The Fate of the Dwarves

XXII

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Rân Ribastur,

Northwest,

Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

Rodario sprang back and turned to Mallenia. “It’s a man in there!”

“Are you sure?”

He leaned further in over the wooden frame and surveyed the stranger’s face. “Absolutely sure. The stubble is a strong clue.”

“Indeed, then it won’t be the queen. Unless she has meta-morphosed.” Mallenia came over to the window to see for herself.

She guessed the man to be in his late thirties; once upon a time the garb he clutched about his body must have been a luxurious robe the color of malachite. Now it was a shabby tattered rag: Thorns had torn holes, and the forest floor had stained it. The man was wearing a greasy leather cap on his dark blond hair.

“What is your name?” she demanded.

The man cringed and crawled further back inside the room. As he did so, ash and charcoal crunched under his hands and feet.

Rodario caught sight of four costly rings on his fingers. “He’s no beggar, that’s for sure.”

“Perhaps he managed to escape the fire but lost his mind?” Mallenia kicked the wall sharply. “Where is the queen?” At the gate Tungdil was arriving with the other dwarves; she told him quickly what they had found.

Rodario climbed in through the window and slowly went up to the man. “Don’t be afraid. We won’t hurt you.”

“Says who?” came Ireheart’s voice from the open window. “If he’s a villain, then we will.”

“But you aren’t a villain, are you?” Rodario crouched down by the man. “You’re some rich man who has lost his way? Perhaps you were robbed? Or have magic plants been your downfall? Have you caught sight of a woman with long dark hair? In a dark-blue dress?” Behind him there came a crash and metallic clang, and gray dust rose up, settling on the sweaty face of this unknown figure.

It was Tungdil, who had just jumped in at the window. The man whimpered and cowered, his arms round his head for protection.

Tungdil grasped the man’s right hand and pulled it hard, then brushed the dirt off the man’s sleeve to reveal an embroidered symbol. He frowned and his face grew dark. “You are one of Nudin’s followers,” he challenged the man, grabbing him by the throat. “You have the effrontery to copy his style of dress and even his rings!”

Rodario stood up and placed a hand on his sword hilt. “One of Lot-Ionan’s famuli?”

“Ha!” said Ireheart, triumphantly. “What a good thing I didn’t agree we wouldn’t harm him.”

“He looks like one.” Tungdil dragged the man over to the window and hurled him out into the courtyard. “We’ll find out what he was doing here. And how much magic he still has.” He instructed the Zhadár to increase their vigilance, then climbed back out. “Did he tell you his name?”

“No.” Rodario followed the two of them outside and stood by Mallenia. “I wanted to try the gentle approach first. He seemed very distressed so I thought rough and loud treatment wouldn’t prove helpful.”

Tungdil drew Bloodthirster, placing the weapon’s tip at the man’s throat. “Talk!”

“Franek,” he stammered. “My name is Franek.”

Ireheart grinned. Occasionally there was something to be said for the dwarf-technique of interrogation.

“What brought you here? Why are you dressed like Nudin?” Tungdil gave him a kick that had him over on his back. “I don’t have time to waste. We’re looking for a woman…”

“I saw her!” Franek said quickly, raising his hands. “Please don’t! I saw her! I know which way she went.”

Ireheart had his crow’s beak ready. “He could have been sent by Lot-Ionan to lead us into a trap.”

“But how would he know we were coming?” Rodario studied Franek. “Shouldn’t we hear his story first?”

“For me the queen is more important,” interjected Mallenia. “And the same should go for all of us, surely?” She addressed the putative famulus. “Tell us! Where did she go?”

He slowly lifted his arm and pointed east. “To the Votons. She’ll be dead by now.”

“Who are the Votons?” Tungdil did not remove Bloodthirster from the man’s throat.

“Hideous beings. Chimera, the result of Vot’s experiments. He was one of Lot-Ionan’s famuli,” he explained, breathless with fear. “They used to be humans but he equipped them with the limbs of animals. They broke out of his laboratories and fled here.”

Tungdil gave orders to Barskalín in a language they did not understand and the Zhadár raced off; then he turned to Rodario. “You stay and keep an eye on our friend here. He’ll have a few more questions to answer when we get back with the queen.”

Ireheart shook his head doubtfully. “We’re setting an actor to guard a famulus?”

