The Fate of the Dwarves

XXI

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Rân Ribastur,

Former Northwestern Border,

Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

The air was cool and fresh but the sun was doing its best to warm the travelers. The tender golden rays shimmered through the canopy of dense foliage above their heads. There was a scent of nature reawakening and the first flowers were in bloom.

They were not riding particularly fast, not wanting to arrive in the Blue Mountains before Aiphatòn and his älfar. Tungdil and Ireheart were at the head of the column, then some of the Zhadár and Barskalín, and, in the middle, Slîn and Balyndar, with the remainder of the Invisibles bringing up the rear.

“Our messages will all have been delivered by now.” Ireheart blinked in the sunlight. “I wonder what Goda thinks? What will she say to our successes?”

“It won’t make any difference,” Tungdil hazarded. “She’ll still have her doubts about me? Unlike you. And I can’t blame her. In her place I’d be even more suspicious now. The victories only prove to her how evil I must be,” he laughed. “The älfar and myself, then the Black Squadron and the Zhadár as my new allies—a whole collection of bad lads.” This sounded like the old Scholar now.

If you only knew what I was thinking about. Ireheart hoped that his friend was not able to read his mind, because such thoughts had been exactly what had been going through it. Add to that those black lines on Tungdil’s face and the inexplicable changes in his eye. He had to force himself to join in the laughter. “Yes, it’s a troop Nôd’onn would have given his eye-teeth for. In the old days.”

“A very long time ago.” Tungdil cast a quick look back over his shoulder. “Everything’s going our way, and some things were just handed to us on a silver plate.”

“I wonder if we’ll catch sight of the firstlings. May Vraccas make sure they find our message quickly.” Ireheart relaxed his grip on his pony’s reins and it trotted contentedly along. “The points are set now, like for the old mountain tunnel trains. I’d be a whole lot happier traveling in one of them, too.”

“That would be fine, perfect if you’re good at breathing underwater!”

“Elria could hardly have thought up a better way to punish us dwarves, could she? To get all of Weyurn’s lakes to drain down into our tunnel complex.” Ireheart looked ahead to where their road left the woods and led through the meadows. “We’ve still not seen a single human. Or anything else, for that matter.”

“Did you hear the stories Rodario was telling us about Rân Ribastur?” Tungdil grinned and, as always at such moments, Ireheart felt so happy to be at his side. As it had been in the old, old orbits… the feeling was comforting. “Magic animals, which the famuli set upon each other; a spell put on great swathes of the land; and nature drawing the traveler to his doom.” Tungdil tapped his armor for good luck. “I’m all right as long as I’ve got my armor.”

Has he ever taken it off? At any time during the whole journey? Ireheart tried to remember when he had seen Tungdil without his coat of armor. Certainly not during the journey to Lot-Ionan. But he didn’t seem to stink, he didn’t complain, he—didn’t sleep?

Hoofbeats approached and the fair-haired Ido girl came up to Tungdil’s side. “Excuse me for interrupting but I must tell you this,” she said directly. “I must speak to you, Goldhand.”

“Whatever you have to say to me Ireheart can hear, too,” said the one-eyed dwarf, and Boïndil took it as further confirm ation that they were dealing with the genuine Tungdil Goldhand.

Mallenia nodded. “It’s about the queen. You should know that she has hardly any magic power left.”

Aha. It was all going so nicely till now. Ireheart’s eyebrows were raised so high they nearly touched his hairline, but he kept quiet.

“How do you know?” Tungdil asked.

“She told me so herself.” Mallenia put her hand on her sword. “I had to tell you.”

“Why didn’t she tell us herself?” Ireheart blurted out. “What use is it if we think she’s on an equal footing with Lot-Ionan only to find, the first time we meet him, that instead of an inferno we have a miserable little flicker emerging from her fingertips?”

“I don’t know. She had hoped to be able to renew her powers in a source in the Red Mountains, but that did not happen.” Mallenia’s expression was apologetic. “I would have wished to bring you better news than this.”

“Blessed hammers!” Ireheart went on cursing for a while, then growled angrily. “So what now?”

