The Fate of the Dwarves

XXV

Girdlegard,

Former Queendom of Sangpur,

Southwest,

Spring, 6492nd Solar Cycle

They left the belt of sand behind them, marched through fields of boulders, traversed valleys and skirted ravines in which, numberless cycles earlier, vast rivers had run. Now they were met only with dust, stones and the occasional bleached skeleton.

This stretch of the Sangpur desert appealed to Ireheart because it resembled his old habitat with its soaring rock walls, its chasms, its echoes, its subterranean passages, here cut by racing water and not by dwarf-hand. The landscape had something primeval to it. I could almost start to like it here if it weren’t hotter than the inside of a maniac’s forge.

Today they were making their way through a labyrinth of sunken walkways in which Franek, at the head of the company with Tungdil and Barskalín, kept getting lost. It was only thanks to the dwarves that they ever found their way out again. One of the Zhad��r climbed up high to get a better view and pointed them in the right direction for the east.

“Our water supplies are running out. We should have got to the village you told us about three orbits ago,” said Tungdil. “If we don’t reach it tomorrow, you’re for the chop, famulus, for having tricked us. I think you’re taking us round in circles hoping we die of thirst.”

The man gasped. “Oh sure, and I’m taking myself round in those same circles to die with you? Not a good move.”

“Who says you don’t have a secret reservoir near here?” Ireheart moved up to the head of the column. “What kind of a village did you say it was?”

“A desert market; a trading station. We’ll get everything we need. They used to sell dwarf-made goods there, weapons particularly. Even today you can get some quite rare items.” Franek looked down at the clothes he was wearing, marked over and over with salt rings. “They know me there.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” Ireheart laughed. “I like to be prepared. I’d like to know whether they’ll greet us at spear-point because we have you with us.”

“We’ll be safe enough. The town belongs to me.” He drew in a hot lungful of air. “Well, it was mine until Lot-Ionan chucked me out.”

“What was your research area? I don’t remember—or maybe you never said?” Ireheart looked at Balyndar, who carried the slit water pouch at his belt. He had assumed the damage must have been an accident. Perhaps he had dreamed that the pouch was the head of an orc rising up out of the sand to attack him. Then he must have slashed at it with his knife. After hearing this, none of the others cared to sleep in his immediate vicinity.

Behind Balyndar came the Zhadár who called himself Balodil. Ireheart had stopped believing that he might really be the Scholar’s own son. The age did not seem right. Barskalín told them that only old dwarves were taken into the ranks of the Zhadár. The real Balodil would not have been old. At least, not old for a dwarf.

“I was studying how to maximize size in animals. And in things,” answered Franek.

“Aha,” grinned Ireheart. “That will have made you popular with the ladies, I’ll be bound?”

“It’s not what you think, beard-face,” the famulus retorted. “You, of course, could do with a bit of growth. If you were a few hands taller you’d be able to breathe the same air as I do.”

“I could easily bring you down to size, long-un! I’ve got an iron-clad winner of a spell. I’d only have to let it circle.” Ireheart lifted the crow’s beak, but lowered it when he caught Tungdil’s disapproving eye. “Just wait,” he grumbled.

“Did you have any luck?” the one-eyed dwarf enquired.

“The experiments with plants worked all right. Same thing with simple animal life. Insects were good, as well.”

“Hey! How about a giant gugul!” bellowed Ireheart. “First a wonderful fight with the beast and then a magnificent feast.” He gave Franek a playful shove. “See? Tell us, how much did you get things to grow?”

“The body of the giant scorpion that I magicked must have measured seven paces from tail to tip,” Franek said, putting on a self-important face. “My experiments consisted of getting grasshoppers to grow large enough for us to ride on. They would be splendid mounts for the desert. But there was a high turnover rate. They kept dying on us.”

“Are we far enough away from the place you practiced your spells? I don’t like scorpions, and I certainly don’t like them when they’re that big.” Ireheart was remembering a particular example they had met the night before. The pincers of a giant scorpion would surely grab a warrior and slice him in two, complete with his armor, and the huge sting would stab right through instead of poisoning him. No, he really did not want to meet one of those.

