The Fate of the Dwarves

XIX

Girdlegard,

The Former Queendom of Weyurn,

The Entrance to the Red Mountains,

Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

When darkness fell the Zhadár set off out from the cave in the pouring rain and disappeared into the murk after only a few paces, lost to Ireheart’s view. Having glided out into the night, they seemed to become part of it.

“Odd fellows.” Rodario nodded at the women. “I wonder what Boïndil has learned from that Zhadár.” He went over to Ireheart.

Rodario’s continued transformation had not escaped Coïra. She noted he now wore chain mail and carried a sword at his side. Having not shaved since his involuntary unmasking, he now sported a short beard on his square-jawed face. This and his manly bearing meant he had nothing in common with the figure everyone was familiar with: The eternal failure in the Mifurdania competitions.

Mallenia, on the other hand, was watching the maga, her rival, while at the same time berating herself for having fallen for a man who had never existed. Her heart had been captivated by a stage character, a seemingly vulnerable, clumsy man who had suddenly turned out to be brave and bold. The former incarnation had appealed to Mallenia more because she was a born protectress. But still…

Coïra sighed. “Who would have thought it?”

“That he’s a real man?” Mallenia gave a bitter laugh and cut herself a slice of bread to spread with seed oil. “I’m as surprised as you.”

The maga reached for her flask and took a drink. She looked at the Ido girl. “How does he kiss?” she demanded directly.

“What?” Mallenia nearly choked.

Coïra’s eyes shone; she clasped her knees to her as she sat. “He stole a kiss, didn’t he? What was it like? Tell me, do!”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Maybe,” she answered daringly. “He’ll think I’m a lovesick young girl if he finds out. But I don’t care.”

“Isn’t he a bit too old for you? He’s more my age, about thirty cycles, and you’ve surely only seen twenty?” Mallenia realized that her tone was unfriendly.

Coïra noticed it as well and looked at the Ido girl in puzzlement. “Is that a touch of jealousy?”

“No,” she snapped—and next moment she was furious with herself. That had been as good as an acknowledgment. She had little experience in affairs of the heart. The struggle for freedom had left no room for that kind of thing. There had been only two short outings into the realm of physical passion.

“It seems to me his kiss has done more than you want to admit,” said the maga, putting her leather drinking pouch back on the floor. She pushed back her dark hair and tied it at the nape. She could not help grinning. “So there we are, in the middle of a great adventure, just about to launch an attack on the Dragon, and we find we both fancy the same man. The gods have a strange sense of humor.”

At first Mallenia wanted to deny everything, but she dismissed that idea. Why should she not own up to her feelings? “It’s much harder for me, Coïra,” she said. “I actually preferred him when he was Rodario the Clumsy.”

“Then be glad you never saw him the way I did. You would have run a mile! We’ll get him to play the helpless clown and audacious hero on alternate orbits.” She handed the other girl her flask. “Let us vow never to fall out over him.”

“Fall out?” Mallenia was not aware of any pact of friendship. She stared indecisively at the flask.

“Look! You’ll soon be on the throne of Idoslane and I shall be taking over from my mother in Weyurn. How nice it would be if, as two future rulers, we were to get on well and not start fighting and feuding over some man. Otherwise we may end up with a war between our two countries.” Even if it was clear from her smile that she did not mean these words seriously, there was a grain of truth in them.

So Mallenia accepted the flask, unscrewed the top and drank to sisterhood. Coïra then did the same. “He kisses in the most masculine way,” the Ido girl confessed. “I was puzzled at the time but did not worry about it. My suspicions were overcome by his acting talents.” She continued eating. “Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

“Tell him I love him?” The maga sighed. “I don’t know. It would be… it would be so humiliating if I told him and he laughed at me. Or if he turned me down for another.” She looked Mallenia in the eye. “It was you he stole the kiss from, not me. My jealousy is bound to be stronger than yours.”

Mallenia hesitated. “Well, if you say so… But I think he saw it as a sort of game. It wasn’t serious. He has no idea how I feel about him.”

