The Fate of the Dwarves

XXIII

The Outer Lands,

The Black Abyss,

Fortress Evildam,

Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

Goda leaped up, awakened from deepest sleep. Alarm trumpets?

The door burst open and Boëndalin called her to come out onto the battlements. “The barrier! It’s gone! The beasts are trying to get through the North Gate!”

The maga sprang out of bed, throwing her robe over her night attire; she slipped her boots on and followed her son. It must still be the middle of the night—it felt, at least, as though she had only just dropped off. She grabbed her coat and the reticule that contained the last four splinters of diamond.

She had not vouchsafed to a soul the current state of the magic defenses—not even to her children.

Their recent sortie was deemed a victory despite the heavy losses and they had celebrated in order to honor the sacrifice of the fallen warriors. The monsters of the Black Abyss were beginning to rebuild their war machinery, it was true, but they were working more slowly this time. They seemed exhausted. And that had been enough to give the defenders a ray of hope.

But appearances have been deceptive, Goda thought, as she and Boëndalin traveled up in the lift to reach the tower. They’ve tricked us and lulled us into being negligent.

The battlement walkways and tower over the gateway were starkly illuminated, with all the torches lit. Streams of boiling pitch were being tipped out of the special gullies and glowing coals hurled down onto the beasts laying siege to the fortress; arrows and spears shot out from the catapults. Burning sacks of petroleum were dropped over the edge to burst on landing, turning monsters into living torches. Fire arrows whizzed to and fro between the defenders and besiegers, piercing the black clouds. It was an impressive picture.

But the monsters were not dismayed by the strength of the bombardment.

Small mobile battering rams were at hand and already being used, as Goda could hear from the repeated thuds. The screams of monsters in the distance sounded only as a monotonous low murmur, like the babbling of a brook.

The magic screen had disappeared, and none of the smaller beasts were on the plain anymore. They were all heading for the North Gate, taking their half-completed siege towers with them.

“I don’t get it,” Goda said to herself. Why on earth the North Gate? Are they trying to draw our attention away from the South Gate? She leaned over and looked down.

“We thought it was a trick at first, too,” Boëndalin said. “But the other towers report no activity. The beasts are attacking in the north in a mad frenzy and the gate guards are in trouble. I’ve given orders for all the soldiers and ammunition to be sent over.”

“I want to see for myself.” Goda watched the Black Abyss closely as she ran with her son, past the western gate and on to the northern defenses. It was a very long way.

The ravine was in darkness and the paths leading out of it were empty and abandoned. Every single one of the monsters had assembled at the northern gateway.

“Either their reinforcements are hiding, waiting to see what the outcome will be, or else they haven’t got any extra forces,” Boëndalin told her when he saw her enquiring glance. “So the northern gate is not a bad choice for them. It’s the last place we would have expected them to attack.”

“But they must know we can move in extra troops fast along the battlements and through the inside corridors,” she objected. “It’s a false attack, I’m convinced. They’re trying to distract us.” She watched the fighting, which was growing more violent now. “Where is their magus?”

“No sign of him,” replied Boëndalin. “Do you think…?”

“They are carrying out the attack for him,” said Goda. “He’s planning something. He wants to tie up all our efforts on that one side.” She looked over at the south tower and stopped. “I’m going to hurry back. You get to the north tower and take command. As soon as you spot the magus, send me a message.” She embraced him swiftly and departed at speed.

Boëndalin charged off in the opposite direction.

Bandaál tied his boots, threw on his chain-mail shirt, grabbed his ax and hurried into the corridor. Even if no one had given them the call to arms, the young famulus wanted to be part of this. The fortress might be in need of every bit of available help.

“Wait!” The door to Sanda’s chamber was open and his sister came out. She was also wearing armor and carrying an ax. They were both gifted in magic but this did not prevent them using conventional weapons sometimes. Not being the same standard as their mother, they could not rely solely on their magic.

“Didn’t they wake you, either?” Bandaál adjusted her helmet.

She thanked him by correcting the lacing on his chain-mail tunic. “No. Mother wanted to let us sleep.”

He looked at her. “Or do you think it’s because of the failure of the mission?”

