The Fate of the Dwarves

XVII

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Weyurn,

Eight Miles from Lakepride,

Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles

The kordrion’s assault had cost Tungdil twenty-one Black Squadron dwarves and three Zhadár. They burned the bodies of the dead warriors and took their ashes to be buried back in the Red Mountains with all ceremony. Dwarf-remains belonged in the mountains, not in a desert and certainly not in an älfar realm.

But they had also lost the majority of the ponies. There was nothing for it but to cover the initial miles to the northwest border of Phôseon Dwhamant on foot before buying in more stock bit by bit from the farmers of the former kingdom of Tabaîn.

It was inevitable that a marching column such as theirs would attract attention. Tungdil urged them on. Orbit for orbit they marched on through the dried-up lakebed, now covered with ice and frozen fog which crackled underfoot.

They passed islands towering high on stalks, reminding Ireheart of huge stone mushrooms. There were also many small islands that had collapsed without the buoyancy provided by surrounding water. They had toppled over and broken apart.

It looks unreal. As if the gods were planning to make a new country. Particularly fascinating were the places where reefs had been. They soared up like sharpened mountains, sometimes a good hundred paces high. The travelers came upon stranded wrecks of ships and the remains of mighty fish. The dwarves guided their ponies through the arched bones, which they could ride through without banging their heads, such was the size of the skeletons.

I know now why I have always avoided deep water like the plague. Ireheart looked at the fish and at the thick skulls with their incisor-lined jaws. No prey would escape those sharp teeth.

“You’d think our high king was trying to avoid any conflict with the Lohasbranders and the orc contingents,” Slîn remarked as they rode along.

“Yes, indeed,” Ireheart agreed. “But it’s not a question of being frightened of battle,” he stressed. “It’s about making swift progress. Our priority is to reach the Red Mountains and the Dragon’s hoard to relieve him of the most valuable pieces of treasure, so that he’ll attack Lot-Ionan in revenge.”

“So why the diversion to see Queen Wey the Eleventh in Lakepride?” Slîn asked.

“Could it be that you weren’t paying attention? Because the Scholar wants to suggest we wage a joint campaign against Lot-Ionan as soon as the Dragon and his orcs have left for the south,” replied Ireheart. “On the way back, when we’re nicely loaded up with the Dragon’s valuables, we can come and collect her answer.” He looked around at the landscape. “This is the kind of lake I like,” he said with satisfaction. “Back home they’ll be astonished when I tell them I’ve been walking around on the bottom of a lake and Elria can’t get me!”

“Unless it rains,” Slîn pointed out.

Ireheart gave him a suspicious glance. “What do you mean?”

“If it rains hard the water won’t soak in. It will collect on this hardened surface like in a dish. If we happened to be at the deepest part of the dish at the time we’d end up having to swim.” Slîn enjoyed catastrophizing. “And we all know the dwarf-race is none too good at swimming.”

Ireheart checked the sky. It was growing steadily darker. “Vraccas, send us anything, send us molten rock—anything but Elria’s rain. Don’t let her water us like a crop of peas.”

Tungdil pointed. “We need to get back to the bank and head south. We should end up directly opposite Lakepride. From there it’s only a short boat-ride to the maga’s island.”

Ireheart’s good mood was now thoroughly dispersed. The thought of those fish skeletons came back to him. “Curses! So I shall have to set foot on a boat, after all.”

“It’s been fine so far,” Slîn attempted to cheer him up. “And so what if we do fall in? I like a good bath.”

“That’s because you’re a pansy fourthling,” came the mocking response from under a helmet. It was a Zhadár laughing at him.

Ireheart remembered that coarse voice. It was the same warrior who had tried to provoke Slîn with remarks about bolt length when they were up on the roof. He fell back to come level with the armored voice. “Was that you just now?”

“Was that me what?”