Tungdil rubbed his short brown beard. “We’ll have to make sure the maga doesn’t use up any of the energy she still has, whether to defend herself or us, until we’ve got her to Lot-Ionan. Then we’ll have to find a way to take her to the source so she can refresh her magic,” he said after some thought. He did not seem particularly concerned that their most important weapon was going to be far less effective than they had assumed. “We won’t tell the others. They should go on believing the maga is in full possession of her magic faculties. I’ll have a word with her when the opportunity arises.” He ordered the company to halt at the edge of the forest. “It shall remain our secret for now. Leave the others their illusion.”

“And how are you going to…” Ireheart could not go on, because Tungdil had turned his pony round and was sitting up tall in the saddle.

“Listen to me,” he called to the group. “We are now in the territory of Rân Ribastur, and some of you are aware of the possible dangers that may await us here.” He pointed to Coïra. “She will not use her magic here. The queen is accompanying us to Lot-Ionan and is not here to protect us against robbers or mythical beasts. We are dwarves and should be able to defend ourselves!” A muffled roar of approval was heard. “So, do not depend on the queen’s magic powers. She will not be employing them, not even if one of us is in mortal danger. On the contrary, we pledge our lives to protect her and get her safely to the Blue Mountains without her using any of her own spells. Be on your guard and report anything you hear.” He lifted Bloodthirster. “Our steel can cope with any danger!”

In renewed confirmation the dwarves and Zhadár banged their shields, then dismounted and made camp.

Ireheart grinned at his friend. His announcement covered everything nicely. Clever as ever.

Rodario, who now sported a neat beard and thin mustache, and was thus the spitting image of his ancestor, arranged his blanket under the canvas protection from sun or rain.

He had chosen a green lavender bush, stable enough to tie the canvas to. When he looked at Queen Coïra he saw she was having difficulties with putting up her tent. He crawled over. “Let me help you, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” she said, smiling gratefully.

“I’d be happy to help.”

“I meant there’s no need to call me Your Majesty. I thought I’d told you that before. We’ve been through too much together and so I should like to grant you this privilege.”

Rodario returned the friendly gesture and smoothed out her blanket for her, rolling her extra clothing into a pillow. “There you are. Your royal bedstead now awaits.”

She laughed and lay down, sliding this way and that. “It’s not quite like home comforts but I’m sure I’ll sleep well in this fresh air. Though I shall miss the cries of the seagulls.”

“Ah, you’ll see. We’ll patch up the lakebed and fill the Bath again, as I used to call your people’s realm.” He winked. “Not far from our camp there is a little stream with a waterfall.” He slipped off his armor and outer clothing. “I don’t know how you’re feeling, but I’m longing for a swim… or at least to get rid of some of this dirt.” He stretched out his hand to her. “Would you like to come with me?”

She laughed. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Of course not. I’ll keep watch on the river bank while you bathe, and then you can do the same for me.”

Coïra’s laughter subsided and she appeared uneasy and dejected. “No, I’d rather stay where I am safe in the dwarves’ protection. You were telling the story about that thing that lies in wait for travelers, and even if I’m not blond…”

“Did Mallenia tell you about Xolototh?” Rodario looked over to the Ido girl who was arranging her bedding not far away.

“And that there was another kiss, yes. But this time, maybe, she took you by surprise.” Coïra could not resist this little dig. “I know I don’t have to be afraid of the Xolototh but I have a healthy respect for the enchanted creatures and plants in Rân Ribastur.” She sat down on her blanket. “You’d better go on your own, Rodario.”

He nodded and looked disappointed. Then he disappeared off through the bushes.

Coïra sighed with relief. She had not been sure whether she had managed to conceal her own feelings. An actor like him would surely notice when someone was pretending.

What Rodario could not know was that she had longed to accompany him. And she would have bathed with him in the water.

Coïra looked over at Mallenia, who was the exact opposite of herself in stature, coloring, and very nature. Yet the two of them shared an obsession with Rodario the Seventh, she was sure of that.

What can it lead to? she asked herself for the one hundred and twenty-seventh time. She lay down and closed her eyes.

But sleep was a long time coming. She kept seeing the man in her mind’s eye. Eventually, she got up with a sigh and surveyed the camp. All was quiet. Nobody was paying her any attention, so she slipped through the undergrowth, following the sound of water.