They smiled at each other and both turned to look at Rodario, who seemed to sense their eyes on him. He swiveled round to meet the double gaze, and waved before turning back to his discussion with Ireheart.

“Men.” Mallenia drew out her sword and proceeded to sharpen it.

Coïra cut herself a slice of ham. “You’re better off than me.”

“How do you mean?” asked Mallenia.

“You’re good with weapons. I need magic to defend myself. And without a magic source my inner reserves are quickly exhausted.” The maga chewed on the tasty meat. “And I’m not terribly brave. I’ve never needed to be.”

“You’re joking! You stood up to the älfar!”

“But I had lots of magic power in me then. No bravery required.”

“You said you got some energy from the source in Lakepride when it was released in the explosion.” Mallenia raised her head. “So you’ve got enough to cast some spells?”

“Of course. But it’s not nearly as much as I would have absorbed on my normal long exposure.” She spoke hesitantly. “I’m pinning my hopes on finding another source in the Red Mountains.”

Now the Ido girl was paying close attention. She picked up the flask again. “If this pouch represents your potential reservoir, how much would you say you had at the moment?”

Coïra unscrewed the top and let the contents pour out in a thin stream until there was only a third left. Wordlessly, she put the lid back on and handed it back.

“Is that all?”

The maga shook her head. “That’s it. But it’ll be enough to deal with the orcs. The new source will give me back all my previous strength.”

“And it won’t be difficult to locate?”

“I have a feel for such things. There is a spell for detecting the presence of magic. That’ll help a lot.”

Mallenia gave her attention to her second sword. “You were right. I’d rather rely on cold steel for my defense.”

Rodario came over to them. “And here we have the most enchanting ladies in all Girdlegard,” he greeted them cheerily. “And the most powerful.”

“He’s overdoing it,” Mallenia said to Coïra. “And anyway, enchanting would only apply to the maga.” She picked up her sword and pointed it at Rodario. “I, on the other hand, am as sharp as steel and have winning ways, Rodario the Seventh.” She flashed her eyes at him maliciously, while the dark-haired girl put her hand quickly over her mouth to stifle her giggles.

A bewildered Rodario turned from one to the other. “I get the impression that something has been cooked up in my absence. I feel I am the focus of a conspiracy.”

“No. Don’t worry. We wouldn’t concern ourselves with trivial things,” the maga returned, with a wink, helping herself to more food.

A Zhadár came back into camp with the news that the five gates were now open. At once the dwarves, together with the remains of the decimated Black Squadron, set off to join the Invisibles.

“They’ve not been gone long,” Slîn said to Balyndar, loading his crossbow as he walked. They left the cave together and ran down to the valley through the rain.

“I’d have liked to have seen it all, but they wouldn’t let me go with them.” Ireheart was curious about the Invisibles’ special skills.

“It was probably better this way.” Tungdil pulled out Bloodthirster. “It wouldn’t have been your sort of fight, Ireheart. You’re not silent when you attack orcs: You normally brandish your crow’s beak, yell and swear a lot, and smash up their armor. It gets quite loud.”

A Zhadár stood waiting for them at the first of the wooden gates, now open.

As they hurried through they saw a couple of dozen orcs lying in the mud, with their throats cut. Others had received dents and slashes to their armor and some had their heads entirely missing.

This image was regularly repeated. A Zhadár stood at each of the gates with massacred guards behind him in the mire.

Ireheart was impressed. “Well, fry me an elf!” he murmured.

At last they arrived at the pass that led to the Red Mountains. The orcs had erected a further wooden palisade; this time it was Barskalín who was waiting for them.

“We killed the sentries like you said,” he reported to Tungdil. “No alarm was sounded.”

“I would have expected nothing less and am very pleased,” Tungdil praised him. “How many orcs so far?”

“We killed a hundred and fourteen of them and two Lohasbranders who were in the guardroom. They were acting as officers,” the sytràp explained. “We took a third one prisoner because we thought you’d want to interrogate him.”

“Excellent.” Tungdil followed him inside; Ireheart and the rest joined them.