It was not the right voice. “No, it wasn’t you. But you know who I mean: The one who’s trying to stir things up—the troublemaker.” Ireheart pushed the man’s visor up. A blackened face with a short beard. As a dwarf Ireheart was finding it extremely difficult to tell one of these Invisibles from another. The dye gave them all the same appearance. It was really a kind of protection to stop them being identified; no one would be able to describe an attacker. “Whichever helmet you’re hiding under,” he called out, “hold your tongue. I won’t have this sort of thing.” He guided his pony to the front of the column again.

Tungdil had already changed direction and was riding with Barskalín, heading for the dunes. The remnants of the lake must lie behind them.

Ireheart urged his mount up. Its hooves sank in the loose dune sand. Then they reached the top and could see the edge of the lake. There was an island some four miles out, resting on a basalt stone pillar. To the left of it iron walls could be seen rising out of the water.

“That’s Lakepride over there,” said Tungdil. “We’ve arrived.” He pointed to the iron building. “The source is underwater so I suppose that’s a mineshaft of some sort.”

“Yes,” said Balyndar. “My mother sent her fifthlings as a favor to help one of Weyurn’s queens with the construction.”

“A masterpiece!” Ireheart was extravagant in his praise. “The pressure on the walls must be enormous.”

Balyndar did not conceal his pride in his tribe’s achievement. “Our engineers put in the wall supports to keep the water out. If it were a marine environment, like in the Outer Lands, where there are tides to cope with, it wouldn’t have worked.”

“That’s the advantage held by the fifthlings. They took in the best of all the tribes and so they’re way ahead with all the special skills the dwarves have, “Slîn said generously. “I’d be interested in taking a look at that shaft. I can’t really imagine what it must be like.”

Barskalín pointed out a village about half a mile away. The upturned boats and fishing nets drying on the sand looked promising. “We’ll get ourselves a little fleet to take us over to the island.”

Tungdil turned his pony’s head toward the village. “Or one boat that can take ten of us. I don’t want to arrive with the Black Squadron. You can get somewhere to stay in the village. We shan’t be spending long with the queen.”

They galloped off to the village.

Ireheart was not surprised to hear a tinny alarm bell greeting them; it sounded as if the bell itself was frightened. “Not quite the joyful fanfare of welcome we’re used to, is it, Scholar?” he said, watching what the humans were up to. “They’re running to the lake.”

“They’re launching the boats.” Slîn pointed to those who were making a break for it.

“I bet they think we’ve been sent by the älfar.” Balyndar touched his own black armor. “We don’t really look like friendly visitors. The last time any dwarves were here will have been ages ago when they were building the shaft.”

Hargorin laughed. “They seem to know my Black Squadron.”

“Send a couple of men over quickly to tell them we come in peace,” Tungdil ordered. “You’re right, Balyndar, I should have thought of that… We’re spreading fear even when we don’t want to. Back where I’ve come from that would have been a good thing. But not here. I’m sorry.”

Ireheart sent his friend an encouraging look. He really seems bothered about it.

Two of the Black Squadron rode ahead, calling out as they went.

Ireheart looked up at the glowing evening sky before it disappeared into the gloom of night—and he made out the shape of a flying monster making for Lakepride from the east. He could not say exactly what it was but it was moving fast. And it looked pretty determined. He called out to Tungdil. “You know more about monsters than I do: What is that?”

The dwarves watched as the creature approached the island and royal palace.

“I don’t know,” said the one-eyed dwarf. “But I don’t think it’s bringing Her Majesty a nice present.”

“Then we’re here right on time.” Slîn was getting excited. “We can help her and then she’ll be in our debt. We won’t even have to ask her to come with us. She’ll do it anyway because it will be the decent thing.”

“That’s how I see it, too.” Tungdil got the squadron to stop on the bank where the villagers were standing by the boats listening suspiciously to their messengers. “Let’s get ourselves over to the island.”

Ireheart studied the water in apprehension as the waves lapped against the bank. “I hope Elria didn’t hear me just now,” he muttered into his beard, “and that all the fish bigger than my little finger are now dead.”