“If he could still do magic he probably wouldn’t look like a dog that’s been beaten half to death.” The one-eyed dwarf indicated the quiescent runes on his armor as evidence there was no magic activity present. “Slîn can keep you company. The rest of you—come with me.” He charged after the Invisibles, leaving the three of them alone in the courtyard.

Slîn closed the gate and lit a fire. Rodario handed Franek something to drink and brought over a few old timbers to sit on.

The fourthling laid his loaded crossbow on his knee. He scanned their surroundings carefully, on watch.

“Right, then, Franek. How about you help us to while away the time by telling us what made you want to carry on Nudin’s work?” Rodario sliced some bread and ham. He gave some to Slîn, and the rest he passed to the famulus. “So you were apprenticed to Lot-Ionan?”

Franek looked at the actor. “A group of dwarves in black armor, an actor and a blond woman, all looking for a queen—that all seems very odd.”

“Don’t try to turn things around, my friend. You are going to report first,” said Rodario. “Or I take your food away.”

“I’ll shoot it out of his mouth for him,” Slîn offered, lifting the bow. “The food and bolt will fly out together through the back of his neck.”

Franek stretched out his hands to the warmth of the flames. Out of the sun it quickly grew cool; spring had not yet transformed the winter nights. “All right. I’ll tell you.” He took a deep breath.

“I’ll know if you’re spinning a yarn,” the fourthling warned him before he began. “Then my finger will jerk on the crossbow and you know what will happen next.”

Rodario looked at him, tight-lipped. Franek began his story.

“Ingratitude. That’s all I ever got from the magus. A girl friend and I fetched him out of a cellar in Porista when he was imprisoned there as a statue. We escaped from the guards, but the statue was stolen by other famuli. I nearly died. When I had recovered, I tried to enter Lot-Ionan’s service. I wanted to become a magus, and that’s how I was granted my longevity.” He asked for, and was given, more water. “I was always there when he needed me. Together we conquered the Blue Mountains and annihilated the dwarves…”

“Charming. Tell us something different,” growled Slîn, waving the crossbow. “My finger gets itchy when I hear stuff like that.”

“As I was saying. We closed the gate to the south. And I supported him when he was nearly killed by the leader of the black-eyes. And how did he repay me?” He indicated his apparel. “Threw me out, he did.”

“Not without reason, I expect?” Rodario listened carefully, trying to see if Franek was lying. He hadn’t noticed anything yet.

“For a stupid reason.”

“What was it?” Slîn’s fingers caressed the crossbow. “I want to know.”

Franek sighed. “The magic source. No one is allowed near it to refresh their powers without his permission.”

“But you went there anyway?”

“What choice did I have? He was asleep and I had to…” He stopped. “Anyway. One of the other famuli woke Lot-Ionan and told on me. So he drove me out of the caves and allowed all the other famuli to hunt me down and try to kill me. Traitors had to be punished, he said.”

“He’s right there,” muttered Slîn with a grin.

“If it hadn’t been for me he’d still have been lying in a cellar in Porista, the old fool!” Franek did not follow up Slîn’s remark. “I escaped through the deserts of Sangpur. Finally there was only one of them on my tail, and I threw him off the scent near where the Votons hang out.” He looked at Rodario. “I thought you were him, that’s why I ran away.”

“How many pupils does the magus still have?”

“Four. Two of them are not much use, but he hasn’t noticed that yet. Vot and Bumina are his best ones, apart from me, of course.” Franek shrugged. “There’s really nothing else to tell.”

Slîn looked at Rodario. “Didn’t he just say he’d shaken off his pursuer near the Votons?”

The actor had been watching Franek’s features so closely for signs of dissembling that he had missed this detail. “By Palandiell! We must warn the others!”

Slîn looked doubtful. “How would you find them in the dark? My sight is sharper than yours, but I can’t run so fast.” Without warning, he shot Franek in the thigh. The man collapsed with an agonized cry. “Serves you right, you treacherous long-un. For every one of our lot that gets hurt there’ll be another crossbow bolt for you. Three if anyone’s killed. Luckily, you’re long enough to have room for several shots.” He reloaded.

“Stop it, Slîn!” Rodario called out. He could understand his comrade’s anger. Franek had purposely kept them in the dark about the danger.