“It wasn’t a failure,” she retorted. “We killed lots of the beasts and destroyed masses of their equipment.”

He sighed. “You know what I mean.” He ran off, his sister at his heels.

“You reckon they think more highly of our warlike siblings and brother Boëndalin? That may be so.” Sanda held her ax in her hand; it got in the way in her belt. “That’s why it’s important we are seen.”

They hurried along the corridor that housed their family’s rooms. This was where the dwarves rested, and where they shared their community life. Evildam was nothing but an artificial symmetrical mountain with a system of tunnels and chambers.

They crossed the communal living area where the Doubleblades often met up and sat together in the evenings to discuss the events of the orbit, on past the kitchen, and then they reached the lift shaft that went all the way from the foundations to the highest battlement tower. The lift was a tremendous boon.

Bandaál touched the lever to move the weights and call the lift cage down to their level. “I wonder what the monsters are up to?”

“It must be pretty bad if they sounded the alarm for the whole fortress,” said Sanda, thoughtfully.

“Apart from where we were.” Bandaál decided that, after the attack—or whatever it was—he would have a serious talk with his mother. Even if she did not want any of her famuli near her, he and his sister needed to be told of any danger. How did it look if the fortress commander’s own children slept on in comfort while the defenders on the walls were fighting for their lives?

The lift cabin turned up and they pushed the grille aside and got in.

To their surprise the lift traveled down, not up, as the young magician had directed the machine.

“Is it broken?” Bandaál moved the handle a few times and the cage’s descent slowed.

“Perhaps there’s someone else wanting to use it?” Sanda counted the marks on the shaft wall as they passed; they had reached the ground floor. The lift jerked to a halt—but there was no one standing waiting.

“Where are we?”

“By the entrance.” Sanda looked out. “Hey? Anybody there? Did someone want to come up top with us?”

Then the cabin was jolted. One of the transmission chains had broken, slamming onto the roof of the cage and unreeling noisily. The whole cage structure creaked and bent under the extra weight and the cabin started to crumple.

“Get out!” Bandaál ordered, giving his sister a push. Before he could follow her, the second chain broke and the lift shot down into the darkness.

Sanda stumbled forward into the corridor, heard the infernal crash behind her and whirled round. She saw the second chain flying past and heard the bang and clank of the impact; the chains were still unreeling and burying the lift and her brother with it. He was right down at the bottom of the fortress lift shaft.

“Bandaál!” she shrieked in alarm and went over to the shaft, where the ends of the chain were snaking past. One last clank and then quiet. Far below her she could make out the steel-gray shimmer of the broken cabin and the chain links. “Bandaál!”

The dwarf-girl turned and was about to head for the stairs—but someone called her name. The voice came from the shaft.

She turned quickly, leaned over and used her hands as a loud hailer. “Bandaál! Hang on!”

A beige shimmer of light coming from above made her lift her head. She froze with terror and could not turn away.

Five paces overhead the leader of the monsters hovered in mid-air. Countless fingers of light shot out from his vraccassium armor to meet the walls of the shaft, as he sank gently down. He had his hammers stuck in his belt; his right armored gauntlet was glowing and held a torn length of glowing chain links. The lift’s collapse had not been an accident.

Still held aloft by the beams, he gradually reached Sanda’s level and walked toward her. The soles of his boots met stone with a metallic clank. He crouched down by the dwarf-girl.

His left hand took hold of Sanda’s chin, forcing her head round so that she was staring her adversary directly in the disfigured face. She noticed a turquoise smoke diamond in the palm of the gauntlet. Horror was starkly obvious in her eyes but she was unable to make a sound.

The dwarf’s face moved, and folds developed around his eyes in semblance of a smile, although any real expression was impossible because of the mutilation. He tossed the length of chain down the shaft, then ran the back of his gauntleted hand through her hair, along her neck, across her breast, down to her waist. Then he stood up without letting go of her chin, pulling her upright.

Sanda could do nothing to defend herself. The very sight of him, the smell of stale sweat and festering wounds and the slight pulsating throbbing that went through her from his touch, all left her unable to move. His magic power, she registered subconsciously, was greater than anything she had ever felt before. Not even the artifact could outdo this.