The cave was high-ceilinged, stark and bare. The orcs and Lohasbranders had not troubled to make it homely. On closer examination faint remains of dwarf-runes and masonry carvings could still be seen. At the front of the cave, right next to the palisade fence, there were two wooden barrack buildings where the orc crews would have been quartered; nearby were two smaller sheds. Barskalín explained one was a storeroom and the other was a jail cell whose two orc occupants they also slaughtered.

Ireheart listened in surprise. These Zhadár are as dangerous as the black-eyes!

Hargorin told his soldiers to guard the cave and to spread out over the four passageways. None of the tunnels was large enough to admit a full-grown dragon, they were relieved to note. Lohasbrand would not be able to attack them in here.

On the way into the first of the barrack buildings, where the Zhadár were holding the captive Lohasbrander, Ireheart inspected the corpses. “It’s a mystery how the Invisibles managed to do all that without the pig-faces putting up any resistance,” he remarked to Slîn, so astonished that he could not help commenting.

“They’ve learned a frightening amount from the älfar,” the fourthling agreed. “I keep thinking about how well they know my native land. They could easily do the same thing in the Brown Mountains.” He looked at Balyndar. “Or with the fifthlings. Or the freelings. Just imagine what might have happened had the älfar trained up some thirdlings keen to kill the other dwarves! We’d have been wiped out ages ago.”

“They wouldn’t have found it this easy,” Balyndar observed, looking at one of the dead orcs, whose throat had been cut.

“But the losses would have been terrible,” Ireheart replied, as he went inside the building.

Tungdil was standing with Barskalín in front of the captured Lohasbrander, who they had forced to his knees and chained to a wooden pillar. He wore black lamellar armor and had light fair hair sticking up all over his head. In stature he was podgy yet strongly built, and the fair beard on his broad face was stained red with the blood oozing from a cut on his left cheek.

“That’s Wielgar!” cried Coïra. “He’s one of the Lohasbranders who were in Mifurdania recently. He’s the one who had The Incomparable Rodario executed.”

“Well, well, the little maga,” he groaned. “That attempt at rebellion will cost you dear. The Dragon will reduce your land to rubble and ashes!”

“We’ve things planned for Lohasbrand. He won’t have time to get up to any such tricks.” Tungdil planted himself in front of the man. “Where will we find the magic source and the Dragon’s treasure?” Wielgar started to laugh. Tungdil went on, “Before you do that, think hard. I am a past master in administering pain.” He drew up a small bench, released the man’s right arm and forced it down onto the wood. “We’ll start with the fingers, bit by bit. I’ll hammer each segment flat as a pancake.” He bound up the upper arm so that the blood loss would not prove fatal. “Then I’ll make my way up the limb, cutting it into slices. I’ll let you see them before I shove them in your mouth to keep your strength up. Then we’ll have a go with the other arm.”

Wielgar seemed worried. “I am an admirer of the Dragon and one of his highest officers…”

“I couldn’t care less.” The flat side of Bloodthirster’s blade flashed down and the tip of one finger was transformed into a mushy mess; the nail fell off and blood flowed.

Wielgar yelled. “You shall all die!” he vowed. “Give up now.”

Tungdil reminded him, “You know what my questions are. Do we have any answers yet?”

“There is no magic source,” he moaned. And, as the sword was lifted again, he screamed, “There is no magic source! Believe me! We know the rumors but we’ve never found anything.”

“How would you? You’re not magi,” Coïra remarked.

“The Dragon told us,” he countered, one eye on Bloodthirster, which was hovering over his hand. “I swear by Samusin that there’s no magic at all in the Red Range. Except for the maga.”

Coïra looked at Mallenia and implored her silently not to think of mentioning her present weakened state. “That’s all right,” she said, feigning indifference. “I’ve got enough magic to kill ten dragons. But I shall use a spell to check whether or not he’s telling the truth; if his next answer is a lie, his head will burst open.” She moved her fingers, closed her eyes and touched his brow with her left index finger. “Is there a magic source?”