Rodario helped the victim to extract the bolt from his flesh and bandaged the injury with a strip of material they cut out of his robe.

“I forgot about Droman,” whimpered the famulus, clutching his leg. The bandage was already soaked through with blood. “I swear by Samusin that I didn’t send your friends off to danger on purpose.”

“Well,” said Slîn, “pain’s good for making you remember.” He did not regret having shot the man.

Rodario got up and went to the gate, opening it a crack. He looked at the crippled, charred trees.

There were particularly tall ones by the barn, stretching up into the night sky, and they cast long shadows. He could neither see nor hear anything of the Ido girl or the dwarves.

“How strong is Droman?” he called back into the yard.

“His sorcery, you mean?” Franek groaned, tearing off a second bandage from his clothing to stop the bleeding. “He’s not as good as me if my magic is working properly. But my magic powers are exhausted. I can’t even heal myself.” He looked at Slîn. “So I’d be as vulnerable as you or this mole fellow here.”

Rodario saw a shadow in the woods. It was bent double and making its way over to the barn, dodging from tree to tree. “Not nice,” he murmured, both in reply to Franek’s words and in response to the sight.

The worrying thing was that the longer he stared, the more shadows he thought he could see. The silhouettes did not look human.

He quickly locked the gate and returned to the fire, throwing more logs on. “Votons,” he explained. I hope they’re afraid of fire. Now would be a good time to show off your skills, Slîn.”

“Charming!” The dwarf took his bolts and stood up. “As long as there are no more than fifty of them we should be all right. After that I run out of ammunition.”

Rodario did not answer. He thought there might be more.

They were running through the twilight, with two Zhadár at the front. The size of more footprints they had found indicated they were probably made by Coïra.

But they had also found a number of different tracks that were not so easy to identify. Without what they had heard from the famulus about the Votons they would probably have thought them made by a herd of cattle, but the creatures responsible for these seemed to have both human and animal feet. Barskalín identified cattle prints alongside the human first, but there were also the pad marks of bears and other wild animals.

“I know why I don’t like magic,” said Ireheart grimly. “Unnatural animals! They may have legs like cows, but you won’t be able to cut them up and roast them on a spit to eat.”

“Isn’t your wife a maga? And two of your children, too?” Tungdil jumped over a fallen tree with ease, as if the armor didn’t represent any additional weight.

Ireheart took a little longer to get over the obstacle. “That’s a different sort of magic,” he corrected. “Dwarf-magic. It’s never hurt me, not in two hundred cycles. Never harmed me or anyone else.”

“But if Goda had remained with Lot-Ionan, who do you think we would have been campaigning against now?” Tungdil’s voice sounded like a chief negotiator picking holes in the argument of the other side. “And perhaps it would have been you wearing my sort of armor.”

“Never,” Boïndil blurted out. “I mean, Goda would never have allied herself to evil…”

“Fair enough. I was only putting an idea out there.”

Tungdil swung to the left at a signal from the Zhadár. The trees were thinning out and they found the queen face down on the scorched earth.

“Vraccas, don’t let her be dead,” Ireheart prayed, leaping forward and waving his crow’s beak threateningly. “Ho, you mad magus-inspired creatures! Stay in your hiding places!” He lowered his head. “Or, better still, come out and let me rearrange your limbs for you!”

Tungdil knelt down next to the girl and turned her over; the Zhadár surrounded them, keeping a sharp lookout over the surrounding area. “She’s still breathing,” he said to Ireheart. “I can’t see any injuries. Perhaps she’s just overcome with exhaustion.”

Coïra’s eyelids flickered. “Take care,” she whispered weakly. “They have set a trap for you… a famulus…”

A bright stream of magic shot out from behind the trees and struck one of the Zhadár full in the face. His head vaporized and his torso tumbled convulsing to the ground, as if the body was trying to carry out avoidance tactics. Blood came spurting out of the stump, splashing everyone.

“Get under cover!” Tungdil leaped forward, trying to locate the famulus in the shadows.

Ireheart certainly was not going to be seeking shelter. “He’s mine!” He ran four paces at Tungdil’s side to face the perfidious attacker. “I’ll beat you to a pulp, Franek!” he vowed, utterly convinced the famulus they had found must have overpowered the actor and fourthling and followed them to attack from behind! “You won’t get away with this!” he shouted angrily.