The dwarf made a moaning sound, then looked down the shaft and stretched out his free hand. He released a rust-brown beam from the smoke diamond completely destroying what was left of the lift. The metal melted in the magic onslaught, bending and oozing to the ground in molten droplets.

“No!” shouted Sanda, terrified for her brother.

The dwarf let go of her chin and hit her across the face so that she fell against the wall and slid to the ground. At the same time he raised the other arm without interrupting the ray of light. This blasted out great chunks of the shaft wall, until the entire edifice shook.

He grabbed Sanda by the nape of the neck and set her on her feet, pushing her along ahead of himself. As soon as she made any slight movement of defiance he gave her a shock that flooded every organ in her body with pain.

The famula sobbed as blood ran down from the cut on her head, dripping down to the floor. She did not know what the dwarf intended to do with her. Why didn’t he just kill her? Or did he… could he… surely not…?

When he pushed her into a side corridor and tugged at her robe, her worst fears proved true.

Goda had reached the south tower when the building shook under her feet—it was only a slight vibration and a human would not have noticed it at all, but dwarves are sensitive.

“I knew it!” She ran to the lift and found only an empty shaft. No matter how she turned the levers, nothing happened. When she looked over to the rollers round which the chains would normally be wound, there was only bare stone.

A dwarf came running up the stairs. “My lady, the lift has crashed!” he said, fighting for breath. “Both chains have broken.”

“Impossible! They can withstand a greater load than would ever fit in the cabin.” She took a jewel in her hand. “Call the guards. They must search the place floor by floor. “I’ll start down in the foundations.”

The soldier asked, “What are we searching for?”

“Intruders.”

“The gate is bolted and barred and no one…”

“Do what I say!” she snapped and flew down the stairs. It would take forever to get down to the basement like this.

To construct a fortress by simply building onto sand or earth would be criminally stupid, because its weight would make it subside, jeopardizing the whole edifice. For this reason Evildam’s foundations were made from huge blocks brought in by dwarf-muscle effort and complicated technology. The foundations were reinforced on the side nearest the Black Abyss in case of an incursion. Bottles of poison, acid and gas; false walls that would collapse; all this and more had been put in place to greet any subterranean invader. No one could undermine a dwarf-stronghold.

Despite falling down seven steps, Goda arrived at the bottom in one piece. She had not noticed the coating of blood on the floor. She stopped and listened attentively.

She heard someone whimpering. It was her daughter’s voice!

The maga slipped quietly through the corridor and the sounds grew louder, coming from one of the side passages.

She looked carefully round the corner and saw the opposing magus about to strip her daughter naked.

Goda pressed the diamond splinter in her hand so hard that she drew blood. She must not let her fear gain the upper hand. Too much was at stake. Vraccas, you hold in your hands your own fate and that of my daughter! She leaped round the corner and hurled a spell against the enemy dwarf.

He noticed too late to invoke a counter-spell. Instead, he threw Sanda into the corridor, pulled back his arms and offered his armored chest to the incoming beams of lava-red light.

The magic hit home and the dwarf’s armor glowed like fiery coals fanned by bellows. The vraccassium changed color to a flaming yellow, sucking the magic in, while the runes turned black as night.

“Kill him, Sanda!” yelled Goda. She had nothing but dust in her hand. She swiftly took out the next diamond splinter to add to her spell or to respond to an attack. But what she had just seen stole any last hope. She would never be able to overcome this dwarf with magic.

The glow vanished and Goda saw Sanda behind the enemy, ax raised. She thrust its blade down, hitting the dwarf in the tiny gap between the side of the neck and the edge of his helmet. But the blow was deflected by a protective layer of chain mail; the dwarf swayed slightly, making a frightful gurgling sound.

“Save Bandaál!” cried Sanda, “He’s at the bottom of the shaft…”

The dwarf hit out behind him and his gauntlet caught Sanda on the temple; she crumpled up.

Goda did not hesitate for a single eye-blink. Her daughter was not now in immediate danger and so she could risk using one of her strongest spells. It was the one she had originally employed to blast away the mountain above the Black Abyss, so it ought to suffice for this dwarf. It would have to!

