against the Dragon,” said Rodario.

“You mean the queen and her daughter.” Mallenia looked down into the courtyard of the palace thirty paces below. The figures looked tiny. “You say they’ve both attained their full magic potency?”

“I’ve been told the queen has bathed in the magic source. The gods only know how she managed to preserve the remnants of her force for her escape, but as a result she’s thought to be stronger than Lot-Ionan. I’m sure Lohasbrand will think twice before he attacks her.” He stepped in front of Mallenia to look into her eyes. “And that’s not to say he actually will attack. I think he’ll swallow the bait about älfar spies in his realm. Dragons are paranoid and always suspicious someone is after their treasure.”

Mallenia laughed. “So you’re not just an actor, you’re a dragon specialist?” She smiled and took his chin in her hand. “A man of many parts, Rodario the Seventh. If you had muscles as well, you’d be a real man.”

He made a face and took his scrawny beard out of harm’s way. But he did enjoy it when she teased him. “I take it as a sign of hidden affection when you insult me. You’re sounding me out,” he replied.

“Oh, so that’s what you think?” She burst out laughing. “Sweet dreamer, dream on. My affection consists of wanting to protect you, like protecting a child. So vulnerable, so clumsy.”

Like lightning he drew one of her own short swords. “You should be proud of yourself, Mallenia. Now you’ve managed to provoke me,” he threatened. “En garde!”

She drew the other sword and went along with the joke. “Then attack me, Number Seven! Why don’t you show this weak woman where her place is!” The muscles in her arm and chest rippled with the exertion; they were certainly stronger than his own.

Rodario made an obvious move to hit her and she caught his wrist to stay his hand. Then she gave him a kiss on the brow. “How funny,” she mocked, pushing him back. “Try again, little man.”

Apparently furious now, he hopped toward her, tripping over his mantle. He stumbled past her, heading for the parapet. When Mallenia grabbed him to stop him plunging over the top—her fingers met thin air.

But her mouth met a kiss.

His lips were soft and pleasing on her own; there was a faint taste of the spiced tea he had drunk to warm him. Then he drew his head back and left her blushing.

“A hit!” he exulted, waving his weapon in the air. “That took you by surprise, didn’t it, brave warrior woman? I won! The kiss is mightier than the sword!”

Mallenia swallowed hard. She was confused, still feeling the audacious embrace and not knowing how to react. It was an incredible invasion of her person, impudence that must be punished.

Rodario saw that she was visibly shaken. “Oh, I… didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he stuttered. “It was a game, and then you’d kissed me on the forehead, so…”

“A game indeed.” She held her hand out, demanding her short sword, which he relinquished at once. “Let’s forget it. You won and you won’t get a second chance.”

He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I got carried away. I offer my sincere apologies. I should never have done that.” He bowed. “Hit me if you want.”

“So that you can dodge out of the way and kiss me again? No thanks, Rodario the Seventh,” Mallenia said, stowing her weapons. “Let’s leave it at that.” She tried hard to treat the incident lightly but found it all very unsettling. It was a feeling she hated.

She marched off to the edge of the platform and stared out, admiring the beauty of the lake, but with her thoughts in turmoil. It was only a stolen kiss, she told herself. A child’s kiss. How can he make me feel like this? “Rodario? Mallenia? Are you up there?” Coïra’s voice echoed up the stairwell.

“Yes, Princess. We’re admiring the view and keeping watch for Weyurn’s enemies,” the actor answered. “What can we do for you?”

“Come down here,” came a cheerful instruction. “I’ve got important news for Mallenia.”

Rodario and the swordswoman hurried down the steps to join Coïra, who was coming up to meet them. “My mother received a message from one of the neighboring villages,” she said. Her eyes fixed onto Mallenia’s injured arm. “Remind me to check that bandage. We can take it off tomorrow. The wound should be healing well by now and will benefit from exposure to air and sunlight.”

“Is it good news or bad?” Rodario urged.

“I don’t know. My mother just sent for me. Let’s go and find out.”

They hastened through the palace, through high, sunlit corridors and anterooms, until they reached the place where they had first seen the monarch.

The window had been repaired and the view—of waves glittering in the sun, birds circling and colorful fishing boats bobbing on the water—had lost none of its fascination.