Rodario ran back into the palace and was relieved to note his warnings had been acted upon. Shouts came from all sides and alarm gongs sounded. Heavy boots thudded along the corridors. It was not only the fortress out at the shaft that was preparing for an attack—the defense positions here at the palace were also being manned.

He reached Mallenia’s quarters, where he found her in the doorway, already in half her armor, buckling the leather straps. “Do you know what’s happening?”

“That alarm is being sounded for me,” he said proudly.

“You? But you’re not dangerous.” Mallenia drew her sword and laughed. “No, seriously. Do you know what all the commotion is about?”

“I saw something flying toward the shaft. I thought it would be wise to alert the palace so they can greet the attacker properly…” He stopped, noticing that she was only half listening and was looking past him over his shoulder.

Mallenia lifted her arm. “Queen Coïra. Are you looking for us?”

He turned to find the young maga hurrying toward them, surrounded by guards. She was wearing a black robe embroidered in white, her hair covered by the white veil. “It’s the Dragon,” she cried. “Lohasbrand has arrived.”

“To attack us or to discuss what you wrote?” Mallenia sketched a curtsey. Rodario forgot to bow.

“I don’t know. Wasn’t he going to send me a hundred orcs to help capture the älf?” She ran on and waved them to follow her.

“Where are you off to?” Rodario asked. “Is there a safe room at the bottom of the island’s base where you can wait to see what happens?”

“I need to get to the magic source.”

“Don’t make the mistake of destroying it without thinking carefully…”

“Nonsense,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to demolish the shaft. I haven’t got enough magic in reserve to defend us against the Scaly One.”

Rodario and the Ido girl exchanged relieved glances. “We’re pleased to hear you’ve made your decision.”

“And it is down to the two of you that I am able to do this. I have thought a great deal about what you both said and I agree that I must face up to my responsibilities. My mother will not have trained me in vain.” She gave them a brisk smile. “But it won’t be easy. I’m not a fighter at heart.”

She reached the platform from where the cable gondola could take her to the shaft. Coïra was about to get in to the car but Rodario held her back. “Wouldn’t it be better to take the stairs? Our lives might hang from a rope.”

“It’ll be fine.” The queen got into the gondola. “Trust me.”

“I trust the construction but not that dragon that’s circling round the island.” He looked for the creature but it was not visible. “Where has it got to?”

“It’s underneath the island!” Mallenia shouted, coming over. “Let’s pray to Elria and Palandiell that we can get to the shaft in one piece.”

“Count Loytan will cover us with his catapult fire.” Coïra ordered four of the guards to join her, and the last of them shut the door after her as the steep downward trip began.

“Count Loytan is not at the fort, Highness,” said one of the men. “We met him up on the palace walls but no one has seen him since.”

Rodario was glad he had turned his face away: No one could read his expression. He considered himself a gifted enough actor to conceal his grin, but better safe than sorry.

The gondola swayed in the evening breeze and Mallenia went very pale. The rocking movement was not too severe, however, as the anchoring bolts were all secure.

It was all too slow for Coïra’s liking, and she told the guards to release the brakes a little further.

“But Your Highness, that’ll mean we’ll be too fast to stop at the landing stage.” The man risked an objection. “It’s not safe to go any quicker.”

The gondola had already dropped further away from the island when Rodario spied the creature again. “There it is! It’s hanging underneath the rock!”

Mallenia, Coïra and the soldiers leaned out for a better view.

It was like a lizard with the wings of a grasshopper. The scaled body was ten paces long, the mouth large enough to swallow a whole cow, and the black skin was shimmering damply in the last of the evening light: Rodario could pick out yellow and blue markings. It was wearing an iron chain around its neck, bearing an onyx pendant the size of a handcart.

“Why aren’t the catapults on the fortress firing?” He was worried now.

The stony eyes had the gondola in their sights.

Mallenia looked down at the arrow slings, which seemed to be aimed straight at them. “It’s because of us. We’re in the line of fire so we’re giving the creature cover.”