She concentrated hard and sent out a lightning flash beam toward her adversary.

The dwarf hunched down and stretched out his arms as if appealing for clemency. But the energy streamed into the smoke diamond in his armored fist, turning it into a sparkling turquoise star. As the magic heated the metal there was a smell of burning flesh and the dwarf cried out in a voice more bloodcurdling than anything Goda had heard before in her whole life. But, determined to absorb the magic energy, he still did not lower his arm.

Yet again she felt a diamond splinter turn to useless powder between her fingers. The powerful beam failed. “I’m not letting you leave Evildam alive,” she threatened, reaching into her bag. But she found nothing—except a hole. “No!” When I fell on the stairs!

The enemy magus groaned; smoke issued from the joints of his gauntlet, but he had survived the magic blast. His powers of resistance were incredible!

Goda now had nothing to fall back on but her own innate magic. “I shall defeat you!” she growled, lifting her arms. “We don’t need a false Tungdil and we don’t need a Lot-Ionan to be rid…”

The dwarf laid his smoldering hand on Sanda’s breast, and fixed Goda with hate-filled eyes. He touched one of the runes on his breastplate with his left hand and a transparent dark-yellow sphere enveloped the two of them. Another blink of an eye later and they had disappeared, together with the magic ball!

“Vraccas, no!” Goda whispered in horror and ran to where the magus had just been standing. Her daughter’s blood, her ax, shreds of her tattered undergarments and some charred pieces of material—nothing else. “How did he do that?” She ran back into the passage, back to the main corridor, back to the shaft—nothing!

Footsteps rang out and a unit of dwarf-warriors charged up the steps. “My lady, what has happened?”

“Find my daughter,” she told them, stammering with anxiety; then she remembered what Sanda had said. “No! Go down to the basement and find my son, Bandaál, at the bottom of the shaft! Quick!” she screamed, distraught, and raced up the staircase. She tried the place where she had slipped on the steps, and picked up one of the lost splinters; she had no time to look for the others. If need be she would get some soldiers to do a thorough search later on.

Holding the diamond fragment she raced downstairs to where the soldiers were trawling through the debris of the cabin at the bottom of the shaft. The cage walls had mostly fused with the metal chains when they had melted; on top of the ruined cage were piles of huge sections of collapsed masonry.

“Let me through!” Her voice broke with emotion. In a frenzy of desperate anxiety for her son she labored at the wreckage, burning her hands on hot metal, but not stopping for a second, until she glimpsed a bloodied hand. “Bandaál!” She pulled at the blackened debris which had, by some miracle, buried but not smothered him in molten metal.

More of the dwarves and ubariu sprang to assist her, bringing crowbars, poles and rope.

Together they managed to hack out a niche in the mix of metal and stone. Goda peered in, candle in hand.

“He is still alive!” she sobbed in utter relief. “I can see that he’s breathing!”

A loud crash came from above their heads; dust and small stones rained down. The damaged lift shaft was threatening to collapse.

“We must get out, my lady!” A ubari’s hand shook her shoulder.

But she snapped back at him not to touch her. “We must free my son first.”

“Look out, below!” called a voice. “The supports are about to give way!”

Goda looked at the diamond splinter. I have no choice. He is nearly a magus. And he is my son. She closed her eyes and chanted a spell.

As if moved by spirit hands the great lumps of broken stone levitated, revealing Bandaál’s body. Three of the dwarves pulled the badly injured famulus out of the shaft and took him to safety on a stretcher. Goda withdrew as well, before letting the spell drop.

A grinding grumbling sound above them preceded a rockfall that could not be stopped by the debris floating in the air. It all crashed down, some of the rocks rolling out of the shaft right to the feet of the dwarves.

Grayish clouds of dust shot along the corridors as the shaft walls collapsed. The soldiers and maga were covered from head to foot in a thick layer of dirty white particles.

Goda opened her hand and let the remains of the crumbled diamond drift down onto the rest of the dust. It made no difference now. Then she set off after the stretcher, not knowing which child to worry about first: Bandaál or Sanda?