Queen Wey sat behind her desk. Her turquoise robe suited her splendidly and she looked well. But worry was etched on her features. “Sit down,” she said to her guests. “There are things to report.”

“Has something happened in Idoslane, ma’am?” asked Mallenia, taking her seat.

“No. In Soulham, a village near here. A fisherman tells me he saw two älfar locally,” said the queen. “What troubles me is that he is the only one to have seen them. The other villagers are keeping silent. They are afraid. I’m sure the älfar are hiding there waiting for their chance.” She looked at Mallenia. “The chance to get to Lakepride and kill you.”

“Then let me follow it up, Mother,” Coïra suggested at once. “They can’t hurt me.”

“You can’t stop an assassin’s arrow, my child,” replied Wey. “You took them by surprise at the shore but now they know who their opponent is. The älfar will avoid showing themselves in the daytime.” She looked at Mallenia. “I think we should give them an opportunity to find a way in. An opportunity that we control.”

“In other words, a trap,” said Rodario, delighted at the idea. “Your Majesty, that is an absolutely excellent plan.”

“Why, thank you for your support, sir!” she retorted, highly amused. “The fisherman who came to speak to me about the älfar is going to spread a couple of rumors in the village to attract the attention of the black-eyes. They’ll say that our guards are all stricken with the runs and can’t leave their beds…”

“Who else knows you are now free of your chains, Your Majesty?” Mallenia was too alarmed to sit still. She had not yet escaped the shadow of death. “The älfar won’t come if they think they’ll have to contend with two magae in order to kill me.”

“No one knows apart from my most loyal servants.”

“And what will the Dragon say?” objected Rodario. “Is he coming? I thought I noticed a lot of activity on the battlements out by the magic source.”

Wey looked at him steadily. “Do you know what, Rodario the Seventh? Sometimes you seem a bit strange,” she said. “We have an actor here who plays so many roles that he has forgotten where the real Rodario is.”

Rodario went red. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I’ve been watching you. Sometimes you are very bold, my daughter tells me, then you’re awkward, then swift and nimble; sometimes you have a way with words and at other times you stammer and stutter. You have good manners one moment and forget them the next. Like just now when you dared to interrupt a queen.” She rubbed her temple as if she had a headache. “I don’t think there is anything magic about you to explain this away. But your mind is—to put it mildly—confused. Am I right?”

Mallenia thought of the incident on the battlements and secretly felt she had to agree with the queen.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” he said contritely, making a deep bow in front of the queen. “Of course you are right. I should have waited.”

“To return to your question, Rodario the Impatient,” Queen Wey continued in a gentler tone of voice, “I must tell you that the Dragon has not yet sent an answer. And I am certain that he would be convinced by the night-mare cadaver and the corpses of his people.” She turned to Mallenia. “But your concerns have priority. I don’t like having the älfar near at hand. The Soulham fisherman will be returning to his village to spread those rumors. Then we will have to wait and pretend we are all ill with diarrhea. My guards have been told what’s happening. Coïra will explain our plans. I have work to do.” She glanced pointedly at the door.

The three needed no more explicit hint and left the room. The princess took them to her apartments, where they continued their discussion over tea and cake. “It’s simple,” said Coïra. The älfar will find one of our guards and ask him about you, Mallenia. You wait in your chamber with me. When the älfar come I’ll show them that it would be better if they left.”

“You sound very confident.” Rodario held a cup and a piece of cake in his hands. “Like your mother said: Don’t you think they expect to find you?”

Coïra laughed. “What can they do, faced with a ball of pure magic?”

“Dodge?” he suggested, earning himself Mallenia’s laughter. He was reveling in the proximity of these two young women. Such a shame he would have to split himself in two in order to continue enjoying the company of both. “Älfar are as quick as a bolt of lightning and agile as a cat. Had you thought of that?”

The princess made a sound to indicate her displeasure. “Stop complaining. It’s a simple plan and therefore an excellent one.”

Rodario bit into his cake and made a great show of chewing. “And what’s plan B?” he mumbled through the crumbs. “What if brother and sister älf get past you? Who’s going to save you?” He pointed to Coïra with the pastry. “Who’ll save you when it all goes wrong?”