He was all the more bemused, then, to see a man appear before him in a pale gray hooded tunic and knee-high boots and with a broad sword hanging from his weapons belt. He was wearing light brown gloves and had his arms half raised. Presumably this unknown figure was in the middle of casting another spell.

“How many more of you are there in this accursed forest?” yelled Ireheart, launching an attack. “You’re worse than mushrooms!” Then he realized he had misjudged the distance between himself and his foe.

Before he could reach his adversary he saw the left hand release three lilac-colored rays that fused into one, heading his way!

Just before the ray touched him, a black wall sprang up to protect him and then Ireheart saw a number of runes glowing brightly in front of his face as a wave of heat passed over him.

The dazzling light affected his eyes. No matter which way he turned his head, he could only register the afterimages of those symbols, making it well-nigh impossible to attack the famulus. “Scholar?” he called, listening for a response.

There was a hissing sound and again it grew as bright as day.

“Blast! Things were just getting better!” Ireheart complained. He could hear the clank of metal on metal, then there was a roar, and brightness and dark alternated swiftly—until there was a loud shout and a body fell onto the ash-strewn forest floor.

“Tungdil!” At least Ireheart was now able to recognize outlines. The squat black shape in front of him must be his friend. A human lay dead on the ground. “Thanks be to Vraccas,” he said, relieved and disappointed at one and the same time. He had badly wanted to be the one to fell the enemy. “This hocus pocus is getting on my nerves. How did he get here?” He rubbed his eyes until he could see clearly again.

Tungdil had sliced the magician right through, and then finished him off with stabs to the heart. “These are Lot-Ionan’s personal signature runes on his tunic,” he mused.

“Was it him and Franek together, do you think, setting up that ambush? Or is he here by coincidence?” Ireheart went over to join Tungdil. The two of them looked at the young man’s corpse.

Tungdil rammed Bloodthirster into the ground and searched the body and the rucksack. Apart from a bag of coins he found two keys, some provisions, and maps of Sangpur and Rân Ribastur. “Not very much there.”

“No. Not very much.” Ireheart leaned on his weapon. “Let’s get back to the barn. Franek can tell us who this fellow is.”

Tungdil ordered two of the Zhadár to carry the corpse. Mallenia supported the half-conscious Coïra. She was too weak to be able to speak much but hinted that the famulus had ambushed her and struck her down with a spell.

“Oh, my blessed forge,” Ireheart murmured, stroking his beard. “If she can’t stand up to a poxy famulus, how is she ever supposed to cope against Lot-Ionan?”

“Victoriously,” was Balyndar’s reply. “I don’t doubt her abilities. If you get an arrow in the back what earthly use are your crow’s beak and all your courage?”

Ireheart had to admit the young dwarf was right. But he was not happy about it and for some time went on searching for what would have been the perfect riposte.

Slîn had climbed up to the hayloft and opened the loading hatch above the gate. Lying flat on his stomach, he held the crossbow in front of him, his bolts stacked at one side.

As he watched the scorched forest, he made out several figures approaching the ruined building. His dwarf-eyes enabled him to detect the enemies in the twilight.

Whatever the famulus Vot had done in his experiments, merging humans and animals, these creatures were horrific!

Slîn saw a massive man’s body which bore an ox head; where flesh met fur a stream of pus was oozing out. A pair of arms had been exchanged for the paws of a bear; on another monster he saw the hind legs of a horse, and yet others had tentacles instead of arms.

Some of the experiments were even worse: Vot had given human limbs and heads to animals. In three cases the chimerae had extra heads.

The clothes of these former human beings hung in shreds; some of the monsters were completely naked, while others wore blood-soaked rags.

Slîn was more deeply disturbed by the sight of these abused and mutilated bodies than he would have been by a host of Tion’s own monsters. Knowing that these had once been ordinary humans, not evil beasts, affected him greatly.

Even as he aimed at the heart of the first approaching enemy, his conscience told him he should spare the creatures and try to help cure them. Perhaps Coïra can do something was his first thought. But it was no good. She would have to conserve her magic powers in order to prevail against Lot-Ionan.

It’s no use putting things off. Slîn doubted the horde of chimerae would be persuaded to stop on the strength of a vague promise or two. He had no choice. “Vraccas, you know this is the only way.” He fired the bolt.