The splashing turned into a rushing sound and a fine spray covered the leaves with drops of moisture.

Coïra peered through the greenery and spotted a small waterfall, not more than seven paces high, and a pool of water perhaps eight paces in diameter at the base of a gray rock wall. Creepers overhung the stone and flowers on the bank quivered incessantly as they were sprinkled with the water droplets.

The actor’s clothing lay in a heap on the bank, far enough away from the spray to stay dry. With his back to her, Rodario stood naked in the pool in a theatrical pose before the cascade, waving his arms. He walked up and down, showing his profile. His mouth was opening and closing as though rehearsing for some grand role.

Coïra had to grin. She allowed her gaze to slip down from his hips, but did not look directly at his manhood. Not that she was uninterested to see what he had to offer in that area, but decency forbade her to be inquisitive. Perhaps the orbit would come when she might see it in different circumstances.

“And? What do you think of him?”

Coïra was startled, hearing a woman’s voice behind her. Looking over her shoulder she saw Mallenia. “I was worried…” she sought an excuse.

“Of course you were, my queen. Same as me. The Zhadár that are guarding our camp are certainly not able to protect us properly,” she smiled. “If anyone had told me that I would find myself standing next to the ruler of Weyurn watching a naked man bathe in a forest stream I think I would have slapped their face for the effrontery.” She bent one of the branches aside to get a better look. “Take a look at that! He has a very fine physique. Those padded clothes he was wearing hid his real shape.” She noticed that Coïra was not really watching. “Don’t you find him attractive? I thought you liked proper heroes and well-built men.”

“I… don’t want to see everything,” she said, avoiding a direct answer.

The Ido girl laughed quietly and looked at the black-haired queen. “What shall we do? Shall we share him or do we have to compete for his affections? Or shall we fight over him and be enemies forever? Idoslane and Weyurn can wage war about it.”

“We could just kill him, of course. That would be the simplest solution.” Coïra sighed.

Mallenia’s eyes flashed in amusement. “True enough. But I wouldn’t want so drastic a course of action. It’s hardly his fault that both of us have fallen for him.”

“He could have paid court to just the one of us, instead of both,” the maga objected. “And, if I think about it, you’re already at an advantage. You’ve had two kisses.”

“The first one didn’t count.” Mallenia put her hand on the queen’s shoulder. “We should not risk our friendship for his sake. You saved my life and I shall never forget that.” She became serious. “Do you want me to stand back and leave him to you? If you tell me to I shall respect your wishes.”

Coïra shook her head. “That would not be fair.”

Mallenia smiled at her. “I respect you all the more for that.” She gestured toward the little pool. “Off you go. Go and help him bathe.”

No!” she exclaimed. “I can’t do that!”

“That’s the only way to find out what he wants and how he feels about you. Don’t hesitate. I did, for too long.” Mallenia gave the maga a little shove which sent her tumbling out of the bushes.

She stumbled through the undergrowth toward the stream before regaining her balance. Before she could hide again Rodario had seen her.

Coïra could not hear what he called out. From the bushes Mallenia urged her to go on to the waterfall, and then withdrew. Well then, the maga said to herself, and stepped toward the cascade, which sprayed her with a fine mist and wetted her face, her hair and her clothing.

“I thought I would take you up on your offer,” she called out, standing in such a way as not to see all of him. Or his little Rodario.

“Very nice of you,” he said quietly, walking past her and bending over, so that she saw his taut buttocks. She turned swiftly away. “I’m finished here now. But I’ll keep watch for you. He pulled on his long shirt and hid his nakedness. “May I help you undress? You must be used to having assistance, you being a princess and all.”

“Only from my maid. Never from someone I don’t know.” She indicated he should turn round while she took off her clothes, layer by layer. Until she got to the gloves. The air was cool and she was shivering. She stepped quickly into the water, which was surprisingly warm. “You can turn round again now.”

Rodario sat down on the bank and watched the maga with an impenetrable smile. “Strange bathing practices,” he said, pointing at the gloves. “Why is that?”

“They… there’s a spell on them. I never take them off.”