“You will,” teased Mallenia. “At least, it sounds like you’re volunteering.”

“If my kisses have as paralyzing an effect on the älfar as they do on you, why not?” he countered. “But I’d only be dealing with the female älf. You’ll have to tackle the brother.” He slurped his tea noisily.

Coïra stared first at him and then at Mallenia, whose blushes showed that Rodario had not been lying. “You can have a try when the time comes,” she said, without asking for further details.

“I would prefer it if we did not kill the älfar outright,” hissed the Ido heroine venomously. “At least one of them should be alive for me to interrogate.”

“That should be possible,” Coïra allowed. “May I ask why?”

“I overheard them talking when they thought I was unconscious. I don’t know if I understood aright. It is important for Girdlegard.” Mallenia saw the keen curiosity in the others’ faces. “I don’t want to talk about it until I’m sure,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to make the horses shy unnecessarily, as they say.”

“Well, that’s an incentive to catch them alive!” exclaimed Rodario, stuffing the rest of the cake into his mouth. It was too late to apologize to Mallenia, anyway.

The full moon stood high over Girdlegard and thus over Lakepride.

It was a cloudless night; the lake glinted silver, leaving the few fishing boats out seeking eels and shrimps silhouetted like black shadows.

The boats headed for the island and sailed near the shaft. One of them approached dangerously close to the stone pillar on which the island was based—so close it nearly collided.

The helmsman wrenched the wheel round and skimmed past by a hair’s-breadth.

At first sight there was nothing suspicious in this. The currents by the island could be tricky and even an experienced sailor could get into difficulties. For Rodario, watching from his hiding place, it was proof enough that the älfar siblings, Sisaroth and Firûsha, had just set foot on land. He could not make them out yet, but that was hardly surprising.

“This is it,” he murmured, climbing out of the wire observation basket and hurrying up the narrow steps to the top. He raced along the coastal path and ran to the palace entrance.

If Coïra and Mallenia had not thought out an emergency fall-back plan, but were relying totally on magic, then Rodario felt it his duty to have an alternative stratagem. His ideal scenario was for him to save both girls’ lives. Heroic deeds always went down well when hearts were to be won. Or when hearts needed calming down.

Rodario was admitted by the sentries and raced through the dark palace as quickly as he could.

No one knew about his function as a secret reserve. Mallenia and Coïra were sitting in one room, Queen Wey was in the chamber opposite, ready to spring to her daughter’s aid.

Rodario had to admit that it was impossible to subdue both magae. Even Sisaroth and Firûsha—the gods of Dsôn, whatever that meant—would be overcome. If Mallenia had managed to kill the third sibling with one shot from her little crossbow, what would the combined magic powers of two magae be able to achieve?

But perhaps Tion might be on his creatures’ side that night… and then Rodario really would be needed.

Rodario had reached the curtained wall-niche where he had hidden his homemade contraptions. He quickly fastened the miniature bellows filled with flash powder to his forearms. There was a flint he could activate, causing a spark to ignite the flying lycopodium seeds.

A magic fireball without using magic—or, at least, it would be a fireball good enough to impress theatergoers.

He had purchased the plan for the device for a considerable sum of money in Mifurdania’s marketplace; it was said originally to have been invented by the legendary magister technicus, but Rodario did not believe that. He did not mind who had invented it though, as long as it worked. He had made two dry runs and they had both been successful.

“Let’s see if I need you today.” He pulled his sleeves down to hide the equipment, and then turned round.

Right in front of him Sisaroth appeared, smiling coldly at him.

Rodario had neither heard him approach nor felt any hint of a draft. “Ye gods!” the actor breathed. The älf executed a sudden movement. Something hard hit the actor on the head and a hot flash of lightning shot through his neck.

He collapsed onto the stone floor, while the älf stepped over his heavily bleeding body, making for Mallenia’s chamber.

Mallenia was in full armor as she lay under the blanket, her face turned away from the door; the small mirror on her bedside table showed her what was happening at the entrance.

Pressed up close to the wardrobe, and invisible from the doorway, Coïra was waiting, her thoughts focused on her magic spells. She had to be in a position to cast one at a split second’s notice if she was going to prevent the älfar killing Mallenia. The two women were quiet, listening for any sounds coming from the hallway or outside the chamber windows.