The shot pierced the naked breast of the bull-headed man, who stumbled and measured his length on the ash-covered floor. Clouds of dust rose up.

Slîn reloaded. The chimerae were a good three hundred paces away. It’s impossible to shoot all of them. I haven’t got the ammunition or the time. He yelled down to the others to hide and to keep their weapons at the ready. “I shan’t be able to hold them all off.”

His next victim was a woman with the legs of a horse. She was quicker on her feet than the others. She fell to the ground with a scream, losing her sword.

Two wolf-based chimerae were coming through the trees; they had human heads, but Vot had grafted on animal snouts, which gave them a grotesque appearance.

Slîn managed to shoot one of them, but the second had already reached the gate.

“Watch out! There’s one at the gate!” he warned Rodario and Franek, reaching for his bugle. He desperately needed the support of the Zhadár, otherwise his mission to find fame and adventure in the burned-out forests of Rân Ribastur would be meeting an untimely end.

He let out a blast on the bugle and the chimerae reacted with shock to the sudden booming noise. Then he concentrated on doing away with the biggest and most dangerous-looking of the monsters. In some cases he shot them through the heart, but they only seemed to die after he had sent several bolts through their heads. Magic had made them almost invulnerable. Or perhaps their hearts are not in the normal place?

The selection he made led to some of the smaller chimerae getting through to the gate. They set up a cacophony of roars, shrieks and barks, sending shivers up the dwarf’s spine.

Suddenly there was a crash and the creatures’ noise was now coming from the inner courtyard.

Where else am I expected to be, all at the same time? Slîn turned round and aimed at the first thing he saw.

Rodario and Franek had not sought hiding places. Instead they had lit an enormous fire in the middle of the yard and armed themselves with burning planks.

“Charming. The long-uns are keen to do the hero thing,” Slîn mumbled into his beard, shooting one of the wolf figures, which had been about to spring at the actor. In contrast to normal animals, these beasts did not seem worried by the heat and flames.

Something whipped through the air behind him and there was a tight feeling round his ankle, as a tentacle trapped his leg. He turned, reloading as he did so.

A chimera man with tentacle arms had pulled himself up the wall and was halfway through the hatch; one arm was wrapped around Slîn’s leg and with the other he was hanging from a beam. “Come over here to me, dwarf!” he growled. The tentacles tightened.

“I’d rather send you something over!” Slîn fired, but because his leg was being tugged from under him, he lost his footing and the bolt went astray, piercing not the creature’s heart but its shoulder.

The chimera man screamed and pulled Slîn over, while climbing further up through the hatch. The second tentacle grabbed a beam and broke a piece off to use as a club. The makeshift weapon thundered down but the dwarf had seen it coming and was able to dodge. Holding the crossbow steady with both hands, he swung it like a pick-ax against the massive tentacle, but it was not enough to sever it.

Now he was at the feet of the chimera man. The enemy pressed his boot into Slîn’s face; the tentacle round the leg slackened, and then was placed round his throat.

The dwarf employed the second mechanism on his crossbow, making a hidden dagger shoot out. He sliced through the tentacle and his adversary hopped backwards.

“I don’t need the bolts!” Slîn shouted as he followed through, stabbing again and again.

But his adversary had been paying attention. He swerved and the stump of his tentacle swept the crossbow aside. The second long snake-like arm was going for Slîn’s head.

Slîn ducked and pulled a hatchet out of his belt. He limped over to the right to put a support pillar between himself and the monster. The leg that had been mangled felt swollen. He was struggling to avoid further attacks.

Two more hybrids swung up through the trap door; they also had tentacles instead of arms. Vot had given the woman the head of a boar; the man had the skull of a bear on his shoulders.

The three of them united to hunt Slîn down, sending out their whip-like arms time and again to block off any escape.

Slîn was at his wits’ end. “You asked for it,” he told the chimera, brandishing his hatchet. “I’ll do for you all!” With a loud war cry he launched himself at the creatures. A second tentacle dropped, severed, to the floor, where it executed a macabre spiraling dance.

But then four tentacles surged forward and swarmed round to encompass his upper body, legs and throat.

Slîn felt himself lifted up, then the pressure became pain and his head swam. He wanted to call out, but the bonds round his throat were too tight and he failed to utter a single sound.