“A spell?” he dangled his feet in the water and observed her. “What sort of spell? Are your fingers so ugly that you have to hide them? Or do you have dirt under your fingernails from all the alchemy experiments you do?”

She splashed him, taking care to keep her upper body under water and out of sight. Coïra had surprised herself. What did she think he would do? That he might be bold enough to come into the pool to join her? That he would not behave as a man of honor should? How did heroes behave when they weren’t campaigning against injustice and oppression? “You are making fun of me.”

“Never!” Suddenly his gaze traveled past her, to the pool itself. “Do you know the story of the Moon Pond? Old Boïndil told me the tale… he’s not much of a connoisseur about elf romances but he certainly enjoyed the killing sequences in the story. I prefer to concentrate on other parts.” He retold the story and Coïra listened, spellbound, as she swam in the pool. “What do you think? Do you think there may be more passageways like the one in the story?” Again, he was staring at the water.

“Now I understand!” She laughed. “You’re trying to frighten me.”

“No, I’m not. But we are in Rân Ribastur—the enchanted land, if you like. It doesn’t have to be an älf that comes riding out of the waves, but there could be something lying in wait for you,” he said simply, paddling his feet in the water. “Perhaps I should wake it up. It won’t have been seen very often by a woman of your beauty.”

She was going to call out a response—but then she felt a movement by her right foot. She could not hold back the scream. Rodario stopped splashing. “There’s something there!”

“Now you’re trying to trick me,” he said with a mischiev ous smile.

“No, I…” Something thin and long wrapped itself around her right leg, tightening its grip. Coïra stared under the water in horror but could not make anything out. There were too many bubbles. Then she was pulled downwards. She held out her arms to Rodario. “Pull me out! Quick!” She was frightened now.

Rodario could see from her expression that she was not joking. He grabbed her fingers and pulled. He was getting nowhere. He tugged again.

“Wait!” He got a foothold against the rock. Now he had a strong enough hold to heave the maga out of the water. At that moment he had no eyes for her breasts and her slender body. He saw something clinging to her leg that looked like a white tentacle. It let go of its victim and Coïra shot out of the water as Rodario pulled her hard.

Rodario fell over backwards and the maga landed full length on top of him. She had dark-red lines along her leg but no injuries. She was furious and resentful. “That was all your fault! You made that thing grab me!”

“It was your own idea,” he said defensively. “How was I to know the pool would have the power to make your thoughts come true?” In one hand he held something made of leather.

“You said the land was enchanted! You could have worked it out for yourself!” Coïra had talked herself into a fury, even if some of it was put on for his benefit. Because she was naked she felt she ought to stay where she was, so as not to show him even more of herself. Even more than he had already seen. “What if it comes out?”

“But you can detect magic, can’t you?”

Coïra opened her mouth to give some sharp retort. Then their eyes met. And melted. Their bodies exchanged warmth and fanned the inner fires that poets and bards have so often sung about. Neither was able to resist a surge of passion as their lips touched, and they kissed tenderly.

And again.

And once more.

“Your glove, my queen,” said Rodario croakily, his feelings getting the better of him. He held the leather item out to her. “It came off your arm when I pulled you out of the water.”

Without thinking she snatched for it—and Rodario caught sight of her right forearm. The daze of happiness on his face was wiped away as if he’d been given a smack in the face. From the elbow down the arm was transparent and glassy in places, while other parts were raw flesh, showing muscles and tendons and veins, under a see-through layer of skin. “Oh, ye gods!” he stammered. “What a ghastly…”

Coïra sprang up with a sob, grabbed her clothes and ran off.

Ireheart sat next to Tungdil at the campfire, where they were cooking meat, bread and vegetables on little spits. “What a shame we’ve got no more cheese,” he said.

“I can still remember the stink of it!” retorted Tungdil, who had taken off his helmet, gauntlets and greaves. “Very well indeed. Trying to forget.” He tasted the meat, which had been hopping through the fields half an hour earlier in the form of a rabbit. “I prefer this.”

Ireheart was giving his ration a more critical inspection.

Tungdil finished chewing. “What’s the matter? Doesn’t it smell bad enough?”