Girdlegard,

The Former Queendom of Rân Ribastur,

Northwest,

Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

Coïra cast her eyes down. “Not unless Aiphatòn and the älfar have managed to deplete Lot-Ionan’s strength significantly,” she whispered. “I have prayed to the gods to let me find an undiscovered source of magic somewhere on the way! Perhaps they will have pity on us and there will be a miracle.”

Rodario unobtrusively indicated Franek, who, surrounded by dwarves, was talking to Tungdil and Ireheart. He looked intimidated and was defending himself with upraised hands against harsh rebukes. “Perhaps he is our miracle.” The two of them sat down and he told her what the exiled famulus had reported.

“It was this Droman character that I met,” she said, leaning against Rodario’s shoulder, glad to have sorted out their difficulties and misunderstandings. “He chased me with a tranquillizer spell and dragged me off to a clearing when he saw I was not on my own. But they defeated him.”

“It didn’t go well for him, as I hear.” He put his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

Coïra nodded. “That’s right.” She was enjoying his presence but her eyes were wary, watching for Mallenia, who was over with the dwarves. She had a guilty conscience because Rodario was spending time looking after her, and she was aware of her friend’s feelings. He must be told the truth and made to understand how embarrassing the situation was for the two girls. “Rodario, there’s something I’ve got to tell you,” she began, but just then Tungdil turned round and waved them over.

“Keep it for later,” said Rodario. “Our leader wants us now.” He helped her up and they walked past the fire and over to the dwarves.

Tungdil made room for them at the campfire. “Franek regrets that he forgot to tell us about the famulus who had been chasing him.”

“He regrets it so much that he wants to lead the way,” Ireheart added merrily. “Not that we thoroughly trust the little wizardling. If he takes us into a trap he will die before any of us do.” He thumped Franek on the back. “Ho! I’m right there, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” the famulus coughed out his answer. “I will do everything I can to make Lot-Ionan pay for his betrayal and his ingratitude toward me.” He looked at them all. “I know nobody here will trust my words if I swear an oath, so I shan’t bother. Suffice it to say, hatred unites us. That is stronger than anything else.”

“Hatred?” Rodario was baffled. “Was our mission…?”

“Hatred of my foster-father for letting himself become such an evil person and for inflicting such damage on my native land,” said Tungdil. “I have sworn he shall die; remember, actor. Against your will.”

Rodario hit himself on the back of the head, noting the comedy that was being played out for the benefit of the famulus. “I keep forgetting that you insist on killing him,” he announced. “You have, of course, every justification for doing so.”

Franek appeared to swallow this, or else he was keeping his suspicions to himself. “And we’ve agreed I shall be allowed to bathe in the magic source?”

“Not before Coïra has used it, little wizard,” Ireheart stressed threateningly. “You will wait your turn nicely.”

“I don’t mind that. The source has enough energy for thousands of us.” Franek scratched his stubbly chin. “It will be a great feeling. After such a long time.”

“Get some sleep. We’ll be leaving first thing.” Tungdil assigned one of the Zhadár to guard duty, then moved off with Ireheart, Rodario, Barskalín, Mallenia and Coïra to find a place to sit at a suitable distance from the famulus.

“Providence has sent him to us.”

Mallenia folded her hands and found a stone to sit on; the whole group settled down to talk. “You don’t think it could just be a very clever trick on the part of the magus?”

“No. He’s got no idea we’re coming,” Tungdil insisted. “If he did, he’d have sent out all his magic apprentices, not just the one.”

“Droman. That was his name?” Coïra placed a hand on her back where the man’s magic had hit her. She thought she could still feel warmth on that spot. “He wasn’t a bad magus.”

“But he wasn’t good enough,” said Ireheart. “The Scholar took him apart.” He remembered that he had not actually seen how the famulus had died. Because his eyes had been dazzled.

“I talked to Franek and his story sounded credible. He was one of those young people who smuggled Lot-Ionan’s statue out of the former palace in Porista. We never met him at the time, however,” Tungdil explained. “We dealt with the other ones: Risava, Dergard and Lomostin.”

Ireheart was amazed at Tungdil’s precise memory of the names. How was it that he was able to remember such insignificant details? He knew the story, himself, of course, but though he remembered how the statue had been hunted down, and could also recall the long-legged frog-figure that had turned up to steal it back, for the life of him and for all the gold in Girdlegard he would not have been able to come up with the names of the statue’s abductors.