“No!” Wielgar cried out, beside himself with terror. “No, by all…”

“And the treasure?” Tungdil reminded the Lohasbrander and took aim for a further blow.

“Miles away, seventy miles to the west,” he said straightaway. “He had everything moved there, all the tribute collected in his name.”

Ireheart could not restrain himself anymore. “How many pig-faces does he have under his command?”

Wielgar shrugged. “Thousands. We counted them.”

“Right, right. Thousands, then.” Tungdil slammed the weapon down and shattered the little finger completely. “Try again. Or do you want the maga to do another spell, to make your head…”

“Not more than seven thousand,” Wielgar shouted. “They live in the caves and we call them up when we need them. Then there’s another thousand traveling around with the governors in Weyurn.” He stared at the dwarf in rage. “They’ll be here any time now and they’ll wipe you out. A report has gone out about this attack.”

“It has certainly not,” Barskalín contradicted. “Apart from him no one was left alive, Tungdil. Nobody escaped.”

“You missed one.” Wielgar gave a sly grin. “A second lookout position, in the rocks above the entrance. The guards will be on their way.”

“We should get out of here,” said Coïra uneasily.

“Without nicking a single thing from the treasure hoard? Why should Lohasbrand bother coming after us?”

“We need something to make the Dragon follow us,” Tungdil said.

“How about this guy?” suggested Rodario, pointing at Wielgar. “If he’s really as important as he claims to be, Lohasbrand is sure to want to have him back.”

Wielgar laughed again. “Another of those stupid Rodarios. They get absolutely everywhere. But he’s just right for this farce.”

A loud hissing roar echoed around the cave; excited shouts came through from outside, and steps approached the barracks.

“Lohasbrand!” Mallenia looked at everyone. “He’s found us!”

“He can’t get in through the passages. We’re safe from him.” Ireheart looked at the doorway, where one of the Black Squadron came rushing through. “But he’s not safe from us!”

“The Dragon is coming, sir,” the squadron soldier reported to Tungdil. “We heard his roar through the second passageway. Hargorin wants to know what your instructions are.”

Wielgar laughed triumphantly. “If you ask me, you should run for your lives. Perhaps you’ll find a little hole outside—somewhere to hide in.”

Tungdil studied the Lohasbrander at length, making his confident merriment ebb quickly away. “We attack,” he announced. “Then I’ll come back and cut your head off.” He ran out.

“Huzzah! We’re off to get the Dragon!” Ireheart raised his crow’s beak. “I still need to cross him off my list of monsters.” He followed his friend.

Slîn sighed as he looked at his crossbow. “I’ve got the wrong weapon again. What use am I against dragon scales?”

“Shoot him in the eye?” came Rodario’s helpful suggestion. “If I were a dragon I’m sure that would annoy me terribly.” He looked at the women. “It’ll be a tough battle, but we have an excellent maga on our side. I’ll cover you but you’ll have to kill Lohasbrand for me.”

Coïra attempted a smile, and failed. Mallenia put her hand on the queen’s shoulder to encourage her. Together they ran off after the dwarves, who had raced out like a black cloud toward the second passageway.

Again came the Dragon’s deafening roar, and hot stinking steam entered the corridor. Surely a prelude to worse to come.

Ireheart did not move from Tungdil’s side; they reached a further cave.

Without warning, a burst of flame shot down on them!

The Zhadár and the Black Squadron raised their shields to defend themselves against the fire.

Ireheart could feel the heat swarming over them, but the shields had protected them from severe burns. Isn’t that a bit on the harmless side? We should have been incinerated! There’s nothing hotter than a dragon’s breath! “Overhead,” he called. “He must have climbed up on the ceiling, the coward!”

But, however hard he looked, there was no dragon to be seen clinging to the ceiling. When he looked at his shield he noticed there was only a little soot on it. The fifthlings’ forge had once been set alight by the breath of a dragon. Lohasbrand, in contrast, seemed to have no really dangerous flames at his disposal.

But the Scaly One’s roar erupted again, from the back of the cave.