“This is exactly where I conducted my experiments.” Franek laughed. “But there’s nothing left of them now. I didn’t want them to take over and destroy the town. Of course, I may have overlooked some of their young.”

“Charming,” said Slîn, taking his crossbow in his hands.

The Zhadár, watching their progress from on high as he leaped like a rock-ape from one stone to the next, reported that he could see a settlement at the end of the ravine they were marching through. He came back down to join them. The company followed his instructions and took one more turn in this confusing maze of intersecting clefts.

There was no question: In front of them lay a town.

But part of it was under a huge sand dune and stood empty and abandoned. The low, flat-roofed buildings, painted white against the sun, all looked intact but there was no sign of life in the streets.

Franek turned to Tungdil, flabbergasted. “Less than forty cycles ago there were forty thousand people living here! I swear!”

“Lot-Ionan is not just out to get you but plans death for everyone connected to you, I expect,” said Ireheart. “Vicious old man—he’s working out his grievance.”

“What a fool!” Franek’s display of anger did not seem simulated. “They weren’t to blame!”

“Does the town have a well?” Tungdil asked, indifferent to Franek’s fury.

“Yes…”

“Then let’s get there.” Tungdil set off, the group in his wake. “Be prepared for absolutely anything. Lot-Ionan, or whoever has done this, will be expecting Franek to turn up sooner or later.” As he walked he drew his weapon, Bloodthirster, and his lips moved in silent prayer.

Ireheart felt the familiar, enjoyable tension creeping up his spine. With his crow’s beak in his left hand he kept constant watch on their surroundings. Please, no giant scorpions. Together with the humans he kept to the edge of the road, while the watchful Zhadár whooshed past, using the house roofs and side streets, on the lookout for any ambush or trap.

Franek led them through the alleyways to a small square measuring ten paces by ten; the houses roundabouts were tiny. The remnants of old market stalls lay tumbled on the flagstones, many of which were cracked or broken. Others showed deep ruts. Ireheart observed the scene. Something massive crashed down here.

Slîn bent down and picked up a golden bracelet. “Will you look at that?” he said, showing it to the others. “It was just lying there!” He examined the piece with expert eyes. “This is a splendid example of a goldsmith’s craft. I would say it’s worth about four hundred gold coins.”

“This used to be the jewelers’ market,” said Franek, going over to the fountain in the middle of the square. He tasted the water that came splashing out of a stone pillar to collect in a basin. “It’s safe. The source of this water can’t be got at to poison it. At least, it would be terribly difficult. It comes from a very long way down underground.”

“Could probably be done by magic, though?” Ireheart continued to scan the windows of the houses.

Franek filled his drinking pouch. “No, I would have noticed.”

“And how would you have done that, clever clogs?” Ireheart was not going to be fobbed off so easily.

“I’m a magus, so I have an instinct.” He indicated Coïra. “Get her to check it out if you don’t believe me.”

The maga, who like Rodario and Mallenia was suffering from bad sunburn, came closer and pretended to pronounce a spell. She had to rely on the judgment of the famulus, because she did not want to waste the last of her magic on apparently trivial matters. Her already limited powers were waning further, at any rate, evaporating like water in the heat of the sun. She was desperate to reach the magic source in the Blue Mountains and steep herself in it before her deformed arm rotted away. Looking at her, Rodario was aware she was keeping up a pretence, deceiving the dwarves as to her state of health. “There is no magic contamination,” she announced.

Franek looked triumphant and superior, Ireheart gave in and everyone started to fill their flasks.

Tungdil told Slîn to put the bracelet back. “It’s not yours. Perhaps the townspeople will come back and they’d call you a thief.”

One of the Zhadár up on the roof called out a warning. Barskalín turned to the one-eyed dwarf and interpreted. “They’ve spotted some bodies. He says they look as if a butcher has been at them. The flesh has been scraped off and the bones smashed. Judging from the state of the cadavers they think it must have happened about ten orbits ago.”

Franek went and sat down in the shade, joining the other humans. “Lot-Ionan has no army. It could perhaps have been bandits that did this, but my feeling is that Lot-Ionan, or maybe Bumina, sent a magic creature to kill them or drive them all out of the town.” He turned to Coïra. “You’ll have to be more on your guard. Do us a discovery spell, so that we’ll know if we’re safe.”