Rodario dodged the attacking bear claws and smashed the burning plank against the chimera’s head. Red and yellow sparks flew up and the head snapped round; the neck broke with an audible crack and the chimera fell dead.

“Another over by you, Franek!” he warned the famulus.

The man avoided the fangs from the wolf’s head and hit back with both the planks he was holding, crushing bone between the two pieces of wood.

Rodario glanced over at the open gate where the monsters were flooding in. Slîn had already sounded a bugle call for assistance, but if Tungdil and the Zhadár did not arrive soon, help would be too late arriving. “Why doesn’t he shoot?”

Suddenly the dwarf appeared in the loft opening, took aim and dispatched a wolf chimera with a single shot; then he disappeared.

“What’s Beardy doing up there?” Franek was thrashing about with the planks but the attackers kept returning for more. They had smelled blood and were not going to give up or be frightened off.

Rodario exchanged one of the planks for his sword. Fire was not working for them, so it would have to be steel. “And all this just because Coïra got the wrong end of the stick,” he muttered, as he stabbed a horse-headed woman. Her claw-like fingers failed to grab him and she careered past into the flames. “I could be lying by the pond with her doing all sorts of nice things.”

“The pond?” Franek was running a creature through, half-dog, half-man. “Not the one by the waterfall?”

“Yes, that one.”

“Then you were lucky. There’s a monster at the bottom of that pool. Vot created that one, too.” Franek was having to step back to avoid a man who had giant crab’s pincers instead of hands. “Sometimes it comes out and eats everything it can grab.”

Rodario groaned. I might easily have had Coïra’s death on my conscience. “It sounds like you’ve been around these parts some time?”

“I had no choice.” The famulus leaped through the flames to escape the clutches of a monster, which promptly turned its attentions on the actor.

Rodario struck out, but the crab claw caught the blade and snapped it off! “Oh Samusin and Palandiell! Can one of you gods spare a second and come down and help us here?” He hurled the remains of the shattered weapon, injuring the chimera on the head. But he was not able to kill it.

The foe sprang forward, pincers agape.

Ireheart suddenly appeared and hit out with his crow’s beak. The flat side smashed the armor and the claws were broken into tiny pieces. Blood sprayed out of a wound. “Ho, a fish-man!” Ireheart rammed the spike through the creature’s throat and dragged it to the flames. A quick flick of the wrist and the sharp end of the crow’s beak slid out of the creature’s flesh and the creature stumbled into the fire. “Mmm, that smells good! A little bit of mayonnaise on the crab and supper is ready!” He laughed out loud.

Rodario saw the Zhadár attacking the monsters from the rear. The chimerae had no idea what was happening to them. They didn’t have a chance. Only Ireheart had been too proud to be one of a crowd. He had stormed all the way to the front of the throng to get first choice of the enemy. It had been the saving of Rodario.

“Slîn’s up there!” he called, pointing to the loft. “He’s not alone.”

“He’ll be all right,” said Ireheart, hurrying to get to one of the last of the hybrids before a Zhadár did.

“They are huge beasts up there fighting him. Bigger than all these,” Rodario shouted.

Boïndil turned and looked toward the hayloft above the gate. “Then I’ll go and check. Fourthlings aren’t known for their stamina in battle.” He grinned and made his way over, felling a lynx-chimera as he went which Barskalín had had his eye on. “Ha! I got there first!”

Rodario was impressed by the speed and precision with which the Invisibles had moved in. The battle in the courtyard was over before he knew it. Surrounded by the dead bodies of that intimidating horde of rampaging monsters, he was struck also by how quiet everything suddenly was.

Tungdil had taken no part in the general slaughter. He was talking to Mallenia, who was still supporting Coïra. Balyndar stood guard over Franek.

“My queen!” Rodario hurried over to the young woman. She looked exhausted.

Lifting her eyes hesitantly, she instinctively hugged her right arm closer to her body. “I’m all right. The famulus tried but he couldn’t kill me.”

“Franek didn’t warn us until it was too late. Maybe he forgot on purpose.” He looked at the famulus, then at Tungdil. “I’d advise you to have a word or two with him. He seemed more eager to talk when you were being persuasive. Maybe his memory has improved a bit.”