Now they could see the dark-green dragonhead perched on top of a long neck. The elongated skull was visible over the top of a boulder and smoke was rising from the nostrils at the end of its narrow snout. It was a threat, to force them to leave the cave.

Ireheart took a firmer grip on his weapon. “How did it get there so fast?”

Soldiers appeared from behind the stone and took up their positions. Ireheart reckoned there were about eighty warriors, all wearing lamellar plated armor and emerald green cloaks: On their heads they wore familiar helmets in the shape of a dragon, and they carried spears and shields.

“The mighty Dragon Lohasbrand commands you to leave here immediately,” one of their number called out. “Or he will kill you and all your families.”

“That’s exactly why we are here,” said Coïra, stepping forward. “To stop this. We have put up with him and you for far too long.” She was relying on support from Tungdil Goldhand and the dwarves. Should a warrior heart be beating quite so fast? “Weyurn demands the return of its freedom!”

One of the Lohasbranders lowered the tip of his spear to aim it at her. “The Dragon laughs at your crazy attempt to seize power. If you disappear, now, he is prepared to forget what you have planned.”

Ireheart thought this conduct on the part of the man, and particularly on the part of the Dragon, was very strange. It ought to have been easy for such a monster to intimidate them all by sheer size and strength. They say the Dragon is fifty paces long and ten paces broad. A glance at Tungdil assured him that his friend was thinking along the same lines—or had he already worked out what was happening? Had he missed some clue from Wielgar’s interrogation?

He studied the block of stone above which the dragonhead rose up. “That little rock is never going to be big enough to hide Lohasbrand,” he murmured, and waved to Slîn to join him. “Shoot the dragon in the eye.”

“Did Tungdil say to?”

“No, we don’t need him.”

“Charming…”

He shoved him. “Come on. Hurry up!”

Slîn hesitated. “You want to provoke an attack?”

“Get on with it!” snarled Ireheart. “Nothing will happen.” He stood so that the archer could aim at the target without being seen by the Lohasbranders.

Slîn took a deep breath and held it while he drew back the trigger mechanism. A click, and the bolt whizzed through the air, hitting the creature in the middle of the right pupil.

“You never missed?” asked Ireheart accusingly.

“No, of course not!” Slîn was furious. “I couldn’t miss a target like that even after a jug of brandy and a barrel of black beer!” He loaded the weapon again to prove his point and a second projectile landed up touching the first. “Charming, indeed! It doesn’t feel any pain!”

Nobody had spotted what they were up to.

The rationale behind this extraordinary phenomenon suddenly occurred to Ireheart. He looked at Slîn excitedly. “At this rate we might stud him all over with bolts and he wouldn’t notice at all.”

“True.” The fourthling shuddered. “An immortal dragon? By Vraccas…”

“No.” Ireheart laughed out loud. “That’s it! That’s why he’s not coming out from behind the rock.”

“What?” called Slîn. “Why not?” He did not get an answer.

Ireheart went over to Tungdil and whispered his idea.

The Scholar smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done! If you carry on like this, Girdlegard won’t need me at all. Splendid, Ireheart! I could sense something wasn’t right. That explains everything. You’ve taken away the Dragon’s power.” He lifted Bloodthirster and looked along the ranks. All the dwarves were awaiting his orders. “Maga Coïra, you and Mallenia and Rodario keep back behind our lines. If the Dragon attacks you then go into action. We’ll do the rest.” Then he lowered his sword and stormed forward.

The Zhadár and Black Squadron were close on his heels, yelling fit to bust and brandishing their weapons.

They may have looked like a random horde but these warriors were well trained and adopted a distinct formation. Hargorin’s soldiers went in as the first wave, to carve out gaps in the enemy lines. The Zhadár would then push through these breaks to attack like shadows from behind to confuse the foe.

Ireheart threw himself into the fray with passion. “Hey there, Lohasbranders! Let’s have your shields out of the way!” he bellowed enthusiastically, smashing the first one with a crow’s beak broadside. He ducked under a darting spear tip, took a step to the left and hacked his metal spike into the opponent’s ribcage; there was a gratifying scream.