“Yes. Do that,” Tungdil urged her. “I don’t want to walk into an ambush so close now to our goal. You’ll be able to see more than the Zhadár can.”

Coïra was about to object, but her curiosity got the better of her. Tungdil knew very well that she had practically no magic left at her disposal—why was he making such a demand? Did he have no idea at all how much effort casting such a spell would involve? “I’ll do it from up there,” she said, nodding to Rodario to accompany her into the nearest large house.

They climbed the steps, going up two floors to stand on the whitewashed roof of a building that gave them a good view of the whole settlement.

“Are you really going to do it?” the actor asked her.

“Yes,” she lied. “It’s to protect all of us.” She waved her arms about, closed her eyes once, then opened them and turned round three times on the spot. “I don’t feel anything. We’re safe, but nevertheless we should hurry. I’m uneasy. I’ll tell Tungdil so, before he decides we should camp here.”

Rodario took her hand. “I’m glad to see your hand is still in its rightful place.”

“For a while, at least. But I shan’t be able to do much more.” She smiled at him and they returned to the others so that the maga could make her report to the high king. She made no secret of her feelings of disquiet about the place. “Have you noticed the vultures are missing? It’s unnatural. They only come down to feast if they know they won’t be disturbed.” That alone, she argued, was reason enough for departing swiftly from the town.

“That may be so. But it’s you, maga, in particular I’m thinking of when I order a rest stop.” Tungdil, over by the fountain, commanded the Zhadár to investigate the neighboring houses, and to move in if they found no danger. “The day is too hot for us to march on and, anyway, we are close now to the Blue Mountains. I’ve agreed with Barskalín that we should travel at night and rest by day. That way we should avoid being seen.” He collected water in his open hand and washed his face; a droplet hanging from the eye patch shimmered gold in the light. “As there are no magic traps there’s no reason we shouldn’t remain here for a time. Right?”

Coïra hesitated, then nodded. “No reason not to.” She went back into the house with Rodario, her conscience pricking her. Her right arm was burning and throbbing: Not a good sign.

Curiosity got the better of Ireheart, Slîn and Balyndar, overcoming their professed intentions and their common sense.

They wandered round the streets, ready for combat, searching abandoned houses for signs of recent occupation. The Zhadár were protecting the group at the jewelers’ market and the three dwarves felt strong enough to see off any attacks by robbers or wild animals.

Slîn held his crossbow against his shoulder. “We should make less noise,” he said.

Balyndar laughed at him. “That’s because you’re the one with a weapon that always has to be reloaded.”

Ireheart grinned. “Come on, let’s find where they traded dwarf-goods,” he suggested, turning down one of the side streets, where he saw two crossed hammers on a sign over a shop doorway. That was a good enough clue for him. It might be a blacksmith’s; he would feel at home there. He wiped the sweat off his forehead. “I hope they’ll have some oil for my chain mail. I’m nearly out of it.”

“What shall we do if we find things our own folk have made?” Slîn wanted to know. “Can we take them with us?”

“That’s what I was thinking. I don’t envy the long-uns their wealth, but if the town is going to disappear under yet more sand, I’d like to salvage things made by our own tribes.” Ireheart stepped into the shop, where he found tools of every sort, ranging from nail clippers to quarry drills.

Two of them sifted through the items on show while the third kept watch outside. They worked their way from shop to shop until they reached the edge of the immense dune. A number of booths had already been half swamped by the encroaching sands, and it proved to be these that were advertising dwarf-wares.

The trio hesitated at the buildings, whose facades were cracked. They knew that the sand represented an enormous weight, even if the individual grains were so light.

“Looks dangerous to me,” said Slîn.

“But it might be worth the risk.” Balyndar gestured with the morning star toward a sign reading Weapons made by the Children of Vraccas. The door had already been broken open, and swords, spears and axes lay scattered around. “Someone’s already done their shopping, it seems, without asking the owner.”

Ireheart rubbed his cheeks, tossed his black plait out of the way and strode in. It was obvious that he had made his decision. “Slîn, you stand guard,” he ordered. “If the roof falls in, at least one of us will survive.”