He turned and twiddled the spit as if looking for something wrong with it.

“Do you think it might have absorbed some of the magic?”

“What magic?”

“How should I know?” Ireheart snapped. “If it ate a… flower that one of the famuli had modified?”

“Are you starting to believe your own fairy tales? Or is this some myth put about by our young Rodario?” Tungdil went on eating, unconcerned.

“It’s just what they’re all saying.” He looked around. “Where’s he got to, anyway?”

“He’ll be wherever Coïra’s disappeared to.” Tungdil pointed over to the bushes.

“Aha!” was Ireheart’s grinned, rather than spoken, comment.

“Gone for a swim. Not to have it off. The Zhadár are keeping an eye on them, Barskalín tells me. They’ll be safe enough from attack.”

Ireheart put the piece of roast rabbit down. “So it’s true.”

Tungdil sighed. “What do you mean—so it’s true?”

“Magic!”

“No, not magic, by all that’s unholy!” Tungdil said. “I said attacks! Wild animals or unfriendly forest-dwellers.” He slammed his hand down on the ground. “There isn’t any magic here. And there aren’t any famuli here either. Never have been. The land is safe and the rabbits are especially safe.”

“The rabbits weren’t safe from us, though, were they?” Ireheart glanced at the runes on Tungdil’s armor and grew deadly serious. “Those runes: They’d light up, wouldn’t they, if the food was going to harm you?”

Slowly, very slowly, Tungdil put his food down. “Yes, they would,” he grunted in reply. His patience was coming to an end. “Give me your rabbit. I’ll eat it.”

“Right you are, Scholar.” Ireheart handed his meat over. “But just take a bite.”

“What?”

“Take a bite. I just want to see if my rabbit is as safe as yours was.” He pointed to the decorative inlay. “If it starts to glow I’ll know not to eat the rest.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Come on, hurry up. I’m hungry.”

Tungdil stared at him in exasperation, then burst out laughing. “That’s the kind of thing I really missed on the other side, Ireheart,” he gasped, when he had calmed down. “There was nobody there like you.” He bit into the meat and, when his runes stayed dark, he handed the food back to his friend. “I’ll be glad to live in peace and quiet somewhere after these next battles,” he went on, retrieving some vegetables from the edge of the fire. “I only hope I’ll be able to adapt.”

Ireheart was chomping his way through his meal with renewed appetite. “I managed to. Well, there was always some skirmish or other, out at Evildam, and we’d talk a lot about what battles might occur, but we weren’t immersed in war all the time like you were. To live with the possibility is a sight different from actually having to fight day in, day out.” He pointed his meat spit at Slîn and Balyndar. “In case you decide you’d rather be fighting, you could go back with the fifthlings. I’ve heard there’s always trouble at the Stone Gate. Now the kordrion’s gone, the first of the smaller monsters will be along soon.”

“With my son? No thanks.”

Ireheart coughed and looked at Tungdil, who was gnawing at some half-cooked vegetable and putting some spice on it made from dried rato herbs and salt. “So you know?”

“Of course.”

“How?”

“You talk in your sleep, Ireheart.” Tungdil shot him a smile over the top of the parsnip he was eating.

And once more the warrior-twin realized he was being taken for a ride. “You’re taking the piss.”

“Yup. I just felt like it.” Tungdil chucked the empty stick into the fire. “I managed to hang on to one eye so I’m not completely blind. If everyone else can see it, why not me? He’s exactly like me. It must be Tion’s own work if Balyndar is not my flesh and blood. He hasn’t said anything to me so I’ll not broach the subject with him. I can understand it. It makes sense for him to reject me.” He leaned back against a tree trunk and took out his flask. “It’ll be easier for him if he continues to regard the king as his father. However this particular adventure turns out it’ll be better for him if our two names are not mentioned in the same breath.” He opened the flask and drank.

“I wish you sounded a bit more confident, my learned leader and high king,” Ireheart muttered. He contemplated the bare bones left in his hands sadly. “There was hardly any meat on one of them. All fiddly little gristly bits. Not like a gugul. I’d give anything for one of them as my main course now.” He looked at his friend. “Well? How does it make you feel, knowing you and Balyndis have a son?”