“It can’t be the Dragon—no, it’s certainly not Lohasbrand.” Coïra stated.

“Perhaps a small friend of his? Has he been sent out as an advance messenger?” Rodario could not make head or tail of the creature’s appearance. He had never met the like in any of the sagas he was conversant with. “It’s staring at me,” he said, moving away from the window. “As if it really likes actors.”

“I’m sure it only eats good ones,” Mallenia teased him, aware once more that she was behaving like a silly girl in love—and that this was a highly unsuitable time for such behavior.

“It’s staring at all of us,” said Coïra.

“To be honest, that’s not much of a comfort…” Rodario turned to the queen. “Can’t you send some magic his way? Zap him on the ugly bonce!”

She refused. “We don’t know yet what it wants. Perhaps it’s a peace-loving creature.”

“In Girdlegard? Looking like that?” He watched, shuddering, as the creature dangled a blue tongue. “There! Do you see? It’s getting up an appetite.”

Their gondola was two-thirds of the way across.

The creature dropped down and spun round as it fell, spreading its horny wings to come gliding over to the gondola. It opened its mouth and showed a row of very sharp teeth.

“I think it’s making abundantly clear what it wants.” Rodario sank down in front of Coïra to beg. “Save us!”

The queen did not need his plea. She collected the last remnants of her magic powers and sent a red lightning bolt through the window toward the swiftly approaching creature.

Her attack hit home!

The magic energy shattered the creature’s face and part of its neck, and its flight ended in a series of erratic swoops as it entangled itself in the cables holding the gondola aloft. Now the fortress soldiers could use their long-range ballistic weaponry.

The cabin was suddenly jerked upwards with a clank and then came the sound of ripping and tearing. Next moment, they were falling toward the lake.

“Stop!” Rodario yelled, petrified, trying to grab hold of one of the supports. “Coïra! Do something! Brakes! We’re falling!”

The cable car turned and Rodario caught sight of the injured creature following them, its talons at the ready.

“Forget what I just said: Make it go quicker. Quicker! Now!” Rodario shouted, falling against Mallenia and yelling in her ear. “The beast is nearly on us!”

Tungdil was on the first fishing boat with Slîn, Balyndar, Ireheart and ten of the Zhadár, heading for Lakepride with all sails set. They witnessed exactly what was happening four miles away.

Slîn looked back at the small fleet of boats carrying the Black Squadron and the rest of the Zhadár. The villagers had agreed to take the dwarves over to the island when they heard the names Tungdil and Boïndil, and when the monster turned up they put on an extra burst of speed. “Coïra won’t have any experience yet as a maga.”

“But I’m glad we’ve got a maga we can even consult,” responded Balyndar. “I was shocked to hear of the queen’s death.”

Boïndil hopped impatiently from one foot to the other. He felt extremely uneasy being on the lake and had no wish to know how deep it was—only the thinnest of planks separated him from the water. He wanted to start fighting, but how could he do that stuck on this barge? He had not the faintest idea what kind of creature it was that was attacking the cable car. “What on earth is it? It’s not a dragon,” he said to Tungdil.

“I’m trying to work out whether it’s good or bad.” Tungdil stared fixedly ahead and saw the red flash aimed at the creature; the dying monster was tangled in the cables. “Lohasbrand won’t have sent him. Dragons don’t tolerate other monsters in their kingdom. He would have killed this creature himself if it had turned up in the Red Mountains.”

When the cable snapped and the car started to fall to the lake, Ireheart cursed out loud. “Now we’ve lost that maga, too. It’s enough to drive you mad!” The fortress in the lake was shooting tiny black clouds of arrows and spears.

“She should be able to save herself. If she can’t do that she’d be no use to us against Lot-Ionan either.” Tungdil sounded detached.

The flying beast had tugged the cables away on both sides as it flapped its wings helplessly, cutting itself on the ropes. It screamed and reeled after the cabin, as if it wanted to tear it apart.

“Maybe the queen should start doing something?” Ireheart sounded doubtful. “They’re about to crash.”