“That’s a nice thought,” the fourthling beamed. He stayed outside under the porch while Ireheart and Balyndar stepped carefully over a heap of daggers, knives and axes.

It was clear at once that they had stumbled on a small treasure trove—but it had already been pillaged. The display cases were empty, the glass fronts shattered. Only the normal run of weapons—still, however, of excellent quality—remained hanging on the walls or from the ceiling.

“What a shame,” said Balyndar as he stepped over the mess.

“This stuff on the floor isn’t dwarf-manufacture,” muttered Ireheart, crouching down. “They’re forgeries,” he snorted. “The robbers could obviously tell the difference between quality stuff and fake.”

“By Vraccas,” Balyndar called out excitedly. Ireheart hurried over. “Do you see what I see?”

The warrior saw a cabinet with a broken pane of glass. Inside was a velvet cushion and below that was a piece of parchment with wording in human language: “The legendary Keenfire—the original weapon.” Next to it lay a little booklet and a certificate verifying authenticity, issued by the shopkeeper, one Esuo Wopkat, and vouchsafing the return of the purchase price should the weapon prove to be a forgery.

Ireheart laughed outright. “Yet another of them!”

“I know, they were a real hit with the souvenir shops,” said Balyndar, reaching into the vitrine to retrieve the booklet. “This says how it was found.”

“Let me guess,” called Ireheart, enthusiastic as a young child with a riddle. “Hmm, let’s see… it was found this time on the top of the Dragon’s Tongue? Or in the caves of Toboribor? No, wait… In the lost vaults of Lot-Ionan?”

“No, none of those.” Balyndar cleared his throat and began to read:

Esteemed customers, collectors and experts,

The ax you hold in your hands is made from the purest, most durable of steel; the claws at the end are of stone, the handle is made of sigurdacia wood, the inlays and runes are from all the rare metals to be found in the mountains; the blade, however, is edged in diamonds.

The weapon was forged in the hottest furnace possible. The name of the item is Keenfire.

Forget everything you have heard from the charlatans.

This one is the only true Keenfire. It was found on the dried-up floor of Weyurn’s lakes and was smuggled out of the land under the greatest of perils for the finder.

The location was near the hole from which Lohasbrand emerged. I am not able to say how this occurred.

A fisherman’s son brought the ax to me, saying his cousin had found it. He had shown it to a dwarf, who recognized its true value and killed the man. However, while fleeing, the dwarf needed to cross a river and drowned, when justice and the curse of Elria triumphed.

The fisherman wanted nothing to do with the ax because he feared the dwarves would attack him for it, so he sent his son to me with it. I made him a very good offer and so was able to take possession of Keenfire.

I know it is the legendary ax with which Tungdil Goldhand performed so many valiant deeds for Girdlegard. I was intending to keep it safely against his return, but without him it has no power, so I’ve decided to part with it. For gold.

Should the hero ever return, give him this ax. I am certain he will amply reward you.

Sincerely,

Esuo Wopkat

Ireheart whistled. “That’s the best story so far. At least the facts seem to match up nicely.”

“How do you mean?”

“It sounds genuine. If I remember rightly, the last Unslayable ran off with Keenfire and threw it away en route when we were pursuing him.” Ireheart beamed. “He will have thought a lake would be the last place a dwarf would want to search for it. So he tossed it into the water before he went down the shaft.”

“You don’t really believe it, do you?” Balyndar shut the little book and chucked it back into the broken cabinet. “And anyway, the thing’s been stolen. It could be anywhere by now.”

“Hey there!” said Slîn, at the entrance, holding up a dusty ax. “Look what I found outside in the dirt. It was smack in front of my boots.”

Ireheart and Balyndar looked at each other.

The fourthling blew the encrusted sand off. “I don’t know what kind it is, but I’ll have a better idea when I’ve given it a bit of a wash.” He inspected the blade. “Are those diamonds? Who do…?” He noticed the other two were staring at him, then he fell silent, swallowing hard. “By Vraccas!” he croaked in awe, kneeling down and placing the ax reverently on the ground in front of him.

“By Vraccas,” said Balyndar and Ireheart simultaneously, coming over to the doorway and crouching down to look at the weapon.