Tungdil stared into the fire. “I don’t feel anything. For me he’s just one of the dwarves like all the rest,” he said dully, his eye unfocused.

Ireheart pulled a baked root out of the fire, shaved off the skin and added seasoning. “That’s really sad, Scholar. I love my children, and there’s no better feeling, you know. They make you furious at times but you get to be awfully proud of them as well.” He nodded in Balyndar’s direction. “He’d be one to be proud of. Looks fantastic, very good soldier and he’ll make a splendid king for the fifthlings one day. Balyndis has brought him up well.”

“Yes indeed, I would be proud of him,” Tungdil repeated, lost in thought. “I will ensure he gets back unharmed to his mother,” he vowed to the flames, closing his eye. “You take the first watch, Ireheart. Wake me when you get too tired.”

Boïndil bit into the vegetable, which cracked open in his teeth like a juicy apple. “Before you seek the refuge of sleep,” he said, “tell me one thing: Who are the unholy ones?”

“Gods in the land of the Black Abyss.” Tungdil did not take the trouble to lift his eyelid.

“Ho, that’s not a lot to go on. What kind of gods?”

“Cruel gods, Ireheart. Let me rest.”

“And go on waiting?” He chucked the empty spit at Tungdil—it did not occur to him until afterwards what a risk he was taking. He screwed his eyes shut to be on the safe side and lifted his hand to shield his face.

The wooden spit hit the armor and fell to the ground. There were no flashes or any other magic effects. Tungdil did not seem to have noticed.

Ireheart was about to say something but thought better of it. The soft voice of the last of his doubters demanded it. Who knows what this knowledge might be good for, it whispered in his ear, warning him not to betray himself. “Scholar! Tell me about these unholy ones? You know I like a good story,” he urged his friend.

“The unholy ones,” Tungdil began in a deep voice, “are ghostly beings. They show themselves in the blood of those who are sacrificed to them. This lifeblood can give them shape and form. A terrifying form that only the priests may behold without losing their minds.”

“And were you one of them?”

“No. But I was able to look on them and keep my wits.”

“Maybe that’s why your mind has holes in it now.”

“Firstly, my mind does not have holes in it. My memory does. And secondly, I’ve had enough of telling horror stories now.”

Ireheart hugged his knees and wiggled his toes. “How many unholy ones are there? What do they do to be worshipped like that? Do they help in warfare?” He looked at Tungdil, who was already asleep. “Oy, Scholar! Give me a chance to learn something!” Should he dare to throw another piece of wood? “How do you know Tirîgon so well? I mean, what did the two of you get up to over there? And why on earth did you take the name of your dead…?”

“That’s enough!” The eye shot open and Ireheart was greeted with a stare that delivered physical pain. The brown iris was penetrating as an arrow, then it disappeared to be replaced by a greenish pulsating light, which transmuted into a pale blue. One last flicker and the brown returned. “I want to sleep, Ireheart. There are many orbits ahead of us on our ride to the Blue Mountains and I will tell you more each time we make camp for the night. But not now!” He spoke with emphasis, regal and sharp, annihilating any objection. Then he shut his eye and arranged himself in a more comfortable position.

“Hmm,” said Ireheart, kicking up the dust. That was the false Tungdil again. Without thinking, he picked up a branch and started whittling away at the end. His movements gradually became slower; his gaze rested on the sleeping dwarf.

“Then I’ll sing a song to stave off boredom,” he decided, and began a tune that Bavragor had taught him. He tapped out the rhythm on his leg armor.

But Tungdil did not react. Annoyingly.

At that moment Rodario came tearing through the bushes, his clothes awry, as if he had dressed in a hurry. “The queen has gone!” he called out in agitation.

“Disappeared off the face of the earth or has she run away because you were importunate?” Ireheart grinned. “Thought you were having a bathe. Not likely!”

Rodario came up to him. “She was scared… and ran away.”

“Scared of your one-eyed trouser snake, I suppose.”

“Listen to me!” He grabbed the dwarf by his broad shoulders. “She’s run off into the undergrowth.”

“You still haven’t said what scared her, but never mind.” He called Barskalín to ask which way the queen had gone.