Tungdil stared at the tips of his fingers. “I asked him if he could give us some explanation of the change in Lot-Ionan. When he told me how the magus dresses, how he conducts himself and speaks, I was forced to think of Nôd’onn.”

“Not him again! We did away with that evil. The daemon cannot have returned.” Ireheart pretended to be swinging an ax. “You took Keenfire and split the fog down the middle… you know, that cloud-creature.”

“Do you remember how we all wondered who had drilled a hole in Lot-Ionan’s statue?”

“Someone trying… to kill him? To gain access to his magic powers?” Ireheart’s eyes grew huge. “No, someone was inserting something into him. By Vraccas! They put the seed of evil into him when he was defenseless and when we woke him up again the seed started to sprout!”

Tungdil nodded. “Franek says that Risava nearly killed him when he objected to her plan. It was her who wanted Lot-Ionan to turn evil after his release.”

Boïndil’s face became thoughtful. “I’m trying to imagine what you stick into someone to make them evil. It sounds so… simple? But I’m sure it’s not.”

Coïra nodded. “I can’t imagine it, either.”

“Don’t trouble your heads. You’d never work it out.” Tungdil picked up a stone. “Risava had picked up a splinter of the malachite crystal that used to belong to Nôd’onn. She kept it. When Franek brought her the petrified statue of Lot-Ionan, she knew how she could try to use it. She drilled a hole and put the last fragment of evil into him. Lot-Ionan never had a chance to protect himself.”

Ireheart scraped his foot along the ash-strewn ground. “That would mean that Lot-Ionan is actually innocent. He can’t help what he has done. Because he… is possessed.” How infuriating. So we can’t just do away with him.

“I suppose we could have expected no less from Nudin, when the demon changed him into Nôd’onn,” Mallenia interjected. “It doesn’t free us from the duty of pursuing him.”

“We have to. At all costs. We need him to defeat Vraccas,” Tungdil said emphatically.

“To defeat your master, Scholar, not Vraccas. The god Vraccas is my creator, but the dwarf we want to kill is no divinity.” Ireheart studied his friend. “I’ve been thinking: Can’t we take the splinter out of Lot-Ionan? And make him good?”

“We need an evil magus to help us against my former master,” Tungdil argued. “I would also have preferred to free him from the evil curse first.”

Coïra wiped her nose with a handkerchief. “I hope we manage it. To free him from the malachite splinter.”

“I know exactly where it lies. It will be painful for Lot-Ionan but he will survive. With Goda and yourself, Your Majesty, we have two magae who can apply healing remedies to ensure his recovery after the operation.” Tungdil looked round. “Not a word of our plan to Franek. He has to think that we want to kill Lot-Ionan in order to liberate Girdlegard. If we deprive him of this goal, he may decide he doesn’t want to help us.”

Ireheart frowned. “All well and good, but we won’t let Franek enter the magic source, will we, Scholar? Who knows what deceitful tricks he has up his sleeve? He could easily have been the one who shoved that malachite into Lot-Ionan’s body. You can’t trust the word of a traitor.”

“I’m against it, too,” said Rodario, and Mallenia agreed with him. “We should overpower him and tie him up as soon as we arrive. Then the secondlings can decide his fate. He was involved in the destruction of their homeland and has that guilt to bear.” He looked at Ireheart. “I don’t suppose you want to let him get off scot-free.”

“Ho! I certainly do not!” Ireheart tapped his crow’s beak. “An eye for an eye.”

Tungdil studied his friend. “You watch him, Ireheart. Franek trusts us as little as we trust him. I’m sure he’ll want to cancel our forced alliance before we do. If he tries to escape, you’ll know what to do.” He looked at Coïra. “And the same as before goes for you now. Don’t go using your magic. You’ve seen we can manage to keep the enemy off without it.”

She nodded. He was obviously not intending to blab out her secret. To make sure Rodario did not, either, she took his hand and pressed it. He looked surprised, but said nothing.