Ireheart took his drinking flask from his belt and poured some water onto the ax head to reveal some of the fine detail. “I…” His voice died away.

“Charming!” Slîn heard a chinking sound behind the two dwarves and raised his crossbow. He saw a dagger slip forward in the cabinet, fall off the shelf and drop on to the counter. He was just drawing breath again in relief when he noticed a sword releasing itself from its fastenings and sailing down to the counter as well. “Something weird is happening here,” he told his companions, who were intent on examining the runes and inlays. “We must warn the others.”

“Just shoot the silly mouse if you’re scared of it,” Balyndar said briskly, misinterpreting the sounds.

“Yes, before Franek’s spell makes it grow the size of an ox,” added Ireheart, completing the thought as he ran his fingers carefully along the ax blade. “Well, I’ll be damned!”

Slîn had leaped up, not wanting to believe his eyes: Shields, lances, daggers, swords and other weapons were zooming together from all corners of the room to make a monster with human form. A deadly creation, born from magic.

“Absolutely charming! I fear the maga wasn’t using the right spell when she checked this place out for safety,” he said, speaking very fast.

“Oh, so it is a giant mouse?” the fifthling mocked.

“Turn round and look, you idiots!” snapped Slîn, aiming his bow at the creature—well aware this would not help. Franek had told them that only magic itself could overcome one of these creatures.

“Mind yourself, gem-cutter. You can’t talk to me like that just because we let you travel with us. It doesn’t mean I like you. And I won’t be spoken to like that.”

Ireheart was about to tear his eyes away from the newfound ax when it picked itself up and whirled past their noses; an unseen power dragged his crow’s beak from his grasp and Balyndar lost his morning star. “What…?”

At last they turned round and saw their enemy. An enemy they now faced unarmed.

The creature had formed a massive hand composed of knives; it was holding Keenfire up and the handle of the crow’s beak pointing down. The being clattered its way over toward the dwarf-trio.

Ireheart realized now where the marks on the flagstones at the jewelers’ market had come from, and he knew also who had stripped the meat off the bones of the corpses they’d found. He grabbed Balyndar by the sleeve, pulled him up and they walked backwards, very slowly.

“Why didn’t you warn us, fourthling?” the fifthling growled.

Slîn laughed mirthlessly. “Good joke. You were both immersed in ax-worship.” He pointed with his crossbow at the creature. “It’s over there if you still want it.”

“I certainly do!” Ireheart nodded, frowning and lowering his head between his shoulders aggressively. “I don’t mind the blades. No one is going to threaten me with my own weapon!” He lifted up a wooden strut from a broken cabinet and whacked the enemy with it.

There was a click and the arm made of spears and lances whirred, rotating like a drill, crashing into the wood.

Ireheart was showered with sawdust and found his hands were empty. “Confounded…” He turned in dismay. “Let’s get out of here.” He ran off, with Slîn and Balyndar at his heels. They charged down the street side by side.

“Which way?” asked the fifthling, glancing round at the artificial monster, which was just emerging, doubled-up, from the shop doorway. The weapons that had been lying in a heap in front of the shop rushed up to fuse with all the others.

That was not all.

Clicking and scraping, the steel-and-magic creature changed shape, giving itself three extra pairs of legs and thinning down its core so that it turned into a spider, setting off after them.

“We’ve got to lure Keenfire back to Tungdil. He’ll be able to take it for himself,” panted Ireheart as he ran. “I’m incensed that I’m having to run away from my own weapon.”

They rounded the corner into an alleyway too narrow for the spider creature to fit through.

But when they heard the rattling and clattering come closer nobody had to turn and look in order to know the thing pursuing them had transformed itself again. It was chasing them through the streets as if it were herding stampeding guguls.

Rodario was sitting in front of the house in the shade with a few sheets of paper, noting down his thoughts with a quill pen. He had composed some lines on liberty and adventure.

Mallenia brought him out a glass of water. As she passed it to him her fingers touched his hand. As if by accident. They looked at each other.

“How is Coïra?” he asked, his eyes returning to the page.

“Quite weak now from the long march. If you grow up in a land where water is the dominant element you have a tough time in the desert.” Mallenia dropped her voice. “You know she’s hardly got any magic left.”