Ireheart sprang through into the gap, pushing away the Zhadár trying to follow him. “Get off! This is my place!” he snarled, yanking the metal spur out of the dead body to thrust it into the living body of the next foe careless enough to leave himself undefended.

The iron hook tore the lamellar garb apart and sliced through the flesh beneath it. The Lohasbrander fell groaning to the floor.

“One less!” cheered the dwarf, delivering a sharp kick to another’s shield, making the holder fall backwards. Ireheart jumped onto the shield, crushing the man underneath. “It’s always going to be dark for you now, dragon friend,” he growled, whacking the flat side of the crow’s beak into the man’s face.

Behind his stone the Dragon was roaring and raging—but he wasn’t coming out.

Ireheart had fought his way through the ranks of men, clearing a path the Zhadár were making use of. They, Tungdil and he sneaked round behind the boulder to launch themselves on Lohasbrand with loud oaths.

What they saw made them stop in mid-attack.

A dozen men and women were operating the dragonhead and neck on long poles, which they were raising and lowering to give the impression the creature was moving. Others were making the snout open and close; directly adjacent five more of them were banging away on boxes and drums and metal sheets to create the dragon’s roaring voice. They had constructed a sort of funnel arrangement to increase the volume of noise.

“Puppeteers! Will you look at that! Just what I thought!” Ireheart grinned. “You can’t trick a dwarf that easily, you idiot play actors!” He sprang into their midst, whirling his crow’s beak in circles; the Zhadár and the squadron followed suit.

The wooden poles that were wielded against them soon fell, smashed by powerful blows; Ireheart’s battle-fury kicked in, sending a red mask of rage over his face.

Yelling and cheering he dealt out shattering blows with his weapon, feeling blood spurting, and hearing the cries and groans of the wounded and dying—until his friend’s voice reached him. With immense difficulty he forced back the tide of fever, the fire in his veins, the bloodlust that had taken him over. He rubbed his eyes and surveyed the carnage.

Human remains lay scattered around.

They had not put up much of a fight and Ireheart had been disappointed at the lack of resistance. Catching his breath, he aimed a kick at the stuffed dragonhead. Sweat was pouring off him. “Ha! Dead!” He cleaned off his weapon in a foul temper. “What a let-down. I still can’t cross off killing a dragon on my list.”

Hargorin came round the rock with a troop of his men expecting to help Ireheart fight the Dragon. He halted the soldiers and came over to inspect what was left of the enemy soldiers and the monster. “Wielgar has a lot of explaining to do,” was his only comment. Coïra, Mallenia and Rodario also arrived and stared in astonishment at the bloodbath and the dragon cadaver.

“I don’t need Wielgar.” Boïndil looked at Tungdil. “The Dragon must have died some time back and the Lohasbranders kept quiet about it so that the people would carry on obeying them. And the pig-faces, too, I suppose.” The one-eyed dwarf nodded.

The maga clenched her fists. “To Tion with the lot of the bastards! They deserve their deaths three times over. How long have they been pulling the wool over our eyes?” She almost did not want to know the answer so that she would not have to reproach herself with anything. Had they not been terrified of reprisals from the Dragon they would surely have driven out the occupying forces from their island realm and her mother would have been able to free herself much sooner from her shackles. Then she would never have been slain in battle with the älfar…

Hatred flamed up in her heart on a scale she had never experienced before. She wanted every last one of the enemy to know her feelings.

Coïra whirled round on her heel and hurried back to the barracks to confront Wielgar.

“Follow her.” Tungdil ran after her and left it up to Hargorin and Barskalín to finish off the wounded and guard the cave entrance.

They reached the hut in time to see the maga slicing off the struggling, shrieking Wielgar’s ears and hurling them disdainfully at him. She swung her sword arm in preparation for a blow to his heart, but Tungdil restrained her and pushed her aside.

“No, Your Majesty! First he has to answer some questions, then you shall have your revenge,” he said to calm her. Rodario and Mallenia held Coïra back, and stopped her lunging at the prisoner, knife in hand.