But the Zhadárs’ leader did not know. “My men were following her. We were watching the surrounding area, we weren’t watching her and the actor,” he explained to Ireheart.

“You were spying on us?” fumed Rodario.

“No. Or this would never have happened,” muttered Boïndil bad-temperedly, turning to Tungdil. “Scholar, wake up. We’ve got to find the maga and catch her. The nervous little filly has been shocked by a trouser snake and has run off into the undergrowth somewhere.”

A very sleepy Tungdil opened his eye reluctantly. The glance he shot at Rodario promised him a long, unpleasant death.

They raced through the thickets downstream in a long line.

They could not take the ponies with them so the Zhadár and dwarves had to go on foot to pick up the queen’s tracks.

The Invisibles easily found her trail but the maga had a head start. Their short legs put them at a disadvantage, but they could not let Rodario or Mallenia run off ahead under their own steam, for neither had the skills needed to follow the faint marks left by the maga’s feet.

The part of the forest they were in now was not welcoming. There must have been a forest fire there about a quarter of a cycle ago, one that had left ruined tree trunks behind. Scorched and shriveled and dead, these hulks stood eerily on the black empty ground.

Men and dwarves ran through the ash, their feet disturbing it so that it rose in clouds to clog mouths and noses, and make eyes smart. Half-burned branches crumbled under their feet, and their boots and clothing turned gray.

Then they came to the ruins of an old building. The fire must have taken hold of a little forest hamlet. Ireheart could see skeletons. Why did the people not flee from the flames—perhaps they were not able to run? The thought of magic occurred to him at once…

“Over there!” called Tungdil, pointing to the right. “I can see someone running.”

Ireheart could not see a thing. “I think…”

“Yes,” agreed Barskalín. “It’s a human.”

Mallenia nodded to Rodario to put on a spurt of speed. “We’ll catch up with her,” the latter told the dwarves, as he followed Mallenia.

Strange emotions were swirling within him. On the one hand he was reproaching himself, but on the other he was not sure why: Coïra had taken flight because of his cry of horror, which she had misunderstood. But there was no time now to put things right. First of all they would have to catch up with her.

Mallenia had shot ahead, but he would not be shaken off. The group of dwarves were now some way behind.

The forest was changing again. The trunks now seemed to have been bent and twisted by the force of the fire, taking on the strangest of shapes. It was already growing darker here, so that the trees appeared terrifying, and the deathly hush that surrounded them made Rodario deeply uneasy. He was glad he had his sword at his side. And Mallenia, who was definitely a better warrior than he was.

“Coïra, stop!” he called out after her as she ran through the trees. She was extremely agile. “We are really worried about you!”

But the fugitive was not listening.

“Come on, call yourself a hero? Get a move on,” said Mallenia, increasing her speed. “I don’t like it. Everything here is dead. This forest is scary.”

He silently agreed with her. There was nothing here, however, that could harm them: The fire was long gone, having consumed everything living and turned it all to ash.

The queen had changed course and was heading off to the right.

Between the scorched tree trunks they spied the outline of a fortified house, a defended barn or similar. Judging from the marks left by the flames it seemed the fire must have broken out in this building and then spread to the forest.

The queen ran through the small gate and disappeared inside the ruin.

“What’s she doing?” panted Rodario. “Is she trying to hide from us?”

“That’s just stupid. Childish and stupid.” Mallenia left the forest and headed for the entrance. “Queen Coïra! Come out of there before you fall down some hole or get buried by falling masonry!” She went into the courtyard with Rodario at her heels.

They waited, listening out and watching the broken window panes, which stared back at them like empty eye sockets.

“Coïra?” Rodario called, very worried now. “You misunderstood me back there at the pool. If you come out I can explain.”

“So it is your fault.” Mallenia seized on this possibility. “I bet you said the wrong thing.”

Rodario had decided not to speak about the ghastly discovery he had made. He wanted to speak to Coïra first. “Something like that.” When he saw a face by one of the downstairs windows he raced off. “Coïra! Wait for me!” He grabbed hold of the crumbling wooden supports and peered into the dark room.

He was staring at a pair of light-colored eyes that were watching him fearfully—they were the eyes of a man!