He looked at her in surprise. “How do you…?”

“She told me. She says she’s only got about a third of the magic energy she would normally have. The amount grows smaller orbit by orbit. We must get her to the source as quickly as possible.” She drank some water. “We can only hope the gods preserve us from any magic attacks.”

Rodario went on writing and asked, “What else did she tell you?”

“What else?” Mallenia’s tone of voice indicated sharp attention. “Is there something else?”

“No.” He tried to change the subject. “I mean, I don’t know. You women seem to like having secrets. So I thought I might learn something new. Who else knows about her difficulties?”

“Tungdil and Boïndil. That’s all. That’s the way it has to stay.” She glanced at his notes. “What are you doing there?”

“I’m writing. For what’s about to happen.”

“Not the fight against Lot-Ionan?”

“No. For after that. It’s just ideas. The descendants of the Incredible Rodario will take them to the people of Girdlegard as soon as the battle for the future has been won. The unknown poet has done his duty as a freedom-fighter, but our work as actors and bards is not over.” He was unusually serious, almost statesmanlike. “We must establish order quickly before greedy despots emerge to usurp powers they are not entitled to.” Rodario offered her a seat next to him. “I should like to ensure it is you and no one else that sits on the throne of Idoslane.”

“That’s good of you.” The Ido girl sat down by him and stared at the fountain. “Were you offended by the kiss I gave you?”

“No.” He put his pen down.

“I got the impression you were no longer interested in me.” She sipped her drink, then turned her head. “Stupidly enough I am still keen on you, even if I can hardly wait for the return of my old, shy Rodario.”

“He’s still around, deep inside,” he replied with a smile. Then he took a deep breath. “Women don’t like sharing their men. So I think it’s only fair to say I ought to release you and concentrate my attentions on Coïra.”

“You may laugh, but the maga and I have already discussed this.” Mallenia smiled. “The latest state of play is that we don’t mind sharing you.”

Now Rodario had to put the paper and quill pen aside. “You’ve done what?”

“We did what men always want us to do: We came to an agreement,” she repeated, and raised her hand to stroke his cheek. “So you don’t have to decide between us, Rodario, and we won’t be scratching each other’s eyes out or declaring war on each other’s realms.” She smiled and was delighted by his reaction. Suddenly he looked vulnerable again; the helpless Rodario she found so attractive was back. “There’s one condition, however: You will never share a bed with both of us at the same time.”

“I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” he laughed, half in amusement, half in astonishment. “And I really don’t know…” He got up and paced up and down across the square. “… I really don’t know if I like this idea.”

“Aha. So it bothers your manly nature to hear that two women have set the rules this time.”

“No,” he said at once. “Or perhaps, yes?” He scratched his head, then his beard. “This has never ever happened to me before,” he muttered. He came to a standstill and put his hands on his hips, staring at the blond warrior-girl. “Who do you think you are?” he burst out indignantly.

“Who? Me?” Mallenia pointed to herself.

“No. Both of you. Coïra and you! You’ve sworn sister-hood, you want to make me your… slave, but you never…” he said, wagging his forefinger, “thought to let me in on the secret!” He kicked the ground. “I feel… humiliated and abused!”

She was speechless. “Here I am, telling you that two girls are in love with you and that you can have both of them, and you throw a tantrum like a jealous child?” She put her head back and laughed out loud. “How very, very sweet! Ah, this is the other Rodario you’re showing me, just to please me. How kind of you.”

“What?” He waved his arms about in exasperation. “Ye gods! What is the world coming to?”

Mallenia stood up, a grin on her face.

“Stop!” he called as she approached him. “Stay where you are! Before I know it you’ll be wanting to kiss me because you think I’m so sweet…”

“Exactly.”

“… and adorable.”

“True.” She was nearly upon him, but he dodged and banged his hip on the stone fountain. “What do we have to do to rid you of your bad mood? Perhaps we should let you think you have seduced us both?” Mallenia’s tone was mocking and she was amused to see him blush. It was hard to see how the calm, eloquent Rodario, who had been philosophizing about Girdlegard’s future, and this infuriated man could be one and the same person. At least she knew now how to make her pet Rodario put in an appearance.