At that moment the monster completed a final erratic lurch through the air and disappeared head first into the open shaft, streaming with blood and spattering red on the walls.

“Ugh, that’s what I call an unlucky turn of events.” Ireheart could see that the gondola had stopped, mid-fall, and was now swaying like a pendulum, swinging toward then away from the pillar that supported Lakepride island. “Look, one of the ropes has held firm!”

Tungdil grimaced. “I’d also prefer it if the maga actually did something. I’m not convinced of her competence.”

Ireheart was about to say something when a mighty explosion occurred.

A bright green column of fire erupted out of the shaft, blowing the whole construction up to the skies. The dwarves thought they could make out shapes of people, remnants of catapults, parts of the roof, some wooden beams and other bits and pieces hurtling through the air, driven by the force of the blast. The spectacle was accompanied by a whistling screech, the walls of the shaft glowed first red then white from the extreme heat, and then the waters around the area began to boil and steam rose up in clouds.

Another blast. The flames died down, only to be replaced by a ball of light directly over the opening to the shaft.

Below, far down on the bottom of the lake, there was a silvery flash and a circle of shimmering fire spread out. The dwarves could see right down through it as it raced across the lakebed. Ireheart thought he could feel a slight tingling when it went under their boat. The runes on Tungdil’s armor shone out.

Immediately afterwards there was a sound like a volcanic eruption. The lake surface started to shake. Waves swept against the keels of the boats, making them bob erratically.

A third detonation shattered the walls of the shaft as if they had been made of brittle glass and not the toughest of steel.

The lake waters streamed in, creating an undertow that dragged the fishing boats toward the island. The hole filled up, bubbling and raging, and then a column of water shot up as high as the palace itself before sinking again.

“Hold tight,” was all that Tungdil said, as a powerful wave hurtled their way. He grabbed hold of the mast and hunched down, bracing himself.

“I hate Elria,” growled Ireheart, finding a rope to cling to. “She always finds a way to ruin things for me when I go on a journey.”

The rump of the boat rose up, surrounded by spray, and a huge breaker covered the dwarves with ice-cold lake water. Then they pitched down again. Their vessel shook and shuddered, but did not overturn.

Slîn looked back over his shoulder. Not all of their party had fared so well. Two of the boats had foundered. “May Vraccas preserve them from Elria’s wrath,” he prayed briefly, then set his gaze ahead.

Steam still rose where the steel walls had been. A loud rumbling filled the air. The pillar on which the island rested was starting to crumble at one side. The basalt stone was breaking apart and the island’s equilibrium was lost.

As the island toppled slowly to the left-hand side, the supporting column of rock snapped completely and Lakepride hit the water. A second massive wave rolled toward the boats. The fishermen were beside themselves with terror. Their little ship surged upwards once more on the crest of the wave.

Tungdil stood at the mast, a picture of calm, as he scanned the tormented surface of the lake.

“Well, Scholar?” called Ireheart. He steadied himself on the planks and leaned forward to counteract the movement of the boat. “Do you think there’s any hope of survivors?”

This second wave was much stronger than the first, Ireheart noted from the angle the boat took and the length of time it seemed suspended. I’ll never, ever go on a lake again. Never ever! He was dreading the pitching crash when the wave finally sent them plunging down again.

They were briefly horizontal before the bows pitched forward and they hurtled down the back of the wave. They were not far from where the shaft, until very recently, had been, and where the island had stood.

“Dwarf overboard!” came a shout behind him. Balyndar stood at the low railing and pointed to starboard. “Slîn’s been hit by the breaker and dragged under!”

Tungdil did not even turn round. “We have to look for the maga,” he answered. “We’ve enough dwarves. There’s only one maga.”

Ireheart stared at his friend, baffled by this cold-hearted attitude. He’s reverting to the Tungdil who came back to us from the Outer Lands with a reputation for horrific deeds of cruelty. He saw some buoys on deck that the fishermen used to mark the location of their nets. They were made of pigs’ bladders filled with air, cork tree branches or glass balls encased in string.