Tungdil confronted Wielgar, whose shoulders were now drenched in the blood that was streaming down left and right. “We have defeated your friends, Lohasbrander. How long have you been playing this trick on the people of Weyurn?”

“All is lost. It’s all over.” The man sobbed and let himself hang drooping in his chains.

Ireheart threw some water over him. “Talk, longlegs. Or I’ll get salt to rub in your wounds.”

“Forty cycles,” he whimpered.

“Forty?” yelled Coïra, quite beside herself. You’ve oppressed us for forty years without reason, letting us live in fear, just so you could live in luxury?” She lunged forward again. If it had not been for Rodario and Mallenia, she would have killed him there and then. “I curse you, Wielgar! I curse you and all your band!”

The Lohasbrander sobbed. “We found the Dragon one morning dead in a ravine and we knew our reign would be over if anyone found out. So we brought his body back and stuffed it so we could trick the orcs and ensure they would go on serving us.”

“Just what I said,” Ireheart remarked, glad to have his theory confirmed. He folded his arms across his broad dwarf-chest.

“Old Clever Clogs,” replied Slîn.

“For once,” added Balyndar spitefully.

Tungdil kicked Wielgar. “How many orcs have you got?”

“The ones you killed and one thousand in Weyurn. That’s all,” the man howled. “The dwarves have blocked the western approaches and aren’t letting any more orcs through.”

Ireheart stood up tall and proud. “Balyndis will be pleased to hear that. Her tribe has done good work there. Vraccas has blessed them with an iron will.” He turned to the human and asked, “What happened to the treasure?”

Wielgar sniffed. Saliva and mucus ran down his face. “We spent it all ages ago. There’s nothing left. That’s why we raised the tribute rate, so we could start getting some more money in.”

Coïra spat at him. “You are worse than the orcs, worse than the lowest scum,” she hissed. “To oppress and deceive your own people out of pure greed!”

Wielgar let his head sink down and whimpered to himself. Tungdil came over to the queen. “Majesty, your realm has achieved freedom quicker than we thought possible. The squadron’s messengers can spread the news throughout the land and we’ll send them out with parts of the Dragon’s head as evidence.” He looked at her sharply. “You will still accompany me to the south to fight Lot-Ionan.”

“I…” She was struggling to reply.

“Your help is more sorely needed than ever. If Lohasbrand no longer exists as an adversary to keep Lot-Ionan in check, we will need your magic powers or Girdlegard cannot survive.” The brown in his single eye seemed to grow darker. “If we don’t succeed in defeating the magus, evil will pour out of the Black Abyss unchecked. Not even the eoîl and avatars were as bad or as powerful a scourge as what will befall us all if that happens.”

Coïra gulped and looked at Mallenia. “Yes. Of course I shall follow you, high king,” she replied meekly. “Without you and your bold plan I would never have come to the Red Mountains and my people would not be free. I am in your debt. My whole land is in your debt.”

He nodded to her and smiled. Like the old Tungdil, thought Ireheart. “Thank you. We shall rest for the length of one orbit and then we shall set out for the Blue Mountains. We’ll leave messages here for the firstlings. They will find them sooner or later. We don’t have time to send an expedition out west to look for them.” He left the barracks to inform Hargorin and Barskalín.

Now Rodario and Mallenia could release the maga.

“Go outside,” said Coïra quietly. “I want to be alone with this scum.” Her eyes were brimming with tears of rage. They left the room, and as Ireheart pulled the door to behind him they heard Wielgar’s first scream.

“I wouldn’t have thought her capable of that,” commented Rodario. “She looked so gentle. So kind.”

“Just think what the Lohasbranders have done to her.” Mallenia could certainly understand the queen’s attitude. She wanted to get all the älfar in her clutches one by one to pay them back for the terror they had inflicted for so very many cycles on her land.

Wielgar cried out again, loud and shrill. Full of the fear of death.

“Will you be dealing in similar vein with the vassal-rulers?” The actor studied her face intently.