The actor raised his hands to push her away. “Don’t come too close. I’ll have to give the matter a lot of thought before I kiss either one of you ever again.”

“Yes, you will,” she said, laughing and turning away. “You’ll find me with Coïra.”

Rodario perched on the edge of the fountain, reached into the water and cooled his face. “Women!” he murmured. “Sharing me out! Me! The very nerve of it!”

The water ran down to the tip of his nose, over his cheeks and mouth into his smart little beard. He felt a little calmer.

Of course he was attracted to the Ido girl, and the thought of having both women really was not to be sneezed at—but actually he felt insulted. His masculine pride was hurt. His Rodario pride. How could this be happening to a descendant of the Incredible Rodario? He should be conquering hearts, not being haggled over and shared out like a sack of grain.

“To make a pact like that! What a nerve!” he muttered, feeling the cool dampness dripping onto his shoulder as the water soaked through his shirt. The fountain was splashing more loudly now.

It was so hot that he did not find this unwelcome, but he could not explain why the jet of water had changed direction.

Rodario turned his head—and froze. Towering four paces high behind him was a being similar to a human, but formed entirely of water. It had a broad head and a snoutlike face with long teeth. Teeth made of solid water…

Turning round again he pretended he had not noticed anything untoward as he peeled himself away from the stone surround of the fountain and walked over to the house entrance. He must call Coïra to come and see this phenomenon and tell him what it was. It was really not the normal way for a fountain to conduct itself!

The splashing grew louder, then he heard the Zhadár calling down from the rooftops, and felt a wave swirl round his legs. In an instant it had pulled him off his feet and he disappeared into the water, spluttering madly.

Coïra opened her eyes, having felt something cold on her forehead. Mallenia was sitting next to her, wiping her face with a damp cloth. “This time you’re looking after me,” she said, weakly.

“You have heatstroke,” replied the Ido girl. “Rodario should have been taking better care of you.”

“You had a talk with him, I heard.”

Mallenia passed her something to drink. “I told him that we had agreed to share him.”

The maga felt giddy. “But he was not to be told anything at all!” she protested. “You’ve broken our agreement on purpose.”

“It didn’t make sense otherwise. One of these days he was going to work out for himself that we women had made common cause and that we were in charge, not him. He can take out his anger on me. It’s not your fault.”

Coïra sighed and emptied her glass. “So that’s why he was shouting.”

“He looked so cute,” the Ido girl said dreamily. “He was as helpless as a young child again. You would have given him to me straightaway if you’d seen him like that.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw something move in the shadows in a corner where a pile of bricks was stacked. Hadn’t they moved too? They seemed to have formed a little tower. She furrowed her brow. “It’s this confounded heat,” she said. “I can’t take the heat.”

“What did Rodario say?”

“He said he’d have to think about it.”

“I knew it! Now he’ll reject both of us!” Coïra sat up where she had been lying. “That really wasn’t very bright.”

“Keep calm,” Mallenia told her, clasping her hand. “He has a head on his shoulders and will soon realize what he is being offered. What we have offered him. If he throws this opportunity away, he’s too stupid to be companion to either of us.”

The maga thought hard, then smiled shyly. “Maybe. I don’t fancy stupid men.”

Mallenia caught another movement in the same corner.

The bricks were actually moving closer together. She stared at the place intently.

The bricks were forming stacks and piling up wildly. They shaped a leg, but then the supply ran out, so square bricks broke out of the wall as if following some silent command.

Coïra’s attention was caught by this movement, too. The brick creature was growing taller by the minute and, at the same time, the fabric of the walls was becoming steadily more damaged, until they started to cave in. Outside, the Zhadár were shouting.

Mallenia dragged the maga up, seeing giant cracks appear in the roof above their heads. “Let’s get out! Quick! The building’s going to collapse!”

The two girls ran to the door—but they were met by a wall of water with Rodario swimming within it, trying to get out.

The rear of the building crashed down.

“Get out through the window at the back,” the Ido ordered, tugging Coïra along. “Didn’t you say there was no magic here?”

The maga had no answer. The shock was overwhelming, as was the realization that she must bear the responsibility and guilt for allowing their party to walk into a trap.