Tungdil pointed to the house behind them, while calling over one of the Zhadár to bring him the rucksack the dead famulus had been carrying. “You all get some rest. We’ll move on in the morning. Unfortunately the incident with Droman means we’ll have to speed up. Lot-Ionan will be wondering where his famulus has got to and he’ll be sending out scouts to find him. We know full well, ever since Lakepride, that he’s capable of causing serious trouble.” He unrolled the maps on his knee and called Barskalín. “Let’s find the quickest route.”

Mallenia got up. “What if we get there before the älfar?”

Tungdil was poring over the sketch map. “We’ll still head for Lot-Ionan’s realm. Time is running out.”

“So suddenly?” queried Rodario.

“So suddenly.” The one-eyed dwarf said nothing more on the subject and busied himself with the maps. The group retired, bewildered, to the gate house.

Coïra found Mallenia, who had sorted herself out a corner of the attic and was spreading her blanket to lie on. “I wanted to thank you for coming to find me.”

“You would have done the same for me.” The Ido girl sat down and got comfortable, then spread her long mantle over herself. She looked at the maga for a long time. “You didn’t think I’d abandon you because of our rivalry for Rodario’s affections?”

Coïra attempted a smile.

“Look,” Mallenia raised herself up on her elbows. “You’ve got an advantage over me when it comes to winning his heart. I saw you take his hand just now. He didn’t object.” Her eyes fixed the maga. “When I said at the pool that we should share him, I meant it. It’s up to you.”

“And up to Rodario,” Coïra corrected.

“He’s a man. He’s bound to like the idea of having two women,” retorted Mallenia with a grin, settling down on her hard bed. “I’m not worried about the choice he’ll make.” She clasped her hands behind her head. “There are regions in Tabaîn where it’s considered quite normal for a man to have as many wives as he likes, as long as he’s able to feed and clothe them. There’s nothing shameful about a set-up like that. Or do you disagree? Nobody would be forcing us into it.”

Coïra did not know what to reply. Of course they had heard in Weyurn about the practices in neighboring Tabaîn, but she had always been troubled by the idea of this kind of communal living. And she was not yet clear in her own mind how she felt about Rodario. Youthful infatuation or the love of her life? If he was the love of her life, would she be prepared to share him with another—and why should she?

“I didn’t get the impression that Rodario finds you attractive. Not enough to stay with you for long, anyway,” she said, puzzled to hear this sharpness in her own voice. Jealousy.

Mallenia, who had been amiable up to now, made a face. “I get it. You want to put it to the test and see which of us he’s more strongly attracted to.”

Coïra sighed. “What do we do if he doesn’t fancy either of us?”

“The man does not exist who would turn down the offer of a princess and a queen for his mistress. And it’s us that are sharing him. We made the agreement first. We’ll continue to let him think he’s managing to wind us round his little finger.” Mallenia looked at Rodario, who was talking to Slîn. “So, is it all right if I kiss him again and see how things develop? It might turn out in your favor.”

“And if he tells you he only loves me, will you stop pursuing him?”

“If he tells me that of his own free will and is prepared to swear it, then I’ll leave you both to it.” The Ido girl nodded and held out her right hand. “Is it a deal?”

The maga hesitated. “Won’t there be a strained feeling between the two of us, if one has to leave the field, defeated?”

“No.”

“And we won’t fall out?”

“No, Your Majesty,” said Mallenia, smiling. “We’ll complete our mission successfully and then relationships between our two realms will be more amicable than ever. I swear it on the soul of my ancestor, Prince Mallen of Ido.” She proffered her hand once more.

“And Rodario shan’t learn of our bargain?”

The Ido princess laughed. “Of course not. May the gods forbid! He’d feel his manhood was being impugned.”

At last Coïra felt able to seal the deal by shaking hands. “So be it.” The two women embraced and wished each other a good night.

Rodario cast a glance their way. “What’s happening over there?” he wondered.

Slîn cranked the crossbow mechanism and leaned the weapon up against the wall, close at hand if needed. All he would have to do was insert a bolt ready to fire. “Women, eh? They’re always scheming. And it’s us men on the receiving end.” He grinned and offered Rodario a flask of brandy.

“It’s a very wise dwarf you are, Slîn,” said the actor, taking a drink.