A loud dwarf-laugh rang out from up in the hayloft, then came the sound of steel on flesh. And then a scream.

“What’s happening?” Tungdil looked at the hatch.

“I sent Boïndil to do some tidying up,” Rodario explained. “I think Slîn was having trouble and it seems to be giving your friend a great deal of pleasure to help him out.”

They heard Ireheart laughing again, and then angry voices, curses and noise of the crow’s beak smashing home.

Balyndar gave a command to the Zhadár, but Tungdil interrupted with a gesture. “No, let him do it on his own. Why shouldn’t he have a bit of fun?” He stomped over to Lot-Ionan’s former pupil.

Rodario asked Mallenia to leave him and the maga alone for a few moments. After a swift exchange of glances with the queen, the Ido girl followed Tungdil.

Coïra looked up shyly, “Did you…?”

“No, I haven’t told anyone what I saw. And I shan’t.” Rodario took her left hand. “Back there at the pond you misunderstood me.”

“What was there to misunderstand?” she flashed, hurt. “You said, How ghastly!” Her anger vanished and her shoulders drooped. “But you were right. Let me explain what you saw.”

“But first I want you to know what I was really trying to say: ‘What a ghastly injury, Coïra.’ That’s what I was saying.”

“Is that all?” She sought his eyes.

“That’s all. You are far too beautiful and kind and sweet-natured for anyone to say anything unpleasant about. I think you know what feelings I have for you.” Rodario smiled at her and took her hand in his. “Will you tell me about it now?”

A muffled cry rang out and a chimera came flying through the hayloft hatch; he landed directly at the feet of two Zhadár, with blood spurting from the many injuries to his chest. For a split second Ireheart was visible in the opening, long enough for a wave and for them to know he was unharmed. Then he raised his weapon and leaped off to the right with a war cry.

“He lives only to fight,” was Coïra’s comment.

“It’s battle-frenzy. Hot blood. They always used to say that about him—and rightly so,” the actor said with a grin. Crashes and thumps echoed down from the hayloft. “He’s having the time of his life, egging them on.”

The maga slipped her hand under his arm. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for keeping silent, and for not despising me on account of my arm.” It seemed to be difficult for her to speak about the disfiguring blemish. “It happened while I was doing magic once. A spell exploded in my hand and damaged it badly. You would not understand the technicalities because you are not a magus, but take my word for it: Some parts of the magic spell remain lodged in my flesh. That’s why I can’t heal the wound permanently; it can only be hidden if I’ve enough magic power in me to suppress it. The less power I’m left with, the more the injury opens up and festers. A long-lasting spell contains the sensitive area inside a kind of glass covering. That’s what you saw. No one notices; I always wear gloves.”

Rodario felt enormous sympathy for the young woman. “And what happens when your magic runs out completely?”

“My arm will be destroyed.” Coïra gave a brave smile. “I shall lose it.”

“From the state of your arm I can guess you have very little magic left. Am I right?” He checked how close the dwarves were standing, to see if they would have been able to overhear.

A second chimera came flying through the loft opening, landing next to the first. Its skull had been smashed and there was a gash on the right-hand side of its head.

“One more to go!” they heard Ireheart crowing. “One more, then I’m done! Huzzah! They’re a whole lot tougher than orcs!”

The Zhadár laughed.

Coïra took a deep breath. “It’s true. That’s why I had set my hopes on the source that was supposed to be in the Red Mountains.”

Rodario felt he must have turned pale. “So are you in any way capable of facing Lot-Ionan?”

“Now I’ve done it!” They all heard Boïndil’s voice, as a third defeated chimera plunged to the ground from the hayloft. The victorious dwarf appeared, supporting Slîn and wearing a grin wider than his own face. “That was just my type of battle,” he exulted. “Decisive victory, killing marauding beasts, saving a comrade’s life—what more could I want?” He nudged Slîn, who moaned in response. “Ho fourthling, show your teeth and smile for us! You’re still alive! These beasts aren’t!” he said, indicating the three slaughtered tentacle-creatures. He brought the dwarf over to the fire and set him down next to Balyndar and Franek. “I could murder a whole barrel of dwarf-beer.” He gave a deep sigh.

Rodario applauded and put on a cheerful face. Then he turned back to Coïra. “Tell me, honestly: Can you defeat Lot-Ionan? Or not?”