“They will be tried in the courts. We’ll take them prisoner, subject them to judgment and punish them according to the verdicts.” The Ido girl looked at Hargorin. “He is the best example of how easily one can be deceived.”

“I could employ him in my theater troupe.” Rodario nodded. “He tricked the älfar for such a long time in order to be ready when the opportunity arose. If he had courted their enmity it would have served him and the thirdlings ill indeed.”

They went into the neighboring building, where they found the orcs’ quarters. It was surprisingly clean and did not even smell strongly.

“What about the thirdlings in älfar service who oppressed the population in whole swathes of the land?” Rodario and Mallenia sat down on a bench by the window, from where they could keep an eye on events in the cave.

“It will be difficult to get Urgon, Idoslane and Gauragar to understand that the thirdlings were only acting a role. I’ll ask the high king how we should proceed. If the thirdlings were to withdraw into the mountains, no one will pursue them.” Mallenia tried to work out how much truth she could confide in Rodario as to the present state of Coïra’s magic powers.

She looked him in the eyes and her heart started to race. Even now, when he had shrugged off the mantle of helplessness, she could not take her eyes off him. Where will it all end? “The journey in the next few orbits will take us right across Rân Ribastur and Sangpur,” she said, to take her mind off things. And she wanted to hear his point of view. “What do you know about the queendoms?”

He held her eyes, searching to read her expression until she dropped her gaze. “Well, Rân Ribastur is covered in trees and Sangpur is covered in sand,” he said, amused by her reaction.

“That’s not what I meant.” Mallenia was furious with herself for blushing, and for feeling light-headed, too. Next time she would show him that she could not be unsettled so easily. “It’s all under Lot-Ionan now.”

“Aha! You wanted to know what to expect when we get there?” He leaned back and thought she looked rather lovely when she blushed. She was obviously pretty inexperienced with men and affairs of the heart. “Rumor has it that he has shared out the land to his famuli, who are doing their magic experiments there and generally bothering the residents. He guards his magic source jealously and only lets his famuli have access one by one and at set times, so that he can keep an eye on them. He seems to have developed a kind of persecution mania. If we are to believe the stories, he has six or seven separate phobias. He must be making a collection.”

“Don’t the rumors say how many famuli there are? I ask because of Queen Coïra. She’ll have to put them all out of action.” Mallenia tapped her sword hilt. “You can’t always use one of these to deal with a magician.”

“I see things just the same as you.” He pulled a face. “People come up with different versions. Some say he only has two famuli and that they hate each other. Others claim he has ten, each one more powerful than the last.” His expression now became conspiratorial. “But they are said to be at war with each other as well. They all want Lot-Ionan’s good opinion, hoping to inherit from him. If one of them wins access to the magic source they’ll have control over all the other famuli. They have created magic creatures and use them to get at each other. Particularly in Rân Ribastur I expect we’ll be under constant attack from these strange figures who derive their being from magic. But we’ll be fine. We have our maga with us.”

Mallenia swore under her breath. She was wondering how much energy Coïra still had; she would have to preserve it in order to be able to face down the magus. There was simply no time to travel to the land of the älfar to let Coïra bathe in that magic source. Tungdil Goldhand must be told the truth, or, in spite of having the Zhadár with them, their whole company might be wiped out fast.

Rodario was sitting with his chin supported on his hands, staring at Mallenia’s face, trying to read her thoughts. “I have heard of one beast more terrible than all others. Do you want to know its name?”

Mallenia was not really listening, but she lifted her hand to indicate that she did want to know the name.

“Xolototh,” he said in a dread and somber tone. “It hunts down humans, especially pretty blonde females.”

“What does it do with them? Take them prisoner?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. It does this.” He leaned forward quick as a flash and gave her a swift kiss.

Or rather, he had intended to give her a quick kiss.

But when he pulled his head back he felt her hand at the nape of his neck, pulling his mouth toward hers again. She smiled at him and closed her eyes to sink into the embrace. Attack was the best form of defense in these circumstances. And certainly the sweetest.