Ireheart grabbed four of them and ran over to Balyndar. “Where is he?”

Together they stared out at the waves until the fifthling located the missing dwarf. “There! Cast it now!”

Ireheart hurled the floats out, putting all his strength behind the throw so that they carried all the way to him.

A spluttering, paddling Slîn grabbed hold of the rope tied to one of the floats and pulled it over, but he continued to sink due to the weight of his armor. He was fighting for his life, they could see. It was only when he managed to pull the other three floats over that he was able to keep his head above water. It was enough to enable him to breathe.

Ireheart was relieved and went back to join Tungdil in the bows. “We’ve saved him. One of the other boats will pick him up.”

“Good.” He stretched up to see more distinctly something he had caught sight of through the spray.

“You might just as well have said ‘I couldn’t care less,’ Scholar,” Ireheart said reproachfully. “That’s what your tone of voice was saying.”

Tungdil turned round suddenly and, for a blink of an eye, looked as if he were going to hit Boïndil. His face was full of fury. “If I need a crossbowman, I’ll find a new one. If I need a maga, what do I do then?” he countered the rebuke. “It’s good that Slîn is safe. No more than that. Without Coïra our chances of prevailing against Lot-Ionan are diminished. It’ll make no difference not having Slîn with us. He won’t have the kind of weapon that can kill a magus outright.” He looked at the fisherman and directed, “Hard to port.”

Ireheart did not know what to say. This was a real blow.

The boat slipped round and headed for some of the floating rubble.

It was still rocking about and the lake had not yet settled. The fisherman reefed the sails to decrease their speed; he did not want to hole the boat. There were constant bumps and clanks as driftwood and flotsam collided with the hull.

Tungdil had a boathook in his hand, held like a harpoon. “Look out for survivors. If you see a woman tell me at once. The others can pick up the men.”

Ireheart lifted a net and stared out at the water. “A woman!” he called, pointing to a blonde girl in leather armor, motionless, face up, floating next to an empty barrel.

Tungdil used the hook to pull her nearer and the Zhadár heaved her up over the side. “Is that the maga?” he asked the fisherman.

“No, sir, the queen has black hair,” was the reply.

Ireheart laid the girl down by the mast and quickly covered her with a blanket before Tungdil could think of chucking her overboard again; her lips were blue and quivering. “That’s good,” he said reassuringly. “You’re alive.” She looked pretty tall and strong for a human. A warrior-girl, then.

One of the Zhadár whistled and pointed to starboard.

They changed course to head for what he had seen. Tungdil fished the next woman out of the lake. She was wearing a black robe and had long dark hair. She, too, was unconscious. And she wasn’t breathing!

“That’s her,” whispered the frightened fisherman. “That’s the queen! Elria, be merciful!”

“Elria? I’ll show Elria!” Ireheart turned her over and trod on her back with his boots till the water gushed out of her mouth and she started to cough. “There! Hurrah! I am a born healer!” He helped the maga to turn over and wrapped her in a new blanket. “You owe your life to Vraccas,” he told her kindly.

“It felt more like the sole of a boot,” she groaned.

Tungdil came over and looked down at her. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Coïra Weytana, queen of Weyurn.”

She coughed again and gave him a grateful nod.

“This is High King Tungdil Goldhand,” said Ireheart, introducing his friend first, then himself and then the others on board. “We arrived just in time.”

There was a splash next to the boat and a man’s hand was seen clamped to the railing; then the second hand appeared and a torso pulled itself up over the side. Brown hair was slapped tight to his head and his aristocratic face was beardless. “I assume I am allowed on board?” He looked at the assembled crowd in astonishment. “Well I never. A sailing barge full of dwarves!”

“By all the spirits of the dead!” Ireheart’s eyebrows were raised in amazement, because he thought he was seeing the ghost of a man who had long since died. The clean-shaven ghost of a man. “Rodario?”