They held their breath every time a footstep passed their door. So far there had been no sign of the siblings.

“Just so you understand: I didn’t allow the actor to kiss me,” Mallenia suddenly whispered. “He stole the kiss.”

Coïra had to smile. “Of course. Typical,” she replied quietly.

“He took me by surprise,” she went on. “Next time I’ll knock him down.”

Coïra’s curiosity about affairs of the heart was awoken. In spite of the circumstances. “I’m amazed he managed to do it. What happened? Were you distracted?”

“He tricked me,” admitted Mallenia. “The weakling made a fool of me.”

A faint squeak interrupted them: The catch on the door was moving slowly. They had put sand and salt in the mechanism.

Mallenia stared at the entrance. She could see no light under the door, so it could not be one of the servants checking that everything was all right. They had strict instructions to carry lamps when they came.

The catch stopped moving, then went slowly back into its original position.

“What shall we do?” asked Coïra in a muffled voice.

“We wait,” Mallenia hissed. She thought it could well be Rodario on the other side. Did he want to apologize? Did he want something more of her? She sighed softly. The man was driving her crazy. As if he knew she had a thing about helpless types.

The time passed painfully slowly. Everything was quiet. Whoever had been trying to enter the room must have changed their mind.

Then there was a scream!

“That was in Mother’s room!” Coïra peeled herself out of the niche, ran to the door and pulled it open.

Sisaroth stood before her, waiting with two-handed sword raised ready to strike.

The maga did not think twice, but sent a destructive ball of pure energy at the älf—but he dodged the sphere that was shooting toward him, just as Rodario had joked he might.

The hurtling magic ball whizzed across the corridor, hitting the door three paces away on the other side of the passage. At that moment Queen Wey’s door swung open and she stood on the threshold, face to face with her fate.

Coïra could see the fear in her mother’s countenance. Horror-struck she watched her lips move in an attempt to form a counter-spell. Wey threw her arms up to protect herself, but Coïra felt only utter helplessness. And fear for her mother’s life.

Girdlegard,

Dwarf Realm of the Fifthlings,

In the North of the Gray Mountains,

Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles

“This is where the kordrion was last cycle.” Balyndar studied the steep cliffs intently, searching for signs of a certain distinctive shadow. “It flies around looking for prey. If it turns up, stand tight against the rock face.”

The dwarf-group got into pairs: The narrow ravine only allowed them to go two abreast. The dark 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.”

The 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 snow aside. One glimpse was enough to tell him the hook was not one of their own. “Well, I’ll be squashed flat with a hammer…” he cursed, rushing over to tell Tungdil what he had found.

The one-eyed dwarf didn’t want to come and inspect it. Instead he turned on his heel and stormed into the cave. Ireheart followed him.

The smell of moss grew stronger and became overwhelming, making it difficult to breathe.

Ireheart lit a torch, intent on carefully examining what they found. What he saw caused him great concern.

The kordrion’s brood had consisted of pale cocoons each the size of a human—until unidentified intruders had turned up and slashed them to ribbons. Opaque sticky liquid covered the floor ankle deep, almost frozen solid near the mouth of the cave; dead and dismembered embryonic kordrions lay among the mess.

“So that’s put paid to our great plan.” Ireheart squatted down to look at the corpses. They reminded him a little of flying fish, but they had more eyes and were ten times as large. “What can have done it?”

“They were either mad or desperate, the same as us.” Tungdil stomped about the cave, bending over to examine individual body parts. “I should say there were ten of them with very sharp weapons—you can tell from the cuts,” he imparted to his friend. “And the prints say: Dwarves.”

“Balyndis would never have kept it from us if she’d sent people out,” said Ireheart, moving through the carnage. “Despite all this slaughter the overriding smell is still the moss. It could have been worse; anyone who’s been covered head to foot with the stinking guts from an orc’s slit belly will know what I mean.” As he walked across to Tungdil he surveyed the scene.

The one-eyed dwarf yelled a warning at him, “No, don’t!”

“Don’t what?”

“Too late. You’ve trodden in it.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter.” Ireheart gestured dismissively. “It’s only moss. Perhaps Goda will like the smell.”

“It’s not just her that will like it. The thing is, that smell will stick to your clothes. And to you. The kordrion will assume you killed his young,” Tungdil explained.

Ireheart stared open-mouthed in distress. “Just me? What about you, Scholar?”

“I didn’t touch anything and, anyway, nothing sticks to tionium. I can wash off any splashes,” he replied. He examined the cave floor minutely. “There was an extra cocoon just here. They’ve taken it with them.” He rubbed his nose. “I wonder why.”

Ireheart laughed. “Not the same reason as us, surely?”

“We’ll have to find them to stop them doing something stupid.” He pointed to the entrance. “Wake the others and tell them. I’ll check outside for tracks.” He kicked one of the mutilated dead. “When they’re grown they’re ten times the weight of a warrior in full armor. If our thieves haven’t taken to the skies we’ll find them and confront them.” They left the cave together, Tungdil to the right, Ireheart to the left.

Boïndil woke the troops and explained. As he was summing up Tungdil came over.

“I’ve found their tracks. They’ve climbed down on the other side of the mountain,” he informed them calmly. “We’ll follow them and get the last of the kordrion’s offspring. They can give it to us voluntarily or we can force them to hand it over. That cocoon is our only chance for a long, long time. The kordrion needs at least three cycles before it’s ready to lay again.” He looked at their faces. “It’s vital nothing injures the outer casing. It would mean death for the young, and the parent would smell that at once. There’d be no more point in its following us.”

Except to pursue and slaughter its offspring’s killers, thought Ireheart.

Slîn scowled. “Any idea who’s stolen a march on us? It’s almost as if our plans had been overheard. But who’s behind this? And what’s he planning to do with the cocoon?”

“I hadn’t told them yet that we’ve found dwarf-bootprints,” said Ireheart.

“Children of the Smith?” Balyndar gave a short mirthless laugh. “Or small humans? Or gnomes and cobolds with stolen footwear playing a trick?”

“Courageous cobolds?” Ireheart dismissed the idea. “Cobolds would never put themselves within ten miles of a kordrion.”

“We’ll soon see who we have to thank for this disaster.” Tungdil indicated they should break camp and stow their gear. “Boïndil, you stay close to me from now on,” came the quiet instruction. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

“You’ll need protection from the kordrion. Even if he’s stronger than I am I can fight him off for long enough to give us a chance to escape. I’m going to need you on this mission.” Tungdil was serious and honestly concerned for his friend’s safety. “It is only the first of many. But all of our plans must work if we are to free Girdlegard and save it from the army gathering in the Black Abyss.”

Ireheart swallowed hard. The inner chorus of doubting voices that had previously troubled him fell silent, not a single one able to protest now against his conviction that his friend could be trusted. He nodded to Tungdil and followed him to the other side of the eyrie, where a broad set of tracks led to the steep slope.

Tungdil surveyed the path the thieves must have taken. “What do you make of that?” he asked.

“I don’t see the marks of any runners. So, have they used their shields to slide the cocoon down the mountain?” Ireheart raised his eyebrows. “Madness. They haven’t abseiled, they’ve just slipped and slithered down!” He thought of the dwarf-hater they had seen careering down the mountainside in the Outer Lands. Could the thirdling skirt-wearers be behind this?

Tungdil looked at the other dwarves, who were catching up with them now: Bearded faces with crystals of ice around noses and mouths, eyes sparkling with determination. “Do you lot think we’re brave enough to do what those thieves have done?” His manner indicated, once more, that his questions were not questions, but commands. He took one of the sledges, pushing it off and jumping on board. Speeding over the edge, it was more a fall than a ride across the snow as he shot down toward the valley. “How many usually die on his little missions?” muttered Slîn, taking the leather band of his crossbow firmly in his hand. He shoved his own sledge downhill.

Ireheart was ahead of him, launching himself into the wild ride with a triumphant cry, “Vraccas!”

After a few paces, picking up speed all the time and with the strong icy wind bringing tears to his eyes, every bone in his body juddering and jarring, he knew one thing for certain: A lightning journey by tunnel car through the depths of the mountains was a princesses’ tea-